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MARK TWAIN'S

f ll£D£KlCTOiX ftBD ClOSS SOCIETY

LIBRARY OF HUMOR."*"*^ '

Illustrated by E. W. Kemble.

OA.NA.DIA.N OOPYRIOHX KDITION.

MONTREAL:
DAWSON BROTHERS, PUBLISHERS,

1888.

Entered according to Act of Parliament by Andrew Chatto in the office of
; the Minister of Agriculture, in the year 1888.

SI7.08
C<i,2.6

GAZETTE PRINTING CO., MONTREAL.

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INTRODUCTION.

There is no one whom people wish out of the way more than some
well-meaning person who insists upon formally making them ac-
quainted with a company of old friends, and is so full of his own
performance that he won't see they are on hand-shaking terms
already, and all they want is a chance to get at one another. Now if
there is any one class of their authors whom the American people
do know rather better than any other, it is the American humorists,
from Washington Irving to Bill Nye, and we are not going to
repeat their names here, or lecture upon their qualities. We have
tried to arrange our Lib'-ary so as to include passages representa-
tive of every period and section, and we think that the chaotic
order which we have chosen will be found to facilitate the course
of those who like to come upon their favorite authors unexpect-
edly. For example, the reader accustomed to the cheap artifices of
other editors will be surprised to meet, first, a selection from the
chief compiler's own work, which he would naturally have expected
to find in the small print of an appendix; but thr jughout, the com-
piler has subordinated his diffidence as an author to his tp ';^ as
an editor, and has put in a piece of his literature as often as he
thought the public would stand it. We need not say that, if he
could have had his way throughout, this Library would have
consisted' solely of extracts from his own books. But he was
afraid the public would not stand it, not because it did not like
his books, but because it had them all by heart already. For this
reason, he has followed upon the first selection from himself with
selections from Messrs. Warner, Aldrich and Burdette, and he has

r-'-m

Vlll

INTRODUCTION,

not hesitated in other places to intersperse extracts from Mark
Twain, with episodes from Mr. Lowell, or Dr. Holmes, or Mr.
Harris, or Mr. Cable, or others. This has the effect of bewilder-
ing the reader, who thought it was going to be all Mark Twain,
and perhaps of convincing him that there are other humorists
besides his favorite author.

Another advantage in the arrangement adopted, is that the
reader will often be obliged to go through the whole book before
he discovers that some favorite author is not in it; and by this
time he will have been so much amused that he will have for-
gotten all about his favorite author. We meant to put in every-
body's favorite author, but the limits of the Library would not
allow of this; and we had to be content with the hope that no one
would finally remember their absence except the favorites them-
selves. To these we would say, in the intimacy of a public adver-
tisement, that they may confidently look to find themselves in a
future work. They are no worse than many, perhaps most, of
the authors here represented ; in making this compilation we have
exercised, not only the disorder of chaos, but the blindness of
fate.

Our work is not, however, a last judgment; and an appeal may
be easily taken from it. In fact, it is not a judgment at all, but
is a species of garden-party, where representative people from all
epochs and parts of the country meet and say, " What! You
here?" as people do when they had not expected to find one
another in such good society. But we think the little entertain-
ment is favorable to the enjoyment, and even the study, if you
please, of the different kinds of American humor, from the days
of Irving, when it still smacked of Goldsmith and Addison,
onward. Smack of whom it would, it has always been so racy of
the soil that the native flavor prevails throughout; and whether
Yankee, Knickerbocker, Southern Californian, refined or broad,
prose, verse or newspaper, it was and is always American. But
it is interesting to compare the varieties and differences of the

INTRO: UCTION.

fruits of this perennial and indigenous plant, the one thing that
we can certainly claim ours whatever else maybe denied us; and
we think our garden-party gives an excellent chance for this We
have been obliged to make a selection of authors, but here the
work of discrimination ends, and the whole American public is
cordially invited to attend. It is going to be a very distinguished
affair, and, in our hospitable feeling about it, we should reallv
be very sorry if any one of our sixty millions missed it.

The Associate Editors.

1 1

■It "aiS

INDEX OF AUTHORS.

Au>EN, William L.— page

Cnrrie's Comedy 4^

The Belle of Vallcjo 300

Mr. Siiiipkins's Downfall 686

Aldkicii, Thomas BAiLEV. —

Mow We Astunisliccl the Rivermoutbians 1 7

The Friend of my Youth 543

Bailky, James M.—

The I'cniale Base Ball Nine 126

An Italian'^ View of a New England Winter. 422

Alter the Funeral 65 1

What he Wanted it for 681

BlERCE, AMnROSK.—

The Robin and tho Woodpecker 129

The Dof,' and the Bees 196

Tho Ant and the (irain of Corn 339

The Man and the Goose 348

The Nobleman and the Oyster 425

The Boy and the Tortoise S42

The Camel and the Zebra 558

Billings, Josh.—

To Correspondents 5^

The Alligator 370

Natral and Unnatral Aristokrats 561

The Neat Person 596

The Bumble Bee 649

Ants 682

Breitmann, Hans.—

Ballad of the Rhine '204

ILans Breitmaini's Party 530

Browne, Charles F.—

See Artemus Ward. . "

BuRDETTE, Robert J.—

Legend of Mimir 29

The Simple Story of George Washington 97

The Haunted Room 139

The Vacation of Mustapha 234

■ *■ ■ xi ...-_,._..,_

'I'!

.■. ■»»!

xii INDEX OF AUTHORS.

BURDETTE, Robert ].— Continued. page

Wrecked in Port 324

The Donation Party 367

She Had to Take her Things Along 479

The Type- Writer 493

Success with Small Fruits 559

Train Manners 588

The Romance of the Carpet 683 •

Butler, Wm. Allen.—

Nothing to Wear 168

Cable, Geo. W.— H

Frowenfeld's Clerk ,.'..... 341

Clemews, Samuel L. —
See Mark Twain.

Cox, Samuel y.—

The Worst Man and the Stupidest Man in Turkey 54

Fables of the Hodja 193

The Hodja's Donkey on his Veracity 288

The Hodja Makes up his Mind to Marry 484

Examples of Turkish Justice 564

CozzENS, Frederick W.—

A Family Horse 74

Getting a Glass of Water 414

Curtis, Geo. William.— >Bg. ,

Rev. Creamcheese and the New Livery 35

Davis, Sam.

The First Piano in a Mining Camp 239

Derby, Geo. H.— ,

See John Phcenix.

Dodge, Mary Mapes. —

Miss Malony on the Chinese Question 285

DoESTicKS, Q. K. Philander.—

A New Patent Medicine Operation 532

Field, Eugene.—

His First Day at Editing 64

Oon Criteek de Bernhardt 447

Fields, Jas. T.— ^

TheOwlCritic \ 398

The Alarmed Skipper 631

Hale, Lucretia P. —

The Peterkins Decide to Learn the Languages 371

Harris, Geo. W.—

Sicily Burns's Wedding 197

INDEX OF AUTHORS.

XIU

Harris, Joel Chandler— ' page

See Uncle Remus.

Hay, John—

Little Breeches 289

Harte, Bret—

Plain Language from Truthful James 89

A Jersey Centenarian 352

A Sleeping-Car Experience 642

The Society on the Stanislaus. , . 679

Hooper, Johnson J.—

Simon Suggs Gets a •' Soft Snap " on His Daddy 598

HOLLEY, M\rietta — (Josiah Allen's Wife)

A Pleasure Exertion 327

Holmes, Dr. Oliver Wendell —

A Visit to the Asylum for Aged and Decayed Punsters 406

The Deacon's Masterpiece 506

HowELLS, William D, —

Trying to Understand a Woman 121

Love's Young Dream 292

Kitty Answers 303

Custom House Morals 433

At Niagara 495

Their First Quarrel 592

Irving, Washington —

Rip Van Winkle 148

Johnston, Richard M. —

The Expensive Treat of Col. Moses Grice 206

Kerr, Orpheus C—

A Great Fit '. 567

Lanigan, Geo. T.

The Villager and the Snake ^. 15

The Ostrich and the Hen , 164

The Fox and the Crow 227

The Kind-Hearted She-Elephant 401

The Centipede and the Barbaric Yak 537

The Grasshopper and the Ant 641

Xhe Merchant of Venice, and the Good Samaritan 678

Leland, Charles G.—

See Hans Breitmann.

Lowell, James Russell —

The Courtin' lOO

Birdofredum Sawin after the War 427

Birdofredom Sawin as a Volunteer 584

t ' ••SI

xiv INDEX OF AUTHORS.

Neal, Joseph C— ' page
'TisOnly my Husband 104

Newell, Robert H.—

See Orpheus C. Kerr.

Nye, Bill.—

AFatal Thirst 383

Phcenix, John.—

Tushmaker's Toothpuller 31

Illustrated Newspapers 178

Phoenix at Sea 359

Lectures on Astronomy 453

A New System of Grammar 498

John Phoenix Renders an Account of his Stewardship 525

Pistol Shooting 666

The Sewing Machine 675

Pratt, Mrs. Francis Lee. —

Captain Ben's Choice 386

Shaw, Henry W.—

See Josh Billings. -^

Stedman, Edmund Clarence.—

The Diamond Wedding 465

Shelton, Frederic W. —

A Victim of Hospitality 362

Smith, Seba.—

Jack Downing in Portland 185

Uncle Joshua Downing in Boston 519

Stockton, Frank R. —

The Remarkable Wreck of the Thomas Hyke 258

Stowe, Mrs. Harriet Beecher—

The Parson's Horse Race , 315

Thompson, Mortimer N. —

See Doesticks, Q. K. Philander. /

Thompson, W. Tappan—

Christmas in Pineville 571

Trowbridge, James T.—

Darius Green and his Flying Machine 247

Twain, Mark.—

The Jumping Frog I

The Tomb of Adam 33

- Abelard and Heloise 69

A Genuine Mexican Plug 82

A Day's Work 116

' J, ' i .

INDEX OF AUTHORS.

Twain, "iAK^^i— Continued page

Dick Baker's Ca'. 136

A Restless Night 142

A Dose of Pain Killer. i8g

European Diet 229

Experience of the McWilliamses with Membraneous Croup 278

Nevada Nabobs in New York 349

The Siamese Twins 378

A Dog in Church 402

Blue-Jays 417

Our Italian Guide 474

Lost in the Snow 511

The Cayote 538

Col. Sellers at Home 611

Cannibalism in the Cars , 653

_ How I Edited an Agricultural Paper 697

Unclk Remus. —

The Tar Baby 131

Mr. Rabbit Grossly Deceives Mr. Fox 690

Ward, Artemus.— ■

A Visit to Brigham Young 93

Women's Rights 166

One of Mr. Ward's Business Letters 223

On "Forts." 225

Fourth of July Oration , 311

High-Handed Outrage at Utica 494

Artemus Ward and the Prince of Wales 579

Interview with Lincoln 627

Letters to bis Wife 669

Warner, Charles Dudley. —

A Fight with a Trout 9

Plumbers 256

The Garden and its Enemies 481

Boy the Destroyer 491

Brilliant Drunkards 583

How I Killed a Bear 633

Pie 662

Walker, Katiierine Kent Childs. —

The Total Depravity of Inanimate Things 435

Miscellaneous :—

First-Class Snake Stories 60

A Quick Eye for Business 397

Little Charles and the Fruit 471

Butterwick's Little Gas Bill 664

4::^^#^'

INDEX OF TITLES.

PAGE

The Jumping Frog Mark Twain. i-8

A Fight with a Trout Charles Dudley

Warner <>-i^

The Villager and the Snake G. T. Lanigan Ifl-i6

How We Astonished the Rivermouthians T, B. Aldrich 17-28

The Legend of Mimir Robert J. Burdette. . . 29-30

Tushmaker's Toothpuller John PhcEnix 31-33

The Tomb of Adam Mark Twain 33-35

Rev. Crcamcheese, and the New Livery, etc.Gcorge Wm. Curtis. . 35-48

Carrie's Comedy. ... W. L. Alden 48-52

To Correspondents Josh Billings 5^-53

The Worst Man and the Stupidest Man in

Turkey S. S. Cox 54-60

First-Class Snake Stories Anonymous 60-63

His First Day at Editing Eugene Field 64-68

Abelard and Heloisc Mark Twain , 69-74

A Family Morse F. W. Cozzens 74-82

A Genuine Mexican Plug Mark Twain 82-88

Plain Language from Truthful James Bret I larte 89-92

A Visit to Brigham Yoimg ... .Artemus Ward 93-96

The Simple Story of George Washington Robert J. Burdette. . , 97-100

The Courtin' J. R. Lowell 100-104

'Tis Only my Husband J. C. Neal 104-116

A Day's Work ... Mark Twain 1 16-121

Trying to Understand a Woman W. D. Ilowells 121-126

The Female Base Ball Nine J.M.Bailey 126-129

The Robin and the Woodpecker. Ambrose Bierce 129-130

131-135
136-139

139-141

142-148

148-164

The Tar Baby Uncle Remus

Did iJakcr's Cat Mark Twain

The Haunted Room R. J. Burdette

A Restless Night Mark Twain

Rip Van Winkle Washington Irving .

The Ostrich and the Hen G. T. Lanigan 164-165

Women's Rights Artemus Ward 166-167

Nothing to Wear Wni. Allen Butler 168-177

Illustrated Newspapers John Phoenix 178-184

Jack Downing in Portland Seba Smith 185-188

A Dose of Pain Killer Mark Twain . 189-192

xvi

INDEX OF TITLES.

Fables of the Hodja S. S. Cox

The Dog and the Bees Ambrose Bierce . .

Sicily Burns's Wedding Geo. W. ilarris . . .

The Ballad of the Rhine Hans Breitmann . .

The Expensive Treat of Col. Moses Grice. . .R. M. Johnston . . .

One of Mr. Ward's Business Letters Artemus Ward. . . .

On " Forts " Artemus Ward. . . .

The Fox and the Crow G. T, Lanigan. , . .

European Diet Mark Twain

The Vacation of Mustapha R. J. Burdette. . . .

The First Piano in a Mining Camp Sam Davis

Darius Green and his Flying Machine J. T. Trowbridge

Plumbers Charles Dudley

Warner

The Remarkable Wreck of the Thomas Hyke..Ytix^ R. Stockton. . .

Experience of the McWilliamses with Mem-
braneous Croup Mark Twain

Miss Malony on the Chinese Question Mary Mapes Dodge . .

The Ilodja's Donkey on his Veracity S. S. Cox

Little Breeches John Hay

Love's Young Dream W. D. Howells .

The Belle of Vallejo W. L. Alden

Kitty Answers W. D. Howells

Fourth of July Oration Artemus Ward

The Parson's Horse Race .Mrs. H. B. Stowe

Wreckedin Port R. J. Burdette

A Pleasure Exertion Marietta Holley

The Ant and the Grain of Corn Ambrose Bierce

Frowenfeld's Clerk G. W. Cable

The Man and the Goose Ambrose Bierce

Nevada Nabobs in New York Mark Twain

A Jersey Centenarian Bret Harte

Phoenix at Sea John Phoenix

A Victim of Hospitality F. W. Shelton

The Donation Party R. J. Burdette

The Alligator Josh Billings

The Peterkins Decide to Learn the Languages. Lucretia P. Hale

The Siamese Twins Mark Twain . .

A Fatal Thirst Bill Nye

Captain Ben's Choice Mrs. Francis Lee Pratt

A Quick Eye for Business N. Y. World

The Owl Critic Jas. T. Fields

The Kind-Hearted She-Eiephant G. T. Lanigan

A Dog inChurch Mark Twain

A Visit to the Asylum for Aged and Decayed

Punsters O. W. Holmes .

Getting a Glass of Water F. W. Cozzens

Blue-Jays Mark Twain

XVll

PAGE
193-196
196
197-203
204-205
206-222
223-224
225-226
227-228
229-233
234-238
239-246
247-255

256-257
258-277

278-284
285-288
288
289-291
292-299
300-302
303-310
3II-314

315-323
324-326

327-338
339-340
341-347
348
349-351
352-358
359-361
36^-366

367-369

370

371-377

378-382

383-385
386-396

397
398-400

401
402-405

406-413
414-416
417-421

•• ;•»■
1' "'

XVlll

INDEX OF TITLES.

An Italian's View of a New England Winter. J. M. Bailey

The Nobleman and the Oyster Ambrose Bierce

Birdofredum Hawin After the War J. R. Lowell

Custom House Morals W. D. Howells

The Total Depravity of Inanimate Things Katharine Kent Childs

Walker

Oon Criteek de Bernhardt Eugene Field

Lectures on Astronomy , John Phoenix

The Diamond Wedding Edmund Clarence

Stedman . .

Little Charles and the Fruit Chicago Tribune ....

Our Italian Guide Mark Twain ...

' She Had to Take Her Things Along R. J. Burdette

The Garden and its Enemies Charles Dudley

Warner

The Hodja Makes up his Mind to Marry S. S. Cox

The Old Settler Ed. Mott, N. Y. Sun.

Boy the Destroyer Charles Dudley

Warner

The Type-Writer - R, J. Burdette

High-IIanded Outrage at Utica Artemus Ward

At Niagara W. D. Howells

A New System of Grammar John Phoenix

The Deacon's Masterpiece O. W. Holmes

Lost in the Snow Mark Twain

Uncle Joshua Downing in Boston Seba Smith

John Phoenix Rendersan Account of his Stew-
ardship John Phoenix

Hans Breitniann's Party Hans Breitmann

A New Patent Medicine Operation Mortimer N. Thomp-
son

The Centipede and the Barbaric Yak G. T. Lanigan

The Cayote Mark Twain

The Boy and the Tortoise Ambrose Bierce

The Friend of My Youth T. B. Aldrich

The Camel and the Zebra. ...... Ambrose Bierce

Success with Small Fruits R. J. Burdette

Natral and Unnatral Aristokrats Josh Billings

Examples of Turkish Justice S. S. Cox

A Great Fit Orpheus C. Kerr

Christmas at Pineville W. T. Thompson ....

Artemus Ward and the Prince of Wales Artemus Ward

Brilliant Drunkards Charles Dudley

Warner

Birdofredom Sawin as a Volunteer J. R. Lowell .......

Train Manners R. J. Burdette

Their First Quarrel W. D. Howells

The Neat Person Josh Billings

PAGE

422-424
425-426
427-432
433-434

435-446

447-452
453-464

465-470
471-473
474-478
479-480

48 r -484

484

485-490

491-492
493
494

495-497
498-505
506-510
511-518
519-524

525-529
530-531

532-536
537

538-541
542

543-557
558

559-560

561-563
564-566

567-570
571-578
579-582

583
584-587
5S8-591

592-595
596-597

INDEX OF TITLES. xiX

PAGE

Simon Suggs gets a "Soft Snap" on His

Daddy Johnson J. Hooper. . . 598-610

Col. Sellers at Home Mark Twain 611--626

Interview with Lincoln Artcmus Ward 627-63C

The Alarmed Skipper J, 1 . F'elds 631-632

How I Killed a Bear Charic- Dudley

Warner 633-640

The Grasshopper and the Ant G. T. I.anigan 641

A Sleeping-Car Experience Bret I larte 642-648

The Bumble Bee , .Josh Billings 649-650

After the Funeral J. M. Bailey 651-652

Cannibalism on the Cars Mark Twain 653-06 1

Pie Charles Dudley

Warner 662-663

Butterwick's Little Gas Bill Anonymous ,. 664-665

Pistol Shooting John Phcenix . . 666-668

Letters to his Wife Artemus Ward 669-674

The Sewing Machine John Phoeni.{ 675-677

Merchant of Venice and Good Samaritan G. T. Lanigan 678

The Society on the Stanislaus Bret Harte 679-680

What He Wanted it For J. M. Bailey. . . 6S1

Ants Josh Billings 6S2

The Romance of the Carpet R. J. Burdette 683-685

Mr. Simpkins's Downfall W, L. Alden 686-689

Mr. Rabbit Grossly Deceives Mr. Pox Uncle Remus 690-696

How I Edited an Agricultural Paper Mark Twain 697-702

ri'l

ill

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS.

FAGS

A Ballad of the Rhine Frontispiece.

He Couldn't Bud(,'e 6

He Belched Out a Double Handful of Shot 7

Luke 10

Attacked by a Trout 14

(jQt 'em Again l6

Silas Trefethen ' i8

Sailor Ben 21

The End of Bailey's Battery 26

Shake Yourself 29

Tushmaker's Toothpuller 32

The t^rave of a Relative 34

Mrs. Croesus 37

The Seed of the Church 39

The New Livery 44

Carrie's Comedy $0

The Worst Man in Turkey 55

A Novel Rattle 61

The Garter Snake, .. . 62

His First Day at Editing 67

Heloise 71

A Good Horse 76

"Got the Heaves, 'AintHe?" 79

The Blind Staggers 8c

In Suspense S3

Badly Mixed 84

OldAbe 86

Ah Sin <)0

He Went for the Heathen Chinee 91

Domestic Felicity 95

Clarence 98

The Courtin' 102

Only my Husband 105

Tommy Titcomb 112

Funny Joe Mungoozle 1 1.^

Tending to Business 1 1 7

Putting it in a New Light 1 18

The Porter 123

LIST OF ILL USTRA TIONS. XXI

PAGB

Kitty 134

A Female Base Ball Club 12;

The Robin and the Woodpecker 13c

Uncle Remus 131

Brer Rabbit Caught 134

Shoving for Home 136

Going Up 137

Comfortably Settled 14c

Humiliated 141

Practicing on a Mouse 143

Forty-Seven Miles 146

Nicholas Vedder 152

Awaking from a Long Sleep . 156

The Ostrich and the Hen 165

" A Feroshus Looking Critter" 166

Flora McFlimsey 169

Scolding in Vain 170

An Unprofitable Bargain 187

Making Things Lively 190

The Hodja Sneezing 194

Making it Warm 196

" Hey, George !" 199

An Exciting Ride 200

Colonel Grice gets Mad 220

A Genial Fellow 223

Playing Horse 226

The Crow and the Fox 227

A French Cook 230

" Two Dollahs " 234

He Smote Him , . ... 237

Giving Them a Rattle 242

Gone 245

The Collapse of the Flying Machine 254

The Plumber 256

The Registrar of Woes 258

Harry Covare 260

ThePort-Hole 271

Kindling the Fire 283

A New Kind of Croup 284

Fing Wing , 285

The Victim 287

Little Breeches 290

The Artist 294

A Strange Disappearance 301

Kitty Glided Out of the Room 306

An Old-time Celebration 312

Sam Lawson 316

CuflF 319

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PAQB

Coming in Ahead 323

Revenge 3*5

Josiah 327

GridcUcCakes 328

A Catastrophe 335

Is this Pleasure ? 337

The Ant and the Grain of Corn 339

Frowenfcld's Clerk 342

Just the Way he Felt 348

Ol-Miel Jack Weakens - 351

Josiah W. Perkins 352

Talkiin; Under Difficulties 354

" Tramp 1 Tramp ! Tramp ! " 361

Keeping up a Fire 363

The Parson's Wile 367

A Taste for Young Darkies 370

The Lady from Philadelphia 374

Not Friendly 375

They Alwa>3 Played Together 378

An Unfortunate Connection 381

A Taste for Needles 384

Mrs. Davids and Miss Tame 386

Picking Raspberries 391

Teddy the Ferret 397

A Critic 399

Misplaced Kindness , 401

Rev. Mr. Sprague 402

Diversion in Church 404

Old Joe 407

Puns with Blocks 410

Going to the Pump 414

Jim Uaker 417

A Slippery Spot 422

The Nobleman and the Oyster 425

Timbertoes 431

Custom I louse Morals 433

A Last Effort 435

A Surprise 443

The Critics 448

The Astronomer 453

Mars and Venus 459

A Warm Reception 471

Thomas Tough 472

Is he Dead? 478

Her Bundle 480

My Summer in a Garden 482

The Fight 486

A Rise in Bear Meat 488

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS. xxili

I' AGE

A Long Shut 490

Boy the Destroyer 491

An Outrage 494

At Niagara 495

Flat-I leaded Indian 499

PhrenoIo^'y 502

The End of the Shay 509

Experimenting 514

Meeting an Old Friend 522

Gen. Coombs 523

The Editor's Chair ... 526

The Judge 528

Hans Ikcitmann's Party 530

A Patent Medicine 533

The Harbaric Yak and the Centipede 537

Respect to Relatives 540

The Boy and the Tortoise 542

Governor Dorr 544

The Camel and the Zebra 558

The Strength of a Banana Peel 559

A Natural Aristocrat 562

The Unfortunate Hunter 565

Stealing a Goose 566

TheGreatFit 567

The Remains 5C9

"Don't You Spit Agin the Jam." 571

The Christmas Bag 577

The Prince of Wales 579

A Brilliant Drunkard 583

The Clog 589

Train Manners , 590

Tlieir First Quarrel , 593

Simon Suggs 599

Simon Racing 600

What's this, Simon ? 602

Colonel Sellers at Home 614

General Boswell 622

Office Seekers 628

The Alarmed Skipper 632

Going After the Gun 636

The Old Hunter 639

The Grasshopper and the Ant 641

An Interesting Story 644

A Flank Movement 649

The Colonel 651

Richard H. Gaston 655

Good Day, Sir 660

A Little Gas Bill t)04

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XXIV LIST OF ILLUSTRA T/ONS.

PACE

Fine Shootii^ 667

My Father and General Lafayette 671

Elevation of •' Phceiiix's Feline Attachment " 076

llrown dgo

A Wifely Substitute (iSj

Anw (j}j2

A Little More on the Other Side 684

An Alarmiiitj; IJiscovery f,88

Brer Kabhil s Horse (,02

Brer Rabbit Outwits Mr. Buzzard (,05

All Interesting Article 608

MARK TWAIN'S

LIBRARY OF HUMO^<.

TKi: NOTORIOUS JUMPING FROG OF CALAVEE \S*

COUNTY.

BY S. L. CLEMENS (MARK TWAIN).

GAMUEL L. CLEMENS (Mark Twain) was born at Hannibal, Mo., in
183s, and after serving an apprenticeship to the printing business in his
brother's office there, "learned the river," as pilot. In this profession he bor-
rowed the phrase which became his pseudonym from the river custom of cry-
ing the soundings, "Mark one I Mark twain! Mark three!" etc. When
piloting fell into the decay that overtook the whole commerce of the rivers, he
went to Nevada, where he made his first attempts in journalism. He was after-
wards connected with various newspapers in San Francisco, visited the Sand-
wich Islands as correspondent of one of them, and, on his return, gave his first
lecture. His earliest book, "The Innocents Abroad," was the result of his
experience and observation as a passenger en the Quaker City in her famous
cruise to the Holy Land. His succeeding books continue the story of his own
life, with more or less fullness and exactness. After his return from Palestine,
he was for a year in Buffalo, N. Y., but has ever since lived in Hartford, Conn.
His books have been nearly all published by subscription, through different
houses.

In compliance with the request of a friend of mine, who wrote
me from the East I called on good-natured, garrulous old Simon
Wheeler, and inquired after my friend's friend, Leonidas W.
Smiley,'a3 requested to do, and I hereunto append the result.
I have a lurking suspicion ihdX Leonidas IV. Smiley is a myth;
that my friend never knew such a personage; and that he only
conjectured that if T asked old Wheeler about him, it would
remind him of his m famous /t'm Smiley, and he would go to

* Prouoanoed Ca-le-oa-ran.

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MARIC TWAIN'S LIBRARY OF HUMOR.

work and bore me to death with some exasperating reminiscence
of him as long and as tedious as it should be useless to me. If
thai was the design, it succeeded.

I found Simon Wheeler dozing comfortably by the bar-room
stove of the dilapidated tavern in the decayed mining camp of
Angel's, and I noticed that he was fat and bald-headed, and had
an expression of winning gentleness and simplicity upon his tran-
quil countenance. He roused up and gave me good day. I told
him a friend of mine had commissioned me to make some inqui-
ries about a cherished companion of his boyhood, named Leoni-
das W. Smiley — Rev. Leonidas W. Smiley — a young minister of
the gospel, who he had heard was at one time a resident of
Angel's Camp. I added that if Mr. Wheeler could tell me any-
thing about this Rev. Leonidas W. Smiley, I would feel under
many obligations to him.

Simon Wheeler backed me into a corner and blockaded me
there with his chair, and then sat down and reeled off the monot-
onous narrative which follows this paragraph. He never smiled,
he never frowned, he never changed his voice from the gentle-
flowing key to which he tuned his initial sentence, he never
betrayed the slightest suspicion of enthusiasm; but all through
the interminable narrative there ran a vein of impressive earnest-
ness and sincerity which showed me plainly that, so far from his
imagining that there was anything ridiculous or funny about his
story, he regarded it as a really important matter, and admired
its two heroes as men of t/anscendent genius m finesse. I let him
go on in his own way, and never interrupted him once.

" Rev. Leonidas W. H'm, Reverend Le — well, there was a
feller here once by the name of Jim Smiley, in the winter of '49,
or maybe it was the spring of '50 — I don't recollect exactly,
somehow, though what makes me think it was one or the other,
is because I remember the big flume warn't finished when he first
come to the camp; but anyway, he was the curiousest man about,
always betting on anything that turned up you ever see, if he
could get anybody to bet on the other side; and if he couldn't,
he'd change sides. Any way that suited the other side would
suit him — any way, just so's he got a bet, he was satisfied. But
still he was lucky, uncommon lucky; he most always come out
winner. He was always ready, and laying for a chance; there
couldn't be no solit'ry thing mentioned but that feller'd offer to

THE JUMPING FROG.

bet on it, and take ary side you please, as I was just telling you.
If there was a horse-race, you'd find him flush or you'd find him
busted at the end of it; if there was a dog-fight, he'd bet on it;
if there was a cat-fight, he'd bet on it; if there was a chicken-
fight, he'd bet on it; why, if there was two birds setting on a
fence, he would bet you which one would fly first; or if there was
a camp-meeting, he would be there reg'lar to bet on Parson Walker,
which he judged to be the best exhorter about here; and so he
was, too, and a good man. If he even see a straddle-bug start
to go anywheres, he would bet you how long it would take him ,
to get to — to wherever he was going to; and if you took him up,t
he would foller that straddle-bug to Mexico, but what he would
find out where he was bound for, and how long he was on the
road. Lots of the boys here has seen that Smiley, and can tell
you about him. Why, it never made no difference to him — he'd
bet any thing — the dangdest feller. Parson Walker's wife laid
very sick once for a good while, and it seemed as if they warn't
going to save her; but one morning he come in, and Srniley up
and asked him how she was, and he said she was consid'able bet-
ter — thank the Lord for his inf'nit mercy ! — and coming on so
smart that, with the blessing of Prov'dence, she'd get well yet;
and Smiley, before he thought, says, ' Well, I'll resk two-and-a-
half she don't, anyway.*

" Thish-yer Smiley had a mare — the boys called her the fifteen-
minute nag, but that was only in fun, you know, because of
course she was faster than that — and he used to win money on
that horse, for all she was so slow, and always had the asthma, or
the distemper, or the consumption, or something of that kind.
They used to give her two or three hundred yards' start, and
then pass her under way ; but always at the fag-end of the race
she'd get excited and desperate-like, and come cavorting and
straddling up, and scattering her legs around limber, sometimes
in the ajr, and sometimes out to one side amongst the fences,
and kicking up m-o-r-e dust and raising m-o-r-e racket with hen
coughing and sneezing and blowing her nose — and always fetch,
up at the stand just about a neck ahead, as near as you could
ci-.'her it down.

''And he had a little small bull-pup, that to look at him you'd
think he warn't worth a cent but to set around and look ornery,
and lay for a chance to steal something. But as soon as money

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MARK TWAIN'S LIBRARY OF HUMOR.

was up on him he was a different dog ; his under-jaw'd begin to
stick out like the £o' castle of a steamboat, and his teeth would
uncover and shine like the furnaces. And a dog might tackle
him and bullyrag him, and bite him, and throw him over his
shoulder two or three times, and Andrexv Jackson — which was
the name of the pup — Andrew Jackson would never let on but
what he was satisfied, and hadn't expected nothing else — and the
bets being doubled and doubled on the other side all the time,
till the money was all up ; and then all of a sudden he would
grab the other dog jest by the j'int of his hind leg and freeze to
it — not chaw, you understand, but only just grip and hang on till
they throwed up the sponge, if it was a year. Smiley always
come out winner on that pup, till he harnessed a dog once that
didn't have no hind legs, because they'd been sawed off in a cir-
cular saw, and when the thing had gone along far enough, and the
money was all up, and he come to make a snatch for his pet holt,
he see in a minute how he'd been imposed on, and how the other
dog had him in the door, so to speak, and he 'peared surprised,
and then he looked sorter discouraged-like, and didn't try no
more to win the fight, and so he got shucked out bad. He give
Smiley a look, as much as to say his heart was broke, and it was
his fault, for puttmg up a dog that hadn't no hind legs for him
to take holt of, which was his main dependence in a fight ; and
then he limped off a piece and laid down and died. It was a good
pup, was that Andrew Jackson, and would have made a name for
hi.sself if he'd lived, for the stuff was in him and he had genius
— I know it, t)ecause he hadn't no opportunities to speak of, and
it don't stand to reason that a dog could make such a fight as he
could under them circumstances if he hadn't no talent. It always
makes me feel sorry when I think of that last fight of his'n, and
the way it turned out.

"Well, this-yer Smiley had rat-tarrierr., and chicken cocks, and
tom-cats and all them kind of things, till you couldn't rest, and
you couldn't fetch nothing for him to bet on but he'd match you.
He ketched a frog one day, and took him home, and said he
cal'lated to educate him; and so he never done nothing for
three months but set in his back yard and learn that frog to
jump. And you bet you he rt'/V/ learn him, too. He'd give him
a little punch behind, and the next minute you'd see that frog
whirling in the air like a doughnut — see him turn one summer-

THE JUMPING FROG.

set, or maybe a couple, if he got a good start, and come down
flat-footed and all right, like a cat. He got him up so in the
matter of ketching flies, and kep' him in practice so constant,
that he'd nail a fly every time as fur as he could see him.
Smiley said all a frog wanted was education, and he could do
'most anything — and I believe him. Why, I've seen him set
Dan'l Webster down here on this floor — Dan'l Webster was the
name of the frog — and sing out, * Flies, Dan'l, flies ! ' and
quicker'n you could wink he'd spring straight up and snake a fly
off'n the counter there, and flop down on the floor ag'in as solid
as a gob of mud, and fall to scratching the side of his head with ,
his hind foot as indifferent as if he hadn't no idea he'd been
doin' any more'n any frog might do. You never see a frog so
modest and straightfor'ard as he was, for all he was so gifted.
And when it come to fair and square jumping on a dead level, he
could get over more ground at one straddle than any animal of
his breed you ever see. Jumping on a dead level was his strong
suit, you understand ; and when it come to that. Smiley would
ante up money on him as long as he had a red. Smiley was
monstrous proud of his frog, and well he might be, for fellers
that had traveled and been everywheres, all said he laid over any
frog that ever they see.

"Well, Smiley kep' the beast in a little lattice box, and he used
to fetch him down-town sometimes and lay for a bet. One day
a feller — a stranger in the camp, he was — come acrost him with
his box, and says:

" * What might it be that you've got in the box?'

" And Smiley says, sorter indifferent-like, '• Ii inight be a parrot,
or it might be a canary, maybe, but it ain't — it's only just a frog.'

" And the feller took it, and looked at it careful, and turned it
round this way and that, and says, ' H'm — so 'tis. Well, what's
he good for ? '

"'Well,' Smiley says, easy and careless, 'he's good enough
for one thing, I should judge — he can outjump any frog in
Calaveras County.'

" The feller took the box again, and took another long, particu-
lar look, and give it back to Smiley, and says, very deliberate,,
'Well,' he says, 'I don't see no p'ij2is about that frog that's
any better'n any other frog.'

"* Maybe you don't,' Smiley says. 'Maybe you understand

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frogs, and maybe you don't understand 'em ; maybe you've had
experience, and maybe you ain't only a amature, as it were.
Anyways, I've got my opinion, and I'll resk forty dollars that he
can out jump any frog in Calaveras County.'

"And the feller studied a minute, and then says, kinder sad
like, ' Well, I'm only a stranger here, and I ain't got no frog ;
but if I had a frog, I'd bet you.'

♦« And then Smiley says, * That's all right— that's all right — if
you'll hold my box a minute, I'll go and get you a frog.* And
so the feller took the box, and put up his forty dollars along with
Smiley's, and set down to wait.

HE couldn't budge. /

" So he set there a good while, thinking and thinking to hisself,
and then he got the frog out and prized his mouth open and took
a teaspoon and filled him full of quail shot — filled him pretty
near up to his chin — and set him on the floor. Smiley he went
to the swamp and slopped around in the mud for a long time, and
finally he ketched a frog, and fetched him in, and give him to
this feller, and says:

" * Now, if you're ready, set him alongside of Dan'l, with his
fore-paws just even with Dan'l's, and I'll give the word.' Then
he says, * One — two — three — git ! ' and him and the feller

THE JUMPING FROG.

touched up the frogs from behind, and the new frog hopped
off lively, but Dan'l give a heave, and hysted up his shoulders
— so — like a Frenchman, but it warn't no use — he couldn't
budge ; he was planted as solid as a church, and he couldn't
no more stir than if he was anchored out. Smiley was a good
deal surprised, and he was dis-
gusted ' too, but he didn't have
no idea what the matter was,
of course.

" The feller took the money
and started away ; and when he
was going out at the door, he
sorter jerked his thumb over
his shoulder — so — at Dan'l,
and says again, very deliberate,
< Well,' he says, ' / don't see
no p'ints about that frog that's
any better'n any other frog.'

" Smiley he stood scratching
his head and looking down at
Dan'l a long time, and at last
he says, < I do wonder what in
the nation that frog throw'd off
for — I wonder if there ain't
something the matter with him
— he 'pears to look mighty
baggy, somehow.' And he
ketched Dan'l by the nap of
the nsck, and hefted him, and
says, * Why, blame my cats if
he don't weigh five pound!' and
turned him upside down, and
he belched out a double hand-
ful of shot. And then he see

how it was, and he was the maddest man — he set the frog down
and took out after the feller, but he never ketched him. And .'

[Here Simon Wheeler heard his name called from the front
yard, and got up to see what was wanted.] " A turning to me as
he moved away, he said : ' Just set where you are, stranger, and
rest easy — I ain't going to be gone a second.' "

^r:

HE BELCHED OUT A DOUBLE
HANDFUL OF SHOT.

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But, by your leave, I did not think that a continuation of the
history of the enterprising vagabond Jim Smiley would be likely
to afford me much information concerning the Rev. Leonidas IV.
Smiley, and so I started away.

At the door I met the sociable Wheeler returning, and he
button-holed me and re-commenced:

" Well, this-yer Smiley had a yaller one-eyed cow that didn't
have no tail, only jest a short stump like a bannanner, and "

However, lacking both time and inclination, I did not wait to
hear about the afflicted cow, but took my leave.

. WARM HAIR.

BY MARK TWAIN.

Talking about warm hair, a lady in Milwaukee, whose hair
very nearly matches the brick in the Wisconsin Building, and
who has been joked about her red hair until she goes around and
shoots the last few thousand who make ancient remarks about it,
say? she heard a new thing on red hair the other day. A friend

from the East said to her, ** Mrs. , I rather like this Skenea-

teles hair of yours." She didn't like to ask questions, but final-
ly curiosity got the best of her, and she asked, ** Well, what in
the name of the thirteen apostles is Skaneateles hair?" " Oh,"
says he, as he got on the other side of the table, and held his
elbow up over his head so the press board wouldn't hurt,
" Skeneateles is about forty miles beyond Auburn, you know."
He is now carried in a sling, and his friends have to get a pass
from the matron of the hospital to see him — Newspaper,

A FIGHT V/ITH A TROUT.

A FIGHT WITH A TROUT.

BY CHARLES DUDLEY WARNER.

/^HARLES DUDLEY WARNER was bom at Plainfield, Mass., in 1829.
^^ His boyhood was spent in the country, but he received a collegiate train-
ing, and after some years' experience as surveyor in the West, he took up the
study of the law, and entered upon its practice in Philadelphia. He removed
thence to Chicago, and then returned to the East, and formed the connection
with the Hartford Courant, which still continues. In this journal were pub-
lished the papers "My Summer in a Garden," the first expression of his delicate
and characteristic humor, which received general recognition. It was followed
by the "Backlog Studies," his work in collaboration with Mr. Clemens, " The
Gilded Age," and his different volumes of travel— "Saunterings," "Winter
on the Nile," etc. He contributed to American History a delightful mono*
graph on "Captain Joi\n Smith," and has written a critical biography of
Washington Irving.

Trout-fishing in the Adirondacks would be a more attractive
pastime tlian it is, t)Ut for the popular notion of its danger. The
trout is a retiring and harmless animal, except when he is aroused
and forced into a combat; and then his agility, fierceness and
vindictiveness become apparent. No one who has studied the ex-
cellent pictures representing men in an open boat, exposed to the
assaults of long-enraged trout flying at them through the open
air with open mouth, ever ventures with his rod upon the lonely
lakes of the forest without a certain terror, or ever reads of the
exploits of daring fishermen without a feeling of admiration for
their heroism. Most of their adventures are thrilling, and all of
them are, in narration, more or less unjust to the trout: in fact,
the object of them seems to be to exhibit, at the expense of the
trout, the shrewdness, the skill, and the muscular power of the
sportsman. My own simple story has few of these recommen-
dations.

We had built our bark camp one summer, and were staying on
one of the popular lakes of the Saranac region. It would be a
very pretty region if it were not so flat; if the margins of the lakes
had not been flooded by dams at the outlets — which have killed
the trees, and left a rim of ghastly dead-wood like the swamps of
the under-world pictured by Dore's bizarre pencil — and if the

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pianos at the hotels were in tune. It would be an excellent sport-
ing-region also (for there is water enough) if the fish commission-
ers would stock the waters, and if pre /ious hunters had not pulled
all the hair and skin off from the deers' tails. Formerly sports-
men had a habit of catching the deer by the tails, and of being
dragged in mere wantonness round and round the shores. It is
well known that, if you seize a deer by this " holt," the skin will
slip off like the peel from a banana. This reprehensible practice

was carried so far, that the traveler
is now hourly pained by the sight of
peeled-tail deer mournfully sneaking
about the wood.

We had been hearing, for weeks, of a
small lake in the heart of the virgin
forest, some ten miles from our camp,
which was alive with trout, unsophisti-
cated, hungry trout: the inlet to it was
described as stiff with them. In my
imagination I saw them lying there in
ranks and rows, each a foot long, three
tiers deep, a solid mass. The lake had
never been visited, except by stray
sable-hunters in the winter, and was
known as the Unknown Pond. I deter-
mined to explore it ; fully expecting,
however, that it would prove to be a
delusion, as such mysterious haunts o£
the trout usually are. Confiding my
purpose to Luke, we secretly made our
preparations, and stole away from the
shanty one morning at daybreak. Each
of us carried a boat, a pair of blankets,
a sack of bread, pork, and maple-sugar; while I had my cjse of
rods, creel, and book of flies, and Luke had an axe and the kitchen
utensils. We think nothing of loads of this sort in the woods.

Five miles through a tamarack-swamp brought us to the inlet
of Unknown Pond, upon which we embarked our fleet, and pad-
dled down its vagrant waters. They were at first sluggish, wind-
ing among /r/j/^ fir-trees, but gradually developed a strong current.
At the end of three miles a loud roar ahead warned us that we

LUKE.

A FIGHT WITH A TROUT.

were approaching rapids, falls and cascades. We paused. The
danger was unknown. We had our choice of shouldering our
loads and making a ddtour through the woods, or of *♦ shooting
the rapids." Naturally we chose the more dangerous course.
Shooting the rapids has often been described, and I will not
repeat the description here. It is needless to say that I drove my
frail bark through the boiling rapids, over the successive water-
falls, amid rocks and vicious eddies, and landed, half a mile
below, with whitened hair and a boat half full of water; and that
the guide wps T»oset, and boat, contents and man were strewn
along the sh. j.

After this common experience we went quickly on our journey,
and, a couple of hours before sundown, reached the lake. If I
live to my dying-day, I never shall forget its appearance. The
lake is almost an exact circle, about a quarter of a mile in
diameter. The forest about it was untouched by axe, and
unkilled by artificial flooding. The azure water had a perfect
setting of evergreens, in which all the shades of the fir, the bal-
sam, the pine, and the spruce were perfectly blended; and at
intervals on the shore in the emerald rim blazed the ruby of the
cardinal-flower. It was ai once evident that the unruffled waters
had never been vexed by the keel of a boat. But what chiefly
attracted my attention, and amused me, was the boiling of the
water, the bubbling and breaking, as if the lake were a vast
kettle, with a fire underneath. A tyro would have been aston-
ished at this common phenomenon; but sportsmen will at once
understand me when I say that the water boiled\^\\)!\ the breaking
trout. I studied the surface for some time to see upon what
sort of flies they were feeding, in order to suit my cast to their
appetites; but they seemed to be at play rather than feeding,
leaping high in the air in graceful curves, and tumbling about
each other as we see them in Adirondack pictures.

It is well known that no person who regards his reputation will
ever kill a trout with anything but a fly. It requires some train-
ing on the part of the trout to take to this method. The uncul-
tivated, unsophisticated trout in unfrequented waters prefers the
baiit; and the rural people, whose sole object in going a-fishing
appears to be to catch fish, indulge them in their primitive taste
for the worm. No sportsman, however, will use anythmg but a
fly, except he happens to be alone.

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While Luke launched my boat, and arranged his seat in the
stern, I prepared my rod and line. The rod is a bamboo, weighing
seven ounces, which has to be spliced with a winding of silk thread
every time it is used. This is a tedious process; but, by fasten-
ing the joints in this way, a uniform spring is secured in the rod.
No one devoted to high art would think of using a socket joint.
My line was forty yards of untwisted silk upon a multiplying reel.
The " leader " (I am very particular about my leaders) had been
made to order from a domestic animal with which I had been
acquainted. The fisherman requires as good a catgut- as the
violinist. The interior of the house -cat, it is well known, is
exceedingly sensitive; but it may not be so well known that the
reason why tome cats leave the room in distress when a piano-
forte is played is because the two instruments are not in the
same key, and the vibrations of the chords of the one are in dis-
cord with the catgut of the other. On si.\ feet of this superior
article I fixed three artificial flies— a simple brown hackle, a
gray body with scarlet wings, and one of my own invention,
which I thought would be new to the most experienced fly-catcher.
The trout-fly does not resemble any known species of insect. It
is a "conventionalized" creation, as we say of ornamentation.
The theory is, that, fly-fishing being a high art, th.^ fly must not
be a tame imitation of nature, but an artistic suggestion of it. It
requires an artist to construct one; and not every bungler can
take a bit of red flannel, a peacock's feather, a flash of tinsel
thread, a cock's plume, a section of a hen's wing, and fabricate
a tiny object that will not look like any fly, but still will suggest
the universal conventional fly.

I took my stand in the centre of the tipsy boat ; and Luke
shoved off, and slowly paddled towards some lily-pads, while I
began casting — unlimbering my tools, as it were. The fish had all
disappeared. I got out, perhaps, fifty feet of line, with no
response, and gradually increased it to one hundred. It is not
difficult to learn to cast; but it is difficult to learn not to snap off
the flies at every throw. Of this, however, we will not speak. I
continued casting for some moments, until I became satisfied
that there had been a miscalculation. Either the trout were too
green to know what I was at, or they were dissatisfied with my
offers. I reeled in, and changed the flies (that is, the fly that
•was not snapped off). After studying the color of the sky, of the

A FIGHT WITH A TROUT.

water, and of the foliage, and the moderated light of the after-
noon, I put on a series of beguilers, all of a subdued brilliancy,
in harmony with the approach of evening. At the second cast,
which was a short one, I saw a splash where the leader fell, and
gave an excited jerk. The next instant I perceived the game,
and did not need the unfeigned "dam " of Luke to convince me
that I had snatched his felt hat from his head, and deposited it
among the lilies. Discouraged by this, we whirled about, and
paddled over to the inlet, where a little ripple was visible in the
tinted light. At the very first cast I saw that the hour had come.
Three trout leaped into the air. The danger of this manoeuvre
all fishermen understand. It is one of the commonest in the
woods: three heavy trout taking hold at once, rushing indifferent
directions, smash the tackle into flinders. I evaded this catch,
and threw again. I recall the moment. A hermit thrush, on the
tip of a balsam, uttered his long, liquid, evening note. Happen-
ing to look over my shoulder, I saw the peak of Marcy gleam
rosy in the sky (I can't help it that Marcy is fifty miles off, and
cannot be seen from this region: these incidental touches are
always used). The hundred feet of silk swished through the air,
and the tail-fly fell as lightly on the water as a three-cent- piece
(which no slamming will give the weight of a ten) drops upon
the contribution-plate. Instantly there was a rush, a swirl. I

struck, and " Got him, by !" Never mind what Luke said I

got him by. " Out on a fly ! *' continued that irreverent guide;
but I told him to back water and make for the centre of the lake.
The trout, as soon as he felt the prick of the hook, was off like a
shot, and took out the whole of the line with a rapidity that made
it smokp. " Give him the butt !" shouted Luke. It is the usual
remark in such an emergency. I gave him the butt; and, recog-
nizing the fact and my spirit, the trout at once sank to the bot-
tom, and sulked. It is the most dangerous mood of a trout;
for you cannot tell what he will do next. We reeled up a little,
and waited five minutes for him to reflect. A tightening of the
line enraged him, and he soon developed his tactics. Coming to
the surface, he made straight for the boat faster than I could
reel in, .ind evidently with hostile intentions. *' Look out for
him! " cried Luke as he came flying in the air. I evaded him by
dropping flat in tne bottom of the boat; and when I picked my
traps up, he was spinning across the lake as if he had a new idea:

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but the line was still fast. He did not run far. I gave him the
butt again; a thing he seemed to hate, even as a gift. In a
moment the evil-minded fish, lashing the water in hi-^ rage, was
coming back again, making straight for the boat, as before. Luke,
who was used to these encounters, having read cf them in the
writings of travelers he had accompanied, raised his paddle in
scU-dcfense. The trout left the water about ten feet from the
boat, and came din'ictly at me witn fiery eyes, his speckled sides
flashing like a meteor. I dodged as ,
he whisked !)y with a vicious slaj) of
his bifurcated tail, and nearly upset
the boat. The line was of course
slack; and the danger was that he
would entangle it about me, and carry
away a leg. This was evidently lis
game; but I untangled it, and only
lost a breast-but*on of two by the

ATTACKED BY A TROUT.

sWiftly moving string. The
trout plunged into <he wa-
ter with a hissing sound,
and went away again with
all the line on the reel.
More butt ; more indignation on the part of
the captive. The contest had now been going
on for half an hour, and I was getting ex-
We had been back and forth across the lake, and
What I feared was, that the trout

But

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hausted.

round and round the lake.

would start up the inbt, and wreck us in the bushes,
he had a new fancy, and began the execution of a manoeuvre
which I had never read of. Instead of coming straight t^v.-.-ids
me, he took a large circle, swimming rapidly, rnd gradually con-
tracting his orbit. I reeled in, and kept my eye on him. Round
and round he went, narrowing his circle. I began to suspect the
game; which was, to twist my head off. When he had reduced

THE VILLAGER AND THE SNAKE.

the radius of his circle to abokat tw§nty-fivp feet, he struck a ira*
mendous pace through the water. Tt would be false modesty in
a sportsman to say that I was not equal to the occasion. Instead
of turning round with htm, as he expected, I stepped to the bow,
braced myself, and let 'he boat swing. Round went the fish, and
round wc went like a lop. I saw a line of Mount Marcys all
round the horizon; the rosy tint in the west made a broad band
of pink along the sky above the tree-tops; the evening star was a
perfect circle of light, a hoop of gold in the heavens. We whirled
anil reeled, and reeled and whirled. I was willing to give the
malicious beast butt and line and all, if he would only go the
other way for a change.

When I came to myself, Luke was gafifing the trout at the boat-
side. Aft^r we had got him in, and dressed him, he weighed three-
quarters 01 a pound. Fish always lose by being <' got in and
dressed." It is best to weigh them while they are in the water. The
only really large one I ever caught got away with my leader when I
f rst struck him. He weighed ten pounds,

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THE VILLAGER AND THE SNAKE.

BY GEORGE THOMAS LANIGAN.

^EORGE THOMAS LANIGAN, author of the " World's Fables," was born
at St. Charles, P. Q., Canada, December 10, 1846. He was educated at
the High School, Montreal, Canada, and was upon the editorial staff of the
Nna York World from 1874 until 1883. In 1884 he joined the staff of the
Philadelphia Record, and he was connected with that journal at the time of his
death, which occurred at Philadelphia, February 5, 1886.

A V ILLAGER, one frosty day, found under a Hedge a Snake
almost dead with cold. Moved with compassion, and having
heard that Snake Oil was good for the Rheumatiz, he took it
home and placed it on the Hearth, where it shortly began to
wake and crawl. Meanwhile, the Villager having gone out to
keep an Engagement with a Man 'round the Corner, the Vil-

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,5'

iager's Son (who had not drawn a sober Breath for a Week)
entered, and, beholding the Serpent unfolding its plain, unvar-
nished Tail, with the cry, "I've got 'em again !" fled to the
office of the nearest Justice of the Peace, swore off, and became
an Apostle of Temperance at $700 a week. The beneficent

"GOT 'em again '" \

Snake next bit the Villager's Mother-in-law so severely that
Death soor. ended her sufferings— and his; then silently stole
away, leaving the Villager deeply and doubly in its Debt.

Moral— k Virtuous Action is not always its only Reward. A
Snake in the Grass is Worth twc in the Boot.

(

HOW WE ASTONISHED THE RIVERMOUTHIANS. \ J

HOW WE ASTONISHED THE RIVERMOUTHIANS.

BY THOMAS BAILEY ALDRICH.

^HOMAS BAILEY ALDRICH, born at Portsmouth, N. H., Novcmlicr
II, 1836,13 well known as poet, novelist, essayist and editor. His first
writings were contributed to the local press, and early in life he achieved
immediate and wide recognition through various New York journals, and
through the successive volumes of verse, which have followed one another at
intervals of a few years since the publication of the first in 1 854. He was con-
nected editorially with the New York Evening Mirror, the Home Journal, and
the Saturday Press in New York; in 1866 he was invited by Messrs. Ticknor
& Fields to take charge of their new publication, Every Saturday, and l>e has
ever since resided in Boston. In 1881 he succeeded to the editorship oi Tke
Atlantic Monthly. One of Mr. Aldrich's stories has been translated into
French, German, Italian, Spanish, Danish and Magyar, and all his prose
books have enjoyed European popularity, two of his works having appeared
serially in the Revue des Deux Mondes. His peculiar vein of humor prevails
notably in the volumes," Marjorie Daw and Other People," and in the " Story
of a Bad Boy," but its flavor is felt in nearly every page of prose that he
has written.

Sailor Ben's arrival partly drove the New Orleans project from
my brain. Besides, there was just then a certain movement on
foot by the Centipede Club which helped to engross my attention.

Pepper Whitcorab took the Captain's veto philosophically,
observing that he thought from the first the governor wouldn't
let me go. I don't think Pepper was quite honest in that.

But to the subject in hand.

Among the few changes that had taken place in Rivermouth
during the past twenty years, there is one which I regret. I
lament the removal of all those varnished iron cannon which used
to do duty as posts at the corners of streets leading from the
river. They were quaintly ornamental, each set upon end with a
solid shot s(')ldered into its mouth, and gave to that part of the
town a picturesqueness very poorly atoned for by the conven-
tional wooden stakes that have deposed them.

These guns ("old sogers," the boys called them) had their
story, like everything else in Rivermouth. When that everlast'
ing last war — the war of 181 2, 1 mean— came to an end, all the
brigs, schooners and barks fitted out at this port as privateers were

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as eager to get rid of their useless twelve-pounders and swivels
as they had previously been to obtain them. Many of the pieces
had cost large sums, and now they were little better than sa
much crude iron— not so good, in fact, for they were clumsy
things to break up and melt over. The Government didn't want
them; private citizen didn't want them; they were a drug in the

market.

But there was one man, ridicu-
lous beyond his generation, who
got it into his head that a fortune
was to be made out of these
same guns. To buy them all, to
hold on to them until war was de-
clared again (as he had no doubt
it would be in a few months) and
then sell out at fabulous prices,
this was the daring idea that
addled the pate of Silas Trefethen,
" Dealer in E. & W. I. Goods and
Groceries," as the faded sign over
his shop-door informed the public.
Silas went shrewdly to work,
buying up every old cannon he
could lay hands on. His back-
yard was soon crowded with
broken-down gun-carriages, and
his barn with guns, like an arsenal.
When Silas's purpose got wind, it
was astonishing how valuable that
thing became which just now was
worth nothing at all.

"Ha, ha !" thought Silas ;
" somebody else is tryin' tu git
control of the market. But I
guess I've got the start of ///w."

So he went on buying and buying, oftentimes paying double
the original price of the article. People in the neighboring
towns collected all the n'orthlcss ordnance they could find, and
sent it by the cart-load to Rivcrniouth.

Wherj his barn was tull, Silas began j)iling the rubbish in his

SILAS TRKFETHEN.

HOW WE ASTONISHED TL [■. RIVERMOUTHIANS.

cellar, then in his parlor. He mortgaged the stock of his grocery-
store, mortgaged his house, his barn, his horse, and would have
mortgaged himself, if anyone would have taken him as security,
in order to carry on the grand speculation. He was a ruined
man, and as happy as a lark.

Surely poor Silas was cracked, like the majority of his own can-
non. More or less crazy he must have been always. Years
before this he purchased an elegant rosewood cofifin, and kept it
in one of the spare rooms of his residence. He even had his
name engraved on the silver-plate, leaving a blank after the word
"died."

The blank was filled up in due time, and well it was for Silas
that he secured so stylish a coffin in his opulent days, for when
he died his worldly wealth would not have bought bim a pine
box, to say nothing of rosewood. He never gave up expecting a
war with Great Britain. Hopeful and radiant to the last, his
dying words were, England — 7var—fcw days — great profits !

It was that sweet old lady, Dame Jocelyn, who told me the
story of Silas Trefethen ; for these things happened long before
my day. Silas died in 1817.

At Trefethen's death his unique collection came under the
auctioneer's hammer. Some of the larger guns were sold to the
town, and planted at the corners of divers streets ; others went
off to the iron-foundry ; the balance, numbering twelve, were
dumped down on a deserted wharf at the foot of Anchor Lane,
where, summer after summer, they rested at their ease in the
grass and fungi, pelted in autumn by the rain, and annually buried
by the winter snow. It is with these twelve guns that our story
has to deal.

The wharf where they reposed was shut off from the street by
a high fence — a silent, dreamy old wharf, covered with strange
weeds and mosses. On account of its seclusion and the good
fishing it afforded, it was much frequented by us boys.

Thert^ we met many an afternoon to throw out our lines, or
play leap-frog among the rusty cannon. They were famous
fellows in our eyes. What a racket they had made in the hey-
day of their unchastened youth! What stories they might tell
now, if their puffy metallic lips could only speak! Once they
were lively talkers enough; but there the grim sea-dogs lay^
silent and forlorn in spite of all their former growlings.

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They always seemed to me like a lot of venerable disabled
tars, stretched out on a lawn in front of a hospital, gazing sea-
ward and mutely lamenting their lost youth.

But once more they were destined to lift up their dolorous
voices — once more ere they keeled over and lay speechless for
all time. And this is how it befell:

Jack Harris, Charley Harden, Harry Blake and myself were
fishing off the wharf one afternoon, when a thought flashed upon
me like an inspiration.

"I say, boys!" I cried, hauling in my line hand over hand.
"I've got something! "

"What does it pull like, youngster?" asked Harris, looking
down at the taut line and expecting to see a big perch at least.

"O, nothing in the fish way," I returned, laughing; "It's
about the old guns."

" What about them ? "

" I was thinking what jolly fun it would be to set one of the
old sogers on his legs and serve him out a ration of gunpowder,"

Up came tht three lines in a jiffy. An enterprise better suited
to the disposition of my companions could not have been proposed.

In a short time we had one of the smaller cannon over on its
back and were busy scraping the green rust from the touch-hole.
The mold had spiked the gun so effectually, that for awhile we
fanciea wt should have to give up our attempt to resuscitate the
old sogci.

"A long gimlet would clear it out," said Charley Harden,
" it we only had one."

I looked to see if Sailor Ben's flag was flying at the cabin
door, for he always took in the colors when he went off fishing.

" Wlien you want to know if the Admiral's aboard, jest cast an
eye to the buntin', my hearties," says Sailor Ben.

Sometimes in a jocose mood he called himself the Admiral,
and I am sure he deserved to be one. The Admiral's flag was
flying, and I soon procured a gimlet from his carefully kept
tool-chest.

Before long wc had the gun in working order. A newspaper
lashed to the end of a lath served as a swab to dust out the bore.
Jack Harris blew through the touch-hole and pronounced all
clear.

Seeing our task accomplished so easily, we turned our atten-

HOW WE ASTONISHED THE RIVERMOUTHIANS. 21

tion to the other guns, which lay in all sorts of postures in the
rank grass. Borrowing a rope from Sailor Ben, we managed with
immense labor to drag the heavy pieces into position and place a
brick under each muzzle to give it the proper elevation. When
we beheld them all in a row, like a regular battery, we simulta-
neously conceived an idea, the magnitude of which struck us
dumb for a moment.

Our first intention was to load and fire a single gun. How
feeble and insignificant was such a plan compared to that which
now sent the light
dancing into our
eyes !

"What could we
have been thinking
of !" cried Jack Har-
ris. " We'll give 'em
a broadside, to be
sure, if we die tor it!"

We turned to with
a will, and before*
nightfall had nearly
half the battery over-
hauled and ready for
service. To keep
the artillery dry we
stuffed wads of loose
hemp into the muz-
zles, and fitted wood-
en pegs to the touch-
holes.

At recess the next noon the Centipedes met in a corner of the
schooI-yai:d to talk over the proposed lark. The original pro-
jectors, though they would have liked to keep the thing secret,
were obliged to make 7. 'Mub matter of it, inasmuch ac funds
were required for ammunition. There had been no recent drain
on the treasury, and the society could well afford to spend a fev/
dollars in so notable an undertaking.

It was unanimously agreed that the plan should be carried out
in the handsomest manner and a subscription to that end was
taken on the spot. Several of the Centipedes hadn't a cent,

SAILOR BEN.

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excepting the one strung around their necks ; others, however,
were richer. I chanced to have a dollar, and it went into the cap
quicker than lightning. Wiien the club, in view of my munifi-
cence, voted to name the guns " Uailey's Battery" I was prouder
than I have ever been since over any thin .

The money thus raised, added to that already in the treasury,
amounted to nine dollars — a fortune in those days ; but not
more than we had use for. This sum was divided into twelve
parts, for it would not do for one boy to buy all the powder, nor
even for us all to make our purchases at the same place. That
would excite suspicion at any time, particularly at a period so
remote from the Fourth of July.

There were only three stores in town licensed lo sell powder ;
that gave each store four customers. Not to run the slightest
risk of remark, one boy bought his powder on Monday, the next
boy on Tuesday, and so on until the requisite quantity was in
our possession. This we put into a keg, and carefully hid in a
dry spot on the wharf.

Our next step was to finish cleaning the guns, which occupied
two afternoons, for several of the old sogers were in a very con-
gested state indeed. Having completed the task, we came upon
a difficulty. To set off the battery by daylight was out of the
question ; it must be. done at night ; it must be done with fuses,
for no doubt the neighbors would turn out after the first two or
three shots, and it would not pay to be caught in the vicinity.

Who knew anything about fuses ? Who could arrange it so
the guns would go off one after the other, with an interval of a
minute or so between ?

Theoretically we knew that a minute fuse lasted a minute ;
double the quantity, two minutes; but practically we were at a
standstill. There was but one person who could help us in this
extremity — Sailor Ben. To me was assigned the duty of obtain-
ing what information I could from the ex -gunner, it being left to
my discretion whether or not to intrust him with our secret.

So one evening I dropped into the cabin, and artfully turned
the conversation to fuses in general, and then to particular fuses,
i.ut without getting much out of the old boy, who was busy mak-
ing a twine hammock. Finally, I was forced to divulge the
whole plot.

The Admiral had a sailor's love for a joke, and entered at

r/OW WE ASTONISHED THE RIVERMOUTHIANS.

once and heartily into our scheme. He volunteered to prepare
the fuses himself, and I left the labor in his ..ands, having bound
him by several extraordinary oaths — such as " Hope-I-may-die,"
and " Shiver-my-timbers " — not to betray us, come what would.

This was Monday evening. On Wednesday the fuses were
ready. That night we were to unmuzzle ^Bailey's Battery. Mr,
Grimshaw saw that something was wrong somewhere, for we wer?
restless and absent-minded in the classes, and the best of us came
to giief before the morning session was over. When Mr. Grim-
shaw announced " Guy Fawkes " as the subject of our next
composition, you might have knocked down the Mystic Twelve
with a feather.

The coincidence was certainly curious, but when a man has
committed, or is about to commit, an offense, a hundred trifles,
which would pass unnoticed at another time, seem to point at
him with convicting fingers. No doubt Guy Fawkes himself
received many a start after he had got his wicked kegs of gim-
powder neatly piled up under the House of Lords.

Wednesday, as I aave mentioned, was a half-holiday, and the
Centipedes assembled in my barn to decide on the final arrange^
ments. These were as simple as could be. As the fuses were
connected, it needed but one person to fire the train. Hereupon
arose a discussion as to who was the proper person. Some
argued that I ought to apply the match, the battery being chris-
tened after me, and the main idea, moreover, being mine. Others
advocated the claim of Phil Adams, as the oldest boy. At last
we drew lots for the post of honor.

Twelve slips of folded paper, upon one of which was written
" Thou art the man," were placed in a quart measure, and
thoroughly shaken ; then each member stepped up and lifted out
his destiny. At a given signal we opened our billets. " Thou
art the man," said the slip of paper trembling in my fingers.
The sweets and anxieties of a leader were mine the rest of the
afternoon.

Directly after twilight set in Phil Adams stole down to the
wharf and fixed the fuses to the guns, laying a train of powder
from the principal fuse to the fence, tr "ough a chink of which I
was to drop the match at midnight.

At te 1 o'clock Rivermouth goes to bed. At eleven o'clock
Rivermouth is as quiet as a country churchyard. At twelve

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o'clock there is nothing left with which to compare the stillness
that broods over the little seaport.

In the midsL of this stillness I arose and glided out of the
house like a phantom bent on an evil errand ; like a phantom I
flitted through the silent street, hardly drawing breath until I
knelt down beside the fence at the appointed place.

Pausing a moment for my heart to stop thumping, I lighted
the match and shielded it with both hands until it was well under
way, and then dropped the blazing splinter on the slender thread
of gunpowder.

A noiseless flash instantly followed, and all was dark again.
I peeped through the crevice in the fence, and saw the main fuse
spitting out sparks like a conjurer. Assured that the train had
not failed, I took to my heels, fearful lest the fuse might burn
more rapidly than we calculated, and cause an explosion before I
could get home. This, luckily, did not happen. There's a special
Providence that watches over idiots, drunken men, and boys.

I dodged the ceremony of undressing by plunging into bed,
jacket, boots and all I am not sure I took off my cap ; but I
know that I hardly pulled the coverlid over me, when " UOOM!"
sounded the first gun of Bailey's Battery.

I lay as still as a mouse. In less than two minutes there was
another burst of thunder, and then another. The third gun was
a tremendous fellow, and fairly shook the house.

The town was waking up. Windows were thrown open here
and there, and people called to each other across the streets, ask-
ing what that firing was for.

'• BOOM!" went gun number four.

I sprung out of bed and tore off my jacket, for I heard the
Captain feeling his way along the wall to my chamber, I was
half undressed by the time he found the knob of the door.

'* I say, sir," I cried, '* do you hear those guns ? "

"Not being deaf, I do," said the Captain, a little tartly — any
reflection on his hearing always nettled him — "but what on
earth they are for I can't conceive. You had better get up and
dress yourself."

" I'm nearly dressed, sir."

" BOOM ! BOOM ! "—two of the guns had gone off together.

The door of Miss Abigail's bedroom opened hastily, and that
pink of maidenly propriety stepped out into the hall in her night-

HOW WE ASTONISHED THE RIVERMOUTHIANS,

gown — the only indecorous thing I ever knew her to do. She
held a lighted candle in her hand., and looked like a very aged
Lady Macbeth.

'< Oh, Dan'el, this is dreadful ! .v^hat do you suppose it
means ? "

" I really can't suppose." said the Captain, rubbing his ear;
"but I guess it's over now."

'<BOOM!" said Bailey's Battery.

Rivermouth was wide awake now, and half the male population
were in the streets, running different ways, for the firing seemed
to proceed from opposite points of the town. Everybody wa}--
laid everybody else with questions ; but as no one knew what
was the occasion of the tumult, people who were not usually
nervous began to be oppressed by the mystery.

Some thought the town was being bombarded ; some thought
the world was coming to an end, as the pious and ingenious Mr.
Miller had predicted it would ; but those who couldn't form any
theory whatever were the most perplexed.

In the mean while Bailey's Battery bellowed away at regular
intervals. The greatest confusion reigned everywhere by this
time. People with lanterns rushed hither and thither. The
town-watch had turned out to a man, and marched off, in admir-
able order, in the wrong direction. Discovering their mistake,
they retraced their steps, and got down to the wharf just as the
last cannon belched forth its lightning.

A dense cloud of sulphurous smoke floated over Anchor l^ane,
obscuring the starlight. Two or three hundred people, in vari-
ous stages of excitement, crowded about the upper end of the
wharf, not liking to advance farther until they were satisfied that
the explosions were over. A board was here and there blown
from the fence, and through the openings thus afforded a few
of the more daring spirits at lerigth ventured to crawl.

The cause of the racket soon transpired. A suspicion that
they had been sold gradually dawned on the Rivermouthians.
Many were exceedingly indignant, and declared that no penalty
was severe enough for those concerned in such a prank; others —
and these were the very people who had been terrified nearly out
of their wits — had the assurance to laugh, saying that they knew
all along it was only a trick.

The town-watch boldly took possession of the ground, and the

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cruwcl l)cy:an to disperse. Kiiula uf gossips lingered here and
there near the place, indulging in vain surmises as to who the
invisible gunners could be.

There was no more noise that night, but many a timid person
lay awake, expecting a renewal of the mysterious cannonading.
The Oldest Inhabitant refuseil to go to bed on any terms, but
persisted in sitting up in a rocking-chair, with his hat and mittens
on, until daybreak.

I thought I should never get to sleep. The moment I drifted
off in a doze I fell to laughing, and woke myself up. But
tov.-ards morning slumber overtook mc, and I had a series of dis-
agreeable dreams, in one of which I was waited upon by the

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THE KND OF BAILLV S BATTKRV.

ghost of Silas Trefethen with an exorbitant bill for the use of
his guns. In another, I was dragged before a court-martial, and
sentenced by Sailor Ben, in a frizzled wig and three-cornered
cocked hat, to be shot to death by Bailey's Battery — a sentence
which Sailor Ben was about to execute with his own hand, when
I suddenly opened my eyes and found the sunshine lying pleas-
antly across my face. I tell you I was glad !

That unaccountal)le fascination which leads the guilty to hover
about the spot w ""e his crime was committed, drew me down to
the wharf as soon as I was dressed. Phil Adams, Jack Harris
and others of the conspirators v/ere already there, examini ig with
a mingled feeling of curiosity and apprehension tht havoc
accomplished by the battery.

HO IV WE ASTONISHED THE RIVERMOUTHIANS.

The fence was l)aclly shattered, and the ground ploughed up
for several yards round the place where the ^uns formerly lay —
formerly lay, for now they were scattered every which way.
There was scarcely a gun that hadn't burst. Here was one
ripped open from muzzle to breech, and there was another with
its mouth blown into the shape of a trumpet. 'I'hree of the guns
had disappeared bodily, but on looking over the edge of the
wharf we saw them standing on end in the tide-mud. They had
popped overboard in their excitement.

"I tell you what, fellows," whispered Phil Adams, "It is
lucky we didn't try to touch 'em off with punk. They'd have
blown us all to flinders."

The destruction of Bailey's Battery was not, unfortunately, the
only catastrophe. A fragment of one of the cannon had carried
away the chimney of Sailor Ben's cabin. He was very mad at
iirst, but having prepared the fuse himself, he didn't dare com-
plain openly.

" I'd have taken a reef in the blessed stove-pipe," said the
Admiral, gazing ruefully at the smashed chimney, " if I had
known as how the flag-ship was agoin' to be under fire."

The next day he rigged out an iron funnel, which, being in
sections, could be detached and taken in at a moment's notice.
On the whole, I think he was resigned to the demolition of his
brick chimney. The stove-pipe was a great deal more shipshape.

The towi. was not so easily appeased. The selectmen deter-
mined to make an example of the guilty parties, and offered a
leward for their arrest, holding out a promise of pardon to any
one of the offenders who would (urnish information against the
rest. But there were no faint hearts among the Centipedes.
Suspicion rested for a while on several persons — on the soldiers
at the fort; on a crazy fellow, known about town as " Bottle-
Nose;" and at last on Sailor Ben.

"Shiver my timbers!" cried the deeply injured individual,
" Do you suppose, sir, as I have lived to sixty years, an' aint got
no more sense than to go for to blaze away at my own upper
riggin' ? It doesn't stand to reason."

It certainly did not seem probable that Mr. Watson would
maliciously knock over his own chimney, and Lawyer Hackett,
who had the case in hard, bowed himself out of the Admiral's
cabin, convinced that Ine right man had not been discovered.

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MARK TWAIN'S UHKAKV OF HUMOR.

People liviiiji liy the sea are always more or less superstitions.
Stories of spectre ships and inysteriuiis jjcacoiis, tliat lure vessels
out of their course and wreck them on unknown reels, were
amonj; the stock legends of Rivermouth; and nut a few people
in the town were ready to attribute the firing of those guns to
some sujiernatural agency. The Oldest Inhabitant remembered
that when he was a boy a dim-looking sort of schooner hove to in
the ofifing one foggy afternoon, fired off a single gun, that didn't
make any report, and then crumbled to nothing, spar, mast and
hull, like a piece of burnt paper.

The authorities, however, were of the opinion that human
hands ha,! something to do witli the explosion, and they resorted
to deep-Iaiil stratagems to get hold of the said hands. One of
their traps came very near catching us. They artfully caused
an olil brass field-piece to be left on a wharf near the scene
of our late operations. Nothing in the world but the lack of
money to buy powder saved us from falling into the clutches of
the two watchmen, who lay secreted for a week iii a neighbor-
ing sail-loit.

It was many a day before the midnight bombardment ceased
to be the town -talk. The trick wisso audacious, and on so
grand a scale, that nobody thought for an instant of connecting
us lads with it. Suspicion, at length, grew weary of lighting on
the wrong person, and as conjecture — like the physicians in the
epitaph — was in vain, the Rivermouthians gave up the idea of
finding out who had astonished them.

They never did find out, and never will, unless they read this
veracious history. If the selectmen are still disposed to punish
the malefactors, I can supply I^awyer Hackett with evidence
enough to convict Pepper Whitcomb, Phil Adams, Charley
Harden and the other honorablf^ members of the Centipede Club.
But, really, I don't think it *H:»uld pay now.

!i.:|

THE LEGEND OF MIMIR.

BY ROBERT JONES BURDETTE

tnOBERT JONES BURDETTE was born nt Grecnesborough, Pa., July 30,
^ X 1844, His family removed to Illinois, where he received an education in
the Peoria public schools, and where he enlisted for the war in 1862. Some
years alter his return he liccamc associate ef''tor of the Burlington Jlawkeye,
with wliiclt his name is identified. He is well known as a humorous lecturer
and author.

It is a beautiful legend of the Norse land, Amilias was the
village blacksmith, and under the spreading chestnut treekjn, his
vili.ige sniithophjken stood He the hot iron gehammercd and
sjhod horses for
fifty cents all
round please.
He made t i n
hjclmets for the
gjodds,and stove
pjipc trousers for
the hjcroes.

Mimir was a
rival blacksmith.
He didn't go in
very much for
defensive armor,
but he was light-
ning on two-
edged Bjswords
and c u t - a n d -
slash svjcutlass-
ssscs. He made

chyjeese knives for the gjodds, and he made the great Bjsvsstnsen,
an Arkansaw toothpick that would make a free incision clear
into the transverse semi-colon of a cast-iron Ichthyosaurus, and
never turn its edge. That was the kind of a Bhjairpin Mimir
said lie was.

One day Amilias made an impenetrable suit of armor for a
bKicond-class gjodd, and put it on himself to test it, and boastfully

"SHAKE YOURSELF.

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inserted a card in the Svensska Norderbjravisk jkanaheldesplvidcn-
skgorodovusakeiiy saying that he was wearing a suit of home-made,
best chilled Norway merino underwear, that would nick the
unnumbered saw teeth in the pot metal cutlery of the iron-mon-
gery ever the way. That, Amilias remarked to his friend Bjohnn
Bjrobinssson, was the kind of a Bdjucckk he was.

When Mimir spelled out the card next morning, he said,
<' Bjjj ! " and went to work with a charcoal furnace, a cold anvil,
and the new isomorphic process, and in a little while he came
down-street with a sjword, that glittered like a dollar-store diamond,
and met Amilias down by the new opera-house. Amilias buttoned
on his new Bjarmor and said:

" If you have no hereafter use for your chyjeese kjnife, strike."

Mimir spat on his hands, whirled his skjword above his head
and fetched Amilias a swipe that seemed to miss everything
except the empty air, through which it softly whistled. Amilias
smiled, and said "goon," adding that it " seemed to him he
felt a general sense of cold iron somewhere in the neighborhood,
but he hadn't been hit."

"Shake yourself," said Mimir.

Amilias shook himself, and immediately fell into halves, the
most neatly divided man that ever went beside himself.

" That's where the boiler-maker was away off in his diagnosis,"
said Mimir, as he went back to his shop to put up the price of
cutlery 65 per cent, in all lines, with an unlimited advance on
special orders.

Thus do we learn that a good action is never thrown away, and
that kind words and patient love will overcome the harshest
natures.

TUSHMAKER'S TOOTHPUI.LER.

TUSHMAKER'S TOOTHPULLER.

BY GEORGE H. DERBY.

/^EORGE H. DERBY, the first of the great modern humorists, who made
^-^ his pseudonym of •♦John Phoenix " a household word, was bom in Nor-
folk County, Mass., in 1824, of an old Salem family. He was graduated at
West Point (where his peculiar gift frequently showed itself) in 1846, and he
saw active service as Captain of Engineers in the Mexican War. He was
wounded atCerro Gordo, and at the conclusion of the war he was stationed in
California. It was here that he published (first in the San Diego Herald) the
humorous pieces which won him immediate celebrity throughout the country.
He was sunstruck while building lighthouses on the Florida coast ; soften-
ing of the brain ensued, and ha died in an insaneasylum at New York in 1861.

Dr. Tushmaker was never regularly bred as a physician or
surgeon, but he possessed naturally a strong mechanical genius
and a fine appetite; and finding his teeth of great service in grat-
ifying the latter propensity, he concluded that he could do more
good in the world, and create more real happiness therein, by put-
ting the teeth of its inhabitants in good order, than in any other
way; so Tushmaker became a dentist. He was the. man that first
invented the method of placing small cog-wheels in the back
teeth for the more perfect mastication of food, and he claimed to
be the original discoverer of that method of filling cavities with a
kind of putty, which, becoming hard directly, causes the tooth to
ache so grievously that it has to be p'llled, thereby giving the
dentist two successive fees for the same job. Tushmaker was
cue day seated in his office, in the city of Boston, Massachusetts,
when a stout old fellow, named Byles, presented himself to have a
back tooth drawn. The dentist seated his patient in the chair of
torture, and, opening his mouth, discovered there an enormous
tooth, on the right hand side, about as large, as he afterwards
expressed it, " as a small Polyglot Bible." I shall have trouble
with this tooth, thought Tushmaker, but he clapped on his hea-
viest forceps, and pulled. It didn't come. Then he tried the
turn-screw, exerting his utmost strength, but the tooth wouldn't

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stii. ''CJo ?\Vc.y from here," said Tushmaker to Byles, "and
return i'" a week, and I'll draw that tooth for you, or kr.ow the
reason why." Byles got up, clapped a handkerchief to his jaw,
and put forth. Then the dentist went to work, and in three days
he invented an instrument which he was confident would pull any-
thing. It was a combination of the lever, pully, wheel and axle,
inclmed plane, wedge and screw. The cast-
ings were made, and the machine put up in
the office, over an iron chair rendered per-
fectly stationary by iron rods going down
into the foundations of the granite building.
In a week old Byles returned; he was clamped
into the iron chair, the for-
ceps connected with the
machine attached firmly to
the tooth, and Tushmaker,
stationing himself in the
rear, took hold of a lever
four feet in length. He
turned it slightly. Old Byles
gave a groan and lifted his
right leg. Another turn ;
another groan, and up went
the leg again. •' What do
you raise your leg for?"
asked the doctor. " I can't
help it/' said the patient.
«'Well," rejoined Tush-
maker, '' that tooth is bound
to come out now."

He turned the lever clear
round with a sudden jerk,
and snapped old Byles's

head clean and clear from his shoulders, leaving a space of
four inches between the severed parts ! They had xsl post-vwrtcnt
examination — the roots of the tooth were found extending down
the right side, through the right leg, and turning up in two
prongs under the sole of the right foot! "No wonder," said
Tushmaker, "he raised his right leg." The jury thorght so
too, but they found the roots much decayed; and five sur-

TUSHMAKERS WONDERFUL TOOTH-
PULLER.

THE TOMB OF ADAM,

geons swearing that mortification would have ensued in a few
months, Tushmaker was cleared on a verdict of " justifiable
homiciflc " He was a little shy of that instrument for some time
afterward; but one day an old lady, feeble and flaccid, came in
to have a tooth drawn, and thinking it would come out very easy,
Tushmaker concluded, just by way of variety, to try the machine.
He did so, and at the first turn drew the old lady's skeleton com-
pletely and entirely from her body, leaving her a mass of quiv-
ering jelly in her chair ! Tushmaker took her home in a pillow-
case. She lived seven years after that, and they called her the
'<India-Rubber Woman." She had suffered terribly with the
rheumatism, but after this occurrence, never had a pain in her
bones. The dentist kept them in a glass case. After this, the
machine was sold to the contractor of the Boston Custom-house,
and it was found that a child of three years of age could, by a
single turn of the screw, raise a stone weighing twenty-three tons.
Smaller ones were made on the same principle, and sold to the
keepers of hot nd restaurants. They were used for boning
turkies. Th; r. > 10 moral to this story whatever, and it is pos-
sil)le that the circumstances may have become slightly exagger-
ated. Of course, there can be no doubt of the truth of the main
incidents.

THE TOMB OF ADAM.

BY MARK TWAIN.

The Greek Chapel is the most roomy, the richest and the show-
iest chapel in the Church of the Holy Sepulchre. Its altar, like
that of all the Greek churches, is a lofty screen that extends clear
across the chapel, and is gorgeous with gildingand pictures. The
numerous lamps that hang before it are of gold and silver, and
cost great sums.

But the feature of the place is a short column that rises from
the middle of the marble pavement of the chapel, and marks the
exact centre of the earth.

To satisfy himself that this spot was really the centre of the
earth, a skeptic once paid well for the privilege of ascending to
the dome of the church, to see if the sun gave him a shadow at
noon. He came down perfectly convinced. The day was very

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cloudy, and the sun threw no shadows at all; but the man was
satisfied that if the sun had come out and made shadows, it
could not have made any for him. Proofs like these are not to
be set aside by the idle tongues of cavilers. To such as are not
bigoted, and are willing to be convinced, they carry a conviction
that nothing m ever shake.

If even gi eater proofs than those I have mentioned ire wanted,

to satisfy the headstrong
and foolish that this is the
genuine centre of the earth,
they are here. The greatest
of them lies in the fact that
from under this very column
was taken the di/sf frojn
which Adam taas made. This
can surely be regarded in
the lignt of a settler. It is
not likely that the original
first man would have been
made from an interior qual-
ity of earth, when it was
entirely convenient to get
first quality from the world's
centre. This will strike any
reflecting mind for-
cibly. That Adam
was formed of dirt
procured in this very
spot, is amply prov-
en by the fact that
in six thousand
years no man has
ever been able to prove that the dirt was no/ procured here
whereof he was made. \

It is a singular circumstance that right under the roof of this
same great church, and not far away from that illustrious column,
Ad:.in himself, the father of the human race, lies buried. There
is no (juestion that he is actually buried in the grave which is
pointed out as his — there can be none — because it has never yet
been proven that that grave is not the grave in which he is buried.

o^^t:^ H

THE GRAVE OF A RELATIVE.

J \

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THE NEW LIVERY.

The tomb of Adam ! How touching it was, here in a land of
strangers, far away from home and friends and all who cared for
me, thus to discover the grave of a blood relation ! True, a distant
one, but still a relation. The .merring instinct of nature thrilled
its recognition. The fountain of my filial affection was stirred to
its profoundest depths, and I gave way to tumultuous emotion.

I leaned upon a pillar and burst into tears. I deem it no shame
to have wept over the grave of my poor dead relative. Let him
who would sneer at my emotion close this volume here, for he
will find little to his taste in my journeyings through Holy Land..
Nol:le old man— he did not live to see me — he did not live tosee''
his child. And I — I— alas, I did not live to see him. Weighed*"
down hy sorrow and disappointment, he died before I was born
— six thousand brief summers before I was born. But let us try
to oear it with fortitude. Let us trust that he is better off where
he is. Let us take comfort in the thought that his loss is our
eternal gain.

REV. CREAM CHEESE AND THE NEW LIVERY.

A LETTER FROM MRS. POTIPHAR TO MISS CAROLINE PETTITOES.
BY GEORGE WILLIAM CURTIS. •

^EORGE WM. CURTIS was born at Providence, R. I., February 24, 1824,
but his father removed to New York when the son was fifteen, and he
spent the next year in a counting-house. In 1842 he became a membei- of the
lamous Brook Farm community. Four years later he went to Europe and the
East, and on his return pubUshed his two books of travel "Nile Notes cf a
Howadji,"and "The llowadji in Syria," shortly alter followed by a book of
American summer travel and sojourn, "Lotus Eating." This was originally
printed in the New York 'I'ribtmf, on which he was for a while a writer. He
became editor of Ptttttam^s Magazine, and lost his whole private fortune in the
effort to save its creditors when it failed. Then he devoted himself to popular
lecturing, and achieved almost unrivaled success. At the time of the Kansas
troubles, he threw himself ardently into politics on the side of the Republican
party, then forming, aid he haseversince continued an active, influential and
conscientious member of that organization, lending his whole strength to reform
within it, and struggling to keep it to itg original ideals. For twenty yeais his
services as editor ot //(3r/i?;-'j Weekly '^xd.st been inestimable in this direction.
He has written every month the essays oi the Easy Chair in Harper'' s Magazine,
.iiid he is the author of " Trumps: a Novel." " The Potiphar Papers," in which
his humorous gift is chiefly shown, arc a series of sketches and stories scourging <
;he follies of New York society in 1854. *' Prue and I," a book of romantic
essays, is one of th t loveliest books in the language.

New York, April.
My dear Caroline: — Lent came so frightfully early this
ye,tr, that I was very much afraid my new bonnet, ct V ImpcratricCy

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would not be out from Paris soon enough. But fortunately it
arrived just in time, ind I had the satisfaction of taking down
the pride of Mrs. Croesus, who fancied hers would be the only
stylish hat in church the first Sunday. She could not keep her
eyes away from me, and I sat so unmoved, and so calmly looking
at the Doctor, t^^at she was quite vexed. But, whenever she
turned away, I \ my eyes over the whole congregation, and
would you beli» »'e that, almost without an exception, people had
their old things ! However, I suppose they forgot how soon
Lent was coming. As I was passing out of church, Mrs. Croesus
brushed by me.

"Ah!" said she, "good morning. Why, bless me! you've
got that pretty hat I saw at Lawson's. Wei', now, it's really
quiti pretty; Lawson has some taste left yec; what a lovely
sern:on the Doctor gave us. By-the-by, did you know that Mrs.
Gnu has -ictually bought the blue velvet ? It's too bad, because
I wanted to cover my prayer-book with blue, and she sits so
near, the effect of my book will be quite spoiled. Dear me !
there she is beckoning to me: gocd-by, do come and see us;
Tuesdays, you know. Well, Lawson really does very well."

I was so mad with the old thing, that I could not help catching
her by her mantle and holding on while I whispered, loud enough
for everybody to hear:

*' Mrs. Croesus, you see I have just got my bonnet from Paris.
It's made after the Empress's. If you would like to have your:;
made over in the fashion, dear Mrs. Croesus, I shall be so glad
to lend yon mine."

"No, thank you, dear," said she; "Lawson won't do for me.
By-by."

And so she slipped out, and, I've no doubt, told Mrs. Gnu
that she had seen my bonnet at Lawson's.

I've so many things to tell you that I hardly know where to
begin. The great thing is the livery, but I want to come regu-
larly up to that, and forget nothing by the way. I was uncertain
for a long time how to have my prayer-book bound. Finally,
after thinking about it a great deal, I concluded to have it done
in pale blue velvet, with gold clasps, and a gold cross upon the
side. To Ite sure, it's nothing very new. But what is new now-
adays ? Sally Shrimp has had hers done in emerald, and I
know Mrs. Croesus will have crimson for hers, and those peo-

THE NEW LIVERY.

pie who sit next us in church (I wonder who they are: it's very
unpleasant to sit next to people you don't know; and, positively,
that girl, the dark-haired one with large eyes, carries the same
muff she did last year; it's big enough for a family) have a kind
of brown morocco binding. I must tell you one reason why I
fixed upon the pale blue. You know Ihat aristocratic-looking
young man, in white cravat and black pantaloons and waistcoat,
whom we saw at Saratoga a year ago, and who always had such
a beautiful, sanctimonious look, . •

and such small white hands; well,
he is a minister, as we supposed,
" an unworthy candidate, an un-
profitable husband," as he calls
himself in that delicious voice of
his. He has been quite taken up
among us. He has been asked
a good deal to dinner, and there
was hope of his being settled as
colleague to the Doctor, only Mr.
Potiphar (who can be stubborn,
you know) insisted that the Rev.
Cream Cheese, though a very
good young man, he didn't
doubt, was addicted to candle-
sticks. I suppose that's some-
thing awful. But could you be-
lieve anything awful of him ? I
asked Mr. Potiphar what he meant
by saying such things.

"I mean," said he, ** that he's
a Puseyite, and I've no idea of
being tied to the apron-strings of
the Scarlet Woman."

Dear Caroline, who is the Scarlet Woman ! Dearest, tell me,
upon your honor, if you have ever heard any scandal of Mr.
Potiphar.

"What is it about candlesticks?" said I to Mr. Potiphar.
"Perhaps Mr. Cheese finds gas too bright for his eyes; and
that's his misfortune, not his fault."

"Polly," said Mr. Potiphar — who w///call me Polly, although

MRS. CROESUS-

MARK TIVAIN'S LIBRARY OF HUMOR.

it sounds so very vulgar — "please not to meddle with things you
don't understand. You may have Cream Cheese to dinner as
much as you choose, but I will not have him in the pulpit of my
church."

The same day, Mr. Cheese happened in about lunch-time, and
I asked him if his eyes were really weak.

"Not at all," said he; " why oc you ask?"

'J'hen I told him that I had heard that he was so fond of
candlesticks.

Ah ! Caroline, you should have seen him then. He stopped
in the midst of pouring out a glass of Mr. P.'s best old port, and,
holding the decanter in one hand and the glass in the other, he
looked so beautifully sad, and said in tl...t sweet low voice:

" Dear Mrs. Potiphar, the blood of the martyrs is the seed of
the church." Then he filled up his glass, and drank the wine
off with such a mournful, resigned air, and wiped his lips so
gently with his cambric handkerchief (I saw that it was a hem-
stitch), that I had no voice to ask him to take a bit of the cold
chicken, which he did, however, without my asking him. But
when he said, in the same low voice, "A little more breast,
dear Mrs. Potiphar," I was obliged to run into the drawing-room
for a moment, to recover myself.

Well, after he had lunched, I told him that I wished to take
his advice upon something connected with the church (for a
prayer-book is, you know, dear), and he looketl so sweetly at me,
that, would you believe it, I almost wished to be a Cath(;lic, and
to confess three or four times a week, and to have him for my
confessor. But it's very, wicked to wish to be a Catholic, and it
wasn't real much, you know: but somehow I thought so. When
I asked him in what velvet he would advise me to have my
prayer-book bound, he talked beautifully for about twenty min-
utes. I wish you could have heard him. I'm pot sure that I
understood much of what he said — how should I ? — but it was
very beautiful. Don't laugh, Carrie, but there was one thing I
did understand, and which, as it came pretty often, quite helped
me through: it was, "Dear Mrs. Potiphar;" you can't tell how
nicely he says it. He began by telling me that it was very im-
portant to consider all the details and little things about the
church. He said they were all timbales, or cymbals — or some-
thing of that kind; and then he talked very prettily about the

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THE NEW LIVERY.

stole, and the violet and scarlet capes of the cardinals, and
purple chasubles, and the lace edge of the Pope's little short
gown; and — do you know it was very funny — but it seemed to
inc, somehow, as if I was talking with Portieror Florine Lefevre,
except that he used such beautiful words. Well, by and by he
said :

" Therefore, dear Mrs. Potiphar, as your faith is so pure and
childlike, and as I observe that the
light from the yellow panes usually
falis across your pew, I would advise
that you cymbalize your faith
(wouldn't that be noisy in church ?)
by binding your prayer-book in pale
blue; the color of skim-milk,
dear Mrs. Potiphar, which is
so full of pastoral associa-
tions."

Why did he emphasize the
word " pastoral " ? Do you
wonder that I like Cream
Cheese, dear Caroline, when he is so
gentle and religious — and such a
pretty religion, too ! For he is not
only well-dressed, and has such aris-
tocratic hands and feet, in the parlor,
but he is so perfectly gentlemanly in
the pulpit. He never raises his voice
too louCi, and he has such wavy

gestures.

You can imagine bow pleasantly the seed of the church
Lent is passing since I see so much

o^ him; and then it is so appropriate to Lent to be intimate
with a minister. He goes with me to church a great deal; for
Mr. Potiphar, of course, has no time for that, except on Sundays;
and it is really delightful to see such piety. He makes the
responses in the most musical manner; and when he kneels upon
entering the pew, he is the admiration of the whole church. He
buries his f, ce entirely in a cloud of cambric pocket-handkerchief,
with his initial embroidered at the corner; and his hair is beautifully
parted down behind, which is very fortunate, as otherwise it would

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look so badly when only half his head showed How

thankful we ought to be that we live now with so many churches,
and such fine ones, and such gentlemanly ministers as Mr. Cheese.
And how nicely it's arranged that, after dancing ar.d dining for
two or three months constantly, daring which, of course, we can
only go to church Sundays, there comes a time for stopping, when
W'-' are tired out, and for going to church every day, and (as Mr.
P. says) "striking a balance;" and thinking about being good,
and all tho.^e things. We don't lose a great deal, you know. It
makes a variety, and we all see each other just the same, only
we don't dance

I asked Mr. Cheese what he thought of balls, whether it was
so very wicked to dance, and go to parties, if one only went to
church twice a day on Sundays. He patted his lips a moment
with his handkerchief, and then he said — and, Caroline, you can
always quote the Rev. Cream Cheese as authority —

" Dear Mrs. Potiphar, it is recorded in Holy Scripture that the
King dancetl before the Lord."

Darling, // anything should happen^ 1 don't believe he would
object much to your dancing,

What gossips we women are, to be sure ! I meant to write you
about our new livery, and I am afraid I have tired you out already.
You remember, when you were here, I said that I meant to have
a livery; for my sister Margaret told me that when they used to
drive in Hyde Park, with the old Marquis of Mammon, it was
always so delightful to hear him say,

"Ah ! there is Lady Lobster's livery,"

It was so aristocratic. And in countries where certain colors
distinguish certain families, and are hereditary, so to say, it is
convenient and pleasant to recognize a coat-of-arms, or a livery,
and to know that the representative of a great and famous fam-
ily is passing by.

"That's a Howard, that's a Russell, that's a Dorset, that's De
Colique, that's Mount Ague," old Lord Mammon used to say as
the carriages whirled !>y. He knew none of them personally,
I believe, except De Colique, and Mount Ague, but then it was
so agreeable to be able to know their liveries. .

Now, why shouldn't we have the same arrangement ? Why not
have the Smith colors, and the Brown colors, and the Black col-
ors, and the Potiphar colors, etc., so that the people might say,
"Ah ! there go the Potiphar arms."

THE NEW LIVERY.

There is one difficulty, Mr. P. says, and that is, that he found
five hundred antl sixty-seven Smiths in the Directory, which
nii^jht lead to some confusion. But that was al)surd, as I told him,
because everybody would know which of the Smiths was able to
keep a carriaj^'c, so that the livery would be reco^j;nized directly
the moment that any of the family were seen in the carriage.
Upon which he said, in his provoking way, ** Why have any liv-
ery at all, then?" and he persisted in saying that no Smith was
ever the Smith for three generations, and that he knew at least
twenty, each of whom was able to set up liis carriage and stand
by his colors.

" But then a liverv is so elegant and aristocratic," said I, " and
it shows that a servant is a servant."

That last was a strong argument, and I thought that Mr. P.
would have nothing to say against it; but he rattled on for some
time, asknig me what right I had to i>e aristocratic, or, in fact,
any body else; went over his eternal old talk about aping foreign
habits, as if we hadn't a right to adopt the good usages of all
nations, and finally said that the use of liveries among us was
not only a " pure peacock absurdity," as he called it, but that
no genuine American would ever ask another to assume a menial
badge.

"Why ? " said I, " is not an American servant a servant still ? "

" Most undoubtedly," he said ; *' and when a man is a servant,
let him serve faithfully ; and in this country especially, where
to-morrow he may be the served, and not the servant, let him not
be ashamed of serving. But, Mrs. Potiphar, I beg you to observe
that a servant's livery is not, like a general's uniform, the badge
of honorable service, but of menial service. Of course, a serv-
ant may be as honorable as a general, and his work quite as
necesi-'fy and well done. But, for all that, it is not so respected
nor coveted a situation, I believe ; and, in social estimation, a
man suffers by wearing a l.very, as he never would if he wore
none. And while in countries in which a man is proud of being
a servant (as every man may well be of being a good one), and
never looks to anything else, nor desires any change, a livery
may be very proper to the state of society, and very agreeable
to his own feelings, it is quite another thing in a society consti-
tuted upon altogether different principles, where the servant of
to-day is the senator of to-morrow. Besides that, which I sup-

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MARK TWAIN'S LIBRARY OF HUMOR,

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pose is too finc-spiin for you, livery is ;i remnant of a feudal
state, of which we abolisli every trace as fast as we can. That
vvhich is rep'-esented by livery is not consonant with our
principles."

How the man runs on, when he gets going this way ! I said, in
answer to all this flourish, that 1 considered a livery very much
the thing ; that European families had liveries, and American
families might have liveries ; that there was an end of it, and I
meant to have one. llesides, if it is a matter of family, 1 should
like to know who has a belter right? I'here was Mr. I'otiphar's
grandfather, tt) be sure, was only a skillful blacksmith and a good
citizen, as Mr. P. says who brought up a family in the fear of
the Lord.

Mow (nldly he puts those things !

Ikit tin ancestors, as you know, are a different matter. Starr
Mole, who interests himself in genealogies, and knows the family
name and crest of all the iMiglish nobility, has " climbed our
family tree," as Staggers says, ami fmds that I am lineally
descended from one of those two brothers who came over in
some of thosi: old times, in some of those old ships, and settled
in some t)t those okl places somewhere. So you see, dear Caro-
line, if birth give any one a right to coats of arms and liveries,
and all those things, I feel myself suliticiently entitled to have
them.

But I don't care anything about that. The Gnus, and Croe-
suses, and Silkes, and theSettem Downes have their coats of arms,
and crests, and liveries, and I am not going to be behinil, I tell
you, Mr. P. ought to remember that a great many of these
families were famous before they came to this country, and there
is a kind of interest in having on your ring, for instance, the
same crest that your ancestor two or three centuries ago had
upon her ring. One day I was (juite wrought up about the mat-
ter, and I said as much to him.

"Certainly," said he, "certainly; you are quite right. If I
had Sir Philip Sidney to my ancestor, 1 should wear his crest
upon my ring, and glory in my relationship, and I hope I should
be a better man for it. I wouldn't put his arms upon my car-
riage, however, because that would mean nothing but ostentation.
It would be merely a flourish of trumpets to say that I was his
descendant, and nobody would knov/ that, either, if my name

THE MAV l.ll'EKY.

chanced to be Bi)ggs. In my library I might hang a copy of the
iaiiiily escutcheon, as a matter of interest and curiosity to myself,
for \'v\\ sure I slioulchi't uniierstanil it. Do y(ju supjxjse Mrs.
(Inu knows what ^v/A-j argent ixxc} A man may tte as proud of
his family as he chooses, and, if he have noble ancestors, with
good reason. lUit there is no sense in parading that pride. It is
an afi'eclation, the more foolish that it achieves n(;lhing— no more
credit at Stewart's — no more real respect in society. Ilesides,
Poll}-, uln) were Mrs. (Inu's ancestors, or Mrs. Crcesus's, (jr Mrs.
Settem Downe's ? (looil, quiet, honest and humble people, who
did their work, and rest from their labor. Centuries Mgo, in
I'lngland, some drops of blood from * noble ' veins nuiy have
mingled with the blood of their forefathers ; or, even, the
founder of the family name may be historically famous. What
then? Is Mrs. Gnu's family ostentation less absurd? Do you
understand the meaning of her crest, and coats of arms, and
liveries? Do you suppose she does herself ? But in forty-nine
cases out of fifty, thi;re is nothing but a similarity of name upon
which to found all this flourish of aristocracy."

My dear old Pot is getting rather prosy, Carrie. So, when he
had finished that long speech, during which I was looking at the
lovely fashion-plates in Harper ^ I said:

" What colors do you think I'd better have? "

He looked at me with that singular expression, and went out
suddenly, as if he were afraid he might say something.

He had scarcely gone before I heard:

'* My dear Mrs. Potiphar, the sight of you is refreshing as
Hermon's dew."

I colored a little ; Mr. Cheese says such things so s )'''.-y. But
I said good morning, and then asked him about liverie.; etc.

He raised his hand to his cravat (it was the most snowy lawn,
Carrie, and tied in a splendid bow).

"Is not this a livery, dear Mrs. Potiphar?"

And then he went off into one of those pretty talks, in what
Mr. P. calls "the language of artificial flowers," and wound up
by quoting Scripture — " Servants, obey your masters."

That was enough for me. So I told Mr. Cheese that, as he
had already assisted me in colors once, I should be most glad
to have him do so again. What a time we had, to be sure, talk-
ing of colors, and cloths, and gaiters, and buttons, and knee-

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" I am so sorry,
any in the
■Oh," said he,
could hire one, you

Then I thought
musical instrument
monicon,or some-
so I said in a

"I'm not
fond of

■ 1 ;

breeches, and waistcoats, and plush, and coats, and lace, and
hatbands, and gloves, and cravats, and cords, and tassels, and
hats. Oh ! it was delightful. You can't fancy how heartily the
Rev. Cream entered into the matter. He was quite enthusiastic,
and at last he said, w'ith so much expression, "Dear
Mrs. Potiphar, why not have a chasseur?"

I thought it was some kind of French
dish for lunch, so I said :

but we haven't

house."

"but you

know."

it must be a

— a panhar-

thing like that,

general way —

very, very

it."

"But it
would be so
fine to have
him standing
on the back of
the carriage,
his p 1 u m e s
waving in the
wind, and his
lace and pol-
ished belts
flashing in the
sun, as you
whirled down
Broadway."

Of course I
knew then that
he was speak-
ing of those military gentlemen who ride behind carriages, espe-
cially upon the Continent, as Margaret tells me, and who, in Paris,
are very useful to keep the savages and wild-beasts at bay in the
Champs Elysifes, for you know they are intended as a guard.

till

THE NEW LIVERY.

But I knew Mr. P. would be firm about that, so I asked Mr.
Cheese not to kindle my imagination with the chasseur.

We concluded finally to have only one full-sized footman, and
a fat driver.

" The corpulence is essential, dear Mrs. Potiphar," said Mr.
Cheese. " I have been much abroad ; I have mingled, I trust,
in good, which is to say. Christian society: and I must say, that
few things struck me more upon my recurn than that the ladies
who drive very handsome carriages, with footmen, etc., in livery,
should ix;rmit such thin coachmen upon the box. I really
believe that Mrs. Setteni Downe's coachman doesn't weigh more
than a hundred and thirty pounds, which is ridiculous. A lady
might as well hire a footman with insufficient calves, as a coach-
man who weighs less than two hundred and ten. That is the
minimum. Besides, I don't observe any wigs upon the coach-
men. Now, if a lady set up her carriage with the family crest
and fine liveries, why, I should like to know, is the wig of the
coachman omitted, and his cocked hat also? It is a kind of
shabby, half-ashamed way of doing things — a garbled glory.
The cock-hatted, knee-breeched, paste-buckled, horse-hair-wigged
coachman is one of the institutions of the aristocracy. If
we don't have him complete, we somehow make ourselves ridicu-
lous. If we do have him complete, why, then !" —

Here Mr. Cheese coughed a little, and patted his mouth with
his cambric. But what he said was very true. I should like to
come out with the wig — I mean upon the coachman ; it would so
jxit down the Settem Downes. But I'm sure old Pot wouldn't
have it. He lets me do a great deal. Put there is a line which I
feci he won't let me pass. I mentioned my fears to Mr. Cheese.

" Well," he said, " Mr. Potiphar may be right. I remember
an expression of my carnal days about ' coming it too strong,'
which seems to me to be applicable just here."

After a little more talk, I determined to have red plush
breeches, with a black cord at the side — white stockings — low
shoes, with large buckles— a yellow waistcoat, with large buttons
^lappels to the pockets — and a purple coat, very full and fine,
bound with gold lace — and the hat banded with a full gold
rosette. Don't you think that would look well in Hyde Park?
And, darling Carrie, why shouldn't we have in Broadway what
they have in Hyde Park ?

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When Mr. P. came in, I told him all about it. He laughed a
good deal, and said, " What next?" So I am not sure he would
be so very hartl upon the wig. The next morning 1 had appointed
to see the new footman, and as Mr. P. went out he turned and
said to me, "Is your footman coming to-day?" "Yes," I
answered.

" Well," said he, " don't forget the calves. You know that
everything in the matter of livery depends upon the calves."

And he went out laughing silently to himself, with — actually,
Carrie — a tear in his eye.

But it was true, wasn't it ? I remember in all the books and
pictures how much is said about the calves. In advertisements,
etc., it is stated that none but well-developed calves need aj^ply ;
at least it is so in England, and, if I have a livery, I am not
going to stop half-way. My duty was very clear. When Mr.
Cheese came in, I said I felt awkward in asking a servant about
his calves, it sounded so queerly. But I confessed that it was
necessary.

"Yes, the path of duty is not always smooth, dear ]\Irs.
Potiphar. It is often thickly strewn with thorns," said he, as he
sank back in \\\<tfautcuil, and put down \i\^ petit vcrrc of Mar-
asquin.

Just after he had gone, the new footman was announced. I
assure you, although it is ridiculous, I felt (piite nervous. But
when he came in, I said calmly :

" Well, Jam.es, I am glad you have come."

" Please ma'am, my name is Henry," said he.

I was astonished at his taking me up so, and said, decidedly:

" James, the name of mj' footman is always James. \'ou may
call yourself what you please; I shall always call you James."

The idea of the man's undertaking to arrange my servants*
names fur me !

Well, he r.howed ine his references, which were very good, and
I was cpiite satisfied. But th^ire was the terrible calf business
that must be attended to, I put it off a great while, but I had to
begin.

" Well, James ! " and there I stopped.

" Yes, ma'am," said he.

" I wish — yes — ah I " and there 1 stopped again.

" Yes, ma'am," said he.

THE NEW LIVERY.

■:;

YV\

" James, I wish you had come in knee-breeches."

" Ma'am! " said he, in great surprise.

<' In knee-breeches, James," repeated I

" What be they, ma'am ? What for, ma am ? " said he, a little
frightened, as I tiiou.ght.

"Oh ! nothing, nothing; but — but — "

" Yes, ma'am," said James.

<' But — but I want to see — to see — "

" What, ma'am ?' said James.

"Your legs," gasped I; and the path was thorny enough,
Carrie, I can tell you. I had a terrible time e>\,iaining to him ■
what I meant, and all about the liveries, etc. Dear mc , what a
pity these things are not understood; and then we should never
have this trouble about explanations. However, I couldn't make
him agree to wear the livery. He said:

" I'll try to be a good servant, ma'am, but I cannot put on
those things and make a fool of myself. I hope you won't insist,
for I am very anxious to get a place."

Think of his dictating to me ! I told him that I did not per-
mit my servants to impose conditions upon me (that's one of
Mrs. Croesus's sayings), that I was willing to pay him good wages
and treat him well, but that my James must wear my livery. He
looked very sorry, said that he should like the place very much
— that he was satisfied with the wages, and was sure he should
please me, but he could not put on those things. We were both
determined, and so parted. I think we were both sorry; for I
should have to go ail through the calf-business again, and he
lost a good place.

However, Caroline, dear, I have my livery and my footman,
and am as good as anybody. It's very splendid when I go to
Stewart's to have the red plush and the purple and the white
calves springing down to open the door, and to see people look
and say, "I wonder who that is?'" And everybody bows so
nicely, and the clerks are so polite, rnd Mrs. Gnu is melting with
envy on the other side, and Mrs, Croesus goes about saying:
'■ Dear little woman, that Mrs. Potiphar, but so weak ! Pity,
pilv ! " And Mrs. Settem Downe says, " Is that the Potiphar
livery? Ah, yes ! Mr. Potiphar's grandfather used to shoe my
grandfather's horses I " (as if to be useful in the world were a
disgrace — as Mr. P. says); and young Downe and Boosey and

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Timoa CrcEsus come up and stand about so gentlemanly and
say, " Well, Mrs. Potiphar, are we to have no more charming
parties this season ? " And Boosey says, in his droll way,
" Let's keep the ball a-rolling ! " That young man is always
ready with a witticism. Then I step out, and James throws open
the door, and the young men raise their hats, and the new crowd
says: "I wonder who that i '" and the plush and purple and
calves spring up behind, ard T drive home to dinner.
Now, Carrie, dear, isn't i 'lat Jce ?

CARRIE'S COMEDY.

BY WILLIAM LIVINGSTONE ALDEN.

7*\ILLIAM LIVINGSTON'E ALDEN made his reputation as the humorous
cditi'" of the A't'ci/ York Times. He was born at Williamstown, Mass.,
in 1837, received a collcgiiitc education, and then studied law. He has pub-
lished some eigiit volumes, mostly of a humorous character.

Dr. Bartholomev^ of Towanda Falls, Pcnn., is t:he proud
possessor of an extremely precocious child. Miss Carrie Bar-
tholomew is only tea years old, but, nevertheless, she is a young
person of extraordinary acquirements and conspicuous culture.
At the a^e of six she could read with great ease, and I)cfore
reaching her eighth birthday she had developed a marked taste
fen- novel-reading. About the same period she made her first
attempt at authorship, and soon achieved an enviable reputation
in several local nurseries, where her fairy tales were recited with
immense applause. In her ninth year she wrote a novel— of which,
unfortunately, no copies are now in existence — and begun an epic
in six bool-s upon "St. Bartholomew's Day" — which sanguinary
event she classed among the ancestors of her famil}-. The epic
was discontinued after the completion of the second book, owing
to the premature extermination of the Huguenots, but the young
author lashed the Catholic party with great vigor, and denounced
Charles IX. as the scarlet per^^on mentioned in the Apocalvpse.
The latest effort of Miss Bartholomew was, in all respects, her
crowning wc>rk. It was a drama in blank verse and in five acts,

CARRIE'S COMEDY.

entitled *' Robins-^n Crusoe; or the Exile of Twenty Years," and
it was publicly periormed in the Baptist lecture-room by a com-
pany of children drilled by the author. The proceeds of the
entertainment were designed for the conversion of the heathen,
and it was attended by a large and hilarious audience.

The entire work of mounting the drama fell upon the shoul-
ders of the author. The stage was beautifully Oinamented with
borrowed shawls; and three fire-screens, covered with wall-paper
and with tree and flower patterns, did duty as scenery. The cos-
tumes were unique and beautiful, and a piano ably played by a
grown-up lady supplied the place of an orchestra. The curtain
rose at the appointed time, and displayed Crusoe in his English
home in the act of taking tea with his wife. A cradle in the
corner held a young Crusoe — played with much dignity by Miss
Bartholomew's best doll — and a wooden dog reposed on the
hearth-rug. Crusoe, after finding fault with the amount of sugar
in his tea — a touch that was recognized as wonderfully true to
life — announced that he was to sail the next morning on a voy-
age to South America. Mrs. Crusoe instantly burst into tears,
and remarked:

" Our wedded life has scarce begun !

But three months since you led me to the altar,
And now you leave me, friendless and forlorn !"

Crusoe, however, soon comforted his wife, and bidding her
teach her surprisingly precipitate infant to revere his absent
father, put on his ulster, and after a last passionate embrace,
departed for South AmfTlua.

The second '^ct presented Crusoe in his island home, clad
chiefly in seal-skin jackets, and much given to pacing the ground
and soliloquizing. According to his account, he had now been
on the island three years, and was beginning to feel rather lone-
some. He referred in the most affectionate terms to the sole
comrade of his joys and sorrows, his gentle goat — which animal,
hired for the occasion, from a Tov-anda Falls Irishman, was con-
spicuously tethered in the backgroiuid, and would obviously have
butted Crusoe into remote futurity if he could have broken
loose. Presently Crusoe heard a faint yell in the distance, and
decided that it was made by a cannibal picnic party, whereupon
he announced that he would go for his gun and sweep the wicked
cannibals into the Gulf.

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CARRIE'S COMEDY.

Act three was brought to an unexpected but effective climax.
It opened with the entrance of a dozen assorted cannibals drai?.
ging two helpless prisoners, who were securely bound. After an
effective war-dance, one of the prisoners was killed with a club,
and was placed on a painted fire. Just as the chief cannibal had
announced that the dinner was nearly cooked, Crusoe's goat,
which had managed to escape from the green-room, burst upon
the cannibals. Two of them were knocked over into the audience,
where they wept bitterly; others were strewn over the stage,
while a remnant escaped behind the scenes. The prisoner, in
spite of the fact that he was dead and roasted, fled at the first-
onset of the goat, and the curtain was dropped amid wild applause.
After the goat had been captured by some male members of the
audience, and Crusoe himsetf had explained that his proposed
massacre of the cannibals had been unintentionally anticipated,
the stage was set for the fouiih act, and the play went on.

This particular act was a magnificent proof of the author's
originality. The rising of the curtain displayed Crusoe sitting on
a grassy bank, surrounded by four children, whom he calmly
alleged to be his own. Beyond vaguely alluding to them as the
gift of heaven sent to cheer his lonely hours, that astonishing
father did not offer to account for their origin. The author's
chief object in introducing them was, however, soon disclosed.
Friday, who presently appeared, and whose lack of any ostensi-
ble origin was doubtless due to the recent interference of the
goat, was requested to sit down and undergo instruction in the
Westminster Catechism. The scene that followed was closely
modeled after the exercises of an ordinary Sunday-school; and
Crusoe's four inexplicable children sang songs to an extent that
clearly proved that singing was the object of their remarkable
creation. Lest this scene should appear somewhat too solemn,
the author judiciously lightened it by the happy expedient of
making Friday a negro, who constantly said, " Yes ! Massa," and
" Yah, yah !" and who always spoke of himself as " dis child."
Altogether, the act was a delightful one, and whenever Crusoe
alluded to his "dear children," and regretted that they had
never seen their dear mamma, the audience howled with rapture.

How Crusoe and his interesting family escaped from the island
the author omitted to mention. The fifth and last act depicted
his arrival home and his final reunion with the bride of his youth.

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MARK TWAIN'S LIBRARY OF HUMOR.

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Mrs. Crusoe was sitting at her original tea-table, precisely afS she
was in the habit of doing twenty years earlier, when there was
a knock at the door, and Crusoe entered, followed by his four
children, and Friday carrying a large carpet-bag and a bundle of
shawls. Mutually exclaiming, " 'Tis he!" and " 'Tis she!" the
long-separated husband and wife rushed into each other's arms.
After the fust greetings were over, Crusoe remarking in the most
elegant blank verse that though he had brought neither gold nor
gems, he nad nevertheless returned rich, presented in evidence
thereof his four children. Whereupon that noblewoman, remark-
ing that she, too, had been wonderfully blest, brought in seven
children from the next room and told them to kiss their father.
After which the drama was brought to a graceful end by the
singing of " Home, Sweet Home," by the entire strength of the
Crusoe family.

For originality and rare dramatic genius, it is clear that this
play has never been equaled by any previous American draina-
tist; and we may be sure Miss Carrie Bartholomew will in future
look back upon it with at least as imich wonder as pride.

TO CORRESPONDENTS.

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BY HENRY W. SHAW (jOSH BILLINGS).

PnENRY W. si I aw, the well-known wit and satirist, "Josh Billings,"
/ vvas born at Lanesborough, Mass., in 1818, of a family of politicians, his
father and grandfather having both been in Congress. He went early in life
to the West, where for Ivventy-fivc years he was a farmer and auctioneer. To
did not begin to write for publication till he was forty-five years old. lie has
been one of the most popular of popular lecturers. Mr. Shaw died ot Monterey,
Cal., Oct. 14, 1885.

^^ Benzine.'" — Men who hav a grate deal to do with bosses,
seem tew demoralize faster than the bosses do.

Hosses are like dice, and kards; althothcy arevirteuous enuff
themselves, how natral it iz tew gambol with them.

Hosses luv the society ov man, and being susccptabic ov grate
deceit, they will learn a man how to cheat and lie before he
knows it.

TO CORRESPONDENTS.

I know lots ov folks who are real plus, and who are honest
enuff tew work up into united estate accessors, and hav sum
good-sized moral chunks left over, but when they cum tew tork
hoss, they want az mutch look after az a case ov dipthery.

** Bcnvolio" — In writing for yu an analasiss ov the frog, i
must confess that i hav coppied the whole thing, '* verbatus ad
liberating," from the works (<v a selebrated French writer on
natural history, ov the i6th sentry.

The frog iz, in the lust rase, a tadpole, aul boddy and tail,
without cuming tew a heat!.

He travels in pond holes, bi the side ov the turnpike, and iz »
nccellerated bi the acktivity ov his tail, which wriggles with
uncommon limberness and vivacity. Bi and bi, pretty soon
before long, in a few daze, his tail iz no more, and legs begin to
emerge from the south end ov the animal; and from the north
e.id, at the same time, may be seen a disposition tew head out.

In this cautious way the frog iz built, and then for the fust
time in his life begins tew git his head abuv water.

His success iz now certain, and soon, in about five daze more,
he may be seen sitting down on himself bi the side ov the pond
hole, and looking at the dinner baskets ov the children on their
way tew the distrikt skoolhous.

Az the children cum more nearer, with a club, or chunk ov a
brickbat in his hand tew swott him with, he rares up on his
behind leggs, and enters the water, head fust, without opening
the door.

Thus the frog duz bizzness for a spell of time, until he gits
tew be 21, and then his life iz more ramified.

Frogs hav 2 naturs, ground and water, and are az free from
sin az an oyster.

I never knu a frog tew hurt ennyboddy who paid his honest
dets and took the daily papers.

I don't reckoleckt now whether a frog has enny before leggs or
not, and if he don't it ain't enny boddy's bizzness but the frog's.

Their hind legs are used for refreshments, but the rest ov him
won't pay for eating.

A frog iz ' he only person who kan live in a well, and not git
tired.

MARK TWAIN'S LIBRARY OF HUMOR.

THE WORST MAN AND THE STUPIDEST MAN IN

TURKEY.

DY SAMUEL S. COX.

C:AMUEL SULLIVAN COX was born at Zanesvillc, O., Siptember 30,
1824, and grew up in his native State. lie entered journalistic life after
graduating from Brown University, and has achieved distinction in politics as
well as literature ; his public services, in Congress and diplomacy, are as well-
known as his books.

Several years ago the dragoman of our American Legation at
Constantinople was asked to act as arbitrator in a dispute between
a foreigner and an old Turkish doctor in law and theology. After
several meetings with them, the dragoman concluded that the
doctor was an ill-natured and unmanageable person. The latter
had served lor some years as cadi of the Civil Court at Smyrna.
The dragoman related a story for his instruction. The story as
to its place was in old Stamboul. As to its time, it does not
matter much. Its moral is f;)r every place and for all time. But
it took place at the end of the sixteenth century, when the Turk-
ish power was well established and growing. In other words, it
was during the reign of Amurath III., the sixth emjK'ror of the
Ottomans, and grandson of Suleiman the Magnificent. This
Sultan was not, as the sequel of the story shows, the worst of the
Ottoman emperors. He was a tall, manly man, rather fat and
quite pale, with a thin long beard. His face was not of a fierce
aspect, like other Sultans. He was no rioter or reveler. He
punished drunkards, and as for himself he indulged only in
wormwood wine. His people kne-.v that he loved justice, and
although, according to an old chronicle, he caused his brothers
to be strangled, " at which so tragicall a sight that he let some
teares fall, as not delighting in such barbarous crueltie, but that
the state and manner of his gouernment so required," still, he
was, as the time was, a good prince.

But to the dragoman's story. Its moral had its uses, as the
sequel reveals. This is the story, as it was told in one of the
leisure hours at the Legation last summer:

"There was a man, Mustapha by name, who lived near the

THE WORST MAN AND THE STUPIDEST MAN. ee

Golden <".atc. He was well off, and when about to die, he called
his sun to liim and said :

" ' My dear hoy, I am dying. Before I go, I want to give you
my last will. Here are one hundred pounds. You will give it
to the worst man you can find. Here are one hundred pounds
more. This you will give to the stupidest man you cnn discover.'

" A few da) s after, the father died. The son began to search
for the bad man. Several men were pointed out, but he was not
satisfied th.-.t they were the worst of men. Finally he hired a
horse and went up to Yosgat, in Asia Minor. There the pojiula-
tion unanimously pointed out their cadi as the worst man to be

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THE WORST MAN IN TURKEY.

found anywhere. This information satisfied the son. He called
on the cadi. He told the story of the will, and added:

"* As I am desirous that the will of my father be accomplished,
I beg you to receive these hundred pounds.'

" Said the cadi, ' How do you know that I am so bad as I am
represented ? '

" ' It is the testimony of the whole town,' said the son.

'"I mnst tell you, young man,' said the cadi, 'that it is con-
trary to my principles to accept any bribe or present. If I ever
receive money, it is only for a con-sid-er-a-tion. Unless I give
you the counter-value of your money, I cannot accept it.'

MARA- TIVALW'S LIBRARY OF HUMOR.

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"This reply of the cadi seemed just. It piixzled the yoi.i;-
man. However, as he desired to fulfill his father's will, he con-
tlnued to urge the cadi:

"'Mr. Judge,' said he, • if you sell me something, could not
the will of my father be fulfilled?'

•« 'Let me see,' said the cadi, looking around to find out what
on earth he could sell to the youth, without destroying the spirit
of the will. He reflected for a long time. Then all at once he
was struck with a bright idea. Seeing that the courtyard of his
house was filled with snow, about two feet deep, he said to the
youth:

" * I will sell you yonder snow. Do you accept the bargain?'
*• 'Yes,' said the youth, seeing that there was nothing of value
in the snow.

"The cadi then executed a regular deed, the fees of which
were paid, of course, by the purchaser. The son then paid the
hundred pounds for the snow.

"The boy went home; but he was not quite certain that he
had stiictly fulfilled the will of his father; for, after all, the cadi
did not appear to him to be so very bad. Had he not decidedly
refused to accept the money without a legal consideration ?
" His perplexity was of short duration.

" The second day, early in the morning, the .scribe of the cadi
called on the youth and told him that the cadi wished to see him.
" * Well, I will go,' said the youth.

" ' No,' said the scribe; * I am ordered to take you there.'
"The youth resisted, and the scribe insisted. Finally the
youth was compelled to submit, and went.

" ' What do you want of me. Cadi Effendi,' said the boy.
"'Ah! you are welcome,' responded the cadi; 'I wanted you
to come, because you have some snow in the courtyard which
bothers me a great deal. The authorities cannot shoulder such
a responsibility. Is not the deposit exposed? Can it be put
under lock like other property ? Besides, does it not occupy the
road, to which the people have the right of easement? What
follows ? The result is, that your snow will be trampled or stolen,
or it will melt, and then all the responsibility will rest on me. I
am not prepared to assume it. I request you to carry away your
snow.'

"'But, Cadi Effendi,' said the boy, 'I do not care. Let it

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THE IVORSl MA.V AND THE STUPIDEST MAN.

melt ; let it be stulcn ; let it be trampled on ; 1 will make no
claim fur its value.'

'• ' Nothing of the kind,' said the cadi. * You have no right to
close the public way in that manner. Unless you take away
your snow, 1 will confnic you in prison, ami make you answer
tor the nuisance, and for the decay oi the property, which may
be claimed by your heirs at some future time.'

'"Let it be swept out,' said the youth; *I will defray the
expense'

«• Nonsense!' indignantly responded the cadi. *Am I your
servant? Besides, will it not take a great ileal of money to have
the snow swept out ? '

" ' I viU pay the expense, whatever it is,' said the youth.

" 'Well, it requires twenty i)ounds,' said the cadi.

" ' I will pay that sum,' said the youth.

" Thus the cadi squeezed out twenty pounds more from the
son of the deceased.

" The youth is, however, content. He is glad to find in this
cadi a man of the meanness so indispensable to the fulfillment of
the will of his father.

** After this experience the youth goes in search of the stupid
mnr. Me must filially fulfill the second clause of the will.

"While engaged in this search for stupidity, the son limits his
efforts to his own fair city of Stamboul. He is on the street
leading up tb the Sublime Porte. He hears a band of music. It
is moving toward the Sublime Porte. He is curious to know
what it all means. He walks toward the music. When at a short
distance he discovers a grand procession, with a display of sol-
diers. He notices a comparatively old man riding a white Arabian
horse. He is dressed in a magnificent uniform. His breast is
covered with decorations of every size, color and description.
The trappings of the horse are covered with gold embroideries.
The old man is surrounded by a dozen high ofificials of the gov-
ernment of Amurath HI. They, too, are dressed finely ; they
have recently returned from the Caucasus laden with riches, and
they display their grand robes and jewels. They have gorgeously
embroidered uniforms and ride splendid horse? They are fol-
lowed by an immense crowd. A.11 Galata, as well as Stamboul,
is afoot to see the sight. Murmurs in threescore dialects rise on

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the sunny air. The son of Mustapha follows the crowd. He
asks a pedestrian in a green turban, who sits by the fountain:
■ " ' What is the procession about ? '

" He is informed that the old man is the newly appointed
Grand Vizier c" Amurath. The Vizier is going to take posses-
sion of his post. He is thus escorted with the usual solemnity.

"When the procession arrives at the gate of the Sublime Porte,
the Grand Vizier dismounts on the foot-stone in front of the
entrance, and, strange to say, there on that very foot-stone is a
big tray; and on the tray, a human head freshly decapitated.

" The sight is blood-curdling. The youth is struck dumb
with horror. Then, recovering his senses, he finds out the mean-
ing of the usii^e. He is told that the bloody head is that of the
preceding Grand Vizier, who had acted wrongfully, and was
therefore beheaded.

"'Will his successor succeed him in the tray also?' asks the
youth, of a zaptieh who was standing near to police the procession.

"'Nowadays it is difficult to escape it,' is the answer of the
policeman.

" After this answer, the youth makes immediate inquiries. He
discovers the ' Kiahaja ' of tiie new Grand Vizier, for every
Grand Vizier has a factctnm. He goes to the Kiahaja and
requests him to deliver to the Grand Vizier the hundred pounds
which his father had willed. The Kiahaja, after inquiring the
name of the youth and his whereabouts, receives *^he money.
Later on, he takes the hundred pounds to the Grand Vizier.
This high official is puzzled.

" ' Who,' he inquires, * is the friend that left the money to me,
and why ? '

" He calls for the youth. The youth comes. The Grand
Vizier asks him about his father. The boy replies : '

" ' His name was Mustapha. He lived near the Golden Gate ;
but you did not know him, my lord ! '

"'But he knew me?'

" • No, my lord, he did not. '

" ' Then why this bequest to me ?

" The youth then gives the Grand Vizier the story, and adds
that he could not expect to find a more stupid man or a greater
idiot than the Grand Vizier ; therefore, he concludes that the
hundred pounds are due to that official, under his father's will.

THE WORST MAN AND THE STUPIDEST MAN.

" This puzzles the Grand Vizier, who says :

" » How do you know that I am a stupid man ? Neither you
nor your father knew me. '

'< < Your acceptance of the position of Grand Vizier,' says the
. youth, ' in the presence of the dead head of your predecessor,
speaks for itself. It needs no explanation.'

" Ihe Grand Vizier can make no rational answer. He takes
hold of his beard, strokes it, and considers for a minute.

" Then he says to the youth : ' Son of the good and wise Mus-
t;ipha, will you not l)e my guest for to-night? To-morrow morn-
ing 1 must talk with you.' The boy accepts the invitation. ^

'•' In the morning the Grand Vizier calls the youth. He in-
forms him that he is going to the palace of Amurath at the
Seraglio Point. He desires the youth to accompany him. The
boy objects. It is no use. The Grand Vizier compels him to
o'o with him.

"They reach the palace. The Grand Vizier goes straight-
way to the Chief Eunuch, and thus addresses that beautiful
Arabian :

" ' Your Highness : I am aware that His Majesty, in bestow-
ing on me the responsible and confidential position of Grand
Vizier, did me the greatest honor a man can ever expect in this
world. I am grateful to him for such a rare distinction. But,
Highness, here is a young man who came to see me yesterday,
and spoke to me in such a wonderful way that I feel bound to
tender my resignation. After my conversation with him, I feel
incapable of sustaining the dignity which His Majesty deserves.'

" The Eunuch is thunderstruck. Up to that time no Grand
Vizier had ever dared to resign. But the action of the Vizier
seems so strange to the Eunuch, that the latter at once goes and
reports it to the Sultan. The Sultan is amazed and indignant.
He demands the presence of the Grand Vizier and the youth.
When they .appear they find that Amurath is not in one of his
best moods. The Janizaries have been threatening him. His
wife, sister and mother, on whom he relies for comfort in his
poor health and mental distress, have in vain endeavoiod to
jikicate and pacify him. His pale face grows scarlet with anger,
lie hotly addresses the Grand Vizier :

" ' How is it, sirrah ! that you presume to dare to tender your
resignation J'

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«« 'Your Majesty,' says the Grand Vizier, ' 1 Icnow that I am
doing a bold act ; but it is this boy,' pointing out the simple
youth, » who compels me to do it. If your Highness wants to
know the reasons, the boy will give them to you. I am sure
that after hearing them you will acknowledge that, as I am con-
sidered the most stupid man in your empire, it is nut becoming
to your dignity to retain me as your immediate representative.'

''The boy is then called. He gives his story. The Sultan
smiles. His innate sense of justice returns. He issu'js an irade
that henceforth no Grand Vizier shall be beheaded."

FIRST-CLASS SNAKE STORIES.
Brooklyn Eagle.

" Do you want some items about snakes ? " asked an agricul-
turally-rural-looking gentleman of the Eagle s city editor the other
day.

"If they are fresh and true," responded the city editor.

"Exactly," replied the farmer. "These items are l)oth. No-
body knows 'em l:)ut me. I get a farm down on the island a
piece, and there's lots of snakes on it. Near the iiuuse is a pond,
about six feet deep. A week ago my little girl jumped into the
pond, and would have drowned if it hadn't been for a snake.
The snake seen her, went for her, and brought her ashore. The
particular poinr about this item is the way he did it."

" How was it?" asked the city editor.

" It was a black snake, about thirty feet long, and he just
coiled the middle of himself arouTid her neck so she couldn't
swallow any water, and swum ashore with his head jnd tail. Is
that a good item ?"

"First-class."

" You can spread it out, you know. After they got ashore the
girl patted the snake on the head, and it went off pleased .is Punch,
Ever since then he comes to the house regular at meal-times, and
she feeds him on pie. Think you can make anything out of
that item ? "

FIRST-CLASS SNAKE STORIES.

<< Certainly. Know any more ? "

"Yes. I got a baby six months old. He's a boy. We gener-
ally sit him out on the grass of a morning, and he hollers like
a bull all day; at least he used to, but he don't any more. One
morning we noticed he wasn't hollering, and wondered what was
up. When we looked, there was a rattlesnake coiled up in front
of him scanning his features. The boy was grinning and the
snake was grinning. Binieby the snake turned his tail to the
l)abv and backed his rattle right into the baby's fist."

- What did the baby do ? "

*'Why, he just rattled that tail so you could hear it three-
quarters of a mile, and the snake
lay there and grirmed. Every
mor'^ngwe found the^snake there,
until one day a bigger snake came,
and the baby played with his rattle

A NOVEL RATTLE.

jtist the same till the first snake came hack. He looked thin,
and I reckon he had been sick and sent the^ oth' r to t-^ke his
place. AVill that do for an item?"

" Immensely," replied the city editor.

'' Yon can fill in about the confidence of chiidhood and all
that, and you might say something about the blue-eyed cherub.
His name is Isaac. Put that in to please my wife."

'' I'll do it. Any more sniake items ? "

" Lemme sec. You've heard of hoop-snakes ? "

"Yes, often."

*' Just so. Not long ago we heard a fearful row in our cellar

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one night. It sounded like a rock-blast, iind then there was a
hiss and thiny;s was quiet. When I looked in the morning the
cider barrel had busted. But we didn't lose much cider."
" How did you save it ? "

" It seems that the staves had busted out, but before they could
get away, four hoop-snakes coiled around the barrel and tight
ened it up and held it together until we drew the cider off in
bottles. That's the way we found 'em, and we've kept 'em around

the house ever
since. We're train-
ing 'em for shawl -
straps now. Does
that strike you
favorably for an
item ? "

"Enormously!"
r e s p o n (1 e d the
city editor.

"You can fix it
up so as to show
how quick they
was t" get there
before the staves
were blown off.
You can w'ork in
the details."

"Of course. I'll
attend U) that. Do
you think o/ any
more ? "

" Ain't you g it
enough ? Ltmmt think. O yes ! One Sunday me and my wife
was gomg to church, and she drciiped her garter somewhere.
She told me about it, and \ noticed ;• little striped snake runnin;^
alongside and listening to her. Bimeby he made n .spring an-l
just wound himself around her stocking, or tried to, but he didn't
fetch it."
"Whynoi?"

" Me wasn't quite long enough. He jumperl down and shook
his head and started off. We hadn't gone morc'<.» a quarter of a

T:IE (i.VRJER SNAKE.

FIRST-CLASS SNAKE STORIES.

mile, when we see him coming out of the woods just ahead of us.
He was awful hot and tired, and he had another snake with him
tv/ice as big as he was. They ioohed at my wife a minute and
said something to each other, and then the big snake went right
to the place where the garter belonged. He wrapped right
around it, put his tail in his mouth and went to sleep. We got
him yet. We use him to hold the stovepipe together when we
put the stove up. Is that any use as an item ?"

"Certainly," said f^.e city editor.

" You can say something about the first snake's eye for dis-
tances and intellectuality, when he found he wouldn't go 'round.
You know how to do that better than me."

<' I'll give him the credit he deserves. Can you tell us any
more ? "

" I don't call any to mind just at present. My wife knows
a lot of snake items, but I forget 'em. By the way, though,
I've got a regular living curiosity down at my place. C.e day
my oldest boy was sitting on the back stoop doing his sums,
and he couldn't get 'em right. He felt something against his
face, and there was a little snake coiled up on his shoulder
and looking at the slate. In four minutes he had clone all
them sums. We've tamed him so he keeps all our accounts,
and he is the lighteningest cuss at figures you ever seen. He'll
run up a column eight feet long in three seconds. I wouldn't
take a reaper for him."

" What kind of a snake is he?" inqu'red the editor, curiously.

"The neighbors call him an adder."

"O, yes, yes!" said the city editor, a little disconcerted.
"I've heard of the species. When did all these things happen ?"

" Along in the fore part of the spring, but I didn't say any-
thing about 'em, 'cause it wasn't ,.he season for snake items.
This is about the time for that sort of thing, isn't it ? "

"Yes," chipped in the exchange editor, "you couldn't have
picked out a letter time for snake stories."

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HIS FIRST DAY AT EDITING.

DY EUGENE FIELD.

^UGENE riEi^D, journalist, was liovn ^i Boston, Mass., in 1850. He re-
^^ ccived a classical education, scuttled in Chicago, and engaged in journalism
on the Chicago 2Vc7us. He has published "Culture's Garland " (Ticknor & Co.,
Boston, Mass., 18S7), several lairy talcs, poems, and a iiumlicr of dramatic
criticisms, including one on Modjeska that is widely and favorably known.

Yesterday morning, Mr. Horace A. Hurlhut took formal pos-
session of The Chicago Tunes, in compliance with the mandate of
just.ce making him receiver of that institution. Bright and early
he was at his post in The Times building; and the c?.pression that
ci.'i.rsed over his mobile features, as he lolled back m the editorial
chair and aibandoned himself to pleasing reflections, was an
expression of conscious pride and ineffable satisfaction.

" I have now attained the summit and the goal of earthly
bition,"' quoth Mr. Hurlbut to himself. "Embarking i)i the
drug-business at an early age, I ha'.-'j progressed through the in-
termediate spheres of real estate, brokerage and money-lending,
until finally I have reached the ♦^op round of the lad-der of lame,
and am now the head of the greatest daily newspaper on the
American continent. I expect and intend to prove myself equal
to the demands which will be made upon me in this new
capacit^y. I have my own notions about journalism — they differ
somewhat from the conventional notions that prevail, but thnt is
neither here nur there; ic;r, as the dictator of this great news-
paper, I shall have no difficulty in putting my theories into
practice."

•* Here's the mornin' mail, major," said the office-boy, laying
innnmerable packages of letters and circulars on the tabic before
Mr. Hurlbut.

" Why do you call me major?'" inquired Mr. Hnribut, with
an amused twinkle in his eyes.

"Oh! we always call the editors majors," rei')lied the office-
boy. "Major Dennett made that, a rule longtime ago."

" It is not a bad idea," said Major Hurlbut, " for it gives one
a dignity and prestige which can never maintain among untitled
civilians. So this is the morning mail, is it ?'*

i M^

mS FIRST DAY AT EDITING,

Major Hurlbut picked up one of the letters, scrutinized the
superscription, heaved a deep sigh, picked up several other letters,
blushed, frowned, and appeared much embarrassed.

" Can you tell me," he asked, " whether there are any reporters
about this office by the names, or aliases, or nom de plume, or
pseudonym of * M 33,* and ' X 14,' or ' S 5,' or ' G 38 ' ? I find
numerous letters directed in this wise, and I mistrust that some
unseemly work is being done under cover of these bogus appella-
tions. I will make bold to examine one of these letters."

So Major Hurlbut tore open one of the envelopes, and read as
follows :

'•038, Times O^CQi I have a nice, quiet, furnished room. Call after
eight o'clock P. m., at No. 1 143 Elston Road."

** As I suspected," cried Major Hurlbut, with a profound
groan. "Under these strange pseudonyms, 1' reporters of this
paper are engaging in a carnival cf vice! But the saturnalia
must end at once. From this moment The Times becomes a
moral institution. I shall ascertain the names of these reporters,
and have them peremptorily discharged ! "

" H'yar's a package for you, sah," said the dusky porter,
Martin Lewis, entering, and placing a small bundle before Major
Hurlbut.

" Ah, yes ! I see," quoth the major, " they are the new cards
I ordered last Saturday. W ditors have to have cards, so as to
let people know we are editc....."

With this philosophic observation, the major opened the bundle,
and disclosed several hundred neat pasteboard cards, printed in
red and black as follows :

HORACE A. HURLBL'T,

Receiver and Editor, " Chicago Times."

Real Estate A Spcdzlty.

' Drug Orders Prompt!.' Filled.

Loans Negotiated without Publicity.

"They are very handsome," said Major Hurlbut, "but I am
sorry I did not have the title of Major prefixed to my name.

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However, I will take thtit precaution with the next lot I have
printed."

" Majah Dennett would like to speak with you, sah," said
Martin, the porter.

" Although I am very busy with this mail, you may show him
in," remarked Major Hurlbut.

Major Dennett pigeon-toed his way into the new editor's

presence, and was loftily waved to a chair, in which he dropped,

and sat with his toes turned in. Major Hurlbut heaved a weary

,. sigh, ran his fingers through his hair, and regarded his visitor

with a condescending stare.

** This is a busy hour with us editors," said Major HuUbut,
"therefore I hope you will state your business as succinctly as
possible."

"I merely called to receive orders," explained Major Dennett,
with an astonished look.

" Ordeis for what ? " cried Major Hurlbut. *« Perhaps you
forget, sir, that I am out of the drug business, and am an editor.
Permit me, sir, to hand you one of my professional cards,"

"You mistake me, sir," replied Major Dennett; •' I am con-
nected with this paper, and have been managing editor for years."

Major Hurlbut's manner changed instantly. His cold reserve
melted at once, and he became docile as a sucking-dove.

"My dear Major," he exclaimed cordially, " I am overjoyed
to meet you. Draw your chair closer, and let us converse
together upon matters which concern us both. F.acb ot us has
the interests of this great paper at heart; but I, as the head of
the institution, have a fearful responsibility resting upon my
shoulders. It behooves you to assist me ; and, as the first and
most important step, I must beg of you to inform me what is
expected of me as an editor. I am willing and anxious to edit,
but how can T ?"

Major Dennett undertook to explain a few of the duties which
would fall upon the editor's shoulders, and would have continued
talking all day, had not the venerable Major Andre Matteson
been ushered into the room, thereby interrupting the conversa-
tion. Upon being formally intrcxluced to the new editor, Major
Matteson inqu'red what the policy of The Times would be hence-
forward touching the tariff, the civil service, the war in the
Soudan, and the doctrine of the transmigration of souls.

HJS FIRST DAY AT EDITING.

«« I have not decided fully what the policy of the paper will be
in these minor matters," quoth Major Hurlbut, *• except that we
shall favor the abolition of the tariff on quinine, cochineal, and
other drugs and dyestuffs. I have made up my mind, however,
to advocate the opening of a boulevard In Fleabottom subdivi-
sion ; and, as you are one of the editorial writers. Major Matte-
son, I would like to have you compose a piece about the folly of
extending the Thirtieth Street sewer through the Bosbyshell sub-
division. And you may give the firm of Brown, Jones & Co. a
raking over, for they have seriously interfered with the sale of

my lots out in that part of the city."

Major George McConnell and Major
Guy Magee filed into the room at this
juncture, and were formally presented to

HIS FIRST DAY AT EDITING.

editor Hurlbut, who looked
impressive, and received them
with a dignity that would have
done credit to a pagan court.

" I had hoped to be in a position to boom the city department
of the paper," said Major Magee, " but I find that three of the
reporters are sick with headache to-day."

'* Sick ? What appears to be the matter ? " asked the editor.

"Idid'nt ask them," replied Major Magee ; "but they said
they had headaches."

" They should try bromide of potassium, tincture of valerian,
and aromatic spirits of ammonia," observed Major Hurlbut.
" By the way, whenever any of our editors or reporters get sick,
they should come to me ; for I can give them prescriptions that
will fix them up in less than no time."

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" I presume the policy of the paper touching the theatres will
remain unchanged?" inquired Major McConncll.

"That reminds nn " said Major Huril)ut : " who gets the
show-tickets ?"

"Weil, I have attended to that detail heretofore," rtpiied
Major McConnell.

"We get as many as we want, don't we ?" asked Major Hurlbut.

'< Certainly," said Major McConnell.

"Well, then, we must give the shows good notices," said tb •
editor; " and, by the way, I would like to have you leave .
tickets with me every morning ; they will come in mighty handy,
you know, among friends. Do we get rail road -passes too ?

"Yes, all we want," said Major Dennett.

" I am glad I am an editor," said Major Hurlbut, softly but
feelingly.

The foreman came in.

" Shall we set it in nonpareil to-night ? " he asked.

"Eh?" ejaculated Editor Hurlbut.

" Does nonpareil go ? " repeated ihe foreman.

"What has he been doing ?" inquired Editor Hurlbut.

*' The minion is so bad that we ought to put the paper in non-
pareil," exclaimec' ihe foreman.

*' Tt must be understood," thundered Major Hurlbut, " that
no bad minions \V'ill be tolerated on the premises. If there is
any minion here who is dissatisfied, let him quit at once."

"Then I am to fire the minion? " asked the foreman.

"No," said Maj. r Hurlbut, "do not fire him, for that would
constitute arson ; discharge him, but use no violence."

We deeply regret that this astute mandate was followed by an
interchange of sundry smiles, nods and winks between the fore-
man and the members of the editorial staff, which, however,
Major Hurlbut did not see, or he most assuredly would have
reproved this unseemly and vial-apropos levity.

And so they talked and talked. And each moment Major
Hurlbut became more and more impressed with the importance
and solemnity of the new dignity he had attained, and each
moment he became more and more impressive in his mien and
conversation. And each moment, too, he silently and devoutly
thanked High Heaven that in its goodness and mercy it had
called him to the ennobling profession of journalism.

ADELARD AND IIELOISE.

ABE LARD AND HELOISE

UV MARK rWAIN.

Among the thousands and thousands of tombs in P&re la
Chaise, there is one thai no man, no woman, no youth of cither
sex ever passes by wilhmit st(i)ping to examine. Every visitor
has a sort of indistinct idea ol the history of it lead, and com-
prehends that homage is due there, but not o' twenty thou-
sand clearly remembers the story of that tc ' ''s romantic
occupants. This is the grave of Abelard a: a grave
which has been more revered, more widely i ;re written
and sung about and wept over for seven huniued yc irs than any
other in Christendom, s;ive only that of the Saviour, All visitors
linger pensively about it; all young people capture and carry away
keepsakes an 1 mementoes of it; all Parisian youths and maidens
who are disappointed in love come there to bail out when they
are full of tears; yea, many stricken lovers make pilgrimages to
this shrine from distant province; to weej) and wail and "grit"
their teeth over their htavy sorrows, and to purchase the sympa-
thies of the chastened spirits of that tomb with offerings of immor-
telles and budding flowers.

Go when you will, you find somebody snufiling over that tomb.
Go when you will, you lind it furnished with tboije bouquets
and immortelles. Go when you will, you find a gravel-train from
Marseilles arriving to supply the deficiencies caused by memento-
cabbaging vandals whose affections have miscarried.

Yet who really knows the story of Abelard and Heloise?
Precious few people. The names are perfectly familiar to
everybody, and that is about all. With infinite pains I have
acquired a knowledge of that history, and I propose to narrate
it here, partly for the honest information of the public, and partly
to show that public that they have been wasting a good deal of
marketable sentiment very unnecessarily.

STORY OF ABELARD AND HELOISE.

Heloise was born seven hundred and sixty-six years ago. She
may have had parents. There is no telling. She lived with her
uncle Fulbert, a canon of the Cathedral of Paris. I do not know

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M4RIC TWAIN'S LIBRARY OF HUMOR.

what a canon of a cathedral is, but that is what he was. He was
nothing more than a sort of mountain howitzer, likely; because
they had no heavy artillery in those days. Suffice it, then, that
Heloise lived with her uncle, the howitzer, and was happy. She
spent the most of her childhood in the convent of Argenteuil.
(Never heard of Argenteuil before, but suppose there was really
such a place.) She then returned to her uncle, the old gun — or
son of a gun, as the case may be — and he taught her to write and
speak Latin, which was the language of literature and polite
society at that period.

Just at this time Pierre Abelard, who had already made him-
self widely famous as a rhetorician, came to found a school of
rhetoric in Paris. The originality of his principles, his eloquence,
and his great physical strength and beauty created a profound
sensation. He saw Heloise, and was captivated by her blooming
youth, her beauty and her charming disposition. He wrote to
her; she answered. He wrote again ; she answered again. He
was now in love. He longed to know her — to speak to her Tace
to face. ;„•• . -

His school was near Fulbert's house. He asked Fulbert to
allow him to call. The good old swivel saw here a rare oppor-
tunity; his niece, whom he so much loved, would absorb knowl-
edge from this man, and it would not cost him a cent. Such was
Fulbert — penurious.

Fulbert's first name is not mentioned By any author, which is
unfortunate. However, George W. Fulbert will answer for him
as well as any other. We will let him go at that. He asked Abe-
lard to teach her.

Abelard was glad enough of the opportunity. He came often
and stayed long. A letter of his shows in its very first sentence
that he came under that friendly roof like a cold-hearted villain,
as he was, with the deliberate intention of debauching a confid-
ing, innocent girl. This is the letter:

" I cannot ceaje to be astonished at the simplicity of Fulbert ; I was as
much surprised as if he had placed a Iamb in the power of a hun^^ry wolf.
Heloise and I, under pretext of study, gave ourselves up wholly to love, and
the solitude that love seeks our studies procured for us. Books were open
before us ; but we spoke oftener of love than philosophy, and kisses came more
readily from our lips than words."

And so, exulting over an honorable confidence, which, to his

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ABELARD AND HELOISE.

degrading instinct, was a ludicrous " simplicity," this unmanly
Abelard seduced the niece of the man whose guest he was. Paris
found it out. Fulbert was told of it — told often — but refused to
believe it. He could not comprehend how a man could be so
depraved as to use the sacred protection and security of hospi-
tality as a means for the commission of such a crime as that.
But when he heard the rowdies in the streets singing the love-
songs of Abelard to Heloise, the case was too plain — love-songs
come not properly within the
teachings of rhetoric and
philosophy.

He drove Abelard from
his house. Abelard returned
secretly and carried Heloise
away to Palais, in Brittany,
his native country. Here,
shortly afterward, she bore
a son, who, from his rare
beauty, was surnamed Astro-
labe—William G. The girl's
flight enraged Fulbert, and
he longed for vengeance, but
feared to strike lest retalia-
tion visit Heloise — for he
still loved her tenderly. At
length Abelard offered to
marry Heloise, but on a
shameful condition : that the

marriage should be kept secret from the world, to the end
that (while her good name remained a wreck, as before)
his priestly reputation might be kept untarnished. It was
like that miscreant. Fulbert saw his opportunity, and
consented. He would see the parties married, and then vio-
late the confidence of the man who had taught him that trick;
he would divulge the secret, and so remove somewhat of the
obloquy that attached to his niece's name. But the niece sus-
pected his scheme. She refused the marriage, at first; she said
Fulbert would betray the secret to save her; and, besides, she
did not wish to drag down a lover who was so gifted, so honored
by the world, and who had such a splendid career before him. It

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was noble, self-sacrificing love, and characteristic of the pure-
souled Heloise, but it was not good sense.

But she was overruled, and the private marriage took place.
Now for Fulbert. The heart so wounded should be healed at
last; the proud spirit so tortured should find rest again; the
humbled head should be lifted up once more. He proclaimed
the marriage in the high places of the city, and rejoiced that
dishonor had departed from his house. But lo ! Abelard denied
the marriage ! Heloise denied it ! The people, knowing the
former circumstances, might have believed Fulbert, had only
Abelard denied it, but when the person chiefly interested— the
girl herself— denied it, they laughed despairing Fulbert to scorn.

The poor canon of the Cathedral of Paris was spiked again.
The last hope of repairing the wrong that had been done his
house was gone. What next ? Human nature suggested revenge.
He compasF'^d it. The historian says:

•• Ruffians, hired by Fulbert, fell upon Abelard by night, and inflicted upon
liim a terrible and nameless mutilation."

I am seeking the last resting-place of those "ruffians." When
I find it I shall shed some tears on it, and stack up some bou-
quets and immortelles, and cart away from it some gravel whereby
to remember that, howsoever blotted by crime their lives may
have been, these ruffians did one just deed, at any rate, albeit it
was not warranted by the strict letter of the law.

Heloise entered a convent, and gave good-bye ♦'" the world
and its pleasures for all time. For twelve years sh er heard
of Abelard — never even heard his name mentione... She had
become prioress of ArgenLeuil, and led a life of complete seclu-
sion. She happened one day to see a letter written by him, in
which he narrated his own history. She cried over it, and wrote
him. He answered, addressing her as his " sister in Christ."
They continued to correspond, she in the unweighed language of
unwavering affection, he in the chilly phraseology of the pol-
ished rhetorician. She poured out her heart in passionate, dis-
jointed sentences; he replied with finished essays, divided
deliberately in heads and sub-heads, premises and argument.
She showered upon him the tenderest epithets that love could
devise; he addressed her from the North Pole of his frozen heart
as the " Spouse of Christ !" The abandoned villain I

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ABELARD AND IIELOISE.

On account of her too easy government of her nuns, some dis-
reputable irregularities were discovered among them, and the
Abbot of St. Denis broke up her establishment. Abelard was
the official head of the monastery of St. Gildas de Ruys at that
time, and when he heard of her homeless condition a sentiment
of pity was aroused in his breast (it is a wonder the unfamiliar
emotion did not blow his head off), and he placed her and her
troop in the little oratory of the Paraclete, a religious establish-
ment which he had founded. She had many privations and
sufferings to undergo at first, but her worth *and her gentle dis-
position won influential friends for her, and she built up a wealthy
and flourishing nunnery. She became a great favorite with the
heads of the Church, and also the people, though she seldom
appeared in public. She rapidly advanced in esteem, in good
report and in usefulness, and Abelard as rapidly lost ground.
The Pope so honored her that he made her the head of her order.
Abelard, a man of splendid talents, and ranking as the first
debater of his time, became timid, irresolute and distrustful of
his powers. He only needed a great misfortune to topple him
from the high position he held in the world of intellectual excel-
lence, and it came. Urged by kings and princes to meet the
subtle St. Bernard in debate and crush him, he stood up in the
presence of a royal and i"ustrious assemblage, and when his
antagonist had finished, he looked about him and stammered a
commencement; but his courage failed him, the cunning of his
tongue was gone; with his speech unspoken, he trembled and sat
down, a disgraced and vanquished champion.

He died a nobody, and was buried at Cluny, a. d. 1144. They
removed his body to the Paraclete afterward, and when Heloise
died, twenty years later, they buried her with him, in accordance
with her last wish. He died at the ripe age of 64, and she at 63.
After the bodies had remained entombed three hundred years,
they «re removed once more. They were removed again in
I'-'Oj^nd, finally, seventeen years afterward, they were taken up
£ind transferred to Pere la Chaise, where they will remain in
peace and quiet until it comes time for them to get up and move
again.

History is silent concerning the last acts of the mountain how-
itzer. Let the world say what it will about him, / at least shall
alwaysj respect the memory, and sorrow for the abused trust and

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the broken heart and the troubled spirit of the old smooth-bore.
Rest and repose be his !

Such is the story of Abelard and Keloise. Such is the history
that Lamartine has shed such cataracts of tears over. But that
man never could come within the influence of a subject in the
least pathetic without overflowing his banks. He ought to be
dammed — or leveed, I should more properly say. Such is the
history — not as it is usually told, but as it is when stripped of the
nauseous sentimentality that would enshrine for our loving wor-
ship a dastardly seducer like Pierre Abelard. I have not a word
to say against the misused, faithful girl, and would not withhold
from her grave a single one of those simple tributes which
blighted youths and maidens offer to her memory, but lam sorry
enough that I have not time and opportunity to write four or five
volumes of my opinion of her friend, the founder of the Para-
chute, or the Paraclete, or whatever it was.

The tons of sentiment I have wasted on that unprincipled
humbug in my ignorance ! I shall throttle down my emotions
hereafter, about this sort of people, until I have read them up,
and know whether they are entitled to any tearful attentions or
not. I wish I had my immortelles back, now, and that bunch
of radishes.

A FAMILY HORSE.

BY F. W. COZZENS.

P W. COZZENS, author of the '« Sparrowgrass Papers," which firstappeared
in Putnam's Magazine in 1856, and gave him immediate reputation, was
born at New York in 1818, and spent his life in that city and its neighborhoods,
dying in 1869. He was the author of a charming book of travel in Nova Scotia,
"Acadia," and of many humorous sketches and magazine papers, a^ veil as
a number of peculiarly lovely poems. These productions were the fruit'^^.such
leisure as he could find amidst the cares of his business, which was thiC o09^
wine merchant. e it of

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" It rains very hard," said Mrs. Sparrowgrass, looking
the window next morning. Sure enough, the rain was sw€ '>ut of
broadcast over the country, and the four Sparrowgrassii :eping
flattening a quartette of noses against the window-panes, t were

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A FAMILY HORSE.

ing most faithfully the man would bring the horse that belonged
to his brother, in spite of the elements. It was hoping against
hope: no man having a horse to sell will trot him out in a rain-
storm, unless he intend to sell him at a bargain — but childhood
is so credulous ! The succeeding morning was bright, however,
and down came the horse. He had been very cleverly groomed,
and looked pleasant under the saddle. The man led him
back and forth before the door. " There, squire, 's as good a
hos as ever stood on iron," Mrs. Sparrowgras»asked me what he
meant by that. I replied, it was a figurative way of expressing,
in horse-talk, that he was as good a horse as ever stood in shoe-
leather. "He's a handsome hos, squire," said the man. I
replied that he did seem to be a good-looking animal, but, said I,
** he does not quite come up to the description of a horse I have
read." Whose hos was it ? " said he. I replied it was the horse
of Adonis. He said he didn't know him, but, he added, " there
is so many bosses stolen, that the descriptions are stuck up now
pretty common." To put him at his ease (for he seemed to think
I suspected him of having stolen the horse), I told him the de-
scription I meant had been written some hundreds of years ago
by Shakespeare, and repeated it

'Round-hooft, short-ioynted, fetlocks shag and long,
Broad brest, full eyes, small head, and nostril wide,

High crest, short ears, strait legs, and passing strong,
Thin mane, thick tail, broad buttock, tender hide."

r''

"Squire," said he, "that will do for a song, but it ain't no
p'ints of a good hos. Trotters nowadays go in all shapes, big
heads and little heads, big eyes and little eyes, short ears or
long ones, thick tail and no tail; so as they have sound legs,
good Tin, good barrel, and good stifle, and wind, squire, and
speed well, they'll fetch a price. Now, this animal is what I call
a hos, squire; he's got the p'ints, he's stylish, he's close-ribbed,
a free goer, kind in harness— ^single or double — a good feeder."
I asked him if being a good feeder was a desirable quality. He
replied it was; " of course," said he, " if your hos is off his feed,
he ain't good for nothin'. But what's the use," he added, "of
me tellin' you the p'ints of a good hos ? You're a hos man,
squire: you know" — "It seems to me," said I, "there is
something the matter with that left eye." ♦' No, «>," said he,

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and with that he pulled down the norse's head, and, rapidly
crooking his forefinger at the suspected organ, said, " See thar
— don't wink a bit." "But he should wink," I replied. " Not
onless his eye are weak," he said. To satisfy myself, I asked
the man to let me take the bridle. He did so, and so soon as
I took hold of it the horse started off in a remarkable retrograde
movement, dragging me with him into my best bed of hybrid
roses. Finding we were trampling down all the best plants, that
had cost at auction from three-and-sixpence to seven shilling
apiece, and that the more I pulled, the more he backed, I finally
let him have his own way, and jammed him stern-foremost into

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A GOOD HORSE.

our largest climbing rose that had been all summer prickling
itself, in order to look as much like a vegetable porcupine as
possible. This unexpected bit of satire in his rear changed his
retrograde movement to a side-long bound, by which he flirted
off half the pots on the balusters, upsetting my gladioluses and
tube-roses in the pod, and leaving great splashes of mold, gera-
niums and red pottery in the gravel walk. By this time his owner
had managed to give him two pretty severe cuts with the whip,
which made him unmanageable, so I let him go. We had a
pleasant time catching him again, when he got among the Lima
bean-poles; but his owner led him back with a very self-satisfied

A FAMILY HORSE.

expression. " Playful, ain't he, squire?" I replied that I thought
he was, and asked him if it was usual for his horse to play such
pranks. He said it was not. ''You see, squire, he feels his
oats, and hain't been out of the stable for a month. Use him,
and he's as k'nd as a kitten." With that he put his foot in the
stirrup, and mounted. The animal really looked very well as he
moved around the grass plot, and, as Mrs. Sparrowgrass seemed
to fancy him, I took a written guarantee that he was sound, and
bought him. What I gave for him is a secret; I have not even
told Mrs. Sparrowgrass.

It is a mooted point whether it is best to buy your horse
before you build your stable, or build your stable before you buy
your horse. A horse without a stable is like a bishop without a
church. Our neighbor, who is very ingenious, built his stable to
fit his horse. He took the length of his horse and a little over,
as the measure of the depth of his stable; then he built it. He
had a place beside the stall for his Rockaway carriage. When
he came to put the Rockaway in, he found he had not allowed
for the shafts! The ceiling was too low to allow them to be
erected, so he cut two square port-holes in the back of his stable
and run his shafts through them, into the chicken-house behind.
Of course, whenever he wanted to take out his carriage, he had
to unroost all his fowls, who would sit on the shafts, night and
day. But that was better than building a new stable. For my
part, I determined to avoid mistakes by getting the horse and
carriage both first, and then to build the stable. This plan, being
acceptable to Mrs. Sparrowgrass, was adopted, as judicious and
expedient. In consequence, I found myself with a horse on m^
hands, with no place to put him. Fortunately, I was acquainted
with a very honest man who kept a livery stable, where I put
him to board by the month, and in order that he might have
plenty of good oats, I bought some, which I gave to the ostler for
that purpose. The man of whom I bought the horse did not
deceive me when he represented him as a great feeder. He ate
more oats than all the rest of the horses put together in that
stable.

It is a good thing to have a saddle-horse in the country. The
early morning ride, when dawn and dew freshen and flush the
landscape, is comparable to no earthly innocent pleasure. Look
at yonder avenue of road-skirting trees. Those marvelous

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trunks, yet moist, are ruddy as obelisks of jasper! And above-
see the leaves blushing .at the east! Hark to the music! inter-
minable chains of melody linking earth and sky with its delicious
magic. The little, countless wood-birds are singing! and now
rolls up from the mown meadow the fragrance of cut grass and

clover.

" JHo print of sheep-lrack yet hath crushed a flower;

The spider's woof with silvery dew is hung
As it was beaded ere the diiylight hour:
The hooked bramble just as it was strung,
When on each leaf the night her crystals flung,
Then hurried off, the dawning to elude."
« * * • •

•• The rutted road did never seem so clean,
There is no dust upon the way-side thorn,
For every bud looks out as if but newly bom."

Look at the river with its veil of blue mist! and the grim,
gaunt old Palisades, as amiable in their orient crowns as old
princes, out of the direct line of succession, over the royal cradle
of the heir apparent!

There is one thing about early riding in the country; you find
out a great many things which, perhaps, you would not have
found out under ordinary circumstances. The first thing I found
out was, that my horse had the heaves, I had been so wrapt up
in the beauties of the morning that I had not observed what
perhaps everybody in that vicinity had observed, namely, that the
new horse had been waking up all the sleepers on both sides of
the road with an asthmatic whistle of half-a-mile power. My
attention was called to the fact by the village teamster, old Dock-
weed, who came banging after me in his empty cart, shouting out
my name as he came. I must say I have always disliked old
Dockweed's familiarity; he presumes too much upon my good-
nature, when he calls me Sparrygrass before ladies at the depot,
and by my Christian name always on the Sabbath, when he is
dressed up. On this occasion, what with the horse's vocal
powers and old Dockweed's, the affair was pretty well blown over
the village before breakfast. " Sparrygrass," he said, as he
came up, '• that your hos?" I replied that the horse was my
property. " Got the heaves, ain't he ? got 'em bad." Just then
a window was pushed open, and the white head of the old gentle-
man who sits in the third pew in front of our pew in church was

A FAMILY HORSE

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thrust out. "What's the matter with your horse?" said he.
«« Got the heaves," replied old Dockwecd, "got 'em bad." Then
I heard symptoms of opening a blind on the other side of the
road, and as I did not wish to run the gauntlet of such inquiries,
I rode off on a cross-road; but not before I heard, above the
sound of pulmonary complaint, the voice of old Dockv/eed
explaining to the other cot-
cage, " Sparrygrass — got a hos
—got the heaves — got 'em
bad." I was so much ashamed,
that I took a roundabout road
to the stable, and
instead of coming
home like a fresh
and gallant cavalier,
on a hard gallop, I
walked my purchase
to the stable, and
dismounted with a
chastened spirit.

"Well, dear," said
Mrs. Sparrovvgrass,
with a face beaming
all over with smiles,
"how did you like
your horse ?" I re-
plied that he was
not quite so fine a
saddle-horse as I
had anticipated, but
I added, brighten-
ing up, for good-
humor is sympa-
thetic, " he will made a good horse, I think, after all, for you and
the children to jog around with in a wagon." "Oh, won't that
be pleasant !" said Mrs. Sparrowgrass.

Farewell, then, rural rides, and rural roads o' mornings ! Fare-
well, song birds and jasper colonnades; farewell, misty rivei
and rocky Palisades; farewell mown honey-breath, farewell stir-
rup and bridle, dawn and dew; we must jog on at a foot pace.

♦'GOT THE HEAVES, AINT HE?''

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After all, it is better for your horse to have a pulmonary com-
plaint than to have it yourself.

I had determined not to build a stable, nor to buy a carriage,
until I had thoroughly tested my horse in harness. For this pur-
pose, I hired a Rockaway of the stable-keeper. Then I put Mrs.
Sparrovvgrass and the young ones in the double seats, and took
the ribbons for a little drive by the Nepperhan River road. The
Nep|)erhan is a quiet stream that for centuries has wound its way
through the ancient dorp of Yonlcers. Geologists may trace the
movements of time upon the rocky dial of the Palisades, and
estimate the age of the more modern Hudson by the foot-prints
of sauria; in the strata that fringe its banks, but it is impossi-
ble to escape the conviction, as you ride beside the Nepperhan,
that it is a very old stream — that it is entirely independent ot earth-
quakes — that its birth was of primeval antiquity — and, no doubt,
that it meandered through Westchester vailcys when the Hudson
was only a fresh water lake, land-locked somewhere above Pough-
keepsie. It was a lovely afternoon. The sun was sloping west-
ward, the meadows

" were all a-flame

In sunken light, and the mailed grasshopper
Shrilled in the maize with ceaseless iteration."

We nad passed Chicken Island, and the famous house with the
stone gable and the one stone chimney, in which General Wash-
ington slept, as he made it a point to sleep in every old stone
house in Westchester County, and had gone pretty far on the
road, past the cemetery, when Mrs. Sparrowgrass said suddenly,
Dear, what is the matter with your horse ? " As I had been telling
the children all the stories about the river on the way, I had man-
aged to get my head pretty well inside the carriage, and, ai. the
time she spoke, was keeping .1 look-out in front with my back.
The remark of Mrs. Sparrowgrass induced me to turn about, and
I found the new horse behaving in a most unaccountable manner.
He was going down-hill with his nose almost to the ground, run-
ning the wagon first on this side and then on the other. I thought
of the remark made by the man, and turning again to Mrs. Spar-
rowgrass, said, ''Playful, isn't he?" The next moment I heard
something breaking away in front, and then the Rockaway gave
a lurch and stood still. Upon examination I found the new

A FAMILY HORSE.

horse had tumbled down, broken one shaft, gotten the olhei
through the check-rein so as to bring his head up with a round-
turn, and besides had manajjcd to put one of the tvacos in a
single hitch around his oil hind leg. So soon as I had taken all
the young ones and Mrs. Sparrowgrass out of the Rockaway, I
set to work to liberate the horse, who was choking very fast with
the check-rein. It is unpleasant to get your fishing-line in a
tangle when you are in a hurry for bites, but I never saw a fishuig-
line in such a tangle as that harness. However, I set to work
with a penknife, and
cut him out in such a
way as to make getting
home by our convey-
ance impossible.
When he got up, he
was the sleepiest look-
ing horse I ever saw.
" Mrs. Sparrowgrass,"
said I, "won't you stay
here with the children
until I go to the
nearest farm-house ?"
Mrs. Sparrowgrass re-
plied that she would.
Then I took the horse
with me to get him
out of the way of the
children, and went in
search of assistance.
The first thing the

new horse did when he got about a quarter of a mile from the
scene of the accident, was to tumble down a bank. Fortu-
nately the bank was not over four feet high, but as I went
with him, n?y trousers were rent in a grievous place. While I
was getting the new horse on his feet again, I saw a colored per-
son approaching, who came to my assistance. The first thing he
did was to pull out a large jack-knife, and the next thing he did
was to open the new horse's mouth and run the blade two or
three times inside of the new horse's gums. Then the new horse
commenced bleeding. " Dah, sah," said the man, shutting up

THE BLIND STAGGERS.

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his jack-knife, •* ef 't hadn't been for dat yer, your hos would ha*
bin a goner." ** What was the matter with him ? " said I. *' Oh,
he's on'y jis got de blind staggers, das all. Say," said he, before
I was half indignant enough at the man who sold me such an
animal, " say, ain't your name Sparrowgrass ? " I replied that my
name was Sparrowgrass. " Oh," said he, " I knows you; I brung
some fowls once down to you place. I heerd about you and you
hos. Dats de hos dats got de heaves so bad, heh! heh! You
better sell dat horse." I determined to take his advice, and
^ employed him to lead my purchase to the nearest place where he
would be cared for. Then I went back to the Rockaway, but
liiet Mrs. Sparrowgrass and the children on the road coming to
meet me. She had left a man in charge of the Rockaway. When
we got to the Rockaway we found the man missing, also the
whip and one cushion. We got another person to take charge
of the Rockaway, and had a pleasant walk home by moonlight.

Does any person want a horse at a low price ? A good, stylish-
looking animal, close-ribbed, good loin, and good stifle, sound
legs, with only the heaves and blind-staggers, and a slight defect
in one of his eyes ? If at any time he slips his bridle and gets
away, you can always approach him by getting on his left side.
I will also engage to give a written guarantee that he is sound
and kind, signed by the brother of his former owner

A GENUINE MEXICAN PLUG.

BY MARK TWAIN.

I RESOLVED to have a horse to ride. I had never seen such wild,
free, magnificent horsemanship outside of a circus as these pictu-
resquely clad Mexicans, Californians and Mexicanized Ameri-
cans displayed in Carson streets every day. How they rode '
Leaning just gently forward out of the perpendicular, easy and
nonchalant, with broad slouch-hat brim blown square up in front,
and long ri'a/a swinging above the head, they swept through the
town like the wind ! The next minute they were only a sailing
puff of dust on the far desert. If they trotted, they sat up

A GENUINE MEXICAN PLUG.

gallantly and gracefully, and seemed part of the horse ; did not
go jiggering up and down after the silly Miss Nancy fashion of
the riding-schools. I had quickly learned to tell a horse from a
cow, and was full of anxiety to learn more. I was resolved to
buy a horse. ^^^ _^i

IN SUSPENSE.

While the thought was rankling in my mind, the auctioneer
came skurrying through the plaza on a black beast that had as
many humps and corners on him as a dromedary, and was neces-

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sarily uncomely ; but he was " going, going, at twenty-two !— .
horse, saddle and bridle at twenty-two dollars, gentlemen !" and
I could hardly resist.

A man whom I did not know (he turned out to be the auction-
eer's brother) noticed the wistful look in my eye, and observed
that that was a very remarkable horse to be going at such a price;
and added that the saddle alone was worth the money. It was
a Spanish saddle, with ponderous tapidaros, and furnished with
the ungainly jole-leather covering with the unspellable name. I
said I had half a notion to bid. Then this keen-eyed person
appeared to me to be " taking my measure ; " but I dismissed
the suspicion when he spoke, for his manner was full of guileless
candor and truthfulness. Said he :

*' I know that horse — know him well.

You are a stranger, I take it, and so

you might think he was an American

horse, maybe, but I assure you he is

nothing of the kind ; but

my speaking in a low

voice, other people

being near — he is,

without the shadow

of a doubt, a Genuine

Mexican Plug !"

I did not know
what a Genuine Plug

was, but there was
something about this
man's way of saying
it that made me
swear inwardly that I would own a Gen-
uine Mexican Plug or die.
"Has he any other — er advantages ? "
I inquired, suppressing what eagerness I could.

He hooked his forefinger in the pocket of my army-shirt, led
me to one side, and breathed in my ear impressively these words :
" He can out-buck anything in America ! "
"Going, going, going — at hvent-ty-iowx dollars and a half,
gen—'

•* Twenty-seven ! " I shouted, in a frenzy.

BADLY MIXED.

A GENUINE MEXICAN PLUG.

" And sold ! " said ij auctioneer, and passed over the Genu-
ine Mexican Plug to me.

I could scarcely contain my exultation. I paid the money,
and put the animal in a neighboring livery-stable to dine and :
rest himself. . • • •

In the afternoon I brought the creature into the plaza, and
certain citizens held him by the head, and others by the tail,
while I mounted him. As soon as they let go, he placed all his
feet in a bunch together, lowered his back, and then suddenly
arched it upward, and shot me straight into the air a matter of
three or four feet ! I came as straight down again, lit in the
saddle, went instantly up again, came down almost on the high
pommel, shot up again, and came down on the horse's neck — all
in the space of three or four seconds. Then he rose and stood
almost straight up on his hind feet, and I, clasping his lean neck
desperately, slid back into the saddle, and held on. He came
down, and immediately hoisted his heels into the air, delivering
a vicious kick at the sky, and stood on his forefeet. And then
down he came once more, and began the original exercise of
shooting me straight up again. The third time I went up I
heard a stranger say :

'* Oh, don'f he buck, though ! "

While I was up, somebody struck the horse a sounding thwack
with a leathern strap, and when I arrived again the Genuine
Mexican Plug was not there. A Californian youth chased him
up and caught him, and asked if he might have a ride. I granted
him that luxury. He mounted the Genuine, got lifted into the
air once, but sent his spurs home as he descended, and the horse
darted away like a telegram. He soared over three fences like
a bird, and disappeared down the road toward the Washoe
Valley.

I sat down on a stone with a sigh, and by a natural impulse
one of my hands sought my forehead, and the other the base of
my stomach. I believe I never appreciated, till then, the poverty
of the human machinery — for I still needed a hand or two to
place elsewhere. Pen cannot describe how I was jolted up. Im-
agination cannot conceive how disjointed I was — how internally,
externally and universally I was unsettled, mixed up and rupt-
ured. There was a sympathetic crowd around me, though.

One elderly looking comforter said

MARIC TWAIN* S LIBRARY OF HUMOR.

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" Stranger, you've been taken in. Everybody in this camp
knows that horse Any child, any Injun, could have told you
that he'd buck ; he is the very worst devil to buck on the conti-
nent of America. You hear w^. I'm Curry. Old Cnxxy. Old
Abe Curry. And moreover, he is a simon-pure, out-and-out)

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genuine d — d Mexican plug, and an uncommon mean one at that,
too. Why, you turnip, if you had laid low and kept dark, there's
chances to buy an American horse for mighty little more than
you paid for that bloody old foreign relic."
I gave no sign ; but I made up my mind that if the auction-

s'!

A GENUINE MEXICAN PLUG.

cer's brother's funeral took place while I was in the Territory I
would postpone all other recreations and attend it.

After a gallop of sixteen miles the Californian youth and the
Genuine Mexican Plug came tearing into town again, shedding
foam-flakes like the spume-spray that drives before a typhoon,
and, with one final skip over a wheelbarrow and a Chinaman, cast
anchor in front of the " ranch."

Such panting and blowing ! Such spreading and contracting
of the red equine nostrils, and glaring of the wild equine eye !
But was the imperial beast subjugated ? Indeed he was not.
His lordship the Speaker of the House thought he was, and
mounted him to go down to the Capitol ; but the first dash the
creature made was over a pile of telegraph poles half as high as
a church ; and his time to the Capitol — one mile and three-
quarters — remains unbeaten to this day. But then he took an
advantage — he left out the mile, and only did three-quarters.
That is to say, he made a straight cut across-lots, preferring
fences and ditches to a crooked road ; and when the Speaker
got to the Capitol he said he had been in the air so much he felt
as if he had made the trip on a comet.

In the evening the Speaker came home afoot for exercise, and
got the Genuine towed back behind a quartz wagon. The next
day I loaned the animal to the Clerk of the House to go down
to the Dana silver mine, six miles, and he walked back for
exercise, and got the horse towed. Everybody I loaned him to
always walked back ; they never could get enough exercise any
other way. Still, I continued to loan him to anybody who was
willing to borrow him, my idea being to get him crippled, and
throw him on the borrower's hands, or killed, and make the
borrower pay for him. But somehow nothing ever happened to
him. He took chances that no other horse ever took and sur-
vived, but he always came out safe. It was his daily habit to
try experiments that had always before been considered impos-
sible, but he always got through. Sometimes he miscalculated
a little, and did not get his rider through intact, but he always
got through himself. Of course I had tried to sell him ; but
that was a stretch of simplicity which met with little sympathy.
The auctioneer stormed up and down the streets on him for four
days, dispersing the populace, interrupting business, and destroy-

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ing children, and never got a bid — at least never any but the
eighteen dollar one he hired a notoriously substanceless bummer
to make. The people only smiled pleasantly, and restrained
their desire to buy, if they had any. Then the auctioneer
brought in his bill, and I withdrew the horse from the market.
We tried to trade him off at private vendue next, offering him at
a sacrifice for second-hand tombstones, old iron, temperance
tracts — any kind of property. But holders were stiff, and we
retired from the market again. I never tried to ride the horse
any more. Walking was good enough exercise for a man like
me, that had nothing the matter with him except ruptures, internal
injuries, and such things. Finally I tried to giveh'im away. But
it was a failure. Parties said earthquakes were handy enough on
the Pacific coast — they did not wish to own one. As a last
resort I offered him to the Governor for the use of the " Brigade."
His face lit up eagerly at first, but toned down again, and he
said the thing would be too palpable.

. Just then the livery-stable man brought in his bill for six
weeks' keeping — stall-room for the horse, fifteen dollars ; hay
for the horse, two hundred and fifty ! The Genuine Mexican
Plug had eaten a ton of the article, and the man said he would
have eaten a hundred if he had let him.

I will remark here, in all seriousness, that the regular price of
hay during that year and a part of the next was really two hun-
dred and fifty dollars a ton. During a part of the previous year
it had sold at five hundred a ton, in gold, and during the winter
before that, there was such scarcity of the article that in several
instances small quantities had brought eight hundred dollars a
ton in coin ! The consequence might be guessed without my
telling it : people turned their stock loose to starve, and before
the spring arrived Carson and Eagle valleys were almost
literally carpeted with their carcases ! Any old settler there will
verify these statements.

I managed to pay the livery bill, and that same day I gave the
Genuine Mexican Plug to a passing Arkansas emigrant whom
fortune delivered into my hand. If this ever meets his eye, he
will doubtless remember the donation.

Now whoever has had the luck to ride a real Mexican plug will
recognize the animal depicted in this chapter, and hardly con-
sider him exaggerated — but the uninitiated will feel justified in
regarding his portrait as a fancy sketch, perhaps.

1,'

PLAIN LANGUAGE FROM TRUTHFUL JAMES. 89

PLAIN LANGUAGE FROM TRUTHFUL JAMES.

Table Mountain, 1870.

by francis bret harte.

ORANCIS BRET HARTE 13 a native of Albany, N. Y., where he was
born in 1837. At the age of seventeen he went to California, where he
remained till his thirty-fourth year, and where he was miner, printer, express
agent, school teacher, J. S. Marshal's clerk and clerk of the Surveyor-General.
He also held a position in the mint. He was a journalist, and at the time he
achieved his sudden and extraordinary popularity, he was ed'tor of the Over,
land Monthly^ which he had managed from the beginning. He had already
achieved distinction on the Pacific coast as a poet and humorist when he re-
turned to the East in 1871. After lecturing throughout the country, he made
New York his home until appointed Commercial Agent at Crefeldt, in Ger-
many, by President Hayes. He was afterwards promoted to the Consulate at
Glasgow. He has contributed to the leading periodicals in England and
America, and is widely known by translations in every language of Europe.

Which I wish to remark — "
And my language is plain — .;

That for ways that are dark
And for tricks that are vain,

The heathen Chinee is peculiar.
Which the same I would rise to explain.

Ah Sin was his name;

And I shall not deny
In regard to the same

What that name might imply,
But his smile it was pensive and childlike,

As I frequent remarked to Bill Nye.

It was August the third;

And quite soft was the skies;
Which it might be inferred

That Ah Sin was likewise;
Yet he played it thaf day upon William

And me, in a way I despise.

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"Which we had a small game,

And Ah Sin took a hand:
It was Euchre. The same

He did not understand:
But he smiled as he sat by the table,

With the smile that was childlike and bland.

FLAIN LANGUAGE FROM TRUTHFUL JAMES.

911

Yet the cards they were stocked

In a way that I grieve,
And my feelings were shocked

At the state of Nye's sleeve:
Which was stuffed full of aces and bowers,

And the same with intent to deceive.

«*HE WENT FOR THE HEATHEN CHINEE.**

But the hands that were played

By that heathen Chinee,
And the points that he made

Were quite frightful to see —
Till at last he put down a right bower,

Which the same Nye had dealt unto me.

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Then I looked up at Nye, '

And he gazed upon me;
And he rose with a sigh,

And said ♦' Can this be ?
We are ruined by Chinese cheap labor "—

And he went for that heathen Chinee.

In the scene that ensued

I did not take a hand, ^

But the floor it was strewed

Like the leaves on the strand
With the cards that Ah Sin had been hiding,

In the game "he did not understand."

In his sleeves, which were long.

He had twenty-four packs —
Which was coming it strong,

Yet I state but the facts;
And we found on his nails, which were taper,

What is frequent in tapers — that's wax.

Which is why I remark,

And my language is plain,
That for ways that are dark.

And for tricks that are vain.
The heathen Chinee is peculiar —

Which the same I am free to maintain.

It is said that at dinner parties in Spain, the oldest lady
present is seated first. When that plan was tried in New York,
many years ago, it resulted in the collations given at evening
parties where everybody stands up — New Orleans Picayune.

A VISIT TO BRIGHAM YOUNG. 93

i A VISIT TO BRIGHAM YOUNG.

BY CHARLES F. BROWNE (ARTEMUS WARD).

/T^HARLES F. BROWNE (Artemus Ward) was born at Waterford, Me.,
April 33, 1834. He was a printer by trade, and was a compositor in the
office of the Boston Carpet ^a^, acomic journali to which he contributed his first
humorous efforts. As a journeyman printer he wandered*' westward, but seems
to have spent the greater part of his time in Ohio, where about the year 185S
he became the "local editor "of the Cleveland Plaindealcr. In the "local
column " of this newspaper his humorous paragraphs began to attract notice,
and he invented, for the amusement of its readers, the character of Artemus
Ward, the Showman, with which he boon became thoroughly identified. He was
invited to New Yorlt, at the brealcing out of the war, to take charge of Vanity
Fair, a humorous weekly, which did not survive the serious mood of the time.
When it died, he visited Utah and California, and then launched himself upon the
public as a comic lecturer, and achieved brilliant success in this country and in
England, where perhaps he was even more popular, and where he became a
rc^'ulur and favorite contributor to Punch. His collected sketches, lectures,
extravaganzas, etc., in thrcQ volumes, respectively entitled ''Artemus Ward:
His Book," "Artemus Ward: His Travels," and "Artemus Ward in Lon-
don," are published in New York. Shortly after his arrival in England
Browne's health gave way; he fell into consumption, and died at Southampton,
May 6, 1867.

It is now goin on 2 (too) yeres, as I very well remember, since
I crossed the Planes for Kaliforny, the Brite land of Jold.
While crossin the Planes all so bold I fell in with sum noble red
men of the forest (N. B. — This is rote Sarcasticul. Injins is
Pizin, whar ever found), which thay Sed I was their Brother, &
wanted for to smoke the Calomel of Peace with me. Thay then
stole my jerkt beef, blankits, etsettery, skalpt my orgin grinder &
scooted with a Wild Hoop. Durin the Cheaf's techin speech he
sed he shood meet me in the Happy Huntin Grounds. If he duz,
thare will be a fite. But enuff of this ere. Revcn Noose Muttons^
as our skoolmaster, who has got Talent into him, cussycally
obsarved.

I arrove at Salt Lake in doo time. At Camp Scott there was a
lot of U. S, sogers, hosstensibly sent out thare to smash the Mor-
mins but really to eat Salt vittles & play poker & other beautiful
but sumwhat onsartin games. I got acquainted with sum of the
officers. Thay lookt putty scrumpshus in their Bloo coats with

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brass buttings onto urn, & ware very talented drinkers, but so fur
as fitin is consarned I'd willingly put my wax figgers agin the hull
party.

My desire was to exhibit my grate show in Salt Lake City, so I
called on Brigham Yung, the grate mogull amung the Mormins,
and axed his permishun to pitch my tent and onfurl my banner to
the jentle hreezis. He lookt at me in a austeer manner for a few
minits, and sed:

" Do you bleeve in Solomon, Saint Paul, the immaculateness ol
the Mormin Church and the Latter-day Revelashuns ?"

Sez I, "I'm on it !" I make it a pint to git along plesunt, the
I didn't know what under the Son the old feller was drivin at.
He sed I mite show.

"You air a marrid man. Mister Yung, I bleeve?" sez I, pre-
parin to rite him sum free parsis.

** I hev eighty wives. Mister Ward. I sertinly am marrid."

** How do you like it, as far as you hev got ?" sed I. \

He sed, " Middlin," and axed me wouldn't I like to see his
famerly, to which I replide that I wouldn't mind minglin with the
fair Seek & Barskin in the winnin smiles of his interestin wives.
He accordinly tuk me to his Scareum. The house is powerful
big, & in a exceedin large room was his wives & children, which
larst was squawkin and hollerin enulf Lo take the roof rite orf the
house. The wimin was of all sizes and ages. Sum was pretty
& sum was Plane — sum was helthy and sum was on the Wayne —
■which is verses, tho sich was not my intentions, as I don't 'prove
of puttin verses in Froze rittins, tho ef occashun requires I can
Jerk a Poim ekal to any of them Atlantic Munthly fellers.

** My wives. Mister Ward," sed Yung.

" ..our sarvant, marms," sed I, as I sot down in a cheer which
a red-heded female brawt me.

"Besides these wives you see here. Mister Ward," sed Yung,
" I hav eij. >ty more in varis parts o.' this consecrated land which
air Sealed to me."

"Which ?" sez I, getting up & staring at him.

" Sealel, Sir ! sealed."

" Wnare bowts?" sez I.

" I sed, Sir, n^at they was sealed !" He spoke in a tragerdy voice.

•' Will they piob!- continnerou in that stile to any grate extent,
Sir?" I axed.

^/ VISIT TO BRIGHAM YOUNG.

"S'f " sed he, turning as red as a biled beet, "don't you know
that tiic rules of our Church is that I, Mie I'roUt, m.iy hcv as raeny
wives as I wants ?"

•• Jcs so," I sed. " You are old nie, aint yoAi ?"

" Them as is Sealed to me— that is to say, to be mine P'ben I
wants um— air at present my sperrctooul wives," sed Mister i ^.

" Long may thay wave ! " scz I, seein I shoodgit i-no a scrape
ef I didn't look out.

In i iirivir conversashun with Brigham I learnt the
fax: \: :ak's him six weeks to kiss hi
uives. he iion'tdo it only onct a yere, fi
scz it is wuss nor cleanin house. H(
don't pretend to know his children, than
is so many of um, tho they all
know him. He sez about every
child he meats call him

ollowing

DOMESTIC FELICITY.

Par, & he takes it for
grantid it is so. His
wives air very expensiv.
Thay allers want
suthin, & ef he don't ^
buy it for um thay
set the house in a up-
roar. He sez he don't
have a minit's peace.

His wives fite among theirselves so much that he has bilt a fiting
room for tliare speshul benefit, & when too of 'em get into a row he
has em turned loose into that place, where the dispoot is settled
accordin to the ruies of the London prize ring. Sumtimes thay
abooz hisself individooally. Thay hev pulled the most of his
hair out at the roots, & he wares meny a horrible scar upon his
borly inflicted v itb mop-handles, broom-sticks, and sich. Occash-
unly thqy git niad & scald him with biling hot water. When he
got eny waze cranky thay'd shut him up in a dark closit, previshly
whippin him artcr the stile of muthers when thare orfspring git
onruly. Sumtimes when he went in swimmin thay'd go to the
banks of the Lake & >teal all his'close, thereby compellin him to
sneek home by a sin^ootiuH rowt, drest in the Skanderlus stile of
the Cioek Slaiv. " I find thatthekeersof amarrid life way hevy
onto me," sed tiie Profit, "& sumtimes I wish I'd remaned

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singel

I left the Profit and startid for the tavern whare I put
up to. On my way I wasovertuk by a lurge krowd of Mormins,
which they surroundid me & statid they were goin into the Show
free.

"Wall," sez I, '*ef I find a individooal who is goin round let-
tin folks into his show free, I'll let you know."

" We've had a Revelashun biddin us go into A. Ward's Show
without payin nothin !" thay sho\*ted.

" Yes," hollered a lot of femailc Mormonesses, ceasin me by
the cote tales & swingin me round very rapid, " we're all goin in
free ! So sez the Revelashun !"

" What's Old Revelashun got to do with my show ?" sez I, get-
tin putty rily. " Tell Mister Revelashun," sed I, drawin myself
up to my full hite and lookin round upon the ornery krowd with a
prowd & defiant mean — " tell Mister Revelashun to mind his own
bizness, subject only to the Konstitushun of the United States !"

" Oh, now, let us in, that's a sweet man," sed several femailes,
puttin thare arms round me in luvin style. " Become i of us.
Becum a Freest & hav wives Sealed to you."

" Not a Seal !" sez I, startin back in horror at the idee.

" Oh stay, Sir, stay," sed a tall, gawnt femaile, ore whoos hed
37 summirs hev parsd — "stay, & I'll be your Jentle Gazelle."

" Not ef I know it, you won't," sez I. " Awa, you skanderlus
femaile, awa ! Go & be a Nunnery !" Thai' s ichat I sed, JES so.

"& I," sed a fat, chunky femaile, who must hev wade more
than too hundred lbs,, " I Avill be your sweet gidin Star !"

Sez I, " lie bet two dollars and a half you won't !" Whare
ear I may Rome He still be troo 2 thee. Oh Betsy Jane ! [N. B.
— Betsy Jane is my wife's Sir naime.]

*' Wiltist thon not tarry here in thepromist Land ?" sed several
of the meserabil critters.

" He see you all essenshally cussed be 4 I wiltist !" roared I,
as mad as I cood be at thare infernal noncents. I girdid up my
Lions & fled the Seen. I packt up my duds & Left Salt Lake,
which is a 2nd Soddum & Germorrer, inhabitid by as thcavin iV
onprincipled a set of retchis as ever drew Breth in eny spot on
the Globe.

THE SIMPLE STORY OF G. WASIJ/A'GTOIV. gr

THE SIMrLE STORY OF G. WASHINGTON. ;

BY r.CBKRT J. euroettij:.

Only yesterday, a lady friend on a shopping excursion left
her little tid toddler of five bright summers in our experienced
charge, while she pursued the duties which called her down-town.
Such a bright l;oy ; so delightful it was to talk to him ! We can
never forget the blissful half-hour we spent loolring that prodigy
up in his centennial history.

"Now listen, Clary," wc said — his name is Clarence Fitzher-
bert Alen9on de Marchemont Garuthcrs — " and learn about
George Washington.

"Who's he?" inquired Clarence, etc.

" Listen," we said; "he was the father of his country."

" Whose country ? "

"Ours; yours and mine — the confederated union of the
American people, cemented with the life blood of the men of '76,
poured out upon the altars of our country as the dearest libation
to lil)crty that her votaries can offer ! "

"Who did ?" asked Clarence.

There is a peculiar tact in talking to children that very few
people possess. Now most people would have grown impatient
and lost their temper when little Clarence asked so many irrele-
vant questions, but we did not. We knew, however careless he
might appear at first, that we could soon interest him in the
Ftory, and he would be all eyes and ears. So we smiled sweetly
— that same sweet smile which you may have noticed on our
photographs, just the faintest ripple of a smile breaking across
the face like a ray of sunlight, and checked by lines of tender
sadness, just before the two ends of it pass each other at the
back of the neck.

And so, smiling, we went on.

" Well, one day George's father — "

"George who?" asked Clarence.

" George Washington. He was a .ittle boy then, just like you.
One day his father — "

"Whose father?" demanded Clarence with an encouraging
expression of interest.

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" George Washington's ; this great man we were telling you
of. One day George Washington's father gave him a little
hatchet for a—"

" Gave who a little hatchet?" the dear child interrupted, with
a gleam of bewitching intelligence. Most men would have got
mad, or betrayed signs of impatience, but we didn't. We know
how to talk to children. So we went on:

"George Washington. His — "
"Who gave him the little hatchet?"
" His faLher. And his father — *'
" Whose father ? "
" George Washington's."
"Oh!"

" Yes, George Washington. And his father
told him—"
"Told who?"
"Told George."
" Oh, yes, George."

And we went on just as patient and as
pleasant as you could imagine. We took up
the story right where the boy interrupted, for
we could see that he was ju^t crazy to hear
the end of it. We said :
"And he told him that—"
" George toid him ?" queried Clarence.
"No, his father told George — "
" Oh ! "

" Yes ; told him that he must be careful
with the hatchet—"

" Who must be careful ? "

CLARENCE.

" George must.

"Oh!"

"Yes ; must be careful v.ith the hatchet — "

" What hatchet ? "

"Why, George's."

" Oh ! "

" Yes ; with the hatchet, and not cut himself with it, or drop it
in the cistern, or leave it out on the grass all night. So George
"/ent rou xl cutting everything he could reach with his hatchet.
And at last he came to a splendid apple-tree, his father's favor-
ite, and cut it down, and — "

Tim SIMPLE STORY OF G. WASHINGTON.

" Who cut it clown ? "

" George did."

"Oh!"

** But his father came home and saw it the first thing, and — "

" Saw the hatchet ? "

'• No ! saw the apple tree. And he said: * Who has cut down
my favorite apple-tree?'"

" Whose apple-tree ? "

"George's father's. And everybody said*they didn't know
anything about it, and — "

'* Anything about what ? "

" The apple-tree."

"Oh!"

" And George came up and heard them talking about it — "

" Heard who talking about it ? "

" Heard his father and the men.'

" What was they talking about? " . : ..

♦ About this apple-tree."

"What apple-tree?"

" The favorite apple-tree that George cut down."

" George who ? "

" George Washington."

"Oh!"

" So George came up, and he said, * Father, I cannot tell a lie.
It was-' "

"His father couldn't?"

"Why, no, George couldn't."

" Oh ! George ? Oh, yes ! "

" ' It was I cut down your apple-tree ; I did — *

" His father did ? "

" No, no, no ; said he cut down his apple-tree."

" George's apple-tree ? "

"No, no; his father's."

"Oh!"

" He said—"

" His father said?"

" No, no, no; George said, ' Father, I cannot tell a lie. I did
it with my little hatchet.' And his father said: 'Noble boy, I
would rather lose a thousand trees than have you to tel) a lie.*

"George did?"

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" No ; his father said that."

"Said he'd rather have a thousand trees?"

"No, no, no; said he'd rather lose a thousand apple-trees
than—"

«* Said he'd rather George would ? "

" No ; said he'd rather he would than have him lie."

"Oh ! George would rather have his father lie? "

We are patient, and we love children, but if Mrs. Caruthers, of
Arch Street, hadn't come and got her prodigy at that critical
juncture, we don't believe all Burlington could have pulled us
out of the snarl. And as Clarence Fitzherbert Alenfon dc
Marchemont Caruthers pattered down the stairs, we heard him
telling his ma about a boy who had a father named George, and
he told him to cut an apple-tree, and he said he'd rather tell a
thousand lies than cut down one apple-tree. We do love chil-
dren, but we don't believe that cither nature or education haj
fitted us to be a governess.

THE COURTIN'.

BY JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL.

^AMES RUSSELL 1>0 WELL, whose " Biglow Papers " placed America
inapproachably first in humorous literature, was born at Cambridge,
Mass., in 1819, and was gr.iduated at Harvard in 1838. lie was admitted to
the bar two years later, but never practiced his profession, having already given
proofs of his poetic genius and transcendent wit. Me early dedicated himself
to the anti-slavery cause; and these literary efforts that made his fame were lor
a long time more or less in its interest. After some years' travel and study in
southern Europe, he took tiie chair vacated by Longfellow's resignation, of
Professor of Modern Languages and Belles Lcttres in Harvard, whxh he held
till appointed Minister to Spain in 1877. He v/as transferred to the English
Court in i88o. He was the first editor of The Atlantic Monthly, wnA was
afterwards editor of The North American Rtview.

God makes sech nights, all white an' still
Fur 'z you can look or listen,

Moonshine an' snow on field an' hill,
Ail silence an' all glisten.

THE COURTIN'

Zekle crep' up quite unbeknown
An' peeked in thru' the winder,

An' there sot Huidy all alone,
'Ith no one nigh to hender.

A fireplace filled the room's one side
With half a cord o' wood in —

There warn't no stoves (tell comfort died)
To bake ye to a puddin'.

lOl

The wa'nut logs shot sparkles out
Towards the pootiest, bless her,

An' leetle flames danced all about
The chiny on the dresser

Agin the chimbley crook-necks hung,

An' in amongst 'em rusted
The olt. queen's-arm thet gran'ther Young

Fetched back from Concord busted.

The very room, coz she was in.
Seemed warm from floor to ceilin',

An' she looked full ez rosy agin
Ez the apples she was peelin'.

'T was kin' o' kingdom-come to look

On sech a blessed cretur,
A dog-rose blush in' to a brook

Ain't modestcr nor sweeter.

t s

He was six foot o' man, A i,

Clean grit an' human natur';
None couldn't quicker pitch a ton

Nor dror a furrer straighten

Ke'd sparked it with full twenty gals.
He'd squired 'em, danced 'cm, druv 'em,

Fust this one, an' then thet, by spells —
All is, he couldn't love 'em.

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But long o' her his veins 'ould run
All crinkly like curled maple,

The side she breshed felt full o' sun
Ez a south slope in Ap'il. ,

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She thought no v'ice hed sech a swing

Ez hisn in the choir;
My ! when he made Ole Hunderd ring,

She Jaiozved the Lord was nigher.

THE COURTIN*.

An' she'd blush scarlit, right in prayer,
When her new meetin'-bunnet

Felt somehow thru' its crown a pair
O' blue eyes sot upon it.

The* night, I tell ye, she looked cornel
Sne seemed to've gut a new f.oul.

For she felt sartin-sure he'd come,
Down to her very shoe-sole.

THE C OUR TIN'. IQJ

She heered a foot, an' knowed it tu,

A-raspin' on the scraper —
All ways to once her feelins flew

Like sparks in burnt-up paper.

He kin' o' I'itered on the mat,

Some doubtfie o' the sekle,
Hi.; heart kep' goin' pity-pat,

I'ut hern went pity Zekle.

An' yit she gin her cheer a jerk

Ez though she wished him furder,
An' on her apples kep' to work,

Parin' away like murder, ■

♦* You want to see my Pa, I s' pose ?"

" Wal .... no .... I come dasignin'" —

*' To see my Ma ? She's sprinklin' clo'es
Agin to-mcrrer's i'nin'."

To say why gals acts so or so.

Or don't, 'ould be presumin'; , - ' [

Mcl)by to meanj'ffj- an' say no, .'; • •

Comes nateral to women. * '

He stood a spell on one foot fust,

Then stood a spell on t'other.
An* on which one he felt the wust

He couldn't ha' told ye nuther.

Says he, " I'd better call agin ";

Says she, " Think likely. Mister ";
Thet last word pricked him like a pin,

An' .... V/al, he up an' kist her.

When Ma bimeby upon 'em sips,

Huldy sot pale ez ashes,
All kin' o' smily roun' the lips

An' teary roun' the lashes.

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MARK TWA/.V'S LIBRARY OF HUMOR,

For she was jes' the quiet kind

Whose naturs never vary,
Like streams that keep a su.-nmer mind

Snowhid in Jenooary.

The blood clost roun' her heart felt glued

Too tight for all expressin',
Tell mother see how metiers stood,

And gin 'em both her blessin'.

Then her red come back like the tide

Down to the Bay o' Fundy,
An' all I know is they was cried

In meetin" come nex' Sunday

'TIS ONLY MY HUSBAND.

mym

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BY JOSEPH C. NEAL. •

*tOSEPH C. NEAL, author of the once famous " Charcoal Sketches," was
^ bom in Greenland, N. H., in 1807, a:id died in 1847 at Philadelphia,
where he passed nearly two-thirds of his life I . connection with different jour-
nals. He was the author of two other volumes: "The City Worthies," and
" Peter Plo'Jdy and other Oddities."

"Goodness, Mrs. Pumpilion, it's a gentleman's voice, and me
such a figure ! " exclaimed Miss Amanda Corntop, who had just
arrived in town to visit her friend, Mrs, Pumpilion, whoro she had
not seen since her marriage.

*' Don't disturb yourself, dear," said Mrs. Pumpilion, quietly,
** it's nobody — 'tis only ray husband. He'll not come in; but if
he docs, 'tis only my husband."

So Miss Amanda Corntop was comforted, and her r.gitated
arrangements before the glass being more coolly completed, she
resumed her seat and the interrupted conversation. Although, as
a spinster, she had a laudable and natural unwillingness to be
seen by any of the masculine gender in that condition so graphi-

' 77.9 ONI. Y MY HUSBAXD.

105

cally described as «' such ;i fijjure," yet there are octrees in this
unwillingness. It is by no means so painful to be caught a figure
by a married man as it is to be surprised by a youtijtul bachelor;
and, if the former be of that peculiar class known as "only my
husband," his unexpected arrival is of very little consequence.
He can never more, " lii;e an eagle in a dove cote, flutter the
Vol sees." It is, therefore, evident that there exists a material
difference between "my husband" and "-only my husi)and;"
a difference not easily expressed, though perfectly understood;
nnd it w;is that underrtanding which restored Miss Amanda
Corntop tv. K pris-
tine tranquillity. y

"Oh!"' said Miss ^i
Corntop, when she
heard that the voice
in question was that
of Mr. Pumpilion.
" Ah! " added Miss
Corntop, intelligent-
ly and composedly,
•vvhen she understood
that Pumpilion was
" only my husband."
She had not paid
much attejition to
philology but she was
perfectly aware of the
value of that diminu-
tive prefix "only."

" I told you he would not come in, for he knev/ there was some
Dne here," continued Mrs. Pumpilion, ar, the spiritless footsteps
of "only my husband" passed the door, and slowly plodded up-
s;tairs. . He neither came in, nor did he hum, whistle, or bound
three steps at a time; " only my husband " never does. He is
simply a transportation line; he conveys himself from pirxe to
place, according to order, and indulges not in episodes and
embcliishments.

Poor Pedrigo Pumpilion ! Have all thy glories shrunk to this
little measure ? Only my husband ! Does that appellation cir-
cumscribe him who once found three chairs barely sufficient to

"ONLY MV HUSBAND

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accoiiitnodatu his frame, and who, in promcnadinji, never skulV _d
to thj curl) or hiig;ed the walJ, but, like a man who justly appre-
ciated hi.nseif, tool: the very middle of the tiottoh\ ami kept it ?
The amiable but now defunct Mrs. Anguish was never sure
that she was perfectly well, inntil she had shaken her pretty head
to ascertain if some disorder were not lying in ambush, and to
discover whether a headache were not latent there, which, if not
nipped in the bud, mi'^ht be suddenly and inconveniently brought
into action. It is not too much to infer that the same reasoning
which applies to headaches and to the physical constitution, may
be of equal force in reference to the moral organization. Hea<l-
aches being latent, it is natural to suppose that thj disposition to
be "only my husband" may likewise be latent, even in him who
is now as fierce ami uncontrollable as a volcano; while the desire
to be ''head of the bureau" may slumber in thj mildest of thj
fair. It is by circuni.itance alone that talent is developed; the
razor itself requires extraneous aid to bring it tj an edge; and
the tact to give direction, as well as the facility to obey, wait to
be elicited by events. Both greymareism and Jerry-Sn^'akery
are sometimes latent, and like the derangements of ?Irs. Anguish's
caput, only want shaking to manifest themselves. If some are
born to command, others must certainly have a geniv;'' for sub-
mission — we term it a genius, submission being in inany cases
rather a difficult thing.

That this diviiiion of qualities is full of wisdom, none can deny.
It requires both flint and .steel to produce a spark; both powder
and ball to do execution; and, though the Chinese contrive to
gobble an infinity of rice with chopsticks, yet the twofold opera-
tion of knife and fork conduces much more to the comfort of a
dinner. Authority and obedience are the knife and fork of th'.s
extensive banquet, the world; they are the true divide ct impcra;
that which is sliced off by the one is harpooned by the other.

In this distribution, however, nature, when the "latcnts" are
made apparent, very frequently seems to act with caprice. It is
by no means rare to find in the form of a man a timid, retiring,
feminine disposition, which, in the rough encounters of existence,
gives way at once, as if like woman, "born to be controlled."
The proiwrtions of a Hercules, valenced with the whiskers of .'\
tig-'r, often cover a heart with no more of energy and boldness
in its pulsations than the little palpitating affair which throbs in

• TIS QNL Y MY HVSBAND.

107

the bosom ot a maiden of bashful fifteen; while many a lady fair,
before marriage — the latent condition — all softness and graceful
humility, bears within her breast the fiery resolution and the
indotnitable will of an Alexander, a Hannibal, or a Doctor Fran-
cia. The temperament which, had she been a man, would, in an
extended field, have made her a conqueror of nations, or, in a
more contracted one, a distinguished thief- catching police officer,
by being lodged in a female frame renders her a Xantippe — a
Napoleon of the fireside, and pens her hapless mate, like a con-
quered king, a spiritless captive in his own chimney-corner.

liut it is plain to be seen that this apparent confusion lies only
in the distribution. There are souls enough of all kinds in the
world, but they do not always seem properly fitted with bodies;
and thus a corporal construction may run the course of life actu-
ated by a spirit in every respect opposed to its capabilities; as at
the breaking up of a crowded soirr'c, a little head waggles home
with an immense castor, while a pumpkin pate sallies forth sur-
mounted by a thimble; which, we take it, is the only philoso-
phical theory which at all accounts for the frequent acting out of
character with which society is replete.

Hence arises the situation of affairs with the Pumpilions.
Pedrigo Pumpilion has the soul which legitimately appertains to
his beloved Seraphina Serena, while Seraphina Serena Pumpilion
has that which should animate her Pedrigo. But, not being pro-
found in their researches, they are probably not aware of the
fact, and perhaps would not know theii own souls if they were
to meet them in the street; although, in all likelihood, it was a
mysterious sympathy — a yearning of each physical individuality
to be near so important a part of itself, which brought this worthy
pair together.

Be that, however, as it may, it is an incontrovertible fact that,
before they did come together, Pedrigo Pumpilion thought him-
self quite a model of humanity; and piqued himself upon pos-
sessing much more oiihtfortlfer in re than of the snavitcr in
jnodo—a. mistake, the latter quality being latent, but abundant.
He dreamed that he was brimming with valor, and fit, not only
to lead squadrons to the field, but likewise to remain with them
when they were there. At the sound of drums and trumpets, he
perked up his chin, stuck out his breast, straightened his vertebral
column, and believed that he, Pedrigo, was precisely the individ-

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ual to storm a fortft'Hs at the head of a forlorn hope— a greater
mistake. But the greatest error of the whole troop of blunders
was hU making a Pumpilion of Miss Seraphina Serena Dolce,
with the decided impression that he was, while sharing his king-
dom, to remain supreme in authoiity. Knowing nothing of the
theory already broa-jheil, he took her for a feminine feminality,
and yielded himself a victim to sympithy and the general welfare.
Now, in this, strictly considered, Pedrigo had none but him-
self to blame; he had seen manifestations of her spirit; the latent
ener^'V had peeped out more than once; he had entered unex-
* pectedly, before being installed as •« only my husband," and
found Miss Seraphina dancing the grand rigadcjon on a luckless
bonnet which did n()t suit her fancy— a species of exercise whereat
he marveled, and he had likewise witnessed her performance of
the remarkable feat of whirling a cat, which had scratched her
hand, across the room by the tai', whereby the mirror was infini-
tesimally divided in.o homcvojxithic doses, and whereby pussy,
the patient, was most allopathically phlebotomised and scarified.
He likewise knew that her musical education ternunated in an
operatic crash, the lady having in a fit of impatience demolished
the guitar over the head of her teacher; but, m this instance, the
mitigiiting plea must be allowed that it was done because the
instrument " wouldn't play good," a perver? ity to which instru-
ments, like lessons "which won't learn," are lamentably liable.

These little escapades, however, did not deter Pumpilion. Con-
fiding in his own talent for governing, he liked his Seraphina none
the less for her accidental displays of energy, and smiled to
think how, under his administration, his reproving frown would
cast oil upon the waves, and how, as he repressed her irritability,
he would develop her affections, results which would both save
the crockery and increase his comforts.

Of the Pumpilion tactiquc in courtship some idea may be formed
from the following conversation. Pedrigo had an intimate asso-
ciate, some years his senior — Mr. Michael Mitts, a spare and
emaciated bachelor, whose hawJc nose, crookedJy set on, well
represented the eccentricity of his conclusions, while the wnis-
tling pucker in which he getierally wore his mouth betokened
acidity of mind rendered sourer by indecision. Mitts was addicted
to observation, and, engaged in the drawing' of inferences and in
generalizing from individual instances, he had, like many others,

•7/\ ON/ Y MY fWSB/iyD.

109

while trimming iIk; safety Icump of «ffperience, sulfcrod the lun*
ot action to pass by unimprovt'U. His cautiousness was so great
as to trammel up his " motive power," and, though long int'jndir^.p
to marry, the best |Mrt of his life had evaporated in the unpro-
ductive einploymeiii uf "looking about." His experience, there-
fore, had stored hini with that species of wisdom which one meets
with in theoretical wooers, and he had many learned saws at the
service of those who were bolder than himi^'lf, and were deter-
mined to enter the pale through which he peeped.

As every one in love must have a confidant, Pedrigo had
selected Mitts for that office, knowing his peculiar talent for giv-
ing advice, and laying down rules for others to act upon.

" Pedrigo," said Mitts, as he flexed his nose still further from
the right line of conformity to the usages of the world, and
slacked the drawing-strings of his mouth to get it out of pucker —
" Pedrigo, if you are resolved upon marrying this identical indi-
vidual — I don't see the use, for my part, of being in a hurry —
better look about a while; plenty more of 'em — but if you are
. resolve d, the first thing to be done is to make sure of her. That's
undeniable. The only difference of opinion, if you won't wait
and study character — character's a noble study — is as to the
moifus operandi. Now, the lady's not sure because she's com-
mitted; just the contrary — that's the very reason she's not sure.
My experience shows me that when it's not so easy to retract, the
attention, especially that of young women, is drawn to retraction.
Somebody tells of a bird in i\ cage that grumbled about being
cooped up. It's clear to me that the bird did not complain so
much because it was in the cage, as it did because it couldn't get
out — that's bird nature, and it's human nature too."

" Ah, indeed ! " responded Pumpilion, with a smile of con-
fidence in his own attractions, mingled, however, with a look
which spoke that the philosophy of Mitts, having for its object
to render "assurance double sure," did not pass altogethei
unheeded.

" It's a fact," added Mitts; " don't be too secure. Be as assid-
uous and as mellifluous as you please before your divinity owns
the soft impeachment; but afterwards comes rhe seconil stage,
and policy commands that it should be one rather of anxiety to
tier. Yon must every now and then play Captain Grand, or else
she may perform the part herself. Take offense frequently; vary

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your Romeo scenes with an occasional touch of the snow-st-omi,
arid afterwards excuse yourself on the score of jealous altection;
that excuse always answers. Nothing sharpens love like a smart
tiff by way of embellishment. The sun itself would not look so
bright if it were not for the intervention of night; and these little
agitations keep her mind tremulous, but intent upon yourself.
Don't mothers always love the naugliticst boys best ? Haven't
th:; worst men always the best wives? That exemplifies the
principle; there's nothin^^ like a little judicitMs bother. Miss
Scraphina Serena will never change her m''.id if bothered scien-
tifically."

"Perhaps v.o\ but ray it not be rather dangerous?"

"Dangerous! not at all; it's regular practice, I tell you. A
few cases may terminate unluckily; but that must be charged to
a bungle in the doctor. Why, properly managed, a courtship
may be continued, like a nervous disease, or a suit at law, for
twenty years, and be as good at the close aS it was at the l;cgin-
ning. In nine cases out of ten, you must either perplex or be
perplexed; so you had better take the sure course, and play the
game yourself. Them's my sentiments, Mr. Speaker;" and
Michael Mitts caused his lithe proboscis to oscillate like a rud-
der, as he concluded his oracular speech, and puckered his
mouth to the whistling place, to show that he had " shut up" for
the present. He then walked slowly away, leaving Pumpilion
with a " new wrinkle."

Seraphina Serena, being both fiery and coquettish withal, Pum-
pilion, under the direction of his preceptor, tried the " Mitts sys-
tem of wooing." and although it gave rise to frequent explosions,
)'et the quarrels, whether owing to the correctness of the system
or not, were productive of no lasting evil. Michael Mitts twirled
his nose and twisted his mouth in triumph at the wedding, and
set it down as an axiom that there is nothing like a little insecurity
for rendering parties firm incompleting a bargain; that, had it
not been for practicing the system, Pumpilion might have become
alarmed at the indications of the "Intent system; " and that had
it not been for the practice of the system, Ser.iphina's fancy mijj^-t
bave strayed.

"'I'm :in e>:perimenter in mental operations, and there's no
i;iok pf subjects," said Mitts to himself; "one fact being estab-
lished, the Pumpilions now present a new aspect."

' TIS ONL Y MY HUSBAND.

Ill

There is, ho^vever, all the difference in the world between
carrying on warfare where you may advance and retire at pleas-
ure, and in prosecuting it in situations which admit of no retreat.
Partisan hostilities are one thing, and regular warfare is another.
Pumpiiion was very well as a guerilla, but his genius in that
respect was unavailing when the nature of the campaign did not
adm'.t of his malcingaa occasional demonstration, and of evading
the immediate consequences Ijy a retreat. In a very iiiw weeks
he was reduced to the ranks as " only my husteand," and, although
no direct order of the day was read to that effect, he was " re-
spected accordingly." Before that retrograde promotion took
place, Pedrigo Pumpiiion cultivated his hair, and encouraged its
sneaking inclmation to curl until it woollied up quite fiercely; but
afterwards his locks became broken -heartedly pendant, and
straight with the v/eight of care, while his whiskeni hung back as
if asking counsel and comfort from his cars. He twiddled his
thumbs v.'ith a slow, rotary motion as he sat, and he carried his
hands clasped behind him as he walked, thus intimating that he
couldn't hi-lp it, and that he didn't mean to try. For the same
reason, he never buttoned his coat, and wore no straps to the
feet of his trousers; both of which seemed too energetically reso-
lute for "only my husband." Even his hat, as it sat on the
back part of his head, looked as if Mrs. Pumpiiion had put it on
for him (no one l>ut the wearer can put on a uai ;;o that it v/ill sit
naturally), and as if he had not nerve enough even to shake it
down to its characteristic place and physiognomical expression.
His personnel loudly proclaimed that the Mitts method in matri-
mony had been a failure, and that the Queen had given the
King a check-mate. Mrs. Pumpiiion had been triumphant in
acting upon the advice of her friend, the widow, who, having the
advantage of Mitts in combining experience with theory, under-
stood the art of breaking husbands a inerveillc.

"My dear madam," said Mrs. Margery Daw, "you have
plenty of spirit; but spirit is nothing without steadiness and j^cr-
severance. In the establishment of authority and in the asser-
tion of one's rights, any intermission before success is complete
requires us to begin again. If your talent leads you to the weep-
ing method of softening your hus!)and's heart, you will find that
if you give him a shower now and a shower then, he will harden
in the intervals between the rain; while a good sullen cry of

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twenty-four hours' length may prevent any necessity for anotner.
If, on the contrary, you have genius for the tempestuous, contin-
ued thunder and lightning for the same length of time is irresist-
ible. Gentlemen are great swaggerers, if not impressively dealt
with and early taught to know their places. They are much like
Frisk," continued the widow, addressing her lap-dog. "If they
bark, and you draw back fri^^ditcned, they are sure to bite: ;3tamp
your foot, and they soon learn to run into a corner. Don't they.
Frisky dear? "

*' Ya-p ! " responded the dog, and Mrs. Pumpilion, tired of
control, took the concurrent advice.

"To-morrow," said Pumpilion, care-
lessly and with an of-course-ish air, as he
returned to tea from a stroll with his
friend, Michael Mitts, who had just been
urging on him the propriety of continuing
the Mitts method after marriage — " to-
morrow, my love, I leave town for a week
to try a little trout fishing in the moun-
tains."

'•Mr. Pumpilion!" ejaculated the lady,
in an awful tone, as she suddenly faced
him. " Fisiiipg ? "

" V-e-e-yes," replied Pumpilion, some-
/y^'^./'-^ '^ what discomposed.

\ " 'J'heii I shall go with you, Mr. Pum-

TOMMV TiTCOMB. pillon," Said the lady, as she emphatically

split a muffin.
"Quite <^wpossible," returned Pumpilion, with decisive stress
upon the first syllable; " it's a buck party, if J may use the expres-
sion — a buck party entirely — there's Mike Mitts, funny Joe
]\Iungoozle — son of old r^Iungoozle — Tommy Titcomb, and
myself. We intend having a rough and tumble amon,;^ the hills
to beneficialize our wholesomcs, as funny Joe Mungoozlchas it."
" P'unny Joe Mungoozle is not a fit companion for any mar-
ried man, Mr. Pumpilion; and it's easy to see, by your sliding
back among the dissolute friends and dissolute practices of your
bachelorship. Mr. Pmnpilion, by your wish to associate with
sneermg and depraved Mungoozles, Mitts and Titcombs, Mr.

•775 ONLY MY HUSBAND.

113

Pumpilion, that the society of your poor wife is losing its
attractions," and Mrs. Pumpilion sobbed convulsively at the
thought.

"I have given my word to go a-fishing," replied Pedrigo,
rather ruefully, "and a-fishing I must go. What would Mun-
goozle say ? — why, he would have a song about it, and sing it at
the 'free and easies.' "

" What matter ? let him say — let him sing. But it's not my
observations — it's those of funny Joe Mungoozle that you care
for — the affections of the ' free and
easy ' carousers that you are afraid
of losing."

" Mungoozle is a very particular
friend of mine, Seraphina," replied
Pedrigo, rr.ther nettled. "We're
going a-fishing — that's flat ! "

"Without me?"

" Without you — it being a "buck
party, without exception."

" Mrs. Pumpilion gave a shriek,
.aid falling back, threw out her arms
fitfully — the tea-pot went by the^
board as she made the tragic move- V^
ment. v

'■'■ Wretched, unhappy woman ! "
gasped Mrs. Pumpilion, speaking of
herself.

Pedrigo did not respond to the
declaration, but alternately eyed the
fragments of the tea-pot and the

untouched muffin which remained on his plate. The coup had
not been without its effect; but still he faintly whispered, " Funny
Joe Mungoozle, and going a-fishing."

" It's clear you wish to kill me — to break my heart," muttered
the lady, in a spasmodic manner.

" 'Pon my soul, I don't— I'm only going a-fishing."

"I shall go distracted!" screamed Mrs. Pumpilion, suiting
the action to the word, and springing to her feet in such a way
as to upset the table, and roll its contents into Pedrigo's lap,
who scrambled from the debris, as his wife, with the air of the

FUNNY JOE MUNGOOZLE.

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Pythoness, swept rapidly round the room, whirling the ornaments
to the floor, and indulging in' the grand rigadoon upon their
remains.

" You no longer love me, Pedrigo; and without your love what
is life ? What is this, or this, or this ?" continued she, a crash
following eveiy word, " without mutual affection ? Going a
fishing ! ■'

• " I don't know that I am," whined Pumpilion; "perhaps it will
rain to-morrow."

Now it so happened that there were no clouds visible on the
occasion, except in the domestic atmosphere; but the rain was
adroitly thrown in as a white flag, indicative of a wish to open a
negotiation and come to terms. Mrs. Pumpilion, however, under-
stood the art of war better than to treat with rebels with arms in
their hands. Her military genius, no longer " latent," whispered
her to persevere until she obtained a surrender at discretion.

" Ah, Pedrigo, )'ou only say that to deceive your heart-broken '
wife. You intend to slip away — you and your Mungoozles — to
pass your hours in roaring iniquity, instead of enjoying the calm
sunshine of domestic peace, and the gentle delights of fireside
felicity. They are too tame, too flat, too insipid, for a depraved
taste. That I should ever live to see the day ! " and she
relapsed into the intense style, by way of a specimen of calm
delight.

Mr. and Mrs. Pumpilion retired for the night at an eorlyhour;
but until the dawn of day, the words of reproach, now j^assionate,
now pathetic, ceased not; and in the very gray of the morning,
Mrs. P. marched down stairs en dishabille^ still repeating ejacu-
lations about the Mungoozle fishing-party. What happened
below is not precisely ascertained; but there was a terrible tur-
moil in the kitchen, it being perfectly clear a whole "kettle o(
fish" was in preparation, that Pedrigo might not have the trouble
of going to the mountains on a piscatorial expedition.

He remained seated on the side of his bed, like Marius upon
the rums of Carthage, meditating upon the situation of aiiairs,
and balancing between a surrender to petticoat government and
his dread of Mungoozle's song at the "free and easies." At
length he slipped down. Mrs. Pumpilion sat glooming at the
parlor window. Pedrigo tried to read the Saturday Nrdis upside
down.

hopek

' TIS ONL y MY HUSBAND.

" Good morning, Mr. Pumpilion ! Going a-fishing, Mr. Pum-
pilion ? Mike Mitts, funny Joe Mungoozle and Tommy Titcomb
must be waiting for you, you know," continued she, with a mock-
ing smile; "you're to go this morning to the mountains on a
rough and tumble for the benefit of your wholesomes. The
elegance of the phraseology is quite in character with the whole
affair."

Pcdrigo was tired out ; Mrs. Margery* Daw's perseverance
prescription had been too much for the Mitt method; the widow
had overmatched the bachelor.

" No, Seraphina, my dearest, I'm not ^oing a-fishing, if you
don't desire it, and I see you don't."

Not a word about it's being likely to rain — the surrender was
unconditional.

*' But," added Pedrigo, " I should like to have a little break-
fast."

Mrs. Pumpilion was determined to clinch the nail.

" There's to be no breakfast here — I've been talking to Sally
and Tommy in the kitchen, and I verily believe the whole
world's in a plot against me. They're gone, Mr. Pumpilion —
gone a-fishing, perhaps."

The batt!e was over — the victory was won — the nail was
clinched. Tealess, sleepless, breakfastless, what could Pedrigo
do but sue for mercy, and abandon a contest waged against such
hopeless odds ? The supplies being cut off, the siege-worn garri-
son must surrender. After hours of solicitation, the kiss of
amity was reluctantly accorded ; on condition, however, that
" funny Joe Mongoozle " and the rest of the fishing party should
be given up, and that he, Pedrigo, for the future should refrain
from associating with bachelors and widowers, both of whom she
tabooed, and consort with none but staid married men.

From this moment the individuality of that once free agent,
Pedrigo Pumpilion, was sunk into "only my husband" — the
humblest of all humble nnimals. He fetches and carries, goes
errands, and lugs band-boxes and bundles; he walks the little
Pumpilions up and down the room when they squall o' nights,
and he never comes in when any of his wife's distinguished
friends call to visit her. In truth, Pedrigo is not always in a
presentable condition; for as Mrs. Pumpilion is ^/t'y<7^/(? treasurer,
he is kept upon rather short allowance, her wants being para-

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mount, and proportioned to the dignity of head of the family.
But although he is now dutiful enough, he at first ventured once
or twice to be refractory. These symptoms ot insubordination,
however, were soon quelled — for Mrs. Pumpilion, with a signifi-
cant glance, inquired:

^^ Are you going a-fishing again, my deart"

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A DAY'S WORK.

BY MARK TWAIN,

Saturday morning was come, and all the summer world was
bright and fresh, and brimming with life. There was a song in
every heart; and if the heart was young the music issued at the
lips. There was cheer in every face and a spring in every step.
The locust-trees were in bloom, and the fragrance of the blossoms
filled the air. Cardiff Hill, beyond the village and above it, was
green with vegetation, and it lay just far enough away to seem a
Delectable Land, dreamy, reposeful and inviting.

Tom appeared on the sidewalk with a bucket of whitewash and
a long-handled brush. He surveyed the fence, and all gladness
left him, and a deep melancholy settled down upon his spirit.
Thirty yards of board fence nine feet high ! Life to him Sv'^emed
hollow, and existence but a burden. Sighing he dipped his brush
and passed it along the fopmost plank ; repeated the operation ;
did it again ; compared the insignificant whitewashed streak with
the far-reaching continent of unwhitewashed fence, and sat down on
a tree-box discouraged. Jim came skipping out at the gate with a
tin pail, and singing "Buffalo Gals." Bringing water from the
town pump had always been hateful work in Tom's eyes, before,
but now it did not strike him so. He remembered that there was
company at the pump. White, mulatto and negro boys and girls
always were there waiting their turns, resting, trading playthings,
qaarreling, fighting, skylarking. And he remembered that
although the pump was only a hundred and fifty yards off, Jim
never got back with a bucket of water under an hour — and even
then somebody generally had to go after him. Tom said:

I: 7 ■ "■"

A DAY'S WORIC.

117

"Say, Jim, I'll fetch the water if you'll whitewash some."

Jim shook his head and said :

** Can't, Mars Tom. Ole missis, she tole me I got to go an' git
dis water an' not stop foolin* roun' wid anybody. She say she
spec' Mars Tom gwine to ax me to whitewash, an' so she tole me
go 'long an' 'tend to my own business — she 'lowed she'd 'tend to
de whitewashin'."

" Oh, never you mind what she said, Jim. f That's the way she
talks. Gimme the bucket — I won't be gone only a minute. She
won't ever know."

" Oh, I dasn't. Mars Tom. Ole missis she'd take an' tar de
head off'n me. 'Deed she would."

TENDING TO BUJJNESS.

" She! She never licks anybody — whacks 'em over the head
with her thimble — and who cares for that, I'd like to know. She
talks awful, but talk don't hurt — anyways, it don't if she don't cry.
Jim, I'll give you a marvel. I'll give you a white alley ! "

Jim began to waver.

" White alley, Jim ! And its a bully "aw."

'« My ! Dat's a mighty gay marvel, / tell you ! But, Mars
Tom, I's powerful 'fraid ole missis — "

"And besides, if you will, I'll show you my sore toe."

Jim was only human — this attraction was too much for him.

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He put down his pail, took the white alley, and bent over the toe
with absorbing interest while thj bandage was l)eing i.inwound,
In another moment he was flying down the street with his pail and
a tingling rear, Tom was whitewashing with vigor, and Aunt Polly
was retiring from the field with a slipper in her hand and triumph
in her eye.

But Tom's energy did not last. He began to think of the fun

he had planned for this
h, day, and his sorrows
multiplied. Soon the
/^ free boys would come
tripping along on all
sorts of delicious ex-
piiuitions, and they
would make a world of
fun of him for having
to work — the very
thought of it burnt
him like fire. He got
out his worldly wealth
and examined it — bits
of toys, marbles and
trash; enough to buy
an exchange of worky
maybe, but not half
enough to buy so
much as half an hour
of pure freedom. So
he returned his
straightened means to
his pocket, and gave
up the idea of trying
to buy the boys. At this dark and hopeless moment an inspira-
tion burst upon him ! Nothing less than a great, magnificent
inspiration.

He took up his brush and went tranquilly to work. Ben Rogers
hove in sight presently — the very boy, of all boys, whose ridicule
he had been dreading. Ben's gait was the hop-skip-and-jump —
proof enough that his heart was light and his anticipations high.
He was eating an apple, and giving a long, melodious whoop, at

PUTTING IT IN A NEW LIGHT.

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A DAY'S WORK.

119

intervals, followed by a ileep-toned ding-dong-dong, for he was
personating a steamboat. As he dri'w near, he slackened speed,
took the middle of the street, lea\.c:u far over to starboard and
rounded to ponderously and with laborious pomp and circumstance
- -for he was personating the Big Missouri, and considered
himself to be drawing nine feet of water. He was boat, and
captain, and engine-bells combined, so he had to imagine himself
standing on his own hurricane-deck giving tlje orders and execut-
ing them :

" Stop her, sir ! Ting-a-ling-ling ! " The headway ran almost
out, and he drew up slowly toward the sidewalk.

" Ship up to back! Ting-a-ling-ling ! " His arms straightened
and stiffened down his sides.

" Set lier back on the stabbord ! Ting-a-ling-ling ! Chow !
ch-chow-wow I Chow ! " His right hand, meantime, describing
stately circles — for it was representing a forty-foot wheel.

" Let her go b"ck on the labbord ! Ting-a-ling-Ting ! Chow-
ch-chow-chow ! " The left hand began to describe circles.

"Stop the stabbord! Ting-a-ling-ling! Stop the labbord!
Come ahead on the stabbord ! Stop her ! Let your outside turn
over slow ! Ting-a-ling-ling ! Chow-ow-ow ! Get out that head-
line ! Lively now ! Come — out with your spring-line — what're
you about there ! Take a turn round that stump with the bight
of it ! Stand by that stage, now — let her go ! Done with the
engines, sir !' Ting-a-ling-ling ! Sh* t ! sJit! sh't !" {ity'xng the
gauge-cocks).

Tom went on whitewashing — paid no attention to the steamboat.
Ben stared a moment and then said :

" Hi-_y/ .' You're up a stump, ain't you ! "

No answer. Tom surveyed his last touch with the eye of an
artist ; then he gave his brush another gentle sweep and surveyed
the result, as before. Ben ranged up alongside of him. Tom's
mouthwatered for the apple, but he stuck to his work. Ben said :

" Hello, old chap, you got to work, hey ? "

Tom wheeled suddenly and said :

" Why, it's you, Ben ! I warn't noticing."

«< Say — /'m going in a-swimming, /am. Don't you wish you
could ? But of course you'd druther 7uork — wouldn't you ?
Course you would '

Tom contemplated the boy a bit, and said :

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«« What do you call work ? "

«• Why, ain't ///a/ work ? "
I Tom resumed his whitewashing, and answered carelessly :

"Well, maybe it is, and maybe it ain't. All I know, is, it suits
Tom Sawyer."

" Oh come, now, you don't mean to let on that you like it ? "

The brush continued to move.

<♦ Like it ? Well, I don't see why I oughtn't to like it. Does
a boy get a chance to whitewash a fence every day ? "

That put the thing in a new light. Ben stopped nibbling his
npple. Tom swept his brush daintily back and forth — stepped
back to note the effect — added a touch here and there — criticised
the effect again — Ben watching every move and getting more and
more interested, more and more absorbed. Presently he said :

*« Say, Tom, let me whitewash a little."

Tom considered, was about to consent; but he altered his mind :

«« No— no — I reckon it wouldn't hardly do, Ben. You see, Aunt
Polly's awful particular about this fence — right here on the street,
you know — but if it was the back fence I wouldn't mind, and she
wouldn't. Yes, she's awful particular about this fence ; it's got
to be done very careful ; I reckon there ain't one boy in a thou-
sand, maybe two thousand, that can do it the way it's got to be
done.

" No — is that so ? Oh, come, now-^lemme just try. Only just
a little — I'd let you, if you was me, Tom."

"Ben, I'd like to, honest injun ; but Aunt Polly — well, Jim
wanted to do it, but she wouldn't let him. Sid wanted to do it, and
she wouldn't let Sid. Now don't you see how I'm fixed ? If you
was to tackle this fence and anything was to hnppen to it "

"Oh, shucks, I'll be just as careful. Now lemme try. Say—
I'll give you the core of my apple."

" Well, here—. No, Ben, nov; don't. I'm afeared — "

"I'll give you allol it!"

Tom gave up the brush, with reluctance in his face but alacrity
in his heart. And '^^-ile the late steamer Big Missouri worked
and sweated in the sun, the retired artist sat on a barrel in the
shade close by, dangled his legs, munched his apple, and planned
the slaughter of more innocents. There was no lack of mat jrial ;
boys happened along every little while ; they came to jee , but
remained to whitewash. By the time Ben was fagged out, Tom

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TRYLXG TO UNDERSTAND A WOMAN.

121

had traded the next chance to Billy Ficher for a kite, in good repair ;
and when he played out, Johnny Miller bought in for a dead rat
and a string to swing it with— and so on, and so on, hour after
hour. And when the middle of the afternoon came, from being
a poor poverty-stricken boy in the morning, Tom was literally
rolling in wealth. He had, besides the things before mentioned,
twelve marbles, part of a jew's-harp, a piece of blue bottle-glass
to look through, a spool cannon, a key that wouldn't unlock any-
thing, a fragment of chalk, a glass stopper of a decanter, a tin
soldier, a couple of tadpoles, six fire-crackers, a kitten with only
one eye, a brass door-knob, a dog-collar — but no dog — the handle
of a knife, four pieces of orange-peel, and a dilapidated old window-
sash.

TRYING TO UNDERSTAND A WOMAN.

BY W. D. HOWELLS.

Tj^^M. DEAN HOWELLS was bom at Martin's Ferry, Belmont County, O.,
March I, 1837. He is a printer by trade and inheritance, and he early
entered newspaper life. He is the author of many novels, sketches, criticisms,
dramatic studies, poems and travels.

The last hues of sunset lingered in the mists that sprung from
the base of the Falls with a mournful, tremulous grace, and a
movement weird as the play of the Northern Lights. They were
touched with the most delicate purples and crimsons, that dark-
ened to deep red, and then faded from them at a second look,
and they flew upward, swiftly upward, like troops of pale, trans-
parent ghosts; while a perfectly clear radiance, better than any
other for local color, dwelt upon the scene. Far under the bridge
the river smoothly swam, the undercurrents forever unfolding
themselves upon the surface with a vast rose-like evolution, edged
all round with faint lines of white, where the air that filled the
water freed itself in foam. What had been clear green on the
face of the cataract was here more like rich verd-antique, and
had a look of firmness almost like that of the stpiie itself. So it
showed beneath the bvidge and down the river, till the curving

'I •

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123

AIAliK J'lVALV'S LIHRARY OF HUMOR.

•i-:

shores hid it. These, springing abruptly from tin- water's brink,
and shagged with pine and cedar, displayed the tender verdure
of grass and bushes intermingled with the dark evergreens that;
climb from ledge to ledge, till they point their speary tops abov'o
the crest of bluffs. In front, where tumbled rocks and expanses
of naked clay varied the gloomier and gayer green, s|)rung those
si)ectral mists; and through them loomed out, in its manifold
majesty, Niagara, with the seemingly immovable white gothic
screen of the American Fall, and the green massive curve of the
Horse-Shoe, solid and simple and calm as an Egyptian wall;
while behind this, with their white and black expanses broken by
dark-foliag^d little isles, the steep Canadian rapids billowed down
between their heavily wooded shores.

The wedding-journeyers hung, they knew not how long, in rapt-
ure on the sight; and then, looking back from the shore to the
spot where they had stood, they felt relieved that unreality should
possess itself of all, and that the bridge should swing there in
i.iid-air like a filmy web, scarce more passable than the rainbow
that flings itp arch above the mists.

On the portico of the hotel they found half a score of gentle-
men smoking, and creating together that collective silence which
passes for sociality on our continent. Some carriages stood
before the door, and within, around the base of a pillar, sat a
circle of idle call-boys. There were a few trunks heaped together
in one place, with a porter standing guard over them; a solitary
guest was buying a cigar at the newspaper stand in one corner;
another friendless creature was writing a letter in the reading-
room; the clerk, in a seersucker coat and a lavish shirt-bosom,
tried to give the whole an effect of watering-place gayety and
bustle, as he provided a newly arrived guest with a room.

Our pair took in these traits of solitude and r-pose with indif-
ference. If the hotel had been 'hronged with brilliant company,
they would have been no Ttor- and no less pleased; and when,
after supper, they came int'" 4.,' grand parlor, and found ncih-
ing there but a marble-topprd centre-table, with a silver-plated
ice-pitcher and a sma 1 company of goblets, they sat down per-
fectly conteiU in asec'uder' ^ndow-seat. They were not seen
by the three people wh<y en reU soon after, and halted in the
centre of the room.

" Why, Kitty !" said one of the two ladies who must be m any

travel!
gorgci
She
some I
bewikl
stcry.
of the '
very m
" No
as uiup
seemed
th(! wor
hotel wi
Jiersonal
this Stat
would c'
that Nia
emjjty }
the place
ed the wh
How do
for it, Rl
The g
looked
from a
ued disc
where of
in hand,
that he
trying
for it.

"Then

want hei'

the matte

"Why

sntisfacto

l.'itii.n.

r>lained."

" Do y

suppose i

TKYIXG TO UNDERSTAND A WOMAN.

123

tr.ivcling-party of three, "this is more inappropriate to your
gory;eoiis array than the supper-room, even."

She who was called Kitty was armed, as for social conquest, in
some kind of airy evciii'ig dress, and was looking round with
bewililermeiit upon that forlorn waste of carpolin^f and uphol-
stery. She owned, with a smile, that she had not seen so much
of the world yet as she had been promised; but she liked Niagara
very much, and perhaps they shou'd find the ttorld at breakfast.

•' No," said the other lady, who was
as uncpiiet as Kitty was calm, and who
seemed resolved to make the most of
th«; worst, " it isn't pro!)able that the
hotel will fill up over night; and I feel
personally responsible for
this state of things. Who
would ever have supposed
that Niagara would ijc so
empty ? I thought
the place was throng-
ed the whole summer.
How do you account
for it, Richard ?"

The gentleman
looked fatigued, as
from a long-contin-
ued iliscussion else-
where of the matter
in hand, and he said
that he had not bec^t
trying to accotmt
for it.

" Then you don't care for Kitty's pleasure at all, and you don't
want hei* to enjoy herself. Why don't you take some interest in
the matter ?"

"Why, if I accounted for the emptiness of Niagara in the most
satisfactory way, it wouldn't add a soul to the floating popu-
lat.un. Under the circumstances, I prefer to leave it unex-
plained."

" Do you think it's because it's such a hot summer? Do you
suppose it's not exactly the season ? Didn't you expect there'd

THE PORTER.

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MAJi^r TWAIN'S LIBRARY OF HUMOR.

W i

' I

be more people ? Perhaps Niagara isn't as fashionable as it
used to be."

"It looks something like that."

«« Well, what under the sun do you think is the reason ?"
" I don't know."

" Perhaps," interposed Kitty, placidly, " most of the visitors
go to the other hotel now."

" It's altogether likely," said the other lady, eagerly. '« There
are just such caprices."

*< Well," said Richard, " I wanted you to go there."

" But you said that you always

heard thif; was the most fashionable."

" I know it. I didn't want to come

here for that reason. But fortune

favors the brave."

" Well, it's too bad ! Here we've
asked Kitty to come to Niagara with
us, just to give her a little peep into
the world, and you've brought us to a
hotel where we're — "

" Monarchs of all we survey," sug-

/-^^^^^^ gested Kitty.

"-^vS " Yes, and start at the sound of our

^ "^ own," added the other lady, helplessly,

"Come, now, Fanny," said the gen-
tleman, who was but too clearly the
husband of the last speaker, " vou
know you insisted, against all I could
say or do, upon coming to this house ; I implored you to go to
the other, and now you blame me for bringing you here."

•* So I do. If you'd let me have my own way without opposi-
tion about coming here, I dare say I should have gone to the
other place. But never mind; Kitty knows whom to blame, I
hope. She's jo«r cousin."

Kitty was sitting with her hands quiescently folded in her lap.
She now rose, and said that she did not know anything about the
other hotel, and perhaps it was just as empty as this.

** It can't be. There can't be two hotels so empty," said Fanny.
" It don't stand to reason."
"If you wish Kitty to see the world so much" said

KITTY.

TRYING TO UNDERSTAND A WOMAN.

the gentleman, *' why don't you take her on to Quebec
with us?"

Kitty had left her seat beside Fanny, and was moving with
a listless content about the parlor.

«' I wonder you a^k, Richard, when you know she's only come
for the night, and has nothing with her but a few cuffs and col-
lars ! I certainly never heard of anything so absurd before !"

The absurdity of the idea then seemed to d!ist its charm upon
her; for, after a silence, "I could lend her some things," she
said, musingly. " But don't speak of it to-night, please. It's too
ridiculous. Kitty!" she called out, and, as the young lady drew
near, she" continued, " How would you like to go to Quebec
with us ?"

** O Fanny !" cried Kitty, with rapture; and then, with dismay,
" How can I !"

" Why, very well, I think. You've got this dress, and your
traveling-suit, and I can lend you whatever you want. Come !"
she added joyously, "let's go up to your room, and talk it
over !"

The two ladies vanished upon this impulse, and the gentle-
man followed. To their own relief the guiltless eavesdroppers,
who had found no moment favorable for revealing themselves
after the comedy began, issued from their retiracy.

" What a remarkable little lady !" said Basil, eagerly turning
to Isabel for sympathy in his enjoyment of her inconsequence.

" Yes, poor thing !" returned his wife ; " it's no light matter to
invite a young lady to take a journey with you, and promise her
all sorts of gayety, and perhaps beaux and flirtations, and then
find her on your hands in a desolation like this. It's dreadful, I
think."

Basil stared. *< O, certainly," he said. •* But what an amus-
ingly illogical little body !"

" I don't understand what you mean, Basil. It v/as the only
thing that she could do, to invite the young lady to go on with
them. I wonder her husband had the sense to think of it first.
Of course she'll have to lend her things."

"And you didn't observe anything peculiar in herway of reach-
ing her conclusions ?"

" Peculiar ? What do you mean ?"

" Why, her blaming her husband for letting her have her own

126

MARK TWAIN'S LIBRARY OF HUMOR.

way about the hotel; and her telling him not to mention his
proposal to Kitty, and then domg it herself, just after she'd pro-
nounced it absurd and impossible." He spoke with heat at
bein<T forced to make what he thought a needless explanation.

" O," said Isabel, after a moment's reflection, " That! Did
you think it so very odd ?"

Her husband looked at her with the gravity a man must feel
when he begins to perceive that he has married the whole mysti-
fying world of womankind in the woman of his choice, and made
no answer. But to his own soul he said: " I supposed I had the
pleasure of my wife's acquaintance. It seems I have been flat-
tering myself."

ft*'

»j

A FEMALE BASE-BALL CLUB.

BY JAMES M. BAILEY.

*TAMES MONTGOMERY BAILEY, so widely known as the Danbiiry
^ Xcws Man, was born at Albany, N. Y., Septcml)er25, 1841, and after
rcceivin;^ a common -school education, learned the carpenter's trade. Ilefought
through tlie war in a Connecticut regiment, and settled in Danbury at theclose
as editor of the News.

The only attempt on record of Danbury trying to organize a
female base-ball club occurred last week. It was a rather incip-
ient affair, but it demonstrated everything necessary, and in that
particular answered every purpose. The idea was cogitated and
carried out by six young ladies. It was merely designed for an
experiment on which to base future action. The young ladies
were at the house of one of their number when the subject was
brought up. The premises arc capacious, and include quite a
piece of turf, hidden from the street by several drooping, luxu-
riant, old-fashioned apple-trecs. The young lady of the house
has a brother who is fond of base-ball, and has the necessary
machinery for a game, 'i nis was taken out on the turf under
the trees. The ladies assembled, and divided themselves into
two nines of three each. The first three tf)ok the bat, and the
second three went to the bases, one as catcher, one as pitcher,
and the other as chaser, or, more technically, fielder. The pitcher

I *

A FEMALE BASE-BALL CLUB.

I
127

was a lively brunette, with eyes full of dead earnestness. The
c^Lcher and batter were blondes, with faces aflame with expecta-
tion. The pitcher took the ball, braced herself, put her arm
straight out from her shoulder, then moved it around to her back
without modifying in the least its delightful rigidity, and then
threw it. The batter did not catch it. This was owing to the
pitcher looking directly at the batter whei* she aimed it. The
fielder got a long pole and soon succeeded in poking the ball
from an apple-tree back of the pitcher, where it had lodged.
Business was then resumed again, although with a faint sem-
blance of uneasiness generally visible.

A FEMALE BASE-BALL CLUB.

The pitcher was very red in the face, and said " I declare ! "
several times. This time she took a more careful aim, but still
neglected to look in some other direction than toward the batter,
and the ball was presently poked out of another tree.

" Why, this is dreadful ! " said the batter, whose nerves had
been kept at a pretty stiff tension.

" Perfectly dreadful ! " chimed in the catcher, with a long sigh.

" I think you had better get up in one of the trees," mildly
suggested the fielder to the batter.

The observations somewhat nettled the pitcher, and she
declared she would not try again, whereupon a change was made

•1, ' ^W

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128

MARK TWAIN'S LIBRARY OF HUMOR.

»«

If 'imA

with the fielder. She was certainly more sensible. Just as soon
as she was ready to let drive, she shut her eyes so tight as to
loosen two of her puffs and pull out her back comb, and madly
fired away, 'l^"- ball flew directly at the batter, which so startled
that lady, wh; .^ad the bat clinched in both hands with desperate
grip, that she involuntarily cried, *' Oh, my ! " and let it drop,
and ran. This movement uncovered the catcher, wh 3 had both
hands extended about three feet apart, in readiness for the catch,
but being intently absorbed in studying the coil on the back of
the batter's head, she was not able to recover in time, and the
ball caught her in the bodice with sufficient force to deprive her
of all her breath, which left her lips with earpiercing shrillness.
There was a lull in the proceedings for ten minutes, to enable the
other members of the club to arrange their hair.

The batter again took position, When one ^ ' the party, discov-
ering that she was holding the bat very much as a woman carries
a broom when she is after a cow in the garden, showed her that
the tip must rest on the ground and at her side, with her body a
trifle inclined in that direction. The suggester took the bat and
showed just how it was done, and brought around the hut
with such vehemence as to almost carry her from her feet, and to
nearly brain the catcher. That party shivered, and moved back
some fifteen feet.

The batier took her place, and laid the tip of the bat on the
ground, and the pitcher shut her eyes again as tighily as before, and
let drive. The fielder had taken the precaution to get back of a
tree, or otherwise she must have been disfigured for life. The
ball was recovered. The pitcher looked heated and vexed. She
didn't throw it this time. She just gave it a pitching motion,
but not letting go of it in time it went over her head, and caused
her to sit down with considerable unexpectedness.

Thereupon she declared she would never throw another ball
as long as she lived, and changed off with the catcher. This
young lady was somewhat determined, which augured success.
Then she looked in an altogether different direction from that to
the halter.

And this did the business. The batter was ready. She had a
tight hold on the bat. Just as soon as she saw the ball start, she
made a tremendous lunge with the bat, let go of it, and turned
around in tir»e to catch the ball in the small of her back, while

THE ROBIN AND THE WOODPECKER.

129

the bat, being on its own hook, and seeing a stone figure holding
a vase of flowers, neatly clipped off its arm at the elbow and let
the flowers to the ground. --

There was a chorus of screams, and some confusion of skirts,
and then the following dialogue took place:

No. I. " Let's give up the nasty thing."

No. 2.

Let's.

No. 3. "So I say." ' .

No. 4. " It's just horrid."

This being a majority, the adjournment was made.

The game was merely an experiment. And it is just as v»rell
it was. Had it been a real game, it is likely that some one would
have been killed outright.

WOMAN.

BY JOSH BILLINGS.

Woman iz the glass ware ov kreashun. She iz luvly, and brittle,
but she hez run up everything we really enjoy in this life from
25 cents on the dollar to par. Adam, without Eve, would hav
been az stupid a game az phying checkures alone. 1 hare haz
been more butiful things sed in her praze than thare haz ov enny
other animate thing, and she is worthy ov them all. She is not
an angell tho, and i hope she wont never go into the angell bizz-
ness. Angells on earth dont pay. The only mistake that woman
haz ever made iz to tliink she iz a better man than Adam.

THE ROBIN AND THE WOODPECKER.

BY BIERCE.

A wooiiPECKER, who had bored a multitude of holes in the
body of a dead tree, was asked by a robin to explain their pur-
pose.

" As yet, in the infancy of science," replied the woodpecker,
" 1 am quite unable to do so. Some naturalists afifirm that I
hide acorns in these pits; others maintain that I get worms out

1' 1

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I30

MARK TWAIN'S LIBRARY OF HUMOR.

''*'

■».%■• t- -^Hfh

of them. I endeavored for some time to reconcile the two theo-
ries; but the worms ate my acorns, and then would not come
out. Since then I have left science to work out its own prob-
lems, while I work ouc the holes. I hope the final decision may
be in some way ac itageous to me; for at my nest I have a
number of prepan :jles which I can hammer into some suita-
ble tree at a moment's notice. Perhaps I could insert a few into
the scientific head."

THE ROBIN AND THE WOODPECKER.

" No-o-o," said the robin, reflectively, "I should think not
A prepared noie is an idea; I don't think it could get in."
Moral. — It might be driven in with a steam-hammer.

paper
acquai
"Nigh
first ap

I don't reckolekt ov ever doing ennything that i waz just a
little ashamed oVj but what sum one waz sure to remember it,
and every once in a while put me in mind of it.

Josh Billings.

THE TAR BABY. \%i

THE TAR BABY.

BY JOEL CHANDLFR HARRIS.

•tOEL chandler HARRIS was born at Eatonton, Ga., December 9,
®^ 1848, and learned the printing business in the otiijje of The Countryman, a
paper published on a plantation, ten miles from any railroad. He there
acquainted himself with the negro folk-lore; which he afterwards used in the
«' Nights with Uncle Remus." These sketches, now of a world-wide celebrity,
first appeared in the Atlanta Constitution.

One evening recently, the lady whom Uncle Remus calls '* Miss
Sally " missed her little seven-year-old. Making search for him
through the house and
through the yard, she heard
the sound of voices in the
old man's cabin, and, look-
ing through the window,
saw the child sitting by
Uncle Remus. His head
rested against the old man's
arm, and he was gazing with
an expression of the most
intense interest into the
rough, weather-beaten face
that beamed so kindly upon
him. This is what "Miss
Sally" heard:

" Bimeby, one
day, arter Brer Fox
bin doin* all dat he
could fer ter ketch
Brer Rabbit, en Brer
Rabbit bin doin' all
he could fer ter keep
im fum it, Brer Fox
say to hisse'f dat
he'd put up a game

oil Brer Rabbit, en he ain't mo'n got de wuds out'n his mout
twel Brer Rabbit come a lopin' up de big road, lookin' des

UNCLE REMUS.

trntimmtf^

n I 1 1 if rill III-

v , 1

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tt*!!

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ez plump en ez fat en ez sassy ez a Moggin boss in a barley-
patch.

" * Hoi* on, dar, Brer Rabbit,' sez Brer Fox, sezee.

"* I ain't got time, Brer Fox,' sez Brer Rabbit, sezee, sorter
mendin' his licks.

*• ♦ I wanter have some confab wid you. Brer Rabbit,' sez Brer
Fox, sezee.

"'AH right. Brer Fox; but you better holler fum whar you
Stan'. I'm monstus full er fleas dis mawnin',' sez Brer Rabbit,
sezee.

" ' I seed Brer B'ar yistiddy,' sez B'-er Fox, sezee, * en he
sorter rake me over de coals kaze you en me ain't make frens
en live naberly; en I tole 'im dat I'd see you.'

" Den Brer Rabbit scratch one year wid his off hine-foot sorter
jub'usly, en den he ups en sez, sezee:

" ' All a settin', Brer Fox. Spose'n you drap roun' ter-morrer
en take dinner wid me. We ain't got no great doin's at our
house, but I speck de ole 'oman en de chilluns kin sorter scram-
ble roun' en git up somp'n fer ter stay yo' stummuck.'

" • I'm 'gree'ble, Brer Rabbit,' sez Brer Fox, sezee.

" ' Den I'll 'pen' on you,' sez Brer Rabbit, sezee.

** Nex' day, Mr. Rabbit an' Miss Rabbit got up soon, 'fo' day,
en raided on a gyarden, like Miss Sally's out dar, en got some
cabbiges, en some roas'n years, en some sparrer-grass, en dey
fix up a smashin' dinner. Bimeby, one er de little Rabbits playin'
out in de back-yard, come runnin' in, hollerin', *0h, ma! oh,
ma ! I seed Mr. Fox a comin' ! ' En den Brer Rabbit he tuck
de chilluns by der years en make um set down; en den him en
Miss Rabbit sorter dally roun' waitin' for Brer Fox. En dey keep
on waitin', but no Brer Fox ain't come. Atter 'while Brer Rab-
bit goes to de do', easy like, en peep out, en dar, stickin' out
fum behine de cornder, wuz de tip-een' er Brer Fox's tail Den
Brer Rabbit shot de do' en sot down, en put his paws behime
his years en begin fer ter sing:

" ' De place wharbouts you spill de grease,
Right dar youer boun' ter slide,
An' whar you fine a bunch er ha'r,
You'll sholy fine de hide.'

'* Nex' day. Brer Fox sent word by Mr. Mink, en skuze his-
se'f, kase he wuz too sick fer ter come, en he ax Brer Rabbit

ferte

•gree'

he soi

he goi

dar he

flannil

did, b

table,

sez Bn
t( < \

Fox, se

"Dei

ain't go

dat I ca

root."

'mong d

watch Ic

out er d(

en bimei

yo' calar

while it'.!

Brer Foj

gwineter

"DiDN

asked the

"He

did. On

Brer Fox

turkentim^

tuck dish

Jay off in

En he die

I^rer Rab

lippity— d

m I

THE TAR BABY.

133

fer ter come en take dinner wid him, en Brer Rabbit say he wuz
'gree'ble.

" Bimeby, w'en de shadders wuz at der shortes', Brer Rabbit
he sorter brush up en santer down ter Brer Fox's house, en w'en
he got dar, he yer somebody groanin', en he look in de do' en
dar he see Brer Fox settiu' up in a rockin'-cheer all wrop up wid
flannil, en he look mighty weak. Brer RabWit look all 'roun', he
did, but he ain't see no dinner. De dish-pan wuz sef.tin' on de
table, en close by wuz a kyarvin'-knife.

" * Look like you gwinter have chicken fer dinner, Brer Fox,'
sez Brer Rabbit, sezee.

" ♦ Yes, Brer Rabbit, deyer nice en fresh en tender,' sez Brer
Fox, sezee.

"Den Brer Rabbit sorter pull his mustarsh, en say: 'You
ain't got no calamus root, is you, Erer Fox ? I done got so now
dat I can't eat no chicken 'ceptin she's seasoned up wid calamus
root." En wid dat, Brer Rabbit lipt out or de do' and dodge
'mong de bushes, en sot dar watchin' fer Brer Fox; en he ain't
watch long, nudder, kaze Brer Fox flung off de flannel en crope
out er de house en got whar he could close in on Brer Rabbit,
en bimeby Brer Rabbit holler out: ' Oh, Brei Fox ! I'll des put
yo' calamus root out yer on dish yer stump. Better come git it
while it'.s fresh,' an' wid dat Brer Rabbit gallop off home. En
Brer Fox ain't never kotch 'im yit, en w'at's mo', honey, he ain't
gwineter."

II.

" Didn't the fox never catch the rabbit. Uncle Remus ? "
asked the little boy the next evening.

*' He come mighty nigh it, honey, sho's you bawn — Brer Fox
did. One day, atter Brer Rabbit fool 'im wid dat calamus root.
Brer Fox went ter wuk en got *im some tar, en mix it wid some
turkentime, en fix up a contrapshun wat he call a Tar-Baby, en he
tuck dish yer Tar-Baby en he sot 'er in de big road, en den he
lay off in de bushes fer ter see wat de news wuz gwineter be.
En he didn't hatter wait long, nudder, kaze bimeby here come
Brer Rabbit pacin' down de road — lippity-clippity, clippity-
lippity — dez ez sassy ez a jay-bird. Brer Fox, he lay low. Brer

■ ■ ■ . fij »

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Bri

life* r ' ■'

■in I
'-Si ■ -- > V

Rabbit come prancin* 'long twel he spy de Tar-Baby', en <) a he
fotch up on his behime legs like he wuz 'stonished. De Tar-
Baby, she sot dar, she did, en Brer Fox, he lay low
" ' Mawnin' ! ' sez Brer Rabbit, sezee — • nice weddcr dis mawn-

in'/ sezee.

" Tar- Baby ain't sayin' nuthin', en Brer Fox, he lay low.

•"How duz yo' sym'tums seem ter segashuate?' sez Brer
Rabbit, sezue.

BRER RABBIT CAUGHT.

" Brer Fox, he wink his eye slow, en lay low, en de Tar-Baby,
she ain't sayin' nuthin'.

"'How you come on, den? Is you deaf?' sez Brer Rabbit,
sezee. ' Kaze if you is, I kin holler louder,' sezee.

" Tar-Baby stay still, en Brer Fox, he lay low.

•' * Youer stuck up, d.it's w'at you is,' says Brer Rabbit, sezee,
*en I'm gwineter kyore you, dat's w'at I'm g^vineter do,' sezee.

** Brer Fox, he sorter chuckle in his stummuck, he did, but Tar-
Baby ain't sayin' nuthin'.

<«i

hit's

dat I

sezet

sayin

he die

he br

loose.

Fox, t

Rabbii
en dat
he lay
<< < "J

Brer ^

She des

same w,

dat ef (

En den

sa'ntere

•nockin'

*"H(

sorter s

groun', ,

.you'll ta

some caf

Fox, sez|

Here
thf ',hei

"Did
the storj
" Dat'l
mout, en I
en loosec
You betti

THE TAR BABY.

135

" •I'm gwineter lam you howter talk ter 'specttubble fokes ef
hit's de las' ack,' sez Brer Rabbit, sezee. 'Ef you don't take off
dat hat en tell me howdy, I'm gwineter bus' you wide open,*
sezee.

" Tar- Baby stay still, en Brer Fox, he lay low.

" Brer Rabbit keep on axin' 'im, en de Tar-Baby, she keep on
sayin' nuthin', twel present'y Brer Rabbit draw back wid his fis',
he did, en blip he tuck 'er side 'er de heads Right dar's whar
he broke his merlasses jug. His fis' stuck, en he can't pull
loose. De tar hilt 'im. But Tar-Baby, she stay still, en Brer
Fox, he lay low.

** ' Ef you don't lemme loose, I'll knock you agin,' sez Brer
Rabbit, sezee, en wid dat he fotch 'er a wipe wid de udder han',
en dat stuck. Tar-Baby, she ain't sayin' nuthin', en Brer Fox,
he lay low.

" * Tu'n me loose, fo' I kick de natal stuflfin' outen you,' sez
Brer Rabbit, sezee, but de Tar-Baby, she ain't sayin' nuthin'.
She des hilt on, en den Brer Rabbit lose de use er his feet in de
same way. Brer Fox, he lay low. Den Brer Rabbit squall out
dat ef de Tar- Baby don't tu'n 'im loose he butt 'er cranksided.
En den he butted, en his head got stuck. Den Brer Fox, he
sa'ntered fort', lookin' des ez innercent ez wunner yo' mammy's
•nockin'-birds.

** * Howdy, Brer Rabbit,' sez Brer Fox, sezee. ' You look
sorter stick up dis mawnin',' sezee, en den he rolled on de
groun', en laft en laft twel hft couldn't laff no mo'. * I speck
you'll take dinner wid me dis time, Brer Rabbit. I done laid in
some caliiinus root, en I ain't gwineter take no skuse,' sez Brer
Fox, sezee."

Here Uncle Remus paused, and drew a two-pound yam out of
thf ^ihes.

"Did the fox eat the rabbit?" asked the little boy to whom
the story had been told.

" Dat's all de fur de tale goes," replied the old man. '' He
mout, en den agin he mountent. Some say Jedge B'ar come 'long
en loosed 'im — some say he didn't. I hear Miss Sally callin*.
You better run 'long."

>' m

'. (. . ' : .^'

♦ '•(

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■ 8^ ■ , .71 ■■■■

1^6

MARK TWAIN'S LIBRARY OF HUMOR,

■*»*''

|-<,1

'r:4

DICK BAKER'S CAT.

BY MARK TWAIN.

One of ray comrades there— another of those victims of
eighteen years of unrequited toil and blighted hopes — was one
of the gentlest spirits that ever bore its patient cross in a weary

exile : grave and simple Dick Baker,
pocket-miner of Dead House Gulch.
He was forty-six, gray as a rat, earnest,
thoughtful, slenderly educated, slouchily
dressed and clay-soiled, but his heart
was finer metal than any gold his shovel
ever brought to light — than any, indeed,
that ever was mined or minted.

Whenever he was out of luck and a
little down-hearted, he would fall to
mourning over the loss of a wonderful
cat he used to own (for where women
and children are not, men of kindly im-
f 'WnHBir '^^'IK'7 pulses take up with pets, for they must
"^ \ove something). And he always spoke
^ of the strange saga-

city of that cat with

— believed in his secret
heart that there was
something human
about it — may be
even supernatural.
I heard him talk-
ing about this animal once. He said :

•* Gentlemen, I used to have a cat here by the name of Tom
Quartz, which you'd a took an interest in I reckon — most any
body would. I had him here eight year — and he was the re-
markablest cat / ever see. He was a large gray one of the Tom
specie, an' he had more hard, natchral sense than any man in this
camp — 'n' a pcnvcr of dignity — he wouldn't let the Gov'ner of
Californy be familiar with him. He neyer ketched a rat in his

-"-^^

SHOVING FOR HOME.

life-
min

man

He\

prosf
five I

best
you 1
went
V if 1
he Wo
I'll ha
anothe
air 'n'
suited
till th(
would
was ab(
satisfiec
'n' that-
coats
like a
till w.
the p(
then
superint
was nea
nin' on
tending.
" Wei
bye, uj) I
yer qiian
nient.
instead o
down a si
Jim but
commenc
"'onder w
seen any

If* ':

DICK BAKER'S CAT.

u 1

life — 'pearcdtobc above it. He never cared for nothinj; but
mininjj;. He knowed more about miniinj, that cat did, than any
man /ever, ever see. You couldn't tell ////// iioth'n' 'bout placer
diggin's — 'n* as for pocket-mining, why he was just born for it.
He would dig out after nu; an' Jim when we went over the hills
prospect'n', and he would trot along behind us for as much as
five mile, if we went so fur. An' he had the
best judgment about mining ground — wh^ ift ,,•].»
you never see anything like it. When we Ui.* . ' »'f
went to work, he'd scatter a glance around, nil' Mi»# 1/
'n' if he didn't think much of the indications, 1 \\^m^ i
he would give a look as much to say, 'Well,
I'll have to get you to excuse viCt 'n' without HI
another word he'd hyste his nose into the
air 'n' shove for home. But if the ground
suited hint, he would lay low 'n' keep dark
till the fust pan was washed, 'n' then he
would sidle up 'n' take a look, an' if there
was about six or seven grains of gold he was
satisfied — he didn't want no better prospect
'n' that — 'n' then he would lay down on our
coats and snore
like a steamboat
till we'd struck
the pocket, an'
then get up 'n'
superintend. He
was nearly light-
nin' on superin-
tending.

"Well, bye an'
bye, up comes this going UP.

yer quartz excite-
ment. Everybody was into it— everybody was pick'n' 'n' blast'n'
instead of shovelin' dirt on the hill-side— everybody was put'n'
down a shaft instead of scrapm' the surface. Noth'n' would do
Jim but 7ac must tackle the ledges, too, 'n' so we did. We
commenced put'n' down a shaft, 'n' Tom Quartz he begin to
wonder what in the dickens it was all about. He hadn't ever
seen any mining like that before, 'n' he was all upset, as you

'■ ■' ■.'

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m hi

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l-,8

MARK TWAIN'S LIBRARY OF HUMOR.

'4-

i^ ..: , I

may say — he couldn't come to a right understanding of it no way
— it was too many for hiin. He was down on it, too, you bet
you he was down on it powerful — 'n' always appeared to con-
sider it the cussedest foolishness out. But that cat, you know,
was always agin new-fangled arrangements— somehow he never
could abide 'em. You know how it is with old habits. But bye an'
bye Tom Quartz begin to git sort of reconciled a little, though he
never <:<7«A/ altogether understand that eternal sinkin' of a shaft
an' never pannin' out anything. At last he got to comin' down
in the shaft hisself, to try to cipher it out. An' when he'd git
the blues, *n' feel kind o' scruffy, 'n' aggravated *n' disgusted —
knowin', as he did, that the bills was runnin' up all the time an*
we warn't makin' a cent — he would curl up on a gunny sack in
the corner an' go to sleep. Well, one day when the shaft was
down about eight foot, the rock got so hard tliat we had to put in
a blast — the first blast'n' we'd ever done since Tom Quartz was
born. An' then we lit the fuse 'n' dumb out 'n' got off 'bout
fifty yards — 'n' forgot 'n* left Tom Quartz sound asleep on the
gunny sack. In 'bout a minute we seen a puff of smoke bust up
out of the hole, 'n' then everything let go with an awful crash, 'n'
about four million ton of rocks 'n' dirt 'n' smoke 'n' splinters
shot up 'bout a mile an' a half into the air, an' by George, right
in the dead centre of it was old Tom Quartz a goin' end over
end, an' a snortin' an' a sneez'n', an' a clawin' an' a reachin' for
things like all possessed. But it warn't no use, you know, it
warn't no use. An' that was the last we see of him for about
two minutes 'n' a half, an' then all of a sudden it begin to rain
rocks and rubbage, an' directly he come down ker-whop about
ten foot off f'm where we stood. Well, I reckon he was p'raps
the orneriest lookin' beast you ever see. One ear was sot back
on his neck', 'n' his tail was stove up, *n' his eye-winkers was
swinged off, 'n* he was all blacked up with powder an' smoke, an'
all sloppy with mud 'n' slush f'm one end to the other. Well, sir,
it warn't no use to try to apologize — we couldn't say a word. He
took a sort of a disgusted look at hisself, 'n' then he looked at
us — an' it was just exactly the same as if he had said — * Gents,
maybe you think it's smart to take advantige of a cat that 'ain't
had no experience of quartz minin', but / think different' — an'
then he turned on his heel 'n' marched off home without ever say-
ing another word.

but J

inga

down

Thei

he'd :

to ex(

hole '

inspir

I sa

was rt

ever c

always
million
dice ag

Avoi:
need th
stealing
— Bosto

Once,

good twc
ing all
nounced
scalps of
the pleas
twenty-oi
no ambul
I went in
tailor-bui
followed
luminous
this majc

THE HAUNTED ROOM.

139

** That was jest his style. An' maybe you won't believe it,
but after that you never see a cat so prejudiced agin quartz min-
ing as what he was. An' bye an' bye when he did get to goin'
down in the shaft agin, you'd 'a been astonished at his sagacity.
The minute we'd tetch off a blast 'n' the fuse'd begin to sizzle,
he'd give a look as mnch as to say : ' Well, I'll have to git you
to excuse me^ an' it was surpris'n' the way he'd shin out of that
hole 'n' go f'r a tree. Sagacity ? It ain't no^ame for it. 'Twas
inspiration ! "

I said, "Well, Mr. Baker, his prejudice against quartz-mining
7vas remarkable, considering how he came by it. Couldn't you
ever cure him of it ? " '

" Cure him ! No ! When Tom Quartz was sot once, he was
ahvays sot — and you might a blowed him uo as much as three
million times, 'n' you'd never a broken him of his cussed preju-
dice agin quartz mining."

Avoiding eccentricity : " No," said the bank cashier, " I didn't
need the money. I wasn't speculating. I had no necessity for
stealing it. But, hang it, I didn't want to be called eccentric."
— Boston Post.

THE HAUNTED ROOM.

R, J. BURDETTE,

Once, in the dead heart of the pitiless winter, I had drawn my
good two-handed Lecture with the Terrible Name, and was smit-
ing all the coasts of Pennsylvania with it, sparmg neither (pro-
nounced nyther) young nor old, and wearing at my belt the
scalps of many a pale-face audience. One night I reached Erie
the pleasant, just as the clock in the Lord Mayor's castle struck
twenty-one. It was bitter, biting, stinging cold, and there was
no ambulance at the station, while there was a good hotel there.
I went in and registered, and a man of commanding presence,
tailor-built clothes and a brown beard of most refined culture,
followed me, and under my plebeian scrawl, made ihe register
luminous with his patrician cognomen. I stood a little in awe of
this majestic creature, and when in a deep, bass, commanding

'1 .'.^t^S?

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1 .•!*'

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I40

MARK TWAIN'S LIBRARY OF HUMOR.

' h

voice he ordered a room, I had a great mind — something I always
carry with me when I travel — to go out and get him one. The
gentlemanly and urbane night clerk, who also seemed to be
deeply impressed — as is the habit of the night clerk — with the
gentleman's responsible to any amount toot on sawmbel, said he
was sorry, but he had but one vacant room, and it contained but
one bed. *' Still," he said, as became a man who was bound to
stand for his house if it hadn't a bed in it, " it was a wide bed,
very wide and quite long. Two gentlemen could sleep in it quite

comfortably, and if ." But the Commanding Being at my

side said that was quite altogether out of the question entirely.
Quite. He was sorry for the — here he looked at me, hesitated,
but finally said — gentleman, but He couldn't share His room
with him. He was sorry for the — gentleman, and hoped he might
find comfortable lodgings, but He couldn't permit him to occupy
even a portion of His bed. Then the clerk begged pardon, and
was sorry, and all that, but this other gentleman had registered

first, and it was for him to say
what disposition should be made
of this lonely room and solitary
bed, I hastened to assure the
majestic being that it was all
right; he was welcome to two-
// thirds of the room, all of the
looking-glass and one-half of
the bed. " No," he said, very
abruptly, " I will sit here by the
stove and sleep in my chair. I
thank you, sir, but I would not
sleep with my own brother. I
prefer a room to myself." I
meekly told him that I didn't know what kind of a man his
brother was, but no doubt he did, and therefore I must conclude
that he wasn't a fit man to sleep with. But his brother was out
of the question, and if he wanted part of my couch, he might have
it and welcome, and I would agree not to think of the brother.
" No, sir," he said, " I will sleep m no man's bed." I said I
wouldn't either, if I wasn't sleepy, but when I was sleepy, I didn't
care; I'd sleep with the King of England or the President, and
wouldn't care a cent who knew it.

COMFORTABLY SETTLED

THE HAUNTED ROOM.

Y4t

Well, I went to bed. I durled up under the warm, soft blankets,
and heard the v/ind shriek and wail and whistle and yell — how
like all creation the wind can blow in Erie — and as the night
grew colder and colder every minute, I fell asleep and dreamed
that heaven was just forty-eight miles west of Dunkirk. About
2 : 30 or 3 o'clock there came a thundering rap at the door, and
with a vague, half-waking impression in my dream that somebody
from the other place was trying to get in, Iisaid:

"What is it?"

•* It is I," answered a splen-
did voice, which I recognized
at once. *' I am the gentle-
man who came on the train
with you."

" Yes," I said, " and what is
the matter ? "

The splendid voic;, was a
trifle humble as it replied :

"I have changed my mind
about sleeping with another
man."

" So have I ? " I howled so
joyously that the very winds
laughed in merry echo. " So
have I ! I wouldn't get out of
this warm bed to open that
door for my own brother! "

I will close this story herq.
If I should write the language
that went down that dim, cold
hall outside my door you
wouldn't print it. And when

next morning I went skipping down-stairs as fresh as a rose, and
saw that majestic being knotted up in a hard arm-chair, looking
a hundred years old, I said:

*' Better is a poor and wise child than an old and foolish king,
who knoweth not how to be admonished. For out of prison he
cometh to reign; whereas, also, he that is born in his kingdom
becometh poor." This is also vanity.

HUMILIATED.

IP J

ff- i

if "'*.'tI

'' it • '".'^

I- 1)' ^'

lilt!

'ki

< 1'
^' till

'^ 'fl

i:i

142

MARK TWAIN'S LIBRARY OF HUMOR,

A RESTLESS NIGHT.

BY M ;K TWAIN.

li-atK,.-.,

•* IH

* *■

We were in bed by ten, f- r wp wanted to be up and away on
our tramp homeward with : he dawn. I hung fire, but Harris
went to sleep at once. I hate a man who goes to sleep at oiije;
there is a sort of indefinable something about it which is not
exactly an insult, and yet is an insolence; and one which is hard
to bear, too. I lay there fretting over this ii jury, and trying to
go to sleep; but the harder I tried, the wider awake I grew. I got
to feeling very lonely in the dark, with no company but an undi-
gested dinner. My mind got a start, by and by, and began to
consider the beginning of every subject which has ever been
thought of; but it never went further than the beginning; it was
touch and go: it fled from topic to topic with a frantic speed. At
the end oi an hour my head was in a perfect whirl and I was
dead tired, fagged out.

The fatigue was so great that it presently began to make some
head against the ner^'ous excitement; while imagining myself
wide awake, I would really doze into momentary unconscious-
nesses, and come suddenly out of them with a physical jerk which
nearly wrsnched my joints apart — the delusion of the instant
being that I was tumbling backwards over a precipice. After I
had fallen over eight or nine precipices, and thus found out that
one half of my brain had been asleep eight or nine times without
the wide-awake, hard-working other half suspecting it, the period-
ical unconsciousnesses began to extend their spell gradually
over more of my brain-territory, and at last I sank into a drows*
which grew deeper and deeper, and was doubtless on the very
point of becoming a solid, blessed, dreaming stupor, when — what
was that ?

My dulled faculties dragged themselves partly back to life
and took a receptive attitude. Now out of an immense, a limit-
less distance, came a something which grew and grew, and
approached, and presently was recognizable as a sound — it had
rather seemed to be a feeling, before. This sound was a mile
away, now — perhaps it was the murmur of a <;torm; and now it
was nearer — not a quarter of a mile a.vay; v.'us it the muffled

mouse
ing re
yond
ears —
them
or six
the 1
good:
nervou
come'
out trc

My
fore hn
thing,
in bed
coukhr
where
isn't.

A RESTLESS NIGHT.

143

rasping and grinding of distant machinery ? No, it came still
nearer; was it the measured tramp of a marching troop ? But it
came nearer still, and still nearer — and at last it was right in the
room : it was merely a mouse gnawing the wood-work. So I
had held my breath all that time for such a trifle !

Well, what was done could not be helped; I would go to sleep
at once and make up the lost time. Tli«t was a thoughtless
thought. Without intending it — hardly knowing it — I Tell to
listening intently to that sound, and
even unconsciously counting the ~
strokes of the mouse's nutmeg-grater.
Presently I was deriving exquisite
suffering from this employment, yet
maybe I could hfi.ve endured it if the
mouse had attended steadily to his
work : but he did not do that ; he
stopped every now and then, and I
suffered more while waiting and listen-
ing for him to begin again than I did
while he was gnawing. Along at first
I was mentally offering a reward of
five — six — sevf n — ten — dollars for that
mouse; but toward the last I was offer- /
ing rewards which were entirely be- -
yond my means. I close-reefed my
ears — that is to say, I bent the flaps of
them down and furled them into five
or six folds, and pressed them against
the hearing-orifice — but it did no
good: the faculty was so sharpened by practicing on a mouse.
nervous excitement that it was be-
come' a microphone, and could hear through the overlays with-
out trouble.

My anger grew to a frenzy. I finally did what all persons be-
fore have done, clear back to Adam — resolved to throw some-
thing. I reached down and got my walking shoes, then sat up
in bed and listened, in order to exactly locate the noise. But I
couldn't do it; it was as unlocatable as a cricket's noise; and
where one thinks that that is, is always the very place where it
isn't. So I presently hurled a shoe at random, and with a vicious

'-.mi

■v\\\

w> »W H, ' ■ j^^a " *

■■^^

144

MAPA' TWAIN'S LIBRARY OF HUMOR.

it-i;; . ,

vigor. It struck the wall over Harris's head and fell do'vn on
him; I had not imagined I could thiow so far. It woke Hnrris,
and I was glad of it until I found he was not angry; then I was
sorry. He soon went to sleep again, which pleased nic; b'.t
straightway the mouse ^egan again, which roused my t .mpcr
once more. I did not want to wake Hnrris i second tim;, but
the gnawing continued until I was compelled to throw the olher
shoe. This time I broke a mirror — there wt're two in the room —
I got the largest one, of course. H.'^.rris woke again, but did not
complain, and I was sorrier than ever. I resolved that I would
suiler all possible torture, before I vould di?tnrb hirn a third
lime.

The mouse eventually retired, and by and by I was sinking 10
sleep, when a cl; :k began to strike ; I counted, till it was done,
and was about to .Irowso again when another clock began ; I
counted ; then the tv \.' great Rathhaus clock angels began to
send forth soft, rich, melodicvis blasts from their long trumpets.
I had never hoard anything that was so lovely, or weird, ax mys-
terious — but when they got to blowing the quarter-hours, they
seemed to me to be overdoing the thing. Every time I dropped
off for a monsent, a new noise woke me. Each time I wiike I
missed my coverlet, and had to reach down to the floor and get
it again.

At last all sleepiness forsook me. I recognized the fact that
I was hopelessly and permanently wide awake. Wide awake,
and feverish and thirsty. When I had lain tossing there as long
as I could endure it, it occurred to me that it would be a good
idea to dress and go out in the great square and take a refreshing
wash in the fountain, and smoke and reflect there until the rem-
nant of the night was gone.

I believed I could dress in the dark without waking Harris. I
had banished my shoes after the mouse, but my slippers would
do for a summer night. So I rose softly, and gradually got on
everything — down to one sock. I couldn't seem to get on the
track of that sock, any way I could fix it. But I had to have it;
so I went down on my hands and knees, with one slipper on and
the other in my hand, and began to paw gently around and rake
the floor, but with no success. I enlarged my circle, and went
on pawing and raking. With every pressure of my knee, how
the floor creaked ! and every time I chanced to rake against any

A RESTLESS NIGHT,

145

article, it seemed to give out thirty-five or thirty-six times more
noise than it would have done in the daytime. In those cases I
alwaya stopped and held my breath till I was sure Harris had not
awakened — then I crept along again. I moved on and on, but I
could not find the sock ; I could not seem to find anything but
furniture. I could not remember that there was much furniture
in the room when I went to bed, but the plajje was alive with it
now — especially chairs — chairs everywhere — had a couple of
families moved in, in the meantime ? And I never could seem
to glance on one of those chairs, but always struck it full and
square with my head. My temper rose, by steady and sure
degrees, and as I pawed on and on, I fell to making vicious com-
ments under my breath.

Finally, with a venomous access of irritation, I said I would
leave without the sock ; so I rose up and made straight for tlie
door — as I supposed — and suddenly confronted my dim spectral
image in the unbroken mirror. It startled the breath out of me
for an instant ; it also showed me that I was lost, and had no sort
of idea where I was. When I realized this, I was so angry that
I had to sit down on the floor and take hold of something to keep
from lifting the roof off with an explosion of opinion. If there
had been only one mirror, it might possibly have helped to locate
me ; but there were two, and two were as bad as a thousand ;
besides, these were on opposite sides of the room. I could see
the dim M..r of the windows, but in my turned-around condition
they were exactly where they ought not to be, and so they only
confused me instead of helping me.

I started to get up, and knocked down an umbrella ; it made a
noise like a pistol-shot when it struck that hard, slick, carpetless
floor ; I grated my teeth and held my breath — Harris did not
stir. I set the umbrella slowly and carefully on end against the
wall, but as soon as I took my hand away, its heel slipped from
under it, and down it came again with another bang. I shrunk
together and listened a moment in silent fury— no harm done,
everything quiet. vVith the most painstaking care and nicety I
stood the umbrella up once more, took my hand away, and down
it came again.

T have been strictly reared, but if it had not been so dark and
solemn and awful there in that lonely vast room, I do believe I
should have said something then which could not be put into a

■ly'

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MARK TWAIN'S LIBRARY OF HUMOR.

Sunday-school book without injuring the sale of it. If my rea-
soning powers had not been already sapped dry by my harass-
ments, I would have known better than to try to set an umbrella
on end on one of those glassy German floors in the dark ; it

¥-i>' ■ U

V'',

FORTY-SEVEN MILES.

can't be done in the daytime without four failures to one success.
I had one comfort, though — Harris was yet still and silent; he
had not stirred.

The umbrella could not locate me — there were four standing

A KESTLESS NIGHT.

around the room, and all alike. I thought I would feel along
the wall and find the door in that way. I rose up and began this
operation, but raked down a picture. It was not a large one,
but it made noise enough for a panorama. Harris gave out no
sound, but I felt that if I experimented any further with the
pictures I should be sur. co wake him. Better give up trying to
get out. Yes, I would find King Arthuris Round Table once
more — I had already Vjund it several times — and use it for a
base of departure on an exploring tour for my bed ; if I could
find my bed I could then find my water pitcher ; I would quench
my raging thirst and turn in. So I started on my hands and
knees, because I could go faster that way, and with more confi-
dence, too, and not knock down things. By and by I found the
table — with my head — rubbed the bruise a little, then rose up
and started, with hands abroad and fingers spread, to balance my-
self. I found a chair ; then the wall ; then another chair ; then
a sofa ; then an alpenstock, then another sofa ; this confounded
me, for I had thought there was only one sofa. I hunted up the
table again and took a fresh start ; found some more chairs.

It occurred to me now, as it ought to have done before, that
as the table was round, it was therefore of no value as a base to
aim from ; so I moved off once more, and at random, among the
wilderness of chairs and sofas — wandered off into unfamiliar
regions, and presently knocked a candlestick off a mantel-piece ;
grabbed at the candle-stick and knocked off a lamp ; grabbed at
the lamp and knocked off a water-pitcher with a rattling crash,
and thought to myself, "I've found you at last — I judged I was
close upon you." Harris shouted "murder," and "thieves,"
and finished with " I'm absolutely drowned."

The crash had roused the house. Mr. X. pranced in, in his
long night garment, with a candle, young Z. after him with
another candle ; a procession swept in at another door, with
candles and lanterns; landlord and two German guests in their
nightgowns, and a chambermaid in hers.

I lo( ' ed around ; I was at Harris's bed, a Sabbath day's jour-
ney from my own. There was only one sofa ; it was against the
wail ; there was only one chair where a body could get at it — I
had been revolving around it like a Dlanet, and colliding with it
like a comet half the night.

I explained how I had been employing myself, and why.

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MARK TWAIN'S LIBRARY OF HUMOR.

Then the landlord's party left, and the rest of us set about our
preparations for breakfast, for the dawn was ready to break. I
glanced furtively at my pedometer, and found I had made forty-
seven miles. But I did not care, for I had come out for a
pedestrian tour anyway.

RIP VAN WINKLE.

BY WASHINGTON IRVING.

TVJASHINGTON IRVING, author of the " Knickerbocker History of New
^^ York, " "Life of Columbus," " Conquest of Granada," " Sketch Book,"
"Bracebrid(jc Hall," and many other famous works, was born at New York
in 1783, and early showed his aptitude for literature, although he studied law
and cjCpcctcd to make it his profession. His reputation as a light satirist was
already established when he wrote the '• Knickerbocker History," which pave
him fame. In 181 7 he went to Europe, and remained there till 1834, publish-
ing many of his works in England, where his success was very great. He
held the post of Secretary of Legation in London, and Minister at Madrid. In
1846 he returned finally to America, and died at Sunnysidc on the Hudson in
1859.

Whoever has made a voyage up the Hudson must remember
the Kaatskill Mountains. They are a dismembered branch of
the great Appalachian family, and are seen away to the west of
the river, swelling up to a noble height, and lording it over the
surrounding country. Every change of season, every change of
weather, indeed, every hour of the day, produces some change in
the magical hues and shapes of these mountains, and they are
regarded by all the good wives, far and near, as perfect barom-
eters. When the weather is fair and settled, they are clothed in
blue and purple, and print their bold outlines on the clear even-
ing sky; but, sometimes, when the rest of the landscape is
cloudless, they will gather a hood (jf gray vapors about their sum-
mits, which, in the last rays of the setting sun, will glow and light
up like a crown of glory.

At the foot of these fairy mountains, the voyager may have
descried the light smoke curling up from a village, whose shingle-
roofs gleam among the trees, just where the blue tinto of the
upland melt away into the fresh green of the nearer landscape.

It.'
som
just
StU3
hou.'
of sr
wind
In
tell t
there
of Gr
Rip A
figure
and ai
ited, I
I have
moreo
Indeec
of spiri
men ar
are un
doubth
of doni
sermon
long-su
spects,
Winkle
Certa
wives ol
part in i
talked t
the blan
too, wo I
at their
and shoe
and Indi
was surn
bering 01
impunity
neighbor

*7 W(l

niP VAN WINKLE.

149

It is a little village of great antiquity, having been founded by
some of the Dutch colonists, in the early times of the province,
just about the beginning of the government of the good Peter
Stuyvesant, (may he rest in peace!) and there were some of the
houses of the original settlers standing within a few years, built
of small yellow bricks brought from Holland, having latticed
windows and gable fronts, surmounted witl^ weather-cocks.

In that same village, and in one of these very houses (which, to
tell the precise truth, was sadly time-worn and weather-beaten),
there lived many years since, while the country was yet a province
of Great Britain, a simple good-natured fellow of the name of \
Rip Van Winkle. He was a descendant of the Van Winkles who
figured so gallantly in the chivalrous days of Peter Stuyvesant,
and accompanied him to the siege of Fort Christina. He inher •
ited, however, but little of the martial character of his ancestors.
I have observed that he was a simple, good-natured man; he was,
moreover, a kind neighbor, and an obedient, hen-pecked husband.
Indeed, to the latter circumstance might be owing that meekness
of spirit which. gained him such universal popularity; for those
men are most apt to be obsecpiious and conciliating abroad, who
are under the discipline of shrews at home. Their tempers,
doubtless, are rendered pliant and malleable in the fiery furnace
of domestic tribulation; and a curtain lecture is worth all the
sermons in the world for teaching the virtues of patience and
long-suffering. A termagant wife may, therefore, in some re-
spects, be considered a tolerable blessing; and if so, Rip Van
Winkle was thrice blessed.

Certain it is that he was a great favorite among all the good
wives of the village, who, as usual with the amiable sex, took his
part in all family squabbles, and never failed, whenever they
talked those matters over in their evening gossipings, to lay all
the blame on Dame Van Winkle. The children of the village,
too, would shout with joy whenever he approached. He assisted
at their sports, made their playthings, taught them to fly kites
and shoot marbles, and told them long stories of ghosts, witches
and Indians. Whenever he went dodging about the village, he
was surrounded by a troop of them, hanging on his skirts, clam-
bering on his back, and playing a thousand tricks on him with
impunity; and not a dog would bark at him throughout the
neighborhood.

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The j^reat trior in Ri|)'s composition was an insuperable aver-
sion to ail kinds of prolitable labor. It could not be from the
want of assiduity or perseverance; for he would sit on a wet rock,
with a rod as lonj,' and heavy as a Tartar's lance, and fish all (.lay
without a murmur, even though he should not be encouraged by
a single nibble. He would carry a fowling-piece on his shoulder
for hours together, trudging through woods and swami)s, and up
hill and down dale, to shoot a few squirrels or wiIil pigeons. He
woulil never refuse to assist a neighbor even ni the r(3Ughest toil,
and was a foremost man at all country frolics for husking Indian
corn, or building stone-fences; the women of the village, too, used
to employ him to run their errands, and to do such little odd jobs
as their less obliging; husbands would not do for them. In a
word. Rip was ready to attend to anybody's business but his own;
but as to doing family duty, and keeping his farm in order, he
found it impossible.

In fact, he declared it was of no use to work on his farm: it
was the most pestilent little piece of ground in the whole country;
everything about it went wrong, and would go wrong, in spite of
him. His fences were continually falling to pieces; his cow
would either go astray, or get among the cabbages; weeds were
sure to grow quicker in his fields than anywhere else; the rain
always made a point of setting in just as he had some out-door
work to do; so that, though his patrimonial estate had dwindled
away under his management, acre by sere, until there was little
more left than a mere patch of Indian corn and potatoes, yet it
was the worst conditioned farm in the neighborhood.

His children, too, were as ragged and wild as if they belonged
to nobody. His son Rip, an urchii. begotten in his own likeness,
promised to inherit the habits with the old clothes of his father.
He was generally seen trooping like a colt at his mother's heels,
equipped in a pair of his father's cast-o^'f galligaskins, which he
had much ado to hold up with one hand, as a fine lady does her
train in bad weather.

Rip Van Winkle, however, was one of those happy mortals, of
foolish, well-oiled dispositions, who take the world easy, eat white
bread or brown, whichever can be got with least thought or trou-
ble, and would rather starve on a penny than work for a pound.
If left to himself, he would have whistled life away in perfect
contentment; but his wife kept continually dinning in his ears

4 '

KIP VAN WINKLE.

151

about his idleness, his carelessness and the ruin he was brinan.fr
on his family. Morning, noon and night her tongue was inccs-'
santly going, and everything he said or did was sure to produce
a torrent (if household elofiiicnce. Rip had one way of replying
to all lectures of the kind, and that, by frequent usi", had grown
into a habit. He shrugged his shoulders, shook his head, cast
up his eyes, but said nothing. This, however, always provoked
a fresh V(jlley from his wife; so that he wa? fain to draw off his
forces, and take to the outside of the house— the only side which,
in truth, belongs to a hen-pecked husband.

kip's old domestic adherent was his dog Wolf, who was
as much hen-pecked as his master; for Dame Van Winkle
regarded them as companions in idleness, and even looked upon
Wolf with an evil eye, as the cause of his master's g(jing so often
astray. True it is, in all points of spirit befitting an honoral)le
dog, he was as courageous an animal as ever scoured the woods—
but what courage can withstand the ever-duringand all-besetting
terrors of a woman's tongue? The moment Wolf entered the
house his crest fell, his tail dropped to the ground, or curled
between his legs, he sneaked about with a gallows air, casting
many a sidelong glance at Dame Van Winkle, and at the least
flourish of a broom-stick or ladle, he would fly to the door with
yelping precipitation.

Times grew worse and worse with Rip Van Winkle as years of
matrimony rolled on; a tart temper never mellows with age, and
a sharp tongue is the only edged tool that grows keener with con-
stant use. For a long while he used to console himself, when
driven from home, by frequenting a kind of perpetual club of
the sages, phiiosophers, and other idle personages of the village;
which held its sessions on a bench before a small inn, designated
by a rubicund portrait of His Majesty George the Third. Here
they used to sit in the shade through a long lazy summer's day,
talking listlessly over village gossip, or telling endless sleepy
stories about nothing. But it would have been worth any states-
man's money to have heard the profound discussions that some-
times took place, when by chance an old ne, 'spaper fell into their
hands from some passing traveler. How solemnly they would
listen to the contents, as drawled out by Derrick Van Bummel,
the schoolmaster, a dapper, learned little man, who was not to be
daunted by the most gigantic word in the dictionary; and how

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sagely they would deliberate upon public events some months
alter they had taken place !

The opinions of this junto were completely controlled by Nich-
olas Vedder, a p triarch of the village, and landlord of the inn,
^ at the door ol

II ,. (/ '^ "z- which he took \m

Q,//^^j^^y '^^^^^;.:--__rf i seat from morn-

ing till night, just
moving sufficient-
ly to avoid the sun
and keep in the
shade of a large
tree; so that the
neighbors could
tell the hour by
his movements aii
accurately as by
a sun-dial. It is
true he was rarely
heard to speak,
but smoked his
pipe incessantly.
II i s adherents,
however (for
every great man
has his adher-
ents), perfectly
understood him,
and knew how to
gather his opin-
ions. When any-
thing that was
read or related
displeased him, he
was observed to
smoke his pipe vehemently, and to send forth short, frequent and
angry puffs; but when pleased, he would inhale the smoke slowly
and tranquilly, and emit it in light and placid clouds; and some-
times, taking the pipe from his mouth, and letting the fragrant
vapor curl about his nose, would gravely nod his head in token
of perfect approbation.

NICHOLAS VEDDER.

RIP VAN WINKLE.

153

From even this stronghold the unlucky Rip was at length
routed by his termagant wife, who would suddenly break in upon
the tranquillity of the assemblage and call the members all to
naught; nor was that august personage, Nicholas Vedder himself,
sacred from the daring tongue of this terrible virago, who charged
him outright with encouraging her husband in habits of idleness.

Poor Rip was at last reduced almost to despair; and his only
alternative, to escape from the labor of the farm and clamor of
his wife, was to take gun in hand and stroil away into the woods.
Here he would sometimes seat himself at the foot of a tree, and
share the contents of his wallet with Wolf, with whom he sympa-
thized as a fellow-sufferer in persecution, " Poor Wolf," he would
say, " thy mistress leads thee a dog's life of it; but never mind,
my lad, whilst I live thou shalt never want a friend to stand by
thee ! " Wolf would wag his tail, look wistfully in his master's
face, and if dogs can feel pity, I verily believe he reciprocated the
sentiment with all his heart.

In a long ramble of the kind on a fine autumnal day, Rip had
unconsciously scrambled to one of the highest parts of the Kaats-
kill Mountains. He was after his favorite sport of squirrel shoot-
ing, and the still solitudes had echoed and re-echoed with the
reports of his gun. Panting and fatigued, he threw himself, late
in the afternoon, on a green knoll, covered with mountain herb-
age, that crowned the brow of a precipice. From an opening
between the trees he could overlook all the lower country for
many a mile of rich woodland. He saw at a distance the lordly
Hudson, far, far below him, moving on its silent but majestic
course, with the reflection of a purple cloud, or the sail of a lag-
ging bark, here and there sleeping on its grassy bosom, and at
last losing itself in the blue highlands.

On the other side he looked down into a deep mountain glen,
wild, lonely and shagged, the bottom filled with fragments from
the impending cliffs, and scarcely lighted by the reflected rays of
the setting sun. For some time Rip lay musing on this scene;
evening was gradually advancing; the mountains began to throw
their long blue shadows over the valleys; he saw th.^t it would
be dark long before he could reach the village, and ho heaved
a heavy sigh when he thought of encountering the terrors of
Dame Van Winkle.

As he was about to descend, he heard a voice from a distance

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hallooing, " Rip Van Winkle ! Rip Van Winkle ! " He looked
round, but could see nothing but a crow winging its solitary flight
acrross the mountain. He thought his fancy must have deceived
him, and turned again to descend, when he heard the same cry
ring through the still evening air; " Rip Van Winkle ! Rip Van
Winkle ! " — at the same time Wolf bristled up his back, and giv-
ing a low growl, skulked to his master's side, looking fearfully
down into the glen. Rip now felt a vague apprehension stealing
over him; he looked anxiously in the same direction, and per-
ceived a strange figure slowly toiling up the rocks, and bending
under the weight of something he carried on his back. He was
surprised to see any human being in this lonely and unfrequented
place, but supposing it to be some one of the neighborhood in
need of his assistance, he hastened down to yield it.

On nearer approach he was still more surprised at the singular-
ity of the stranger's appearance. He was a short, square-built old
fellow, with thick bushy hair, and a grizzled beard. His dress
was of the antique Dutch fashion — a cloth jerkin strapped round
the waist — several pair of breeches, the outer one of ample vol-
ume, oecorated with rows of buttons down the sides, and bunches
at the knees. He bore on his shoulder a stout keg, that seemed
full of liquor, antl made signs for Rip to approach and assist him
with the load. Though rather shy and distrustful of this new
acquaintance. Rip complied with his usual alacrity; and mutually
relieving one another, they clambered up a narrow gully, appar-
ently the dry bed of a mountain torrent. As they ascended. Rip
every now and then heard long rolling peals like distant thunder,
that seemed to issue out of a deep ravine, or, rather, cleft, between
lofty rocks, toward which their rugged path conducted. He paused
for an instant, but supposing it to be the muttering of one of
those tran;iicnt thunder-showers which often take place in mount-
ain heights, he proceeded. P.-i'Jsing through the raviiiu they
came to a hollow, like a small amphitheatre, sui rounded by per-
pendicular j)rccipices, over the brinks of which impending trees
shot their branches, so that you only caught glimpses of the azure
sky and the bright evening cloud. During the whole time Rip
and his companion had lal)ored on in silence- for though the
former marveled greatly what could be the object of carrying a
keg of liquor up this wild mountain, yet thore was something
strange and incomprehensible about the unknown, that inspired
awe and checked familiarity.

RIP VAN WINKLE.

155

On entering the amphitheatre, new objects of wonder presented
chemselves. On a level spot in the centre was a company of odd-
looking personages playing at nine-pins. They were dressed in
a quaint outlandish fashion; some wore short doublets, others
jerkins, with long knives in their belts, and most of them had
enormous breeches, of similar style with that of the guide's.
Their visages, too, were peculiar: one had a large beard, broad
face, and small piggish eyes: the face of another seemed to con-
sist entirely of nose, and was surmounted by a white sugar-loaf
hat set off with a little red cock's tail. They all had beards, of
various shapes and colors. There was one who seemed to be ^
the commander. He was a stout old. gentleman, with a weather-
beaten countenance; he wore a laced doublet, broad belt and
hanger, high-crowned hat and feather, red stockings and high-
heeled shoes, with roses in them. The whole group reminded
Rip of the figures in an old Flemish painting, \\\ the parlor of
Dominie Van Shaick, the vilhifre parson, and which had been
brought over from Holland at the time of the settlement.

What seemed particularly odd to Rip was, that though these
folks were evidently amusing themselves, yet they maintained the
gravest faces, the most mysterious silence, and were, withal, the
most melancholy party of pleasure he had ever witnessed. Noth-
ing interrupted the stilhiess of the scene but the noise of the
balls, which, whenever they were rolled, echoed along the mount-
ains like rumbling peal' of thunder.

As Rip and his companion approached ihem, they suddenly
desisted from their play, and staved at him with such fixed
statue-like gaze, and such strange, uncouth, lack-lustre counte-
nances, that his her.-t turned within him, v: l his knees smote
together. His companion now emptied the contents of the keg
into large flagons, and made signs to him to wait upon the
company. He obeyed with fear and trembling; they quaffed
the liquor in profound silence, and then returned to their
game.

By degrees Rip's awe and apprehension stbsided. He even
ventured, when no eye was fixed upon him, to taste the beverage,
which he found had much of the favor of excellent Hollands.
He was naturally a thirsty soul, and was soon tempted to repeat
the draught. One; taste provoked another; and he reiterated his
visits to the flagon so often that at length his senses were over-

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AWAKING FROM A LONG SLEEP,

156

RIP VAN WINKLE.

157

powered, his eyes swam in his head, his head gradually declined,
and he fell into a deep sleep.

On waking, he found himself on the green knoll whence he had
first seen the old man of the glen. He rubbed his eyes — it was
a bright sunny morning. The birds were hopping and tvvlttering
among the bushes, and the eagle was wheeling aloft, and breast-
ing the pure mountain breeze. "Surely," thought Rip, " I have
not slept here all night." He recalled tW6 occurrences before
he fell asleep : the strange man with a keg of liquor — the
mountain ravine — the wild retreat among the rocks — the woe-
begone party at nine-pins — the fiagon — " Oh ! that flagon ! that
wicked flagon!" thought Rip — "what excuse shall I make to
Dame Van Winkle ! "

He looked round for his gun, but in place of the clean, well-
oiled fowling-piece, he found an old firelock lying by him, the
barrel incrusted with rust, the lock falling off, and the stock
worm-eaten. He now suspected that the grave roysters of the
mountain had put a trick upon him, and, having viosed him
with liquor, had rol)bed him of his gun. Wolf, too, had dis-
appeared, but he might have strayed away after a squirrel or
partridge. He whistled after him and shouted his name, but
all in vain; the echoes repeated his whistle and shout, but no
dog was to be seen.

He determined to revisit the scene of the last evening's
gambol, and if he met with any of the party, to demand his
dog and gun. As he rose to 'valk, he found himself stiff in
the joints, and wanting in his usual activity. "These mount-
ain beds do not agree with me," thought Rip, "and if this
frolic should lay me up with a fit of the rheumatism, I shall
have a blessed time with Dame Van Winkle." With some
difficulty he got down into the glen: he found the gully up
which he and his companion had ascended the preceding even-
ing; but to his astonishment a mountain stream was now foam-
ing down it, leaping frum rock to rock, and filling the glen
with babbling murmurs. He, however, made a shift to scramble
up its sides, working his toilsome way through thickets of birch,
sassafras and witch-hazel and sometimes tripped up or entangled
by the wild grapevines that twisted their coils or tendrils from
tree to tree, and spread a kind of network in his path.

At length he reached to where the ravine had opened through

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MAS!/ir TWALV'S LIBRARY OF HUMOR.

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the cliffs to the amphitheatre; but no traces of such opening
remained. The rocks presented a high impenetrable wall over
which the torrent came tumbling in a aheet of feathery foam,
and fell into a broad deep basin, black from the shadows of
the surrounding forest. Here, then, poor Rip was brought to
a stand. He again called and whistled after his dog; he was
only answered by the cawing of a flock of idle crows, sport-
ing high in air about a dry tree that overhung a sunny preci-
pice; and who, secure in their elevation, seemed to look down
and scoff at the poor man's perplexities. What was to be done ?
the morning was passing away, and Rip felt famished for want
f^.if his breakfast. He grieved to give up his dog ami gun; he
vheaded to meet his wife; but it would not do to starve among
the mountains. He shook his head, shouldered the rusty firelock,
and, with a heart full of trouble and anxiety, turned his steps
• reward.

As he approached the village he met a number of people, but
none whom he knew, which somewhat surprised him, for he had
thought himself acquainted wifh every one in the country round
Their dress, too, was of a different fashion from that to which he
was accustomed. They all stared at him with equal marks of
surprise, and, whenever they cast their eyes upon him, invariably
stroked their chins. The constant recurrence of this gesture
induced Rip, mvoluntarily, to do the same, when, to his astonish-
ment, he found his beard had grown a foot long !

He had now entered the skirts of the village. A troop of
strange children ran at his heels, hooting after him, and pointing
at his gray beard. The dogs, too, not one of which he recog-
nized for an old acquaintance, barked at him as he passed. The
very village was altered; it was larger and more populous. There
were rows of houses whicV he 1 id never seen before, and those
which had l)een his familiar haunts had disappeared. Strange
names were over the doors — strange faces at the windows — every-
thing was strange. His mi,d now misgave him: he began to
doui)t whether both he and the world around him were not
bewitched. Surely this was his native village, which he had left
but the day b:^fore. There stood the Kaatskill Mountains — there
ran the silver Hudson at a distance — there was every hill and dale
precisely as it had always been — Rip was sorely perplexed— "That
flagon last night." thought he, " has addled my poor head sadly t"

it inste.-

looked

'ioubie

instead

doling

these, r

RIP VAN WINKLE.

159

It was with some difficulty that he found the way to his own
house, which he approached with silent awe, expecting every
moment to hear the shrill voice of Dame Van Winkle. He found
the house gone to decay— the roof had fallen in, the windows
shattered, and the doors off the hinges. A half-starved dog that
looked like Wolf was skulking about it. Rip called him by name,
but the cur snarled, showed his teeth, and passed on. This was
an unkind cut indeed — "My very dog," sTghed poor Rip, "has
forgotten me! "

He entered the house, which, to tell the truth, Dame Van
Winkle had always kept in neat order. It was empty, forlorn,
and apparently abandoned. This desolateness overcame all his

connubial fears — he called loudly for h; vife and children the

lonely chambers rang for a moment \. vth his voice, and then
all again was silence.

He now hurried forth, and hastened to his old resort, the vil-
lage inn — but it too was gone. A large rickety wooden building
stood in its place, with great gaping windows, some of them
broken and mended with old hats and petticoats, and over the
door was painte'I, '< The Union Hotel, by Jonathan Doolittle."
Instead of the great tree that used to shelter the quiet little
Dutch inn of yore, t\ now was reared a tall naked pole, with
something on the top tnat looked like a red night-cap, and from
it was fluttering a flag, on which was a singular assemblage of
stars and stripes— all this was strange and incomprehensible. He
recognized on the sign, however, the ruby face of King George,
under which he had smoked so many a peaceful pipe; but even
this was singularly metamorphosed. The red coat was changed
for one of blue and buff, a sword was held in the hand instead of
a sceptre, the head was decorated with a cocked hat, and under-
neath was painted in large characters, Gkneral Washington.

There was, as usual, a crowd of folk about the dour, but none
that Rip recollected. The very character of the people seemed
changed. There was a busy, bustlmg, disputatious tone about
it instead of the accustomed phlegm and drowsy tranquillity. He
looked in vain for the sage Nicholas Vcdder, with his broad face,
riouble chin, and fair long pipe, uttering clouds (jf tobacco-smoke
instead of idle speeches ; or Van Bummel, the school maste»",
doling forth the contents of an ancient newspaper. In place of
these, a lean, bilious-looking fellow, with his pockets full oi

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handbills, was haranguing vehemently about rights of citizens —
elections — members of Congress — liberty — Bunker's Hill — heroes
of Seventy-six — and other words, which were a perfect Babylonish
jargon to the bewildered Van Winkle.

The appearance of Rip, with his long grizzled beard, his rusty
fowling-piece, his uncouth dress, and an army of women and
children at his heels, soon attracted the attention of the tavern
politicians. They crowded round him, eyeing him from head to
foot with great curiosity. The orator bustled up to him, and,
drawing him partly aside, inquired "on which side he voted?"
Rip stared in vacant stupidity. Another short but busy little
fellow pulled him by the arm, and, rising on tiptoe, inquired in
his ear, "Whether he was Federal or Democrat?" Rip was
equally at a loss to comprehend the question; when a knowing,
self-important old gentleman, in a sharp cocked hat, made his
way through the crowd, putting them to the right and left with
his elbows as he passed, and planting himself before Van Winkle,
with one arm akimbo, the other resting on his cane, his keen eyes
and sharj)hat penetrating, as it were, into his very soul, demanded
in an austere tone, "what brought him to the election with a gnu
on his shoulder, and a mob at his heels, and whether he meant to
breed a riot in the village?" — " AlasI " gentlemen," cried Rip,
somewhat dismayed, " I am a poor quiet man, a native of the
place", and a loyal subject of the king, Clod bless him!"

Here a general shout burst from the by-standers — '' a tory! a
toryl a spy! a refugee! hustle him! away with him! " It was
with great difficulty that the self-important man in the cocked
hat restored order; and, having assumed a tenfold austerity of
brow, demandetl agnin of the unknown culprit what he came
there for, and whom he was seeking? The poor man humbly
assured him that he meant no harm, but merely came there in
search of some of his neighbors,who used to keep about the tavern.

"Well — who are they ? — name them."

Rip thought himself a moment, and inquired, " Where's Nic-
holas Vcdder ? "

There was a silence for a little while, when an old man replied,
in a thin p.iping voice, ''Nicholas Vedder! why, he is dead and
gone these eighteen years! There was a wooden tombstone in
the church-yard that used to tell all about him, but that's rotten
and gone too."

som(
say I
don'l

is no\

Rif

home

Every

lapses

War — (

more f

Rip Vi

"Oh

sure! ti

Rip J

went up

ged. 7

doubted
man. I
hat dem
"God
myself—
'>ody els
•isleep oi
thing's
name, or
The b)
significan
was a wh;
fellow fro
self-impoi
tion. At
Hi rough tl
had a chu
'^cgan to c
the old m:
the mothe:

RIP VAN WINKLE.

I6l

" Where's Brom Dutcher ? "

" Oh, he went off to the army in the beginning of the war ;
some say he was killed at the storming of Stony Point — others
say he was drowned in a squall at the foot of Antony's Nose. I
don't know — he never came back again."

" Where's Van Bummel, the s( hoolmaster ?"

" He went off to the wars too, was a great militia general, and
is now in Congress." • # ''

Rip's heart died away at hearing of these sad changes in his
home and friends, and finding himself thus alone in the world.
Every answer puzzled him too, by treating of such enormous
lapses of time, and of matters which he could not understand:
War — Congress — Stony Point — he had no courage to ask after any
more friends, but cried out in despair, " Does nobody here know
Rip Van Winkle ? "

'* Oh, Rip Van Winkle! " exclaimed two or three, *' Oh, to be
sure! that's Rip Van Winkle yonder, leaning against the tree."

Rip looked, and beheld a precise counterpart of himself, as he
went up the mountain: apparently as lazy, and certainly as rag-
ged. The poor fellow was now completely confounded. He
doubted his own identity, and whether he was himself or another
man. In the midst of his bewilderment, the man in the cocked
hat demanded who he was, and what was his name ?

"God knows," exclaimed he, at his wit's end; "I'm not
myself — I'm somebody else — that's me yonder — no — that's some-
body else got into my shoes — I was myself last night, but I fell
asleep on the mountain, and they've changed my gun, and every
thing's changed, and I'm changed, and I can't tell what's my
name, or who I am! "

The by-standers began now to look at each other, nod, wink
significantly, and tap their fingers againr* their foreheads. There
was a whisper, also, about securing the gun, and keeping the old
fellow from doing mischief, at the very suggestion of which the
self-important man in the cocked hat retired with some precipita-
tion. At this critical mjoment a fresh, comely woman pressed
through the throng to get a peep at the gray-bearded man. She
had a chubby child in her arms, which, frightened at his looks,
began to cry. "Hush, Rip," cried she, " hush, you little fool;
the old man won't hurt you." The name of the chil<l, the air of
the mother, tne tone of her voice, all awakened a train of recol-

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lections in his mind. "What is your name, my good woman?"
asked he.

"Judith Gardenier."

"And your father's name?"

" Ah, poor man, Rip Van Winkle was his name, but it's twenty
years since he went away from home with his gun, and never has
been heard of since — his dog came home without him ; but
whether he shot himself, or was carried away by the Indians,
nobody can tell. I was then but a little girl."

Rip had but one question more to ask; but he put it with u
faltering voice:

" Where's your mother ? "

'• Oh, she too had died but a short time since; she broke a
blood-vessel in a fit of passion at a New-England peddler."

There was a drop of comfort, at least, in this intelligence. The
honest man could contain himself no longer. He caught his
daughter and her child in his arms. "I am your father! " cried
he — "Young Rip Van Winkle once — old Rip Van Winkle now !
Does nobody know poor Rip Van Winkle?"

All stood amazed, until an old woman, tottering out from
among the crowd, p'lV, her hand to her brow, and peering under it
in his face for a moment, exclaimed, " Sure enough! it is Rip
Van Winkle it is liimself! Welcome home again, old neighbor
— why, where have you l)een these twenty long years?"

Rip's story was soon told, for the whole twenty years had been
to him as one nigh.. The neighbors stared when they heard it;
some were seen to wink at each other, and put their tongues in
their cheeks: and the self-important man in the cocked hat, who,
when the alarm was over, had returned to the field, screwed down
the corners of his mouth, and shook his head — upon which there
was a general shaking of the head throughout the assemblage.

It was determined, however, to take the opinion of old Peter
Vanderdonk, who was seen slowly advancing up the road. He
was a descendant of the historian of that name, who wrote one of
the earliest accounts of the province. Peter was the most
ancient inhabitant of the village, and well versed in all the won-
derful events and traditions of the neighborhood. He recollected
Rip at once, and corroborated his story in the most satisfactory
manner. He assured the company that it was a fact, handed
down from his ancestor the historian, that the Kaatskill Mount-

age
once
one
times
into
the st
that
throv
subjec
zen of
change
but the
groane
at an e
and CO
the tyr

RIP VAN WINKLE.

163

their balls, like dis-

broke up, and
a lie election. Rip's

ains had always been haunted 1'^' strange beings; that it was
affirmed that the great licndrick J Tudson, the first discoverer of
of the river and country, kept a kind of vigil there every twenty
years, with his crew of the Half-Moon, being permitted in this
way to revisit the scents of his enterprise, and keep a guardian
eye upon the river, and the great city called by his name; that
his father had once seen them in their old Dutch dresses playing
at nine-pins in a hollow of the mountain nd that he himself had
heard, one summer afternoon, the so-
tant peals of thunder.

To make a long story short, th(
returned to the more important conct,
daughter took him home to live with her; she had a snug, well-
furnished house, and a' stout cheery farmer for a husband, whom
Rip recollected for one of the urchins that used to climb upon
his back. As to Rip's son and heir, who was the ditto of himself,
seen leaning against the tree, he was employed to work on the
farm; but evinced an hereditary disposition to attend to anything
else but his business.

Rip now resu.-ned his old walks and habits; he soon found
many of his former cronies, though all rather the worse for the
wear and tear of time; and preferred making friends among the ris-
ing generation, with whom he soon grew into great favor.

Having nothing to do at home, and being arrived at that happy
age when a man can be idle with impunity, he took his place
once more on the bench at the inn door, and was reverenced as
one of the patriarchs of the village, and a chronicle of the old
times " before the war." It was some time before he could get
into the regular track of gossip, or could be made to comprehend
the strange events that had taken place during his torpor. How
that there had been a Revolutionary war — that the country had
thrown off the yoke of old England — and that, instead of being a
subject of his Majesty George the Third, he was now a free citi-
zen of the United States. Rip, in fact, was no politician; the
changes of states and empires made but little impression on him;
but there was one species of despotism under which he had long
groaned, and that was — petticoat government. Happily that was
at an end; he had got his neck out of the yoke of matrimony,
and could go in and out whenever he pleased, without dreading
the tyranny of Dame Van Winkle. Whenever her name was

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MAXJ^ TWAIN* S LIBRARY OF HUMOR.

mentioned, however, he shook his head, shrugged his shoulders,
and cast up his eyes; which might pass either for an expression of
resignation to his fate, or joy at his deliverance.

He used to tell his story to every stranger that arrived at Mr.
Doolittle's hotel. He was observed, at first, to vary on some
points every time he told it, which was, doubtless, owing to his
having so recently awakened. It at last settled down precisely to
the tale I have related, and not a man, woman or child in the
neighborhood, but knew it by heart. Some always pretended to
doubt the reality of it, and insisted that Rip had been out of his
head, and that this was one point on which he always remained
flighty. The old Dutch inhabitants, however, almost universally
gave it full credit. Even to this day they never hear a thunder-
storm of a summer afternoon about the Kaatskill, but they say
Hendrick Hudson and his crew are at their game of nine-pins;
and it is a common wish of all hen-pecked husbands in the neigh-
borhood, when life hangs heavy on their hands, that they might
have a quieting draught out of Rip Van Winkle's flagon. 1

THE OSTRICH AND THE HEN.

BY GEO. T. LANAGAN.

An Ostrich and a Hen chanced to occupy adjacent apartments,
and the former complained loudly that her rest was disturbed by
the cackling of her humble neighbor. "Why is it," he finally
asked the Hen, *« that you make such an intolerable noise ?" The
Hen replied, " Because I have laid an tg^" " Oh, no," said the
Ostrich, with a superior smile, " it is because you are a Hen, and
don't know any better."

Moral. — The moral of the foregoing is not very clear, but
it contains some reference to the Agitation for Female Suffrage.

THE OSTRICH AND THE HEN.

x65

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MARK TWAIN'S LIBRARY OF HUMOR.

WOMEN'S RIGHTS.

BY ARTEMUS WARD.

I piTCHT my tent in a small town in Injianny one day last see-
son, & while I was standin at the dore takin money, a deppytashun
of ladies came up & sed they wos members of the Bunkumville

Female Reformin &
Wimin's Rite's Associa-
shun, and thay axed me
if thay cood go in with-
out payin.

" Not exactly," sez I,
" but you can pay with-
out goin in."

** Dew you know who
we air ?" said one of the
wimin — a tall and fero-
shus lookin critter, with
a blew kotton umbreller
under her arm — " do you
know who we air, Sur?"
"My impreshun is,"
sed I, " from a kersery
view, that you air fe-
males."

We air, Sur," said
I feroshus woman —
" we belong to a Society
whitch beleeves wimin
has rites — whitch be-
leeves in razin her to her
proper speer — whitch
beleeves she is indowed
with as much intelleck
as man is — whitch beleeves she is trampled on and aboozed — &
who will resist hense4th & forever the incroachments of proud
& domineering men."

Durin her discourse, the exsentric female grabed me by the
coat-kollor & was swinging her umbreller wildly over my head.

"A FEROSHUS LOOKIN' CRITTER.'

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WOMEN'S RIGHTS.

167

sez I, starting back, " that your intensions is

Besides,

I hope, marm,
honorable ! I'm a lone man hear in a strange place.
I've a wife to hum."

" Yes," cried the female, " & she's a slave ! Doth she never
dream of freedom — doth she never think of throwin of the yoke of
tyrrinny & thinkin & votin for herself ? — Doth she never think of
these here things ? "

" Not bein a natral born fool," sed I, by this time a little riled,
*' 1 kin safely say that she dothunt."

" Oh, whot — whot !" screamed the female, swinging her umbrel-
ler in the air. " O, what js the price that woman pays for her
expeeriunce ! "

"I don't know," sez I; "the price of my show is 15 cents pur
individooal."

"& can't our Sobiety go in free ?" asked the female.

"Not if I know it," sed I.

" Crooil, crooil man ! " she cried, & bust into teers.

" Won't you let my darter in ? " sed anuther of the exsentric
wimin, taken me afeckshunitely by the hand. ** O, please let my
darter in — shee's a sweet gushin child of natur."

** Let her gush ! " roared I, as inad as I cood stick at their tar-
nal nonsense — "let her gush!" Where upon they all sprung
back with the simultaniogs observashun that I was a Beest.

"My female friends," sed I, "be4 you leeve, I've a few re-
marks to remark; wa them well. The female woman is one of
the greatest institooshuns of which this land can boste. It's on-
possible to get along without her. Had there bin no female
wimin in the world, I should scarcely be herewith my unparaleld
show on this very occashun. She is good in sickness — good in
wellness — good all the time. O woman, woman ! " I cried, my
feelins worked up to a hi poetick pitch, " You air a angle when
you behave yourself; but when you take off your proper appairel
& (mettyforically speaken)— get into pantyloons — ^when you de-
sert your firesides, & with you heds full of wimin's rites noshuns
go round like roarin lions, seekin whom you may devour some-
boddy — in short, when you undertake to play the man, you play
the devil and air an emphatic noosance. My female friends,"
I continued, as they were indignantly dejiartin, " wa well what
A. Ward has sed 1"

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MARK TWAIN'S LIBRARY OF HUMOR

^ NOTHING TO WEAR.

BY WILLIAM ALLEN BUTLER.

7£JILLIAM ALLEN BUTLER, bom at Albany, N. Y., in 1825, is best
^^ known by his poem of •• Nothing to Wear," which he published in 1857,
and which attained at once the most extraordinary currency and celebrity. He
was the author of other poems, and various humorous papers, which he threw off
in such leisure as his profession of lawyer allowed him, but none are comparable
to tlie satire which won him fame, and, with the exception of " Two Millionc,"
would now hardly be remembered. He was a versatile and accomplished
man, whose advantages and opportunities had been great.

Miss Flora M'Flimsey, of Madison Square,

Has made three separate journeys to Paris,

And her father assures me, each time she was there,

That she and her friend Mrs. Harris ■

(Not the lady whose name is so famous in history,

But plain Mrs. H., without romance or mystery)

Spent six consecutive weeks, without stopping,

In one continuous round of shopping —

Shopping alone, and shopping together,

At all hours of the day, and in all sorts of weather,

For all manner of things that a woman can ptu

On the crown of her head, or the sole of her foot,

Or wrap round her shoulders, or fit round her waist.

Or that can be sewed on, or pinned on, or laced,

Or tied on with a string, or stitched on with a bow,

In front or behind, above or below;

For bonnets, mantillas, capes, collars and shawls;

Dresses for breakfasts, and dinners, and balls; ' .

Dresses to sit in, and stand in, and walk in;

Dresses to dance in, and flirt in, and talk in;

Dresses in which to do nothing at all ;

Dresses for Winter, Spring, Summer and Fall;

All of them different in color and shape.

Silk, muslin and lace, velvet, satin and ciape.

Brocade and broadcloth, and other material,

Quite as expensive and much more ethereal ;

In short, for all things that could ever be thought of,

NOTHING TO WEAR.

169

Or milliner, modiste or tradesman be bought of,

From ten-thousand-franc robes to twenty-sous frills;
In all quarters of Paris, and to every store.
While M'Flimsey in vain stormed, scolded and swore,
They footed the streets, and he footed the bills!

FLORA m'FLIMSEY.

The last trip, their goods shipped by the steamer Arago
Formed, M'Flimsey declares, the bulk of her cargo,
Not to mention a quantity kept from the rest,
Sufficient to fill the largest-sized chest.
Which did not appear on the ship's manifest.
But for which the ladies themselves manifested
Such particular interest, that they invested
Their own proper persons in layers and row

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Of muslins, embroideries, worked under-clothes,
Gloves, handkerchiefs, scarfs, and such trifles as those;
Then, wrapped in great shawls, like Circassian beauties,
Gave good by to the ship, and go by to the duties.
Her relations at home all marveled, no doubt,
Miss Flora had grown so enormously stout

For an actual belle and a possible bride ;
But the miracle ceased when she turned inside out,

And the truth came to light, and the dry -goods beside.
Which, in spite of Collector and Custom-House sentry.
Had entered the port without any entry.

SCOLDING IN VAIN.

And yet, though scarce three months have passed since the day
This merchandise went, on twelve carts, up Broadway,
This same Miss M'Flimsey of Madison Square,
The last time we met was in utter despair,
Because she had nothing whatever to wear!

\
Nothing to wear! Now, as this is a true ditty,

I do not assert — this, you know, is between us —
That she's in a state of absolute nudity,

Like Powers' Greek Slave or the Medici Venus;
.But I do mean to say, I have heard her declare.

NOTHING TO WEAR,

When at the same moment she had on a dress
Which cost five hundred dollars, and not a cent less,
And jewelry worih ten times more, I should guess,
That she had not a thing in the wide world to wear!

171

I should mention just here, that out of Miss Flora's

Two hundred and fifty or sixty adorers,

I had just been selected as he who should throw all

The rest in the shade, by the gracious bestowal

On myself, after twenty or thirty rejections.

Of those fossil remains which she called her "affections."

And that rather decayed but well-known work of art,

Which Miss Flora persisted in styling her "heart."

So we were engaged. Our troth had been plighted.

Not by moonbeam or starbeam, by fountain or grove,

But in a front parlor, most brilliantly lighted.

Beneath the gas-fixtures, we whispered our love.

Without any romance, or raptures, or sighs.

Without any tears in Miss Flora's blue eyes.

Or blushes, or transports, or such silly actions,

It was one of the quietest business transactions.

With a very small sprinkling of sentiment, if any,

And a very large diamond imported by Tiffany.

On her virginal lips while I printed a kiss.

She exclaimed, as a sort of parenthesis.

And by way of putting me quite at my ease,

" You know I'm to polka as much as I please.

And flirt when I like — now, stop, don't you spe., k- •

And you must not come here more than twice in the week,

Or talk to me either at party or ball.

But always be ready to come when I call;

So don't prose to me about duty and stuff.

If we don't break this off, there will be time enough

For that sort of thing; but the bargain must be

That, as long as I choose, I am perfectly free —

For this is a kind of engagement, you see.

Which is binding on }0u, but not binding on me."

Well, having thus wooed Miss M'Flimsey and gained her,
With the silks, crinolines, and hoops that contained her,

••*-. V

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172

AM^AT TWAWS LIBRARY OF HUMOR.

I had, as I thought, a contingent remainder

At least in the property, and the best right

To appear as its escort by day and by night;

And it being the week of the Stuckups' grand ball—

Their cards had been out a fortnight or so.

And set all the Avenue on the tiptoe —
I considered it only my duty to call, ^

And see if Miss Flora intended to go.
I found her — as ladies are apt to be found,
» When the time intervening between the first sound "^
Of the bell and the visitor's entry is shorter
Than usual — I found; I won't say — I caught her,
Intent on the pier-glass, undoubtedly meaning
To see if perhaps it didn't need cleaning.
She turned as I entered—" Why, Harry, you sinner,
I thought that you went to the Flashers' to dmner! '
"So I did," I replied, "but the dinner is swallowed,

And digested, I trust, for 't is now nine and more,
So, being relieved from that duty, I followed

Inclination, which led me, you see, to your door;
And now will your ladyship so condescend
As just to inform me if you intend
Your beauty, and graces, and presence to lend
(All of which, when I own, I hope no one will borrow)
To the Stuckups', whose party, you know, is to-morrow?"
The fair Flora looked up, with a pitiful air.
And answered quite promptly, " Why, Harry, mon cher^
I should like above all things to go with you there,
But really and truly — I've nothing to wear."
"Nothing to wear! go just as you are;
Wear the dress you have on, and you'll be by far, '

I engage, the most bright and particular star

On the Stuckup horizon — " I stopped, for her eye,
Notwithstanding this delicate onset of flattery,
Opened on me at once a most terrible battery ^

Of scorn and amazement. She made no reply.
But gave a slight turn to the end of her nose

(That pure Grecian feature), as much to say,
♦' How absurd that any sane man should suppose
That a lady would go to a ball in the clothes,

No matter how fine, that she wears every day!"

NOTHING TO WEAR.

173

So I ventured again: «• Wear your crimson brocade" ;
(Second turn up of nose) — •'That's too dark by a shade."
"Your blue silk "—"That's too heavy." "Your pink"—

" That's too light."
"Wear tulle over satin" — " I can't endure white."
" Your rose-colored, then, the best of the batch " —
" I haven't a thread of point-lace to match."
" Your brown moire antique** — "Yes, and look like a Quaker" •
" The pearl-colored "— " I would, but that plaguy dress-maker
Has had it a week." " Then that exquisite lilac,
In which you would melt the heart of a Shylock " ;
(Here the nose took again ^he same elevation) —
"I wouldn't wear that for the whole of creation."

♦' Why not? It's my fancy, there's nothing could strike it
As more comme ilfaut" — "Yes, but, dear me, that lean

Sophronia Stuckup has got one just like it,
And I won't appear dressed like a chit of sixteen."
♦'Then that splendid purple, the sweet Mazarine;
That superb point d* aiguille, that imperial green,
That zephyr-like tarletan, that rich ^r^«a<//«^ " —
" Not one of all which is fit to be seen," '

Said the lady, becoming excited and flushed.
"Then wear," I exclaimed, in a tone which quite crushed
Opposition, " that gorgeous toilette which you sported
In Paris last spring, at the grand presentation.
When you quite turned the head of the head of the nation,

And by all the grand court were so very much courted."

The end of the nose was portentously tipped up.
And both the bright eyes shot forth indignation,
As she burst upon me with the fierce exclamation,
" I have worn it three times, at the least calculation,

And that and most of my dresses are ripped up !"
Here I ripped out something, perhaps rather rash.

Quite innocent, though; but to use an expression
More striking than classic, it " settled my hash,"

And proved very soon the last act of our session.
" Fiddlesticks, is it, sir ? I wonder the ceiling
Doesn't fall down and crush you — you men have no feeling;
You selfish, unnatural, illiberal creatures.
Who set yourselves up as patterns and preachers,
Your silly pretense — why, what a mere guess it is ?

1, rm-^

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Pray, what do you know of a woman's necessities ?

I have told you and shown you I've nothing to wear,

And it's perfectly plain you not only don't care,

But you do not believe me " (here the nose went still higher).

" I suppose, if you dared, you would call me a liar.

Our engagement is ended, sir — yes, on the spot;

You're a brute, and a monster, and — I don't know what"

I mildly suggested the words Hottentot,

Pickpocket, and cannibal, Tartar, and thief

As gentle expletives which might give relief;

But this only proved as a spark to the powder,

And the storm I had raised came faster and louder;

It blew and it rained, thundered, lightened and hailed

Interjections, verbs, pronouns, till language quite failed

To express the abusive, and then its arrears

Were brought up all at once by a torrent of tears,

And my last faint, despairing attempt at an obs-

Ervation was lost in a tempest of sobs.

Well, I felt for the lady, and felt for my hat, too.

Improvised on the crown of the latter a tattoo.

In lieu of expressing the feelings which lay

Quite too deep for words, as Wordsworth would say;

Then, without going through the form of a bow,

Found myself in the entry — I hardly know how,

On doorstep and sidewalk, past lamp-post and square,

At home and up-stairs, in my own easy-chair;

Poked my feet into slippers, my fire into blaze,
And said to myself, as I lit my cigar, ,

" Supposing a man had the wealth of the Czar

Of the Russias to boot, for the rest of his days,
On the whole, do you think he would have much to spare.
If he married a woman with nothing to wear ?"

Since that night, taking pains that it should not be bruited
Abroad in society, I've instituted
A course of inquiry, extensive and thorough.
On this vital subject, and find, to my horror,
That the fair Flora's case is by no means surprising
But that there exists the greatest distress

ar aagr^^ry r.-ffurlia*'

NOTHING TO WEAR.

X75

In our female community, solely nrising

From this unsupplied destitution of dress,
Whose unfortunate victims arc filling the air
With the pitiful wail of •« Nothing \y> vear."

Researches in some of the " Upper Ten " districts

Reveal the most painful and startling statistics,

Of which let me mention only a few:

In one single house on the Fifth Avenue,

Three young ladies were found, all below twenty-two.

Who have been three whole weeks wiihout anything new

In the way of flounced sill«^, and thus left in the lurch

Are unable to go to ball, concert or church.

In another larga mansion near the same place,

Was found a deplorable, heart-rending case

Of entire destitution of Brussels point-lace.

In a neighboring block there was found, in three calls,

Total want, long continued, of camel's-hair shawls;

And a suffering family, whose case exhibits

The most pressing need of real ermine tippets;

One deserving young lady almost unable "

To survive for the want of a new Russian sable;

Still another, whose tortures have been most terrific

Ever since the sad loss of the steamer Pacific,

In which were ingulfed, not friend or relation

(For whose fate she, perhaps, might have found consolation,

Or borne it, at least, with serene resignation),

But the choicest assortment of French sleeves and collars

Ever sent out from Paris, worth thousands of dollars.

And all as to style most recherche onA rare,

The want of which leaves her with nothing to wear,

And renders her life so drear and dyspeptic

That she's quite a recluse, and almost a sceptic,

For she touchingly says, that this sort of grief ,

Cannot find in Religion the slightest relief,

And Philosophy has not a maxim to spare

For the victims of such overwhelming despair.

But the saddest, by far, of all these sad features

Is the cruelty practiced upon the poor creatures

By husbands and fathers, real Bluebeards and Timons,

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MARK TWAIN'S LIBRARY OF HUMOR.

Who resist the most touching appeals made for diamonds

By their wives and their daughters, and leave them for days

Unsupplied with new jewelry, fans or bouquets,

Even laugh at their miseries whenever they have a chance,

And deride their demands as useless extravagance;

One case of a bride was brought to my view,

Too sad for belief, but, alas ! 't was too true,

Whose husband refused, as savage as Charon,

To permit her to take more than ten trunks to Sharon.

The consequence was, that when she got there,

At the end of three weeks she had nothing to wear; ^

And when she proposed to finish the season

At Newport, the monster refused, out and out.

For his infamous conduct alleging no reason,

Except that the waters were good for his gout;

Such treatment as this was too shocking, of course,

And proceedings are now gomg on for divorce.

n *

But why harrow the feelings by lifting the curtain
From these scenes of woe ? Enough, it is certain.
Has here been disclosed to stir up the pity
Of every benevolent heart in the city.
And spur up Humanity into a canter
To rush and relieve these sad cases instanter.
Won't somebody, moved by this touching description.
Come forward to-morrow and head a subscription ?
Won't some kind philanthropist, seeing that aid is
So needed at once by these indigent ladies,
Take charge of the matter ? Or won't Peter Cooper
The corner-stone lay of some new splendid super-
Structure, like that which to-day links his name
In the Union unending of Honor and Fame,
And found a new charity just for the care
Of these unhappy women with nothmg to wear.
Which, in view of the cash which would daily be claimed,
The Laying-out Hospital well might be named ?
Won't Stewart, or some of our dry-goods importers,
Take a contract for clothing our wives and our daughters ?
Or, to furnish the cash to supply these distresses,
And life's pathway strew with shawls, collars and dresses.

NOTHING TO WEAR.

Ere the want of them makes it much rougher and thornier,
Won't some one discover a new Cahfornia ?

\
O ladies, dear ladies, the next sunny day,

Please trundle your hoops just out of Broadway,

From Its 'vhirl and its bustle, its fashion and pride,

And the temples of Trade which tower on each side,

To the alleys and lanes, where Misfortune and Guilt

Their children have gathered, their city have built;

Where Hunger and Vice, like twin beasts of prey,

Have hunted their victims to gloom and despair;
Raise the rich, dainty dress, and the fine broidered skir*
Pick your delicate way through the dampness and dirt.

Grope through the dark dens, climb the rickety stair
To the garret, where wretches, the young and the old,
Half starved and half naked, lie crouched from the cold;
See those skeleton limbs, those frost-bitten feet.
All bleeding and bruised by the stones of the street;
Hear the sharp cry of childhood, the deep groans that swell

From the poor dying creature who writhes on the floor*
Hear the curses that sound like the echoes of Hell,

As you sicken and shudder and fly from the door,
Then home to your wardrobes, and say, if you dare —
Spoiled children of fashion — you've nothing to wear I

And O, if perchance there should be a sphere
Where all is made right which so puzzles us here.
Where the glare and the glitter and tinsel of Time
Fade and die in the light of that region sublime.
Where the soul, disenchanted of flesh and of sense,
Unscreened by its trappings and shows and pretence,
Must be clothed for the life and the service above.
With purity, truth, faith, meekness and love,
O daughters of Earth ! foolish virgins, beware !
Lest in that upper realm you have nothing to wear !

177

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1857.

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MARK TWAIN'S LIBRARY OF HUMOR.

ILLUSTRATED NEWSPAPERS.

BV JOHN PHCENIX.

'iW^ ^

A YEAR or two since a weekly paper was started in London,
called the Illustrated News. It was filled with tolerably exe-
cuted wood-cuts, representing scenes of popular interest, and
though perhaps better calculated for the nursery than the
reading-room, it took very well in England, where few can
read, but all can understand pictures, and soon attained an
immense circulation. As when the inimitable London Punch
attained its world-wide celebrity, supported by such writers as
Thackeray, Jerrold and Hood, would-be funny men on this side
of the Atlantic attempted absurd imitations — the "Yankee
Doodle," the " John Donkey," etc. — which, as a matter of
course, proved miserable failures; so did the success of this
Illustrated affair inspire our money-loving publishers with hopes
of dollars, and soon appeared from Boston, New York and other
places. Pictorial and Illustrated Newspapers, teeming with exe-
crable and silly effusions, and filled with the most fearful wood-
engravings, "got up regardless of expense," or anything else;
the contemplation of which was enough to make an artist tear
his hair and rend his garments. A Yankee named Gleason, of
Boston, published the first, we believe, calling it " Gleason's Pic-
torial (it should have been Gleason's Pickpocket) and Drawing-
Room Companion." In this he presented to his unhappy sub-
scribers, views of his house in the country, and his garden, and,
for aught we know, of " his ox and his ass, and the stranger
within his gates." A detestable invention for transferring Daguer-
reotypes to plates for engraving, having come into notice about
this time, was eagerly seized upon by Gleason for farther embel-
lishing his catchpenny publication, duplicates and uncalled-for
pictures were easily obtained, and many a man has gazed in
horror-stricken astonishment on the likeness of a respected
friend, as a " Portrait of Monroe Edwards," or that of his
deceased grandmother, in the character of " One of the Signers
of the Declaration of Independence." They love pictures in
Yankeedom; every tin peddler has one on his wagon, and an itin-

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ILLUSTRATED NEWSPAPERS.

179

erir cturer can always obtain an audience by sticking up a
like. Lj of some unhappy female, with her ribs laid open in an
impossible manner, for public inspection, or a hairless gentleman
with the surface of his head laid out in eligible lots, duly marked
and numbered. The factory girls of Lowell, the professors of
Harvard, all bought the Pictorial. (Professor Webster was read-
ing one when Dr. Parkman called on him on the morning of the
murder.) Gleason's speculation was crowned with success, and
he bought himself a new cooking-stove and erected an out-build-
ing on his estate, with both of which he favored the public in a,
new wood-cut immediately. i.

Inspired by his success, old Feejee-Mermaid-Tom-Thumb-
Woolly-Horse-Joyce-Heth-Barnum forthwith got out another
Illustrated Weekly, with pictures far more extensive, letter-press
still sillier, and engravings more miseuible, .if possible, than Yan-
kee Gleason's. And then we were bored and buffeted by having
incredible likenesses of Santa Anna, Queen Victoria and poor
old Webster thrust beneath our nose, to that degree that we
wished the respected originals had never existed, or that the art
of wood-engraving had perished with that of painting on glass.

It was, therefore, with the most intense delight that we saw a
notice the other day of the failure and stoppage of BamwrCs
Illustrated News; we rejoiced thereat greatly, and we hope that it
will never be revived, and that Gleason will also fail as soon as he
conveniently can, and that his trashy Pictorial will perish with it.

It must not be supposed from the tenor of these remarks that
we are opposed to the publication of a properly conducted and
creditably executed Illustrated paper. " On the contrary, quite
the reverse." We are passionately fond of art ourselves, and
we believe that nothing can have a stronger tendency to refine-
ment in society, than presenting to the public chaste and elabo-
rate engravings, copies of works of high artistic merit, accompa-
nied by graphic and well-written essays. It was for the purpose
of introducing a paper containing these features to our appre-
ciative community, that we have made these introductory re-
marks, and for the purpose of challenging comparison, and
defying competition, that we have criticised so severely the imbe-
cile and ephemeral productions mentioned above. At a vast
expenditure of money, time and labor, and after the most incred-
ible and unheard-of exertion on our part, individually, we are at

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MARK TWAIN'S LIBRARY OF HUMOR.

length able to present to the public an Illustrated publication of
unprecedented merit, containing engravings of exceeding costli-
ness and rare beauty of design, got up on an expensive scale,
which never has been attempted before, ii. this or any other
country.

We furnish our readers this week with the first number, merely
premising that the immense expense attending its issue will
require a corresponding liberality of patronage on the part of the
public, to cause it to be continued.

And Secoad Stai7 Front Boom Conpaniaa^

VoLL]

San Kego.OclAber 11853.

[No. I.

?lw^.

Portrait of His Royal Highness Prince Albert. — Prince Albert,
the son of a gentleman named Coburg, is the husband of Queen
Victoria of England, and the father of many of her children. He is
the inventor of the celebrated "Albert hat," which has been lately
introduced with great effect in the U. S. Army. The Prince is
of German extraction, his father being a Dutchman and his
mother a Duchess.

Mansion of John Phoenix, Esq., San Diego, California.

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ILLUSTRATED NEWSPAPERS.

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House in which Shakespeare was born, in Stratford-pn-Avon.

Abbotsford, the residence of Sir Walter Scott, author of Byron's

Pilgrim's Progress, etc.

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The Capitol at Washington.

Residence of Governor Bigler, at Benicia, California.

Rattle of Lake Erie (j« remarks ^ p, 96).

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MA/iJiC TWAIN'S LIBRARY OF HUMOR.

. [p. 96.] '

The Battle of Lake Erie, of which our Artist presents a spirited
engraving, copied from the original painting, by Hannibal Car-
racci, in the possession of J. P. Haven, Esq., was fought in
1836, on Chesapeake Bay, between the U, S. frigates Constitu-
tion and Guerriere and the British troops under General Put-
nam. Our glorious flag, there as everywhere, was victorious, and
" Long may it wave, o'er the land of the free and the home of
the slave."

■m, i{y\. ";

^^^^, ^^^^^^^^^^

■^Mmm

Fearful accident on the Camden & Amboy Railroad ! ! Ter-
rible loss of life ! ! !

View of the City of San Diego, by Sir Benjamin West.

I'M ■■

I*.

Interview between Mrs. Harriet Beecher Stowe and the Duchess
of Sutherland, from a group of Statuary, by Clarke Mills.

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183

Bank Account of J. Phoenix, Esq., at Adams & Co., Bankers,
San Francisco, California.

Gas Works, San Diego Herald Office.

Steamer Goliah.

View of a California Ranch — Landseer.

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Shell of an Oyster once eaten by General Washington, showing
the General's manner of opening Oysters.

There ! — this is but a specimen of what we can do, if liberally
,t sustained. We wait with anxiety to hear the verdict of the Pub-
lic before proceeding to any farther and greater outlays.
Subscription, $5 per annum, payable invariably in advance.

INDUCEMENTS FOR CLUBBING.

Twenty copies furnished for one year, for fifty cents. Address
John Phoenix, office of the San Diego Herald.

• ■ ■■ ■ ■■■■ ■ '■ ,. ■ V,

■ H P y m^ ^gm^^fm ^ m ^* ii j M . ii w ii D i f

■'T^ j i M ^iwwa—ai

JACK DOWNING IN PORTLAND, 185

1- ' ,''■'■■■"''

JACK DOWNING IN PORTLAND.

- f . ■

BY SEBA SMITH.

QEBA smith, the author of the "Jack Downing Letters," which had
^ immense vogae in their day, was bom at fiuckfield, Me., in 1792, and
diM at Patchogue, L. I., in 1868. He entered upon newspaper life in Port-
land, Me., and his "Letters," which were mainly political satires, were
firpt printed there. He wrote several other books, which are now little known :
" Way Down East," " My Thirty Years Out of the Senate," and " Dew Drops
of the Nineteenth Century. "

• -^ - ' -c -

In the fall of the year 1829 I took it into my head I'd go to
Portland. I had heard a good deal about Portland, what a fine
place it was, and how the folks got rich there proper fast ; and
that fall there was a couple of new papers come up to Downing-
ville from there, called the Portland Courier and Family Reader;
and they told a good many queer kind of things about Portland
and one thing another ; and all at once it popped into my head,
and I up and told father, and says I, I'm going to Portland
whether or no ; and I'll see what this world is made of yet.
Fathc* stared a little at first, and said he was afraid I should get
lost ; but when he see I was bent upon it, he give it up ; and he
stepped to his chist and opened the till, and took out a dollar and
give to me, and says he, Jack, this is all I can do for you ; but
go, and lead an honest life, and I believe I shall hear good of
you yet. He turned and walked across the room, but I could see
the tears start into his eyes, and mother sot down and had a
hearty crying spell. This made me feel rather bad for a minute
or two, and I almost had a mind to give it up ; and then again
father's dream came into my mmd, and I mustered up courage,
and declared I'd go. So I tackled up the old horse and packed
in a load of ax handles and a few notions, and mother fried me
some dough-nuts and put 'em into a bo^ along with some cheese
and sassages, and ropped me up another shirt, for I told her I
didn't know how long I should be gone ; and after I got all
rigged out, I went round and bid all the neighbors good bye, and
jumped in and drove off for Portland.

Ant Sally had been married two or three years before and
moved to Portland, and I inquired round till I founa out where

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she lived, and went there and put the old horse up and eat some
supper and went to bed. And the next morning -1 got up and
straightened right off to see the Editor of the Portland Courier,
for I knew by what I had seen in his paper that he was just the
man to tell me which way to steer. And when I come to see
him I knew I was right ; for soon as I told him my name and
what I wanted, he took me by the hand as kind as if he had been
a brother ; and says he, Mr. Downing, I'll do any thing I can to
assist you. You have come to a good town ; Portland is a
healthy, thriving place, and any man with a proper degree of enter-
prise may do well here. But says he, Mr. Downing, and he
looked mighty kind of knowing, says he, if you want to make
out to your mind, you must do as the steam boats do. Well, says
I, how do they do? for I didn't know wliat a steam boat was,
any more than the man in the moon. Why, says he, they go
ahcaJ. And you must drive about among the folks here just as
though you were at home on the farm among the cattle. Don't
be afraid of any of 'em, but figure away, and I (^are say you will
get into good business in a very little wliile. But says he, there's
one thing you must be careful of, and that is, not to get into
the hands of them are folks that trades up round Huckler's
Row ; for there's some sharpers up there, if they get hold of you,
would twist your eye teeth out in five minutes. Well, after he
had gin me all the good advice he could I went back to Ant
Sally's again and got some breakfast, and then I walked all over
the town, to see what chance I could find to sell my ax handles
and things, and to get into business.

After I had walked about three or four hours I come along
towards the upper end of the town, where I found there were
stores and shops of all sorts and sizes. And I met a feller, and
says I, what place is this ? Why, this, says he, is Huckler's Row.
What, says I, are these stores where the traders in Huckler's
Row keep? And says he, yes. Well then, thinks I to myself, I
have a pesky good mind to go in and have a try with one of these
chaps, and see if they can twist my eye teeth out. If they can
get the best end of a bargain out of me, they can do what there
aint a man in Downingville can do, and I should jest like to
know what sort of stuff these ere Portland chaps are made of.
So in I goes into the best looking store among 'em. And I see
some biscuit lying on the shelf, and says I, Mister, how much

JACK DOWNING IN PORTLAND.

187

do you ax apiece" for them are biscuit? A cent apiece, says he,
Well, says I, I sha'n't give you that, but if you've a mind to, I'll
give you two cents for three of 'em, for I begin to feel a little as
though I should like to take a bite. Well, says he, I wouldn't
sell 'em to any body else so, but seeing it's you I don't care if
you take 'em. I knew he lied, for he never see me before in his
life. Well he handed down the biscuiti. and I took 'em, and
walked round the store awhile to see what else he had to sell.

AN UNPROFITABLE BARGAIN.

At last, says I, Mister, have you got any good new cider ? Says
he, yes, as good as ever you see. Well, says I, what do you ax a
glass for it? Two cents, says he. Well, says I, seems to me I
feel more dry than I do hungry now. Ain't you a mind to lake
these ere biscuit again and give me a glass of cider? And says
he, I don't care if I do; so he took and laid 'em on the shelf again,
and poured out a glass of cider. I took the cider and drinkt it
down, and to tell the truth it was capital good cider. Then, says
I, I guess it's time for me to be a going, and I stept along

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MARK TWAIN'S LIBRARY OK HVMOR,

tow.irds the door. But, says he, stop Mister. I believe you
haven't paid me for the cider. Not paid you for the cider, says I,
what do you mean by that ? Didn't the biscuit that I give you
jest come to the cider ? Oh, ah, right, says he. So I started lo
go again ; and says he, but stop, Mister, you didn't pay me for
the biscuit. What, says I, do you mean to impose upon me ? do
you think I am going to pay you for the biscuit and let you keep
'em to ? Aint they there now on your shelf, what more do you
want ? I guess sir, you don't whittle me in that way. So I
4 turned about and marched off, and left the feller staring and
thinking and scratching his head, as though he was struck with a
dunderment. Howsomever, I didn't want to cheat him, only jest
to show 'em it wan't so easy a matter to pull my eye teeth out,
80 I called in next day and paid him his two cents.

A DOSE OF PAIN KILLER.

Bt tjARK TWAIN.

J«9

■ \ K'*

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Tom Sawyer's Aunt Polly was one of those people w^-^ are
infatuated with patent medicines and all ne\ lanjjied metht 's of
producing health or mending it. Phe was an inveterate cxjk ri-
menter in these things. When some King frt h in this line came
out she was in a fever, right away, tc- rry it ; not on herself, for
she was never ailing, but on anybody t se that came handy. She
was a subscriber for all the " Health" periodicals and phreno-
logical frauds ; and the solemn ignorance tlvy wen- inflated with
was breath to her nostrils. All the " rot" ihey contained about
ventilation, and how to go to bed, and how to get up, and what to
eat, and what to drink, and how much exercise t > take, and what
frame of mind to keep one's self in, and what s« rt of clothing to
wear, was all gospel to her, and she never observe , that her health-
journals of the current month customarily upset 'verything they
had recommended the month before. She was as imple-hearted
and honest as the day was long, and so she was ai easy victim.
She gathered together her quack periodicals and hi quack med-
icines, and thus armed with death, went about pn he ' pale horse,
metaphorically speaking, with " hell following after.' But She
never suspected that she was not an angel of healing, and the balm
of Gilead in disguise, to the suffering neighbors.

The water treatment was new, now, and Tom's lew condition
was a windfall to her. She had him out at daylight every morn-
ing, stood him up in the woodshed and drowned him with a deluge
of cold water ; then she scrubbed him down with a towel like a
file, and so brought him to ; then she rolled him up in a wet sheet
and put him away under blankets till she sweated his soul clean
ai d "the yellow stains of it came through his pores" — as Tom
said.

Yet notwithstanding all this, the boy grew more and more
melancholy and pale and dejected. She added hot baths, sitz
baths, shower baths and plunges. The boy remained as dismal as a
blears. She began to assist the water with a slim oatmeal diet and
blisttT plasters. She calculated his capacity as she would a jug's,
and filled him up every day with quack cure-alls.

t. '
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MARK TWAIN'S LIBRARY OF HUMOR.

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t\)^

ill

1 .

Tom had become indifferent to persecution by this time. This
phase filled the old lady's heart with consternation. This indiffer-
ence must be broken up at any cost. Now she heard of Pain-killer
for the first time. She ordered a lot at once. She tasted it and
was filled vtith gratitude. It was simply lire m a liquid form.
She dropped the water treatment and everything else, and pinned
her faith to Pain-killer. She gave Tom a teaspoonful, and
watched with the deepest anxiety for the result. Her troubles
weie instanti}' at
rest, her soul at
peace again ; for
the " indifference "
was broken up.- The
boy could not have
shown a wilder,
heartier interest, if ('
she had built a fire
under him.

Tom felt that it
was time to wake

MAKING THINGS LIVELY.

up ; this sort of life might be romantic enough, in his blighted
condition, but it was getting to have too little sentiment and too
much distracting variety about it.

So he thought over various plans for relief, and finally hit upon
that of professing to be fond of Pain-killer, He asked for it so
often that he became a nuisance, and his aunt ended by telling
him to help himself and quit bothering her. If it had been Sid,
she would have had no misgivings to alloy her delight ; but since

th{
the
fio

'J i^ya g m gamSBIB^-.

A DOSE OF PAIN KILLER.

191

it was Tom, she watched the bottle clandestinely. She found
that the medicine did really diminish, but it did not occur to her
that the boy was mending the health of a crack in the sitting-room
floor with it.

One day Tom was in the act of dosing the c-ack, when his aunt's
yellow cat came along, purring, eyeing the teaspoon avariciously,
and begging for a taste. Tom said :

" Don't ask for it unless you want it, Peter." . -

But Peter signified that he did want it.

*' You better make sure."

Peter was sure. " ''

" Now you've asked for it, and I'll give it to you, because there-
ain't anything mean about me ; but if you find you don't like it,
you mustn't blame anybody but your own self."

Peter was agreeable. So Tom pried his mouth open and pour-
ed down the Pain-killer. Peter sprang a couple of yards in the
air, and then delivered a war-whoop and set off round and round
the room, banging against furniture, upsetting flower-pots and
making general havoc. Next he rose on his hind feet and
pranced around, in a frenzy. of enjoyment, with his head over his
shoulder and his voice proclaiming his unappeasable happiness.
Then he went tearing around the house again, spreading chaos and
destruction in his path. Aunt Polly entered in time to see him
throw a few double summersets, deliver a final mighty hurrah,
and sail through the open window, carrying the rest of the flower-
pots with him. The old lady stood petrified with astonishment,
peering over her glasses; Tom lay on the floor expiring with
laughter.

*' Tom, what on earth ails that cat ? "

" / don't know, aunt," gasped the boy.

" Why, I never see anything like it. What a^/^make him act so ? "

" 'Deed I don't know. Aunt Polly : cats always act so when
they're having a good time."

" They do, do they ?" There was something in the tone that
made Tom apprehensive.

" Yes'm. That is, I believe they do."

"You do?"

"Yes'm."
. The old lady was bending down, Tom watching with interest
emphasized by an.xiety. Too late he divined her ** drift." The

192

MARK TWAIN'S LIBRARY OF HUMOR.

handle of the tell-tale teaspoon was visible under the bed-valance.
Aunt Polly took it, held it up. Tom winced, and dropped his
eyes. Aunt Polly raised him by the usual handle — his ear — and
cracked his head soundly with her thimble.

"Now, sir, what do you want to treat that poor dumb beast so,

for ? "

'* I done it out of pity for him — because he hadn't any aunt."

" Hadn't any aunt ! — you numscull. What has that got to do
with it ? "

" Heaps. Because if he'd a had one she'd a burst him out her-
self ! She'd a roasted his bowels out of him 'thout any more
.feeling than if he was a human ! "

" Aunt Polly felt a sudden pang of remorse. This was putting
the thing in a new light ; what was cruelty to a cat might be cruelty
to a boy, too. She began to soften ; she felt sorry. Her eyes
watered a little, and she put her hand on Tom's head and said
gently :

''I was meaning for the best, Tom. And, Tom, it did do you
good."

Tom looked up in her face with just a perceptible twinkle
peeping through his gravity :

" I know you was meaning for the best, aunty, and so was I with
Peter. It done him good, too. I never see him get around so
since — "

" O, go 'long with you, Tom, before you aggravate me again.
And you try and see if you can't be a good boy, for once, and
you needn't take any more medicine."

j:\'.

FABLES OF THE HODJA. / 1 93

FABLES OF THE HODJA.

• ■ . ■ *

BY SAMUEL S. COX. . •

Narr-ed-din Hodja is an imaginary person. He holds the
same rank with the Turks as yiisop with the Greeks. It is a
fictitious name, under which a large number of anecdotes have
been collected and compiled. Narr-ed-din Hodja, as the title
(Hodja) implies, is supposed to be a man learned in religion.
He is the representative an^ exemplar of Turkish humor, pure
and simple. He is represented as living at Bagdad. All the
surroundings attached to his anecdotes are Turkish. He is not
supposed, like .^sop, to have written them himself, but he is sim-
ply connected, supposititiously, with humorous sayings and
doings.

One day Narr-ed-din Hodja is too lazy to preach his usual
sermon at the mosque. He simply addresses himself to his con-
gregation, saying:

" Of course ye know, oh, faithful Mussulmans, what I am going
to say to you ?"

As the Hodja stops, evidently waiting for an answer, the con-
gregation cry out with one voice:

" No, Hodja Effendi, we do not know."

'* Then if you do not know, I have nothing to say to you,"
replies the Hodja, and immediately leaves the pulpit.

Nej"; day he again addresses his congregation, saying:

" Know ye, oh faithful Mussulmans, what I am going to say
to you ?"

Fearing that if, as on the previous day, they say " No," the
Hodja would leave them again without a sermon, the congrega-
tion this time, replies:

*' Yes, Hodja, we do know."

" Then if you do know what I am going to say," quietly says
the Hodja, " of course there is no need of my saying it." He
again steps down from the pulpit, to the consternation of the
congregation.

On the third day, the Hodja again puts the question:

" Know ye, oh faithful Mussulmans, what I am going to say to
you ?"

194

MARK TWAIN'S LIBRARY OF HUMOR.

The congregation, determined not to be disappointed again,
take some council among themselves on the question. Accord-
ingly some of them reply:

" No, Hodja, we do not know," while others cry:

THE HODJA SNEEZING.

w:^

"Yes, Hodja we do know."

"Very well, then," says the Hodja, "as there are some of you
who do know, and others who do not know, what I was going to
say, let thos^ who do know, tell it to those rhat do not know ;'*
and he quickly descends from the pulpit.

70\X

FABLES OF THE HODJA.

195

The moral of this story is not always in the mind of the clergy.
It is this:

If you can find nothing worth sayings do not trespass on the con-
gregation by trying to say it.

*******

Another story is told of the Hodja. He used to teach in the
parish school. He had taught his pupils that, whenever he hap-
pened *o sneeze, they should all stand up, and, clapping their
hands together, should cry out:

" God grant you long life, Hodja!"

This t.lic pupils regularity did whenever the Hodja sneezed. .
One day the bucket gets loose and falls into the well of the
schoolhouse. As the pupils are afraid to go down into the well
to fetch up the bucket, Narr-ed-din Hodja undertakes the task.

He accordingly strips, and tying a rope round his waist, asks
his pupils to lower him carefully into the well, and pull him up
ag'^in when he gives the signal. The Hodja goes down, and
having caught the bucket, shouts out to his pupils to pull him up
again. This they do. The Hodja is nearly out of the well, when
he suddenly sneezes! Upon this, his pupil immediately let go
the rope, begin to knock their hands together, and shout down
the well:

" God grant you long life, Hodja!"

But the poor Hodja tumbles down to the bottom of the well with
a tremendous crash, breaking his head and several of his bones.

The moral of this story is — too neat for explication.

A mendicant knocks at the Hodja's door.

"What do you want, my friend?" asks the Hodja, putting his
head out of an upper floor window.

" Come down, Hodja Effendi, and I will tell you," replies the
mendicant.

The Hodja obeys, and coming down to the door, asks again
of the man what is wanted.

"Alms," is the answer.

"Oh! very well," said the Hodja, " come with me up-stairs."

Leading the way, the Hodja conducts the man to the top-most
floor of his house. Arrived there, he turns round and remarks:

" I am very much distressed, my good friend, but I have no
alms to give you."

ESll^ffl

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196

MARK TWAIN'S LIBRARY OF HUMOR.

"Why did you not say so down below?" inquires the man angrily.

•• Why did you not tell me what you wanted when I asked you
from the window ? Did you not make me come down to the
door ?" retorts the Hodja.

The moral whereof is:

Be polite and considerate when you beg favors.

THE DOG AND THE BEES.

BY BIERCE.

A DOG being very much annoyed by bees, ran, quite accident-
ally, into an empty barrel lying on the ground, and looking out
at the bung- hole, addressed his tormenters thus:

*' Had you been temperate, stinging me only one at a time,
you might have got a good deal of fun out of me. As it is, you

>>^tp

MAKING IT WARM.

have driven me into a secure retreat; for I can snap you up as
fast as you come in through the bung-hole. Learn from this
the folly of intemperate zeal."

When he had concluded, he avvalted a reply. There wasn't
any reply; for the bees had never gone near the bung-hole; they
went in the same way as he did, and made it very warm for him.

The lesson of this fable is that one cannot stick to his pure
leason while quarreling with bees.

li^ *H

SICILY BURNS' S WEDDING.

197

SICILY BURNSS WEDDING.

BY GEORGE W. HARRIS. 1

gEORGE WASHINGTON HARRIS was born in Allegheny City, Pa., m
1814, and died in Knoxville, Tenn., in 1869. He spent most of his life
in Tennessee, and was at one time a river captain. His " Sut Lovingood
Yarns" first appeared in Nashville journals.

** Hey, Ge-orge! " rang among the mountain slopes; and
looking up to my left, I saw " Sut " tearing along down a steep
point, heading me off, in a long kangaroo lope, holding his flask
high above his head, and hat in hand. He brought up near me,
banteringly shaking the half-full "tickler," within an inch of my
face.

"Whar am yu gwine? take a suck, hoss? This yere truck's
ole. I kotch hit myse'f, hot this moniin frum the still wum.
Nara durn'd bit ove strike-nine in hit — I put that ar piece ove
burnt dried peach in myse'f tu gin hit color — better nur ole Bul-
len's plan: he puts in tan ooze, in what he sells, an' when that
haint handy, he uses the red warter outen a pon' jis' below his
barn — makes a pow'ful natral color, but don't help the taste
much. Then he correcks that wif red pepper; hits an orful mix-
try, that whisky ole BuUen makes; no wonder he seed'Hell-
sarpints.' He's pisent ni ontu three-quarters ove the b'levin
parts ove his congregashun wif hit, an' tutlier quarter he's sotintu
ruff stealin' an' cussin'. Ef his still-'ous don't burn down, ur he
peg out hisse'f, the neighborhood am ruinated a-pas' salvashun.
Haint he the durndes sampil ove a passun yu ever seed eny-
how?

" Say, George, du yu see these yere well-poles what I uses fur
laigs? Yu sez yu sees enfi, dus yu?"

"Yes."

"Very well; I passed 'em a-pas* each uther tuther day, right
peart. I put one out a-head, jis' so, an' then tuther 'bout nine
feet a-head ove hit agin, jis' so, an' then kep on a-duin hit.

"George, yu don't onderstan life yet scarcely at all, got a heap

^>^''.

;. " ''MI

It
&

198

MARK TWALV'S LIBRARY OF HUMOR.

tu l.irn, a heap. But 'bout my swappin my laigs so fas' — these
yere very par ove laigs. I hed got about a fox squirril skin full
ove biled co'n juice packed onder my shut, an' onder my hide
too, I mout es well add, an' wer aimin fur Bill Carr's on foot.
When I got in sight ove ole man Burns's, I seed ni ontu fifty
bosses an' muels hitch'd tu the fence. Durnashun! I jis' then
tho't ove hit — 'twer Sicily's wedding day. She married ole Clap-
shaw, the suckit rider. The very feller hu's faith gin out when
he met me sendin sody all ,er creashun. Suckit-riders am sur-
jestif things tu me. They preaches agin me, an' I hes no chance
tu preach back at them. Ef I cud I'd make the institushun
behave hitsef better nur hit dus. They hes sum wunderful pints,
George. Thar am two things nobody never seed: wun am a
dead muel, an' tuther is a suckit-rider's grave. Kaze why, the
he muels all turn intu old field school-masters, an' the she ones
intu strong minded wimen, an' then when thar times cums, they
dies sorter like uther folks. An' the suckit-riders rideontil they
marry; ef they marrys money, they turns intu store-keepers,
swaps bosses, an' stays away ove colleckshun Sundays. Them
what marrys, an' by sum orful mistake misses the money, jis turns
intu polertishuns, sells ile well stock, an* dies sorter in the
human way too.

"But 'bout the wedding. Ole Burns hed a big black an' white
bull, wif a ring in his snout, an' the rope tied up roun his ho'ns.
They rid 'im tu mill, an' sich like, wif a saddil made outen two
dorgwood forks, an' two clapboards, kivered wif a ole piece ove
carpet, rope girth, an' rope stirrups wif a loop in hit fur the foot.
Ole ' Sock,' es they call'd the bull, hed jis got back frum mill,
an' wer turn'd intu the yard, saddil an' all, tu solace hissef
a-pickin grass. I wer slungin roun the outside ove the hous',
fur they hedn't hed the manners tu ax me in, when they sot down
tu dinner. I wer pow'fully hurt 'bout hit, an' happen'd tu think —
soDV. So I sot in a-watchin fur a chance tu du sumthin. I fus
tho't I'd shave ole Clapshaw's boss's tail, go tu the stabil an'
shave Sicily's mare's tail, an' ketch ole Burns out, an shave his
tail too. While I wer a-studyin 'bout this, ole Sock wer a-nosin
'roun, an' cum up ontu a big baskit what hilt a littil shattered
co'n; he dipp'd in his head tu git hit, an' I slipp'd up an' jerked
the handil over hi? ho'ns.

"Now, George, ef yu knows the nater ove a cow brute, they is

l,i

SIC JLY BURNS' S WEDDING.

199

the durndes' fools amung all the beastes ('scept tl, ovingoods);
when they gits intu tribulashun, they knows nuffin but tu shot
thar eyes, bcUer, an' back, an' keep a-backin'. Well, when ole
Sock raised h i s

head an' foun' his- ^'''"'^ > ^

sef in darkness, he
jis twisted up his
tail, snorted the
shatter'd co'n out-
cn the baskit, an'
made a tremenjus
lunge agin the
hous'. I hearn the
picters a - hangin
agin the wall on
the inside a-fallin'.
He fotch a deep,
loud, rusty belief,
mout been hearn a
mile, an' then sot
intu a onendin sis-
tem ove back in*.
A big craw-fish
wif a hungry coon
a-reachin' fur him,
wer jis* nowhar.
Fust agin one
thing, then over )
anuther, an' at
las' agin the bee-
bainch, knockin' ■
hit an' a dozen
Stan' ove bees
heads over heels,
an' then stompin*
back'ards thru the
mess. Hit haint

much wuf while tu tell what the bees did, ur how soon they sot intu
doin' it. They am pow'ful quick-tempered littil critters, enyhow.
The air wer dark wif 'em, an' Sock wer kivered all over, frum snout

"HEY, GE-ORGE 1'*

'I .i

i: ' 1

AN EXCITING RIDE.

200

I i ii.

SICILY BUXNS'S WEDDING.

201

to tail, so clost yu cudent a-sot down a grain ove wheat fur bees,
an' they wer a-fitin one another in the air fur a place on the bull.
The hous' stood on sidlin' groun', an' the back dcor were even
wif hit. So Sock happen to hit hit plum, jes* br.cked intu the
hous' onder 'l)out two hundred an' fifty poun's of steam, bawlin'
orful, an' every snort he fotch he snorted away a quart ove bees
ofen his sweaty snout. He wer the leader ove the bigges' an the
maddest army ove bees in the worild. Thar wer at leas' five solid
bushels ove 'em. They hed filled the baskit, an' hed lodgd onto
his tail ten deep, ontil hit wer es thick es a waggin tung. He
hed hit stuck strait up in tbe air, an* hit looked adzackly like a
dead pine kivered wif ivey. I think he wer the hottcs' an' wus
hurtin' bull then livin'; his temper, too, seemed to be pow'fully
flustrated. Ove all the durn'd times an' kerryins on yu ever
beam tell on ere thar an' tharabouts. He cum tail fust agin the
ole two-story Dutch clock, an' fotch hit, bustin' hits runnin' geer
outen hit, the littil wheels a-trundlin' over the floor, an' the bees
even chasin' them. Nex' pass, he fotch up agin the foot ove a
big dubbil injine bedstead, rarin' hit on aind an' punchin' one ove
the posts thru a glass winder. The nex* tail-fus' experdishun wer
made aginst the caticorner'd cupboard, outen which he made a
perfeck momox. Fus' he upsot hit, smashin* in the glass doors,
an' then jis sot in an' stomp'd everything on the shelves intu
giblits, a-tryin' tu back furder in that direckshun, an' tu git the
bees ofen his laigs.

" Pickil crocks, perserves jars, vinegar jugs, seed bags, yarb
bunches, paragorick bottils, aig baskits, an' delf war — all mix'd
dam permiskusly, an' not worth the sortin', by a duller an' a ha'f.
Nex*, he got a far back acrost the room agin the board pertishun;
he went thru hit like hit hed been paper, takin' wif him 'bout six
foot squar ove hit in splinters an' broken boards intu the nex'
room, whar they wer eatin' dinner, an' rite yere the fitin' becum
gineral, an' the dancin', squawkin', cussin' an' dodgin' begun.

*' Clapshaw's ole mam wer es deaf es a dogiron, an' sot at the
aind ove the tabil, nex' to whar ole Sock busted thru the wall;
tail fus* he cum agin her cheer, a-histin' her an' hit ontu the tabil.
Now, the smashin' ove delf, an' the mixin* ove vittils begun. They
hed sot severil tabils tugether tu make hit long enuf. So he jis
rolled *em up a-top ove one anuther, and thar sot ole Missis Clap-
shaw a-straddil ove the top ove the pile, a-fitin* bees like a mad

202

MA A' A' TWAIN'S LIBRARY OF HUMOR.

wind-mill, wif her calliker cap in one han', fur a wepun', an' a
crnct frame in tuther, an' a-kickin' an' a-spurrin' like she wer
ridin' a lazy hoss arter the doctor, an' a-screamin' fire and mur-
der es fas' cs she cud name 'em over.

«' Taters, cabhige, meat, soup, beans, sop, dumplins', an' the
truck what yu wallers 'em in; milk, plates, pies, puddins, an'
every durn fixin' yu cud think ove in a week, were thar, mix'd an'
mashed, like hid h.'\d been thru a thrashin'-meesheen. Olc Sock
still kcp' a-backin', an' backed the hole pile, olc 'oman an' all,
also sum cheers, outen the frunt door, an' down seven steps intu
the lane, an' then, by golly, turn'd a fifteen hundred poun' sum-
merset hisself arter 'em, lit a-top ove the mix'd up mess, flat ove
bis back, an' then kicked hissef ontu his feet agin. About the
time he ris, ole man Burns — yu know how fat an' stumpy, an'
cross-grained he is, ,?nyhow — made a vigrus mad snatch at the
baskit, an' got a savin holt ontu it, but cudent let go quick enuf ;
fur ole Sock jis snorted, bawled, an' histed the ole cuss heels
ivii' up intu the air, an' he lit on the bull's back, an' hed the bas-
kit in his han'.

" Jis' es soon as ole Blackey got the use ove his eyes, he tore
off down the lane, tu outrun the bees, sodurn'd fast that ole Burns
wer feard tu try tu git off. So he jis socked his feet intu the rope
loops, an' then cummenc'd the durndes' bull-ride mortal man ever
ondertuck. Sock run atwixt the hitched critters an' the rail-fence,
ole Burns fust fitin'him over the head wif the baskit to stop him,
an' then fitin' the bees wif hit. I'll jis' be durn'd ef I didn't think
he hed four or five baskits, hit wer in so mcny places at onst.
Well, Burns, baskit, an* bull, an' bees skared every durn'd hoss
an' muel loose frum that fence — bees ontu all ove 'em ; bees, by
golly, everywhar. Mos' on 'em, too, tuck a fence-rail along, fas'
tu the bridil-reins. A heavy cloud ove dus', like a harycane hed
been blowin', hid all the bosses, an' away abuv hit yu cud see
tails an' ainds ove fence-rails a-flyin' about; now an' tben a par
ove bright hine shoes wud flash in the sun like two sparks, an'
away ahead were the baskit a-sirklin' roun' an' about at randum.
Biayin', nickerin', the bellcrin' ove the bull, clatterin' ove runnin'
hoofs, an' a mons'ous rushin' soun' made up the noise. Lively
times in that lane jis" then, warnt thar ?

" I swar ole Burns kin beat eny man on top ove the yeath
a-fitin bees wif a baskit. J's' set 'im a-straddil ove a mad bull,

1. it

"^"^ MKma m

SICILY H URNS' S WEDDING.

»03

an* let thar t»e bees iwjuf tu exhite the ole man, an' thf man what
beats him kin break me. Hossca an" muels were Hu k np all over
the county, an' sum wer forever los'. Yu cudent go eny course,
in a cirkil ove a mile, an' not find buckils, stirrups, straps, saddil-
blan <its, ur sumthin' belongin' to a saddil-hoss. Now don't for-
git that about that hous' thar wer a good time bein' had giner-
ally. Fellers an' gals loped outen windows, they rolled outen
the doors in bunches, they clomb the chimleys, they darted onder
the house jis tu dart out agin, they tuck tu the thicket, they
rolled in the wheat-field lay down in the crick, did everything
but Stan' still. Sum made a strait run fur home, an' sum es
strait a xnnfrum home; livelyest folks I ever did see."

I I

204

MAH/C TWAIN'S LIBRARY OF HUMOR.

BALLAD.

BY CHARLES G. LELAND.

QHARLES GODFREY LELAND, the author of the "Hans Breitmani
Ballads," and the accomplished cranslator of " Heme," was born at Phil
adelphia, in 1824, and graduated "t New Jersey College in 1S45. He after
wards pursued his studies in tho Universities of ileidelberg, Munich and Paris
and then returned to Philadelphia, took up the law, but soon relinquished it for
a litera'-v life. He is the author of various works, and is a student of many
modern literatures; he is especially known for his researches in the language
and history of the Gypsies. He has lived cliieflyin England during the last
ten or fifteen years.

Dkr noble Ritter Hugo

Von Schwillensaufenstein,
Rode out mit shpeer and helmet,

Und he coom to de panks of de Rhine.

Und oop dere rose a meermaid,

Vot hadn't got nodings on,
Und she say, " Oh, Ritter Hugo,

Vhere you goes mit yourself alone ?"

Und he says, " I rides in de Greenwood

Mit helmet und mit shpeer.
Till I cooms into em Gasthaus,

Und dere I trinks some beer."

Und den outshpoke de maiden

Vot hadn't got nodings on:
" I tont dink mooch of beoplesh

Dat goes mit demselfs alone.

*' You'd petter coom down in de wasser,
Vere deres heaps of dings to see,

Und have a shplendid tinner
Und drafel along mit me.

|!!'n!', -^j

mmm

BALLAD.

" Dere you sees de fisch a schwimmin,
Und you catches dem efery one : " —

So sang dis wasser maiden
Vot hadn't got nodings on.

" Dere ish drunks all full mit money

In ships dat vent down of old;
Und you helpsh yourself, by dunder !

To shimmerin crowns of gold.

" Shoost look ^t dese shpoons und vatches !

Shoost see dese diamant rings !
Coom down und full your bockets,

Und I'll giss you like avery dings.

'• Vot you vantsh mit your schnapps und lager ?

Coom down into der Rhine !
Der ish pottles der Kaiser Charlemagne

Vonce filled mit gold-red wine !"

Dat fetched him — he shtood all shpell pound;

She pooled his coat-tails down,
She drawed him oonder der wasser,

De maiden mit nodings on.

205

The quickest way to take the starch out ov a man who \z all-
wuss blameing himself, iz to agree with him. This aint what he iz

looking for.

Josh Billings

i, . I,

*l 'l

l.» •

206

il//i;?Ar TWAIN'S LIBRARY OF HUMOR.

THE EXPENSIVE TREAT OF COLONEL MOSES GRICE.

BY RICHARD MALCOMB JOHNSTON.

raiCHARD MALCOLM JOHNSTON, born in Hancock County, Ga., March
V 8, 1822, has a literary reputation of many years, originating with the
" Dukesborough Tales," and identified with several characteristic works of
humor, fancy and imagination.

Besides an incipient ventriloquist who had included it in a
limited provincial tour which he was making, in some hope of
larger development of his artistic powers, the only show that had
visited Dukesborough thus far was the wax figures. The recol-
lection of that had ever remained unsatisfactory. I can just
remember that one of the figures was William Pitt, and another
the Sleeping Beauty; that the former was the saddest and the yel-
lowest great statesman that I had had opportunity, thus far, to
look upon, and the latter — well, it is not pleasant, even now, to
recall how dead, how longtime dead, she appeared. When Aggy,
my nurse, seeing me appalled at the sight, repeatedly asseverated,
" De lady is jes a-tired and a-takin' of a nap," I cried the louder,
and plucked so at Aggy that she had to take me away. Though
not thus demonstrative, yet even elderly country people acknowl-
edged to disappointment, and there was a general complaint that
if what had been was the best that could be done by Dukes-
borough in the way of public entertainment, it might as well take
itself away from the great highway of human travel, suspend its
school, sell out its two stores at cost, abolish its tavern and post-
ofifice, tear down its blacksmith's and shoe shops, and, leaving
only its meeting-house, resolve itself into the elements from
which it had been aggregated. Not that these were the very
words: but surely their full equivalents were employed when
William Pitt, the Sleeping Beauty, and their pale associates had
silently left the town.

As for a circus, such an institution was not known, except by
hearsay, even to Colonel Moses Grice, of the Fourteenth Regi-
ment Georgia Militia, though he was a man thirty-five years old,
over six feet high, of proportional weight, owned a good planta-
tion and at least twenty negroes, and had seen the theatre as

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EXPENSIVE TREAT OF COLONEL MOSES GRICE.

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many as three times in tiie city of Augusta. The ideas the
Colonel had received there were such, he said, as would last him
to the end of his days — a period believed to be remote, barring,
of course, all contingencies of future wars. To this theatrical
experience he had been desirous, for some time, to add that of
the circus, assured in his mind that from what he had heard, it
was a good thing. It happened once, while on a visit to Augusta —
whither he had accompanied a wagon-load of his cotton, partly
on that business, but mainly to see the great world there — that he
met at Collier's tavern, where he sojourned, a circus forerunner,
who was going, the rounds with his advertisements. Getting soon
upon terms of ini'^inacy with one who seemed to him the most
agreeable, entertaining and intelligi nt gentleman that he had
ever met. Colonel Grice imparted to him such information about
Dukesborough that, although that village was not upon the list
of appointments — Dukesborough, in point of fact (to his shame
the agent confessed it) not having been even heard of — yet a
day was set for its visitation, and, when visited, another was set
for the appearance there of the Great World-Renowed Circus,
which claimed for its native homes London, Paris and New York.

It would be entertaining to a survivor of that period to make
even small boys, from families of most limited means in this
generation, comprehend the interest excited by those advertise-
ments, in huge black and red letters, that were tacked upon the
wall of Spouter's tavern. From across Beaver Dam, Rocky
Creek, the Ogeechee, from even the head-waters of streams lead-
ing to the Oconee, they came to read over and spell over the
mighty words. Colonel Grice, who had been found, upon his
own frank admission, to be the main mover, was forced to answer
all inquiries concerning its magnitude, its possible influences
upon the future of Dukesborough, and kindred subjects. There
would have been a slight drawback to the general eager expec-
tation on grounds moral and religious; but the World-Renowned
had anticipated and provided against that, as will hereafter
appear. Then Colonel Grice had signified his intention of meet-
ing the impending institution on the occasion of at least two of
its exhibitions before its arrival, and should take it upon himself
to warn it of the kind of people it was coming among.

The Colonel resided five miles south of the village. He had
a wife, but no child (a point on which he was, perhaps, a little

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I' TV

lit'

sore), was not in debt, was hospitable, an encourager, especially
in words, of public and private enterprises, and enthusiastically
devoted, though without experience in wars, to the military pro-
fession, which — if he might use the expression — he would call his
second wife. Off the muster-field he habitually practiced that
affability which is pleasant because so rare to see in the warrior
class. When in full uniform and at the head of the regiment,
with girt sword and pistol-holster, he did indeed look like a man
not to be fooled with; and the sound of his voice in utterance of
military orders was such as to show that he intended those orders
to be heard and obeyed. When the regiment was disbanded, the
sternness would depart from his mien, and, though yet unstripped
of weapons and regalia, he would smile blandly, as if to reassure
spectators that, for the present, the danger was over, and friends
might approach without apprehension.

The Colonel met the circus even farther away than he at first
had intended. He had determined to study it, he said, and he
traveled some seventy miles on horseback, attending daily and
nightly exhibitions. Several times during this travel, and after-
wards, on the forenoon of the great day in Dukesborough, he
was heard to say that, if he were limited to one word with which
to describe what he had seen, that word would be — grandeur.
" As for what sort of a people them circus people are," he said,
" in a moral and in a religious sense, now — ahem ! you know,
gentlemen and ladies, especially ladies — ah, ha! I'm not a mem-
ber, but I'm as j^rcat a respecter of religion as can be found in
the whole State of Georgia. Bein' raised to that, I pride myself
on that. Now, these circus people, they ain't what I should call
a highly moral, that is, they ain't a strictly religious ^zo^\g. You
see, gentlemen, that ain't, not religion ain't, so to speak, their
business. They ain't goin' about preachin', and havin' camp-
mcetin' revivals, and givin' sint^nn' -school lessons. They arc — I
wish I could explain myself about these circus people. These
circus people are a-tryin' — you know, gentlemen, different peo-
ple makes their livin' in different ways; and these circus people
are jes a-tryin' to do exactly the same thing in jes exactly the
same way. Well, gentlemen, grandeur is the word I should say
about their performances. I should not confine myself to the
viov(\ n/igion. Strictly speakin', that word do not embrace all
the warious waricties, so to speak, of a circus. My word would

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EXPENSIVE TREAT OF COLONEL MOSES GRICE.

209

be gRjVNDEur; and I think that's the word you all will use when
that tent is up, that door is open, and you are rushin' into its — its
— I don't know whtther to use the word jaivs or departments.
But, tor the sake of decency, I'll sdiy— departments. As for moral
and religious, gentlemen — and 'specially ladies — I tell you, it
ain't neitheracamp-meetin', a'sociation, a quarterly meetin',nor
a singin'-school. I'm not a member, but I'm a respecter; and
as to all that, and all them, Dukesborough may go farther and
fare worse. That's all I got to say."

On the day before. Colonel Grice, by this time grown intimate
with the manager, and as fcwid of him as if he had been his own
brother (some said even fonder), in the fullness of his heart had
invited the whole force to breakfast with him on the way to
Dukesborough, and the invitation had been accepted. What was
consumed was enormous; but he could afford it, and his wife,
especially with distinguished visitors, was as hospitable and open-
hearted as himself.

Other persons besides boys believed in their hearts Ihat they
might not have been able to endure another day's delay of the
show. For a brief period the anxiety of the school-children
amounted to anguish when the master expressed doubts as to a holi-
day; for holidays then were infrequent,and schoolmasters had to be
over-persuaded. But the present incumbent yielded early, with
becoming reluctance, to what seemed to be the general desire.
The eagerly expected morning came at last. Many who knew
that the circus was lingering at Colonel Grice' s .went forth to
meet it, some on foot, some on horseback. Some started even
in gigs and other carriages, but, being warned by old people,
turned, unhooked their horses, and hitched them to swinging
limbs in the very farthest part of the graveyard grove, and then
set out on foot. The great show had put foremost its best wagon,
but nobody had any sort of idea what things those were which
the military gentlemen who rode in it carried in their hands.
One person, known generally to carry cool head, said that one
of these things looked to him like a drum, though of a size com-
paratively f'normous, but the idea was generally scorned.

" Where you goin', there, Polly Ann ?" said Mrs. Watts to her
littledaughter, who was opening the gate. " My Lord!" exclaimed
the mother instantly afterwards, as the band struck up. Then
she rushed out herself and ran over Polly Ann, knocking her

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down. Polly Ann got up again and followed. " Stay behind
there, you, Jack, and you, Susan! You want to git eat up liy
them camels and varmints ? I never see sich children for cur'-
osity. They've got as much cur'osity as — as — "

«'As we have," said Mrs. Thompson, laughing, as she
attempted in vain to drive jack her own little Lrood.

The effect of the music in the long, covered wagon, drawn by
six gray horses slowly before the long procession, no words can
describe. It put all, the aged and the young, into a tremor.
, Old Mr. Leadbetter, one of the deacons, who had been very
" jubous," as he said, about the whole thing, was trying to read a
chapter somewhere in Romans, when, at the very first blast, his
spectacles jumped off his nose, and he told a few of the brethren
afterwards, confidentially, that he never could recollect afterwards,
where he had left off. As for Mrs. Bland, she actually danced
in her piazza for, probably, as many as a dozen bars, and, when
"had up " about it, pleaded in abatement, that she did it entirely
unbeknownst to herself, and that she couldn't haveholp it if it had
been to have saved her life. It might have gone hard with the
defendant had not someof her triers been known to march in time
to the band, and besides, they had staid after the close of the ani-
mal show, contrary to the special inhibition against the circus.
For the World-Renowned had provided against the scruples of
the straitest sects by attaching to itself a small menao-erie of
animals, whose exhibition had been appointed for the opening.
There were a camel, a lion, a zebra, a hyena, two leopards, a
porcupine, six monkeys, a bald eagle and some parrots. By
some means, never fully known, the most scrupulous of the spec-
tators had gotten (late during this first act) to the very loftiest
and remotest seats in the amphitheatre, and when the animals
were shut from the view, these persons, though anxious, were
unable to retire without stepping over the shoulders of those
beneath — a thing that no decent person could be expected to do.
So Mrs. Bland got off with a mild rebuke. "^

As the cavalcade proceeded, it was a sight to see those who
came in late in vehicles hastily turning in, apprehensive of the
effect upon their horses of the music and the smell of the wild
animals. For the first and only time in the history of Dukes-
borough, there was momentary danger of a blockade of wheels
in its one street.

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EXPENSIVE TREAT OF COLONEL MOSES GRICE. 211

«* A leetle more," said old Tony to the other negroes at home
that night— he was the diiver of the Booker carriage — "a leetle
more, and Td a driv' right into the camel's mouth."

For some reason, possibly its vast size and the peculiar dip of
its under-lip in the pictures, the camel seemed to be regarded as
the most carnivorous of the wild beasis, and especially fond of
human flesh.

The place selected for the tent was the area west of Sweep's
shoe-shop, at the foot of the hill on which the Basil mansion
stood. When the door was opened at last, the crowd surged in.
Colonel Grice waited long,* in order to see that no one of any con-
dition was excluded for want of the entrance-fee. For at last
this was regarded by him rather as a treat of his own to his
neighbors, and he wanted it to be comolete. Then he walked in
with the deliberateness of an owner of the establishment, and
contemplated everything with benignant complaisance. Those
ladies and gentlemen who were within the sound of his voice, as
he went the rounds of the boxes containing the animals, were for-
tunate.

" Be keerful there, boys— be keerful," he said, kindly but seri-
ously, to some litt'e fellows who were leaning against the rope
and studying the porcupine. " Be keerful. That's the cilibrated
pockapine. You .see them sharp things on him ? Well, them's
his quills, and which, when he's mad, he shoots 'em like a bow-
'narrow, and they goes clean through people."

The boys backed, although the little creature looked as if his
quiver had been well nigh exhausted in previous wars.

" That's the hyner." said the Colonel, moving on, " and they
say he's the most rhinocerous varmint of 'em all. Of all victuals,
he loves folks the best, though he some rather that somebody
or something else would kill 'em, and then him come on about a
week or sich a matter afterwards. They scratches up graveyards,
and in the countries where they raise, people has to bury their
kin-folks in stone coffins."

"Oh, goodness gracious, Colonel! Let's go on!"

This exclamation was made by Miss Angeline Spouter, the
thinnest of the party, * ho was locked arm in arm with Miss
Georgiana Pea, the thickest.

"No danger, Miss Angeiine— no danger at all," answered the
Colonel, briskly raising his arm aloft that all might see what was

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MAHA- TWAIN'S LIBRARY Or HUMOR.

between them and the beast, at which he looked as if it were his
own pet hyena and would not think of leaving its lair without his
order. ♦* No danger whatsomever. Even if he could git out,
he'd have to ride over me, and, besides, it's mostly corpses that
he'd be arfter, and — ah — I don't think, anyway, that you'd be in
the slightest danger."

As he said this, the Colonel looked rather argumentatively,
and at Miss Pea more than Miss Spouter.

"Oh," said Miss Pea, gayly, " if the creetur could get out,
and then took a notion for live folks, I'd be the one he'd make
for, certain sure."

The hyena, though ugly and ferocious, did not look at his
spectators once, but continued pacing up and down in his narrow
cage, at either end of which, when reaching it, he thrust his snout
against the roof, as if his thoughts were tending upvards rather
than downwards. I have never forgotten how unhappy seemed
that poor beast. To all the other animals there was some relief
of captivity in their various degrees of domestication and affilia-
tion with man. The lion evidently loved his keeper; even the
leopards seemed rather fond of him. But the hyena, more nar-
rowly caged than all, conquered, not subdued, wholly untamed,
constantly rolling his fiery gray eyes, appeared to have his
thoughts ever upon revenge and escape to his native wilds. I, a
young child, could not but pity him; and it occurred to me then
that if ever he should become free, and then be tempted, at least,
to an appetizer of living human flesh before reaching the grave-
yard, he most likely would fasten upon the manager of the Great
World-renowned,

Just as the party was about to pass on, the wretched beast,
stopping for a moment, his snout pressed to the roof, uttered
several short, loud, hoarse, terrific howls. Miss Spouter screamed.
Miss Pea laughed hysterically, and Colonel Grice, before he
knew it, was on the outside of his knot of followers. Recover-
ing himself — for he was without his sword and pistol-holster — he
stepped quickly back to the front, looked threateningly, and
afterwards disdainfully, at the hyena, who had resumed his walks,
and said;

"You rhinoceros varmint, you! Thinkin' of them graveyards
you've robbed, and hungry for some more of 'em, ah! These is
live folks, my boy; and they ain't quite ready for you yit, nor

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EXPENSIVE TREAT OF COLONEL MOSES GKICE.

213

won't l:e for some time, I hope." Then he led on to the monkeys.

'♦ Hello, Bill! I ';nowed you'd be here; got your boys with you,
too, I see."

The person addressed by Colonel Grice was a tall, stout young
farmer. Over his other clothes he wore a loosely fitting round
jacket, of thick, home-made stuff, with capacious pockets. In
each of ihese were one foot and a consideiable portion of a leg
of a child about two years old. Their other feet rested easily in
the man's hands, which were tucked up for that purpose, while
one arm of each was aroun^l his neck. The children were exactly
alike, except a shade's difference in the color of their eyes. This
was Mr. Bill Williams, who, three years before, had been mar-
ried to Miss Caroline Thigpen. At this double birth, Mr.
Williams was proud, and even exultant. Out of the many names
suggested for the twins, he early selected those of the renowned
offspring of Mars and Rhea Sylvia. Modifying them, however,
somewhat for his own reasons, he called and so wrote them in his
Bible, "Romerlus" and Remerlus."

^^ Remus, Mr. Bill," urged the friend who had suggested the
names. "Remus, not Remulus: Romulus and Remus are the
names."

"No, Philip," he answered; "its Romerlus and Remerlus.
One's jest as old as t'other, or nigh and about; and he's as big, and
he'sas good-lookin', and his brother's name sha'n't be no big-
ger'n his'n."

As soon as they were able to stand without harm, he accus-
tomed them to this mode of travel, and he was never so contented
as when he and they went out thus together.

" I knowed you'd be here. Bill, and your boys."

" Yes Kurnel, I thought comin' to see the beastesses and var-
mints might so:t o' be a start to 'em in jography. You Rom —
you Reme, you needn't squeeze me so tight. They ain't no dan-
ger in them things."

The children, plucky for their age, and with considerable
experience in travel, had gone easily enough thus far; but when
they looked upon these creatures, so like, yet so unlike, mankind,
they shrank from the view, and clung closely to their father.
Colonel Grice, recovered from the embarrassment occasioned by
the hyena, was pleased at the apprehension of the twins.

" Natchel, Bill, perfec'ly natchel. You know some folks says

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monkeys is kin to us, and the boys, mebbe, don't like the looks
of their relations."

•* They ain't no kin o' mine, Kurnel, nor theirn," answered Mr.
Bill. '* Ef you think they're humans, supposin' you — as you
hain't no ehiUlren of your own — ^supposin' you adopt one of 'em ?"

Mr. IJill suspeeted that the Colonel might be alluding to the
fabled she-wolf. The Colonel, however, had never heard of the
distinguished originals of Roman story. His remark was a mere
jcu d' esprit, springing naturally frcnn the numerous sources of
satisfaction of the occasion.

The wild beasts were finally hidden from view, and all repaired
to their seats. Colonel Grice sat high, and near the entrance of
the rear tent from which the circus pnrformers were to emerge.
Mr. Williams sat on the lowest tier, near the main entrance. He
had taken his boys out of his pockets and held them on his
knees. The Colonel, when he could get an opportunity, quietly,
and in a very pleasant way, called the ring-master's attention to
him, who smiled and nodded. Then the curtain was pushed
aside from the rear tent, the band struck up, and the piebald
horses came marching in with their silent riders, who, at first,
looked as if they had just come from the bath, and had had time
for only a limited toilet. Old Miss Sally Cash, cousin and close
neighbor of Cohjncl (Irice, exclaimed,

" Lor'-a-mercy, Mosc! Them ain't folks, is they? Them's
wax figgers, ain't they?"

"I assure you, cousin Sally, that they're folks," answered the
Colonel, with marked candor. He had great respect for his cou-
sin Sally, and some awe.

" I thought they was wax figgers, sot on springs. They ain't
like no folks that I've ever saw, and I've saw a good many peo-
ple in my time, both here and in Agusty." It was one of Miss
Cash's boasts, which few country women of that generation could
m:ike, that she had once been to that famous city. After a short
interval, she added: "I l)'lieve yit they're wax figgers."

A^ that moment the clown, all spotted and streaked, b.-inglng
up tne rear, shouted,

" Here we all are, my masters."

" My Lord-a'mighty!" exclaimed Miss C.'.sh and some three
hundred other females. Only Colonel Grice, md a very few others,
who had been at yesterday's exhibition, could preserve any

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EXPEA'S/VE TREAT OF COLONEL MOSES GRICE, 2I5

amount of coolness. The rest abancloncd themselves to unlim-
ited wonder.

" I'm sixty-nine year old," said old Mr. Pate, " and I never
see sich as that before, and I never 'spected to see sich as that."

As they made their involutions and evolutions, destined appar-
ently to be endless in number and variety, the old man looked
on as if in his ajj^c he was vouchsafed the witness of the very last
and highest achievement of human endeavor.

" Do you think that's decent, Mose ?" asked Miss Cash. The
performers were then in th(» act of the "ground and lofty tum-
bling," turning somersaults forward, backward, over one another,
lying on their backs, throwing up their legs, and springing to
their feet, etc., until they were panting and blue in the face.
Miss Cash was not disposed that her cousin Mose should know
how much she was interested in this performance.

«'I shouldn't say it was <?/vdecent, cousin Sally."

"I don't say it is," said Miss Cash.

" You know," said the Colonel, winking slyly to his wife, and
other friends of both sexes, ** nobody is obleeged to stay and see
the show. Anybody can go that wants to. They ain't no law
ag'in goin', if anybody's desires is to git away."

•* No," answered Miss Cash, downright. ** I've paid my half
a dollar, and they sha'n't cheat me out of it, nor nary part of it."

The next scene was one which Colonel Grice had eagerly antici-
pated. A steed rushed into the ring. He was as wild, appar-
ently, as Mazeppa's, and the clown, when the ring-master inquired
for the rider, answered, in a pitiful tone, that he was sick, and
none other of the troupe would dare to take his place. Then
followed the ur,ual fun of the master ordering the clown to ride
the horse, and the clown after vain remonstrance, trying to
catch the horse, and the horse refusing to be caught; and, finally,
the giving up the chase, and the master lashing the recusant
beast around the ring, and wishing in vain for a rider to set him
off properly. In the midst of this, an extremely drunken young
man, homely clad, came through the main entrance, after a dis-
pute and a scuffle with the door-keeper, and, staggering to where
Mr. Bill Williams sat, looked down upon him

" Two babies. One {hie) yours, s'pose."

«' Yes." said Mr. Bill.

" And {hie) t'other—"

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" My wife's ; but that ain't nobody's business but ourn. You
pass on."

The stranger declined, and fixing his muddled attention on
what was going on in the ring, said :

'• I can (/tic) ride that horse — "

The words were no sooner uttered than the man stumbled
upon the track, just after the horse had dashed past. The whole
audience, except Colonel Grice and the select few, rose and cried
out in horror.

'•Take him out, Bill ! Take him out [" cried Colonel Grice.
Indeed, Mr. Hill had already slid his bal)ics into his wife's lap,
and was dragging the man out of the ring. He insisted I'pon
returning.

•* Look a-here, my friend," said Mr. Bill, " I don't know you,
nor nobody else don't seem to know you ; but if 1 didn't have
Rom and Reme — "

The fellow made another rush. Mr. Bill took hold of him,
but, receiving a trip, he fell flat, and the stranger fell into the
ring, rolling out of the track in lucky time. The ring-master
seemed much embarrassed.

" Oh, give him a little ride, captain ! " cried out Colonel Grice.
" If he falls, he's too drunk to git badly hurt."

" It's a shame, Mose ! " remonstrated Miss Cash. " I did't
come here and pay my money to see people killed. Notwith-
standin' and never o'-the-less the poor creeter's drunk, and not
hardly fitten to live, he ought by good rights to have some time
to prepar' for the awful change that — "

But by this time Mazeppa was mounted and dashing away ;
and but that Miss Cash had made up her mind not to be cheated
out of any portion of her money, she would have shut her eyes,
or veiled her fate, as the maddened animal spetl along, while
the infatuated um iriate clung to his mane. An anxious time it
was. Kind htu- red people were sorry they h>Hl come. In the
struggle bet»^ n lite and death, the stranger seemed to be begin-
ning to sober Sooner than could have been expected, he
raised himself iir. m the horse's neck (Miss Cash twisting her
mouth a 1(1 S' ■'r^ing her neck as he reeled back and forth from
side to bid*;), , thered up the reins, shook from his feet ti • thick
sho'-s he was clad with flung aside his old hat, brushei^ d his
cur^ hair, and, before Miss Cash could utter a word, was ^Mi his

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EXPENSiyii TREA T OF COLONEL MOSES GRICE. 2

feet. Then bcyan that prolonged metamorphosis which old Mr.
Pate was never satisfied with recoiintintj, whether to those
who s'lw it or those who saw it not.

"Coat after coat, breeches after breeches, gallis after gallis,
shirt after shirt, oiitwell he shucked hisself nigh as clean as a
ear o' corn."

When everybody saw that the stranger was one of the show-
men, the fun rose to a height that delayed for full five minutes
the next scene As for Colonel Grice, his handkerchief was
positively wet with the tears he had shed. Even Mr. Hill for-
gi,t his own discomfiture fti the universal glee.

"It's a shame, Mose," said Miss Cash, "to put suchatrickon
Bill Williams, and that right where his wife is. It would be a
good thing if he could put it back on you."

Even at this late day, a survivor of that period can scarcely
recall without some exaltation of feeling that young girl of eleven
(who had been advertised as " Mademoiselle Louise, the Most
Celebrated Equi.-strienne in the world"), as she ran out with the
daintiest of frocks, the pinkest of stockings, the goldenest of
flounces, the bluest of belts, the curliest of hair, the peachiest
of cheeks, kissed her hand to the audience, put one foot into the
clown's hand, and flew into the saddle. As she went around,
dancing upon that horse in full gallop, hopping over her whip
and jumping through rings, and, when seated, smoothed down
her skirt m : waved her sleeveless arms — well, there was one boy
(his pimc was Sea1)orn Byne) that declared he "would be
ding<?**. il It wasn't enough to melt the hearts clean outen a
staK'tet.'"" Other boys cordially endorsed this speech. As for
]SK^ Watts, just turned of his tenth year, with the example
fcwbrc him of his older brother Tommy (dead in love at thir-
letn and some upwards, with Miss Wilkins the schoolmistress),
h-e ran away from home the next morninj;-, and followed for three
miles the circus, begging to be taken into its employ, stipulating
for only board and clothes. When caught, brought back, and
properly attended to by his mother, the villain was suspected,
and almost as good as confessed, that his purpose was to avail
himself of an opportunity to seize upon the person of Mademoi-
selle Louise and her imagined vast treasures, and bear them to
some distant foreign shore — on which one in special, in his
exigent haste, he had not yet been able fully to determine.

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In the interval before the last, named " The Wonderful Tooth-
drawing Coffee-pot Fire-cracker Scene," an incident occurred
that was not on the programme — an interlude, as it were, impro-
vised by the exuberant spirits of both spectators and showmen.
Colonel Grice, deeply gratified at the success of what, without
great stretch, might be called his own treat, was in the mood to
receive special attention and compliment from any source.
When the pretended inebriate had been lifted upon Mazeppa, the
clown took a bottle from his pocket, tasted it when he had gotten
behind his master, smacked his lips, set it down by the middle
pole, and, being detected in one of his resortings to it, was
reproached for not inviting some one to drink with him. They
were on the portion of the ring next the main entrance.

" Why don't you invite Colonel Grice ? " said Mr. Bill VVilliams,
in a low voice. " He expects it."

The master turned to notice from whom the suggestion pro-
ceeded, and, before he could determine, the clown, though with
some hesitation, said,

"If Colonel Grice—"

"Stop it ! " whispered the master.

But it was too late. The Colonel had already risen, and was
carefully descending.

" Is you goin' there, Mose, shore enough ? " said Miss Cash.
" It do look like Mose is complete carried away with them circus
people and hisself."

Having gotten safely over the intervening heads .nd shoulders,
the Colonel stepped with dignity into the ring, at the same time
feeling somewhat of the embarrassment which will sometimes
befall the very greatest warrior when, without his weapons, he
knows himself to be the object of the attention of a large num-
ber of civilians, both male and female. This embarrassment
hindered his observation of the captain's winks, and the clown's
pouring a portion of the liquor upon the ground. He walked up
rapidly and extended his hand. The clown, with an effort at
mirthfulncss, the more eager because he was doubtful of perfect
success, withdrew the bottle from his grasp, spread out his legs,
squatted his body, and, applying the thumb of his disengaged
hand to his nose, wriggled his fingers at the Colonel's face, wink-
ing frantically the while, hoping the latter would advance che joke
by insistence.

* •

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/■

EXPENSIVE TREAT OF COLONEL MOSES GRICE.

219

In this he miscalculated. Persons who claimed to have seen
Colonel Moses Grice, on previous occasions, what was called
mad^ said that all these were childish fretfulness compared with
his present condition of mind, when, after the withdrawal of the
bottle, the whole audience. Miss Cash louder than al), broke
into uproarious laughter. Fortunately the enraged chieftain had
nor sword, nor pistol, nor even walking-cane. His only weapon
was his tongue. Stepping back a pace or two, and glaring upon
the ludicrous squatter, he shouted:

** You spotted-backed, striped-legged, streaked-faced, speckled-
b-breasted, p'inted-hatted lon-of-a-gun ! "

With each ejaculation of these successive, uncommon appella-
tions, the poor clown lifted himself somewhat, and by the time
their climax was reached was upright, and, dressed as he was,
seemed most pitiful.

"My dear Colonel Grice — " he began.

" Shet up your old red mouth," broke in the Colonel. •* I
didn't 7vant your whisky. I got better whisky at home than
you know anything about. But as you asked me to drink, like, as
I thought, one gentleman would ask another gentleman, I didn't
feel like refusin' you. I give the whole of you your breakfast,
your blasted varmints and all ; I put at least twenty into your
cussed old show, and after that — "

" My dear-est Colonel Grice ! "

" Oh, you p'inted-hatted, streaked - fac - ed, speckled - b -
breasted — " beginning, as it were, a back-handed stroke by
reversing the order of his epithets.

At this moment the ring-master, who had not been able thus
far to get in a single word, said in a loud but calm tone :

" Colonel Grice, don't you see that it was a mere jest, and
that the suggestion came from one of your neighbors ? The bot-
tle contains nothing but water. We beg your pardon if you are
offended ; but I can but think that the abusive words you have
used already are quite enough."

" Come, Mose ! come ! " cried Miss Cash, who had just been
able to stop her laughter. " Give and take, Mose. You put it onto
Bil! Williams, and he stood it ; and he put it back onto you,
and now you can't stand it, eh ? " And the old lady again fairly
screamed with laughter, while hundreds of others joined.

The Colonel stood for a moment, hesitating. Then he sud-

• M

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rOLONKL GRICE GKTS MAD.
220

EXPENSIVE TREAT OF COLONEL MOSES GRICE. 22\

denly turned, and, remarking that this was no place for a gentle-
man, walked towards the entrance.

" You goin' to let 'em cheat you out of the balance of yonr
money that way, Mose ? " asked Miss Cash. He turned again.
Finding himself wholly without support, and unwilling to loose
the great scene of the "Tooth-drawing," etc., he halted and
stood until it was over. By that time he was considerably mollified,
and the manager, approaching, apologized for himself, the clown,
and all his troupe^ and begged that he would join in a glass of
the genuine at Spouter's tavern.

How could the Colonel refuse ? He could not, and he did not.

"Go with us, won't you, sir?" said the manager, addressing

Mr. Williams. "We had some little fun at your expense also ;

but I hope you bear us no malice, as we never intend to hurt

feelings."

" Spcrrits," answered Mr. Bill, " is a thing I seldom teches—
that is, I don't tech it reglar ; but I'll try a squirrel-load with
you — jes a moderate size squirrel-load."

At Spouter's all was cordially made up. Mr. Bill set Rom and
Reme on the counter, and the clown gave them a big lump of
white sugar apiece.

"They seem to be nice, peaceable little fellows," said he.
" Do they ever dispute ? "

" Oh, not a great deal," answered Mr. Bill. " Sometimes Rom
— that's the bluest-eyed one — he wants to have all his feed before
Reme gits any o' his'n, and he claws at the spoon, and Reme's
nose. But when he does that, I jes set him right down, I does,
and I makes him wait ontwell Reme's fed. I tends to raise 'em to
be peaceable, and to give and take, and to be friends as well as
brothers, which is mighty far from bein' always the case in families."
Mr. Bill knew that Colonel Grice and his younger brother
Abram had not spoken together for years.

"Right, Bill," said the Colonel. "Raise 'em right. Take
keer o' them boys. Bill. Two at a time comes right hard on a
fellow, though, don't it, Bill ? Expensive, eh ? " and the Colonel
winked pleasantly all around.

"Thank ye, Kurnel ; I'll do the best I can. I shall raise em
to give and take. No, Kurnel, not so very hard. Fact, I wa'n't
a-exp^ctin' but one, yit, when Reme come, I thought jest as
much o' him as I did o' Rom. No, Kurnel, it wouldn't be ray

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222

MARJC TWAIN'S LIBRARY OF HUMOR.

desires to be a married man and have nary ar — to leave what
little prop'ty I got to. And now, sence I got two instid o' one,
and them o' the same size, I feel like I'd be sort o' avvk'ard
'ithout both ot 'em. You see, Kurnel, they balances agin one
another in my pockets. No, Kurnel, better two than nary one ;
and in that way you can larn 'em better to giv'=' and take.
Come, Rom, come, Reme — git in ; we must be a-travelin'." He
backed up to the counter, and the loys, shifting their sugar-
lumps to suit, stepped aboard and away they went.

After that day Dukesborough thought she could see no reason
v/hy she might not be named among the leading towns of middle
Georgia.

A PARTY were enjoying the evening breeze on board a yacht.

" The wind has made my 'roustache taste quite salt," remarked
a young man who had been for some time occupied in biting the
hair that fell over his upper lip. " I know it ! " innocently said
u pretty girl. And she wondered why all her friends laughed.
" People are so childish,", she remarked. — Newspaper,

tJM| i .JI-JtU '-, UBie '."' ^-" ' M ' - ''' ^ ''- >' ' " '

?^.

ONE OF MR. WARUS BUSINESS LETTERS. 223

ONE OF MR. WARD'S BUSINESS LETTERS.

BY ARTEMUS WARD.

To the Editor of the :

Sir — I'm movin' along — slowly along — down tords your place.
I want you should rite me a letter, saying how is the show biz-
niss in your place. My show
at present consists of three
moral Bares, a Kangaroo (a
amoozin. little Raska^ —
t'would make you larf your-
self to deth to see the little
cuss jump up and squeal),
wax figgers of G. Washington
Gen. Tayler John Bunyan
Capt. Kidd and Dr. Webster
in the act of killin* Dr. Park-
man, besides several miscel-
lanyus moral wax statoots of
celebrated piruts & murder-
ers, &c., ekalled by few &
exceld by none. Now Mr.
Editor, scratch orf a few lines
sayin' how is the show bizniss
down to your place. I shall
hav my hanbills dun at your
ofifiss. Depend upon it. I
want you should git my han-
bills up in flamin' stile. Also
git up a tremenjus excitemunt
in yr. paper 'bowt my onpar-
aleld Show. We must fetch
the public sumhow. We must
wurk on their feelin's. Cum
the moral on *em strong. If
it's a temperance community tell 'em I sined the pledge fifteen
minits arter Ise born, but on the contery, ef your people take
their tods, say Mister Ward is as Jenial a feller as ever we met,
full of conwiviality, & the life an' sole of the Soshul Bored. Take,

-'yT'

A GENIAL FELLOW.

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224

MAJ^A' TWAIN'S LIBRARY OF HUMOR.

don't you ? If you say anythin* abowt my show, say my snaiks is
as harmliss as the new born Babe. What a interest! n study it is
to see a zewological animil like a snake under perfect subjec-
shun ! My kangaroo is the most larfable little cuss I ever saw.
All for 15 cents. I am anxyus to skewer your inflooence. I
repecc in regard to them hanbills that I shall git em struck orf
Ur your printin' office. My perlitercal sentiments agree with
y. •'. exactly, I know they do, becawz I never saw a man
v/hoos didn't.

Respectively yures, A. Ward.

P. S. — You scratch my back & He scratch your back.

WOMAN SUFFRAGE.

BY R, J. BURDETTE.

The women in Kai.sas vote at the school elections. At a
recent election at Osage City one woman went up to vote, but
before she got through telling the judges what a time her Willie
had with the scarlet fever when he was only two years old, it was
time to close the polls and she had forgotten to deposit her ballot.

^'!

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- I' ' i ' H i jiw«t i jn»;.,iJt i wu>wiiM^y'.t'i'W''-.."

■<

ON "FORT^" 22?

ON "FORTS."

BY ARTEMUS WARD.

Every man has got a Fort. It's sum men's fort to do one thinjj,
and some other men's fort to do another, while there is numeris
shiftliss critters goin' round loose whose fort is not to do nothin'.

Shakspeer rote good plase, but he wouldn't hav succeeded as a
Washington correspondent of a New York daily paper. He lackt
the rekesit fancy and imagginashun.

That's so !

Old George Washington's Fort was not to hev eny public man
of the present day resemble him to eny alarmin' extent. Whare
bowts can George's ekal be found ? I ask, & boldly answer no
whares, or any whare else.

Old man Townsin's Fort was to maik Sassyperiller. " Goy to
the world ! anuther life salved ! " (Cotashun from Townsin's
advertisemunt.)

Cyrus Field's Fort is to lay a sub-machine tellegraf under
the bouridin billers of the Oshun, and then have it Bust.

Spaldin's Fort is to maik Prepared Gloo, which mends every-
thing. Wonder ef it will mend a sinner's wickid waze. (Im-
promtoo goak.)

Zoary's Fort is to be a femaile circus feller.

My Fort is the grate moral show bizniss & ritin choice famerly
literatoor for the noospapers. That's what's the matter with ;;/^.

&., &., &. So I mite go on to a indefnit extent.

Twict Iv'e endevered to do things which thay wasn't my Fort.
The fust time was when I undertuk to lick a owdashus cuss who
cut a hole in my tent & krawld threw. Sez I, " My jentle Sir,
go out or I shall fall onto you putty hevy." Sez he, " Wade in,
Old wax figgers," whereupon I went for him, but he cawt me
powerful on the hed & knockt me threw the tent into a cow
pastur. He pursood the attack & flung me into a mud puddle.
As I arose & rung out my drencht garmints I koncluded fitin
wasn't my Fort. I'le now rize the kurtin upon Seen 2nd: It is
rarely seldum that I seek consolation in the Flowin' Bole. But
in a certain town in Injianny in the Faul of 18 — , my orgin
grinder got sick with the fever & died. I never felt so ashamed

713,' %« III

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226

MA J? A' TIVAIN'S LIBRARY OF HUMOR.

in my life, & I thowt I'd hist in a few swallows of suthin,
strength'nin. Konscquents was I histid in so much I dident zackly
know whare bovvts I was. I turned my livin wild beasts of Pray
loose into the streets and spilt all my wax wurks. I then bet I
cood play hoss. So I hitched myself to a Kanawl bote, there
bein' two other hosses hitcht on also, one behind and anuther
ahead of me. The driver hollerd for us to git up, and we did.
But the hosses b^w'' onused to sicb a arrangemunt begun to kick

PLAYING HORSE.

& squeal and rair up. Konsequents was I was kickt vilently in
the stummuck & back, and presuntly I fownd myself in the
Kanawl with the other hosses, kickin' & yellin' like a tribe of
Cusscaroorus sawijis. I was rescood, & as I was bein' carrid to
the tavern on a hemlock Bored I sed in a feeble voise, ** Boys,
playin' hoss isn't my Fort."

MoRUL— Never don't do nothin' which isn't your Fort, for ef
you do you'll find yourself splashin' round in the Kanawl, figger-
atively speakin*.

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THE FOX AND THE CROW. 25:7

THE FOX AND THE CROW.

BY GEO. T. LANIGAN.

A Crow, having secured a Piece of Cheese, flew with its Prize
to a lofty Tree, and was preparing to devour the Luscious Morsel,
when a crafty Fox, halting at the
foot of the Tree, began to cast

THE FOX.

THE CROW.

about how he might obtain it.
" How tasteful," he cried, in well-
feigned Ecstasy, " is your Dress;
it cannot surely be that your Musi-
cal Education has been neglected.
Will you not oblige — ?" " I have a
horrid Cold," replied the Crow,
" and never sing without my Music,
but since you press me — . At
the same time, I should add that I
have read ^sop, and been there
before." So saying, she deposited
the Cheese in a safe Place on the
Limb of the Tree, and favored him
with a Song. "Thank you," ex-
claimed the Fox, and trotted away,
with the Remark that Welsh Rab-
bits never agreed with him, and
were far inferior in Quality to the
animate Variety.

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•-8

MARK' TWAIN'S LIBRARY OF HUMOR.

r pJiii <. *!

Moral. — The foregoing Fable is supported by a whole Catling
Battery of Morals, We are taught (i) that it Pays to take the
Fapt-rs; (2) that Invitation is not Always the Sincerest Flattery;
(3) that a Stalled Rabbit with (^Contentment is better than No
Bread, and (4) that the Aim of Art is to Conceal Disappoint-
ment.

A WELL-DRESSED negro applied to the judge of probate of this
city for a marriage license. Being asked how old his intend-
ed was, he answered with great animation, "Just sixteen, judge
— sweet sixteen, and de handsomest girl in town." The judge
said he could not do it, as the law forbade him to issue license to
any one under eighteen. " Well, hold on, judge," exclaimed the
man, " I know dat dem girls am deceitful, and lie about deir age.
She is nineteen, if a day." "Will you swear to it?" asked the
judge. "Yes, sah," he replied, and did. "And how old are
you?" said the judge. The chap looked suspicious, and repliea
cautiously, " Thirty-five," and added, " If dat won't do, judge, I've
got more back." — Newspaper,

JM1-. ,i„»l,H!,'J J

EUROPEAN DIET, j/u

EUROPEAN DIET.

BY MARK TWAIN.

A MAN accustomed to American food and American domestic
cookery would not starve to death suddenly in Europe; but I
think he would gradually waste away, and eventually die.

He would have to do without his accustomed morning meal.
That is too formidable a change altogether; he would necessarily
suffer from it. He could get the shadow, the sham, the base ^
counterfeit of that mealf but that would do him no good, and
money could not buy the reality. ^

To particularize: the average American's simplest and com-
monest form of breakfast consists of coffee and beefsteak ; well,
in Europe, coffee is an unknown beverage. You can get what
the European holf'l keeper thinks is coffee, but it resembles the
real thing as hypocrisy resembles holiness. It is a feeble, char-
acterless, uninspiring sort of stuff, and almost as undrinkable as
if it had been made in an American hotel. The milk used for it
is what the French call " Christian" milk — milk which has been
baptized.

After a few months' acquaintance with European "coffee,
one's mind weakens, and his faith with it, and he begins to won-
der if the rich beverage of home, with its clotted layer of yellow
cream on lop of it is not a mere dream, after all, and a thing
which never existed.

Next comes the European bread — fair enough, good enough,
after a fashion, but cold; cold and tough, and unsympathetic;
and never any change, never any variety — always the same tire-
some thing.

Ne.\% the butter — the sham and tasteless butter; no salt in it,
and made of goodness knows what.

Then there is the beefsteak. They have it in Europe, but they
don't know how to cook it. Neither will they cut it right. It
comes on the table in a small, round, pewter platter. It lies in
the centre of this platter, in a bordering bed of grease-soaked
potatoes; it is the size, shape, and thickness of a man's hand with
the thun. . and fingers cut off. It is a little overdone, is rather
dry, it tastes pretty insipidly, it rouses no enthusiasm.

lii

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MA HA' nVALV'S L//iA'AA'V OF HUMOR.

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Imagine a poor exile contemplating that inert thing; and imag-
ine an angel suiklenly sweeping down out of a better land and
setting I)efore him a mighty porter-house steak an inch anil a
half thick, hot and sputtering from the griddle; dusted with

fragrant pepper ;
enriched with little
melting hits of but-
ter of the most un-
impeachable fresh-
ness and genuine-
ness; the precious
juices of the meat
trickling out and
joining the gravy,
archipela.<roed with
mushrooms ; a
township or two of
tender, yellowish
fat gracing an out-
lying district of
this ample county
of beefsteak ; the
long white bone
which divides the
sirloin from the
tenderloin still in
its place; and im-
agine thai the angel
also adds a great
cup of American
home-mide coffee,
with the cream
a-f roth on t o j) ,
some real butter,
firm and yellow
and fresh, some
smoking hot biscuits, a plate of hot liuckwheat cakes, with trans-
parent syrup — could words describe the gratitude of this exile?

The European dinner is better than the European breakfast,
but it has its faults and inferiorities; it does not satisfy. He

A FRENCH COOK.

EUROPEAN DIET.

231

comes to the table eager and hungry; he swallows his soup —
there is an undcfinable lack about it somewhere; thinks the fish
is going to be the thing he wants — eats it and isn't sure; thinks
the next dish is perhaps the one that will hit the himgry place —
tries it, and is conscious that there was a something wanting
about it also. And thus he goes on, from dish to dish, like a
boy after a butterfly, which just misses getting caught, every
time it alights, but somehow doesn't get caught after all; and
at the end the exile and the boy have fared about alike: the
one is full, but grievously unsatisfied, the other has hatl plenty of
exercise, plenty of iuterci:^, and a fine lot of hopes, but he hasn't
got any butterfly. There is here ard there an Am rican who
will say he can remember rising from a Europeai. table d' hote
perfectly satisfied; but we must not overlook the fact that there
is also here and there an American who will lie,

The number of dishes is sufficient; but, then, it is such monot-
onous variety of unsirikifig dishes. It is an inane di 1 1 level of
"fair-to-middling." There is nothing to accent it. Perhaps 'f
the roast of mutton or of beef — a big generous one — were
brought on the table and carved in full view of the client, that
might give the right sense of earnestness and reality to the
thing, but they don't do that; they pass the sliced meat around
on a dish, and, so you are perfectly calm, it does not stir you in
the least. Now a vast roast turkey, stretcher', on the broad of
his back, with his heels in the air and the rich juices oozing from
his fat sides . . . But I may as well stop there, for they
would not know how to cook him. They can't even cook a
chicken respectably; and as for carving it, they do that with a
hatchet.

This is about the customary tabie 'V hote bill in summer:

Soup (characterless).

Fish — sole, salmon or whiting — usually tolerably good.

Roast— mutton or beef— vasteless — and some last year's
potatoes.

A pate, or some other made-dish — usually good — " consider
ing."

One vegetable — brought on in state, and all alone — usually
insipid lentils, or string beans, or indifferent asparagus.

Roast chicken, as tasteless as paper.

Lettuce-salad — tolerably good.

a/'" , ' Aft,,!

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232

MARK TWAIN'S LIBRARY OF HUMOR.

Decayed strawberries or cherries.

Sometimes the apricots and figs are fresh, but this is no advan-
tage, as these fruits are of no account anyway.

The grapes are generally good, and sometimes there is a toler-
ably good peach, by mistake.

The variations of the above bill are trifling. After a fortnight
one discovers that the variations are only apparent, not real; in
the third week you get what you had the first, and in the fourth
week you get what you had the second. Three or four months
of this weary sameness will kill the robustest appetite.

It has now been many months, at the present writing, since I
have had a nourishing meal, but I shall soon have one — a mod-
est, private affair, all to myself. I have selected a few dishes,
and made out a little bill of fare — which will go home in the
steamer that precedes me, and be hot when I arrive — as fol'ows:

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Radishes. Baked apples, with cream.

Fried oysters ; stewed oysters. Frogs.

American coffee, with real cream.

Americnn butter.

Fried chicken, Southern style.

Porter-house steak.

Saratoga potatoes.

Broiled chicken, American style.

Hot biscuits. Southern style.

Hot wheat -bread. Southern style.

Hot buckwheat cakes.

American toast. Clear maple syrup.

Virginia bacon, broiled.

Blue-points, on the hall shell

Cherry-stone clams.

San Francisco mussels, steamed.

Oyster soup. Clam soup.

Philadelphia Terrapin soup.

Oysters roasted in shell — Northern

style.
Soft-shell crabs. Connecticut shad.
Baltimore perch.

Brook trout, from Sierra Nevadas.
Lake trout, from Tahoe.
Sheep-head and croakers, from New

Orleans.
Black bass from the Mississippi.
American roast beef.
Roast turkey. Thanksgiving style.

Cranberry sauce. Celery.

Roast wild turkey. Woodcock.

Canvas-back duck, from Baltimore.

Prairie hens, from Illinois.

Missouri partridges, broiled.

'Possum. Coon.

Boston bacon and beans.

Bacon and greens, Southern style.

Hominy. Boiled onions. Turnips.

Pumpkin. Squash. Asparagus.

Butter beans. Sweet potatoes.

Lettuce. Succotash. String beans.

Mashed potatoes. Catsup.

Boiled potatoes, in their skins.

New potatoes, minus the skins.

Early Rose potatoes, roasted in the
ashes, Southern style, served hot.

Sliced tomatoes, with sugar or vinegar.
Stewed tomatoes.

Green corn, cut from the ear and ser-
ved with butter and pepper.

Green corn, on the ear.

Hot corn-pone, with chitlings. South-
ern style.

Hot hoc-cake. Southern style.

Hot egg-bread. Southern style.

Hot light-bread. Southern style.

Buttermilk. Iced sweet milk.

Apple dumplings, with real cream.

i WJfftf^SSil! I.-iMi

EUROPEAN DIET.

^Zl

Apple pie. Apple fritters.
Apple puffs, Southern style,
leach cobbler, Southern style.

Peach pie. American mince pie.
Pumpkin pie. Squash pie.
All sorts of American jjastry.

Fresh American fruits of all sorts, mcluding strawberries, which are not to be
doled out as if they were jewelry, but in a more liberal way.

Ice-water — not prepared in the ineffectual goblet, but in the sincere and
capable refrigerator.

Americans intending to spend a year or so in European hotels,
will do well to copy this bill and carry it along. They will find
it an excellent thing to get up an appetite with, in the dispiriting
presence of the squalid table d' hote.

We read that Esaw sold out hiz birth rite for soup, and menny
wonder at hiz extravegance, but Esaw diskovered arly, what
menny a man haz diskovered since, that it iz hard work tew live
on a pedigree.

If i waz starving, I wouldn't hesitate tew swap oph all the pedi-
gree I had, and all mi rel^ashuns had, for a quart of pottage, and
throw two grate grandfathers into the bargain.

Josh Billings.

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234 MARK TWAIN'S LIBRARY OF HUMOR.

THE VACATION OF MUSTAPHA

nv ROBERT J. BURDETTE.

Now in the sixth month, in the reign of the good Caliph, it was
so that Miistapha said, "I am* wearied with much work; thought,

care and worry have worn me
out; I need repose, for the hand
i\v\|'\\ of exhaustion is upon me, and

I ' iv death even now Heth at the dooi-."

I'iii' "v^ And he called his physician,

H„ A who felt of his pulse and looked
\i\ upon his tongue and said:

" TWODOLLAHS !"

" Twodollahs ! " (For this was the oath by which all physi-
cians swore.) " Of a verity thou must have rest. Flee unto the
valley of quiet, and close thine eyes in dreamful rest; hold back
thy l)rain from thought and thy hand from labor, or you will be
a candidate for the asylum in three wtek . **

I'wr y T'g - -M? M

v mrmxi JMs mn i Km

THE VACATION OF MUSTAPHA.

235

And he heard him, and went out and put the business in the
hands of the clerk, and went away to rest in the valley of quiet.
And he went to his Uncle Ben's, whom he had not seen for lo I
these fourteen years. Now, his Uncle Ben was a farmer, and
abode in the valley of rest, and the mountains of repose rose
round about him. And he was rich, and well favored, and strong
as an ox, and healthy as an onion crop. Ofttimes he boasted
to his neighl)ors that there was not a lazy bone in his body, and
he swore that he hated a lazy man.

And Mustapha wist not tha' »c was so.

But when he reached his»Uncle Ben's they received him with ■
great joy, and placed before him a supper of homel)' viands well
cooked, and piled up on his plate like the wreck of a box-car.
Aiid when he could not eat all, they laughed him to scorn.

And after supper they sat up with him and talked with him
about relatives whereof he had never, in all his life, so much as
heard. And he answered their questions at random, and lied
unto them, professing to know Uncle Ezra and Aunt Bethesda,
and once he said that he had a letter from Uncle George last
week.

Now they all knew that Uncle George was shot in a neighbor's
sheep pen, three years ago, but Mustapha wist not that it was so,
and he was sleepy, and only talked to fill up the time. And then
they talked politics to him, and he hated politics. So about one
o'clock in the morning they sent him to bed.

Now the spare room wherein he slept was right under the
roof, and there were ears and bundles of ears of seed corn hung
from the rafters, and he bunged his eyes with the same, and he
hooked his chin in festoons of dried apples, and shook dried
herbs and seeds down his back as he walked along, for it was
dark. And when he sat up in bed in the night he ran a scythe
in his ear.

And it was so that the four boys slept with him, for the bed
was wide. And they were restless, and slumbered crosswise and
kicked, so that ISIustapha slope not a wink that night, neither
closed he his eyes.

And about the fourth hour after midnight his Uncle Ben smote
him on the back and spake unto him, saying:

" Awake, arise, rustle out of this and wash your face, for thr
liver and bacon are fried and the l)reakfast waiteth. You wils

236 MARK TWAIN'S LIBRARY OF HUMOR.

find the well down at the other end of the cow-lot. Take a towel
with you."

When thjy had eaten, his Uncle Ben spake unto him, saying:
<'Come, let us stroll around the farm."

And they walked about eleven miles. And his Uncle Een sat
him upon a wagon and taught him how to load hay. Then they
drove into lUc barn, imd he taught him how to unload it. Then
they gird', J up their loins and walked four miles, even into the
forest, tni 1 \ s Uncle Bun taught him how to chop wood, and
I then walked back to supper. And the mo.-.iing and the evening
were the first day, and r.Iustapha wished that he were dead.

And after supper his Uncle Ben spoke once more, and said:
"Come, let us have some fun." And so they hooked up a team
and drove nine miles, down to Belcher's Branch, where there was
a hop. And they danced until the second hour in the morning.

When the next day was come — which wasn't long, for already
the night was far spent — his Uncle Ben took him out and taught
him how to make rail fence. And that night there was a wed-
ding, and they danced, and made merry, and drank, and ate, and
when they went to bed at three o'clock, Mustapha prayed that death
might come to him before breakfast-time. But breakfast had an
early start, and got there first. And his Uncle Ben took him
down to the creek, and taught him how to wash and shear sheep.
And when evening was come they went to spelling-school, and
they got home at the first hour after midnight, and Uncle Ben
marveled that it was so early. And he lighted his pipe, and sat
up for an hour and told Mustapha all about the forty acres he
bought last spring of old Mcsey Stringer, to finish out that north
half, and al)out the new colt that was foaled last spring.

And when Mustapha went to bed that morning he bethought
himself of a dose of st-ychnine he had with him, and he said his
prayers wearily, and he took it.

But the youngest boy was restless that night, and kickeri all
the poison out of him in less then ten seconds.

And in the morning, while it was yet night, they ate breakfast.
And his Uncle Ben took him out and taught him how to dig a
ditch.

And when evening was come there was a revival meeting at
Ebenezer Methodist church, and they all went. And there were
three regular preachers and two exhc/ters, and a Baptist evangel-

i% ' <

H ^ jf ' ..»it ' 1 jii 'Tr.Mm a. i LimMa. ' ..-m ' jmj i . fragr^jfwBr.'""^-.'* . ' '. ''■^■iP B "

THE VACATION OF MUSTAPHA.

237

ist. And when midnight was come, they went home and sat up
and talked over the meeting until it was bed-time.

Now, when Mustapha was at home, he left his desk at the fifth
hour in the afternoon, and he went to bed at the third hou-

, {(^

y^ ' *^k.

HE SMOTE HIM.

after sunset, and he arose not until the sun was high in the
heavens.

So the next day, when his Uncle Ben would take him out into
the field and show him how to make a post-and-rail fence,

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238

AfAX/C TWAIN'S LIBRARY OF HUMOR.

Mustapha would swear at him, and smote him with an axe-helve
and fled, and got himself home.

And Mustapha sent for his physician and cursed him. And
hi^ said he was tired to death; he turned hi.> tace to ihe wall and
died. So Mustapha was gathered to his fathers.

And his pi ysician and his friends m.jurnt .1 and liaid. '* /Mas,
he did not rest soon enough. H«- tarrict vX hi;- lesl-. lou i m ,."

But his Uncle Ben, vho came in to aiund the funeral, uiid had
to do all his weeping out of on.: eye, lecause the other was
blacked half way down to h s chin, siid it was a pity, but Mus-
tapha was too awfully lazy to live, and he bad no get up a! jut
him.

But Mustapha wist not what they said, becaust he was dead.
So they divided his property amci-g ih»m, ar.<i saia if he wanted
a tombstone he miyht have attended to it hmiself, while he was
yet alive, because they had no time. — Burlington Hawkeye.

What the milkman said when he found a fish in the lacteal
fluid: •' Good heavens ! the brindle cow has been in swimming
again. " — Newspaper.

,■ >'

Brf3r!B>a»-j^F^J-w<r<»JHi»y?i*'V*^??pg(

wr-eii-™T ! '• **"

THE FIRST PIANO IN A MIJJING CAMP.

'39

THE FIRST PIANO IN A MINING CAMP.

BY SAM DAVIS.

(Y)R. SAMUEL DAVIS was formerly a reporter for the San Fiancisco
^^ Argonaut, and is now the editor of the Carson Appeal.

In 1858 — it might have been five years earlier or later; this is
not the history for the public schools — there was a little camp
about ten miles from Pioche, occupied by upwards of three hun-
dred miners, every one of*whom might have packed his prospect-
ing implements and left for more inviting fields any time before
sunset. When the day was over, these men did not rest from
their labors, like the honest New England agriculturist, but sang,
danced, gambled, and shot each other, as the mood seized them.

One evening the report spread along the main street (which
was the only street) that three men had been killed at Silver
Reef, and that the bodies were coming in. Presently a lumber-
ing old conveyance labored up the hill, drawn by a couple of
horses, well worn out with their pull. The cart contained a
good-sized box, and no sooner did its outlines become visible,
through the glimmer of a stray light here and there, than it
began to affect the idlers. Death always enforces respect, and
even though no one had caught sight of the remainr, the crowd
gradually became subdued, and when the horses came to a stand-
still, the cart was immediately surrounded. The driver, however,
was not in the least impressed with the solemnity of his commission.

** All there?" asked one.

" Haven't examined. Guess so."

The driver filled his pipe, and lit it as he continued :

*' Wish the bones and load had gone over the grade ! "

A man who had been looking on stepped up to the man at once.

**I don't know who you have in that box, but if they happen
to be any friends of mine, I'll lay you alongside."

"We can mighty soon see," said the teamster, coolly. "Just burst
'he lid off, and if they happen to be the men you want, I'm here."

The two looked at each other for a moment, and then the crowd
gathered a little closer, anticipating trouble.

" I believe that dead men are entitled to good treatment, and
when you talk about hoping to see corpses go over a bank, all

\ \

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240

UfARK TWAIN'S LIBRARY OF HUMOR.

1 liave to say is, that it will be better for you if the late lamented
ain't my friends."

" We'll open the box. I don't take back what I've said, and if my
language don't suit your ways of thinking, I guess I can stand it."

With these words the teamster began to pry up the lid. He
got a board off, and then pulled out some old rags. A strip of
something da: 1:. iike rosewood, presented itself.

" Eastern coffins, by thunder ! " said several, and the crowd
looked quite astonished.

Some more boards flew up, and the man who was ready to
defend his friend's memory shifted his weapon a little. The
cool manner of the teamster had so irritated him that he had
made up his mind to pull his weapon at the first sight of the
dead, even if the deceased was his worst and oldest enemy.
Presently the whole of the box cover was off, and the teamster,
cleariniij: away the packing revealed to the astonished group the
top of somethuig which puzzled all alike

" Boys," said he, " this is a pianner."

A general shout of laughter went up, and the man who had
been so anxious to enforce respect for the dead, muttered some-
thing about feeling dry, and the keeper of the nearest bar was
several ounces better off by the time the boys had given the joke
all the attention it called for.

Had a dozen dead men been in the box, their presence in the
camp could not have occasioned half the excitement that the
arrival of that lonely piano caused. By the next morning it was
known that the instrument was to grace a Imrdy-gurdy saloon,
owned by Tom Goskin, the leading gambler in the place. It
took nearly a week to get this wonder on its legs, and the owner
was the proudest individual in the State. It rose gradually from
a recumbent t(} an upright position amid a confusion of tongues,
after the manner of the tower of Babel.

Of course everybody knew nist how such an instrument
should be put up. One knew where the "off hind leg" should
^ go, and another was posted on the " front piece."

Scores of men came to the jjlace every day to assist.

" I'll put the bones in good order."

" If you want the wires tuned up, I'm the boy."

" I've got music to feed it for a month."

Another brought a pair of blankets for a cover, and all took the
liveliest interest in it. It was at last in a condition for business.

THE FIRST PIANO IN A MINING CAMP.

241

" It's been showin' its teeth all the week. We'd like to have it
spit out something."

Alas ! there wasn't a man to be found who could play upon
the instrument. Goskin began to realize that he had a losing
speculation on his hands. He had a fiddler, and a Mexican who
thrummed a guitar. A pianist would have made his orchestra
complete. One day a three-card monte player told a friend con-
fidential); mat he could " knock any amount of music oui of the
piano, if he only had it alone a few hours, to get his hand in."
This report spread about the camp, but on being questioned he

vowed that he didn't know a note of music. It was noted, how-

. . . »•

ever, as a suspicious circumstance, that he often hung about the

instrument, and looked upon it longingly, like a hungry man

gloating over a beefsteak in a restaurant window. There was no

doubt but that this man had music in his soul, perhaps in his

fingers'-ends, but did not dare to make trial of his strength after

the rules of harmony had suffered so many years of neglect. So

the fiddler kept on with his jigs, and the greasy Mexican pawed

his discordant guitar, but no man had the nerve to touch the

piano. There were, doubtless, scores of men in the camp who

would have given ten ounces of gold dust to have been half an hour

alone with it, but every man's nerve shrank from the jeers which

the crowd would shower upon him should his first attempt prove

a failure. It got to be generally understood that the hand which

first essayed to draw music from the keys must not slouch its

work.

********

It was Chtistmas Eve, and Goskin, according to his custom,
had decorated his gambling hell with sprigs of mountain cedar,
and a shrub whose crimson berries did not seem a bad imitation
of English holly. The piano was covered with evergreens, and
all that was wanting to completely fill the cup of Goskin's con-
tentment was a man to play the instrument.
, "Christmas night, and no piano-pounder," he said. "This is
a nice country for a Christian to live in."

Getting a piece of paper, he scrawled the words :

$20 Reward
To a compitant Pianer Player.

Thi.T he stuck upon the music-rack, and, though the inscription

I ■!■

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MAKK TWAIN'S UDJiAJ<Y OF JJiWIuR.

, 11- ■

glared at the frcciuentcrs of the room until inidnijjht, it failed to
draw any musician from his shell.

So the merry-niakiiij( went on ; the hilarity oa-w apace. Men

GIVING THEM A RATTLE.

danced and sang to the music of the squeaky fiddle and worn-out
guitar, as the jolly crowd within tried to drown the howling of
the storm without. Suddenly they became aware of the presence
of a white-haired man, crouching near the fire-place. His gar-

THE FIPST riANO IN A MINING CAMP.

243

ments — such as were left — were wet with melting snow, and he
had a half- starved, half-crazed expression. He held his thin,
trembling hands toward the fire, and the light of the blazing wood
made them almost transparent. He looked about him once in a
while, as if in search of something, and his presence cast such a
chill over the place that graduall) the sound of the revelry was
hushed, and it seemed that this waif of the storm had brought in
with it all of the gloom and coldness of the warring elements.
Goskin, mixing up a cup of hot egg-nogg, advanced and remarked
cheerily :

" Here, stranger, brace Aip ! This is the real stuff."
The man drained the cup, smacked his lips, and seemed more
at home.

" Been prospecting, eh ? Out in the mountains — caught in the
storm ? Lively night, this ! "
" Pretty bad," said the man.
«' Must feel pretty dry?"

The man looked at his streaming clothes and laughed, as if
Goskin's remark was a sarcasm.
" How long out ? "
"Four days."
"Hungry?"

The man rose up, and walking over to the lunch counter, fell
to work upon some roast bear, devouring it like any wild animal
would have done. As meat and drink and warmth began to per-
meate the stranger, he seemed to expand and lighten up. His
features lost their pallor, and he grew more and more content
with the idea that he was not in the grave. As he underwent
these changes, the people about him got merrier and happier,
and threw off the temporary feeling of depression which he had
laid upon them.

*' Do you always have your place decoraicd like this ? " he
finally asked of Goskin.

*■' This is Christmas Eve," was the reply.
The stranger was startled.
" December twenty- fourth, sure enough."
"That's the way I put it up, pard."

" When I was in England I always kept Christmas. But I
had forgotten that this was the night. I've been wandering about
in the mountains until I've lost track of the feasts of the church."
Presently his eye fell upon the piano.

I* •■■ \\\

244

MAJiJC TWAJiV'S LIBRARY OF UliUOu.

/. ^

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* i

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♦' Where's the player ? " he asked.

" Never had any," said Goskin, blushing at the expression.

'• I used to play when I was youny."

Goskin almost fainted at the admission.

" Stranger, do tackle it, and give us a tune ! Nary man in this
camp ever had the nerve to wrestle with that music-box." His
pulse beat faster, for he feared that the man would refuse.

" I'll do the best I can," he said.

There was no stool, but seizing a candle-box, he drew it up
and seated himself before the instrument. It only required a
few seconds for a hush to come over the room.

"That old coon is going to give the thing a rattle.'*

The sight of a man at the piano was something so unusual
that even the faro-dealer, who was about to take in a fifty-dollar
bet on the trey, paused and did not reach for the money. Men
stopped drinking, with the glasses at their lips. Conversation
appeared to have been struck with a sort of paralysis, and cards
were no longer shuffled.

The old man brushed back his long white locks, looked up to
the ceiling, half closed his eyes, and in a mystic sort of reverie
passed his fingers over the keys. He touched but a single note,
yet the sound thrilled the room. It was the key to his improvi-
sation, and as he wove his chords together the music laid its
spell upon every ear and heart. He felt his way along the keys,
like a man treading uncertain paths ; but he gained confidence
as he progressed, and presently bent to his work like a master.
The instrument was not in exact tune, but the ears of his
audience, through long disuse, did not detect anything radically
wrong. They heard a succession of grand chords, a suggestion
of paradise, melodies here and there, and it was enough.

"See him counter with his left!" said an old rough,
enraptured.

" He calls the turn every time on the upper end of the board,"
responded a man with a stack of chips in his hand.

The player wandered oil into the old ballads they had heard
at home. All the sad and melancholy and touching songs, that
came up like dreams of childhood, this unknown player drew
from the keys. His hands kneaded their hearts like dough, and
squeezed out tears as from a wet sponge. As the strains flowed
one upon the other, they saw their homes of the long ago reared

THE FIRST PIANO IN A MINING CAMP.

245

lard
that
Irew
land
Iwed
ired

again ; they were playing once more where the apple blossoms
sank through the soft air to join the violets on fhe green turf of
the old New England States ; they saw the glories of the Wis-
consin maples and the haze of the Indian summer blending their
hues together ; they recalled the heather of Scottish hills, the

GONE.

white cliffs of Britain, and heard the sullen roar of the sea, as it
beat upon their memories, vaguely. Then came all the old
Christmas carols, such as they had sung in church thirty years
before ; the subtile music that brings up the glimmer of wax
tapers, the solemn shrines, the evergreen, holly, misletoe, and

■%

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III

246

MA/?/sr TWAIN'S LIBRARY OF HUMOR.

surpliced choirs. Then the remorseless performer planted his
final stab in every heart with " Home, Sweet Home."

When the player ceased, the crowd slunk away from him.
There was no more revelry and devilment left in his audience.
Each man wanted to sneak off te his cabin and write the old folks
■a letter. The day was breaking as the last man left the place,
and the player, laying his head down on the piano, fell asleep.

"I say, pard," said Goskin, "don't you want a little rest?"

" I feel tired," the old man said. "Perhaps you'll let me rest
here for the matter of a day or so."

He walked behind the bar, where some old blankets were lying,
and stretched himself upon them.

**I feel pretty sick. I guess I won't last long. I've got a
brother down in the ravine — his name's Driscoll. Hu don't know
I'm here. Can you get him before morning. I'd like to see his
face once before I die."

Goskin started up at the mention of the name. He knew
Driscoll well.

" He your brother ? I'll have Tiim here in half an hour."

As he dashed out into the storm the musician pressed his hand
to his sidej.nd groaned. Goskin heard the word ** Hurry ! " and
sped down the ravine to Driscoll's cabin. It was quite light in
the room when the two men returned. Driscoll was pale as death.

" My God ! I hope he's alive ! I wronged him when we lived
in England, twenty years ago."

They saw the old man had drawn the blankets over his face,
The two stood a moment, awed by the thought that he might be
dead. Goskin lifted the blanket, and pulled it down astonished.
There was no one there !

'♦ Gone ! " cried Driscoll, wildly.

" Gone ! " echoed Goskin, pulling out his cash-drawer. " Ten
thousand dollars in the sack, and the Lord knows how much
loose change in the drawer ! "

The next day the boys got out, followed a horse's tracks through
the snow, and lost them in the trail leading towards Pioche. \

There was a man missing from the camp. It was the three-
card monte man, who used to deny point-blank that he could
play the scale. One day they found a wig of white hair, and
called to mind when the "stranger" had pushed those locks
back when he looked toward the ceiling for inspiration, on the
night of DeccmlxM- 24, 1S58.

" Tg t '- j ," 'J' -J "

DARIVS GREEN AND HIS FL YING MACHINE. 247

DARIUS GREEN AND HIS FLYING-MACHINE.

BY J. T. TROWiiRUJ.,

^ T. TROWBRIDGE, best known, perhapj, by luj stories for boys, but cini-
notit a-i c po>.t, novelist and dramatist, was boi ,1 at 0;jden, N. Y.. in 1827,
and began t ) write lor tlie New York press while sull i.\ his toens. At twenty
he went to lioston, in and near which city he has ever since lived.

If ever there lived a Yankee lad,
Wise or otherwise, good or bad,
Who, seeing the birds fly, didn't jump
With flapping arms from stake or stump,

Or, spreading the tail

Of his coat for a sail,
Take a soaring leap from post or rail,

And wonder why

He couldn't fly.
And flap and flutter, and wish and try —
If ever you knew a country dunce
Who didn't try that as often as once,
All I can say is, that's a sign
He never would do for a hero of mine.

i < (t

■ H

An aspiring genius was D. Green:

The son of a farmer — age fourteen;

His body was long and lank and lean —

Just right for flying, as will be seen;

He had two eyes as bright as a bean,

And a freckled nose that grew between,

A little awry — for I must mention

That he had riveted his attention

Upon his wonderful invention,

Twisting his tongue as he twisted the strings

And working his face as he worked the wings,

And with every tiu'n of gimlet and screw

Turning and screwing his mouth round too,

Till his nose seemed bent

To catch the scent,
Akound some corner, of new-baked pies,

\ 1

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248 MAH/C TWAIN'S LIBRARY OF HUMOR.

And his wrinkled cheeks and his squinting eyes,
Grew puckered into a queer grimace,
That made him look very droll in the face,

And also very wise.
And wise he must have been, to do more
Than ever a genius did before.
Excepting Daedalus of yore
And his son Icarus, who wore

Upon their backs

Those wings of wax
He had read of in the old almanacks.
Darius was clearly of the opinion,
That the air was also man's dominion,
And that, with paddle or fin or pinion.

We soon or late

Should navigate
The azure as now we sail the sea.
The thing looks simple enough to me;

And if you doubt it.
Hear how Darius reasoned about it.

" The birds can fly.

An' why can't I?

Must we give in,"

Says he with a grin,

" 'T the bluebird an' phoebe

Are smarter'n we be ?
Jest fold our hands an' see the swaller
An' blackbird an' catbird beat us holler?
Doos the leetle chatterin', sassy wren,
No bigger'n my thumb, know more than men *

Jest show me that!

Er prove't the bat
Hez got more brains than's in my hat,
An' I'll back down, an* not till then!"

He argued further: " Ner I can't see
What's th' use o' wings to a bumble-bee,
Fer to git a livin' with, more'n to me —

Ain't my business

Importanter'n his'n is ?

DARIUS GREEN AND HIS FLYING MACHINE.

" That Icarus

Was a silly cuss —
Him an' his daddy Daedalus.
They might 'a' knowed wings made o' wax
"Wouldn't Stan' sun-heat an' hard whacks.

I'll make mine o' luther,

Er suthin' er other."

And he said to himself, as he tinkered and planned,
" But I ain't goin' to show my hand
To nummies that nevtr can understand
The fuHt. idee that's big an' grand.

They'd 'a' laft an' made fun
O' Creation itself afore't was done!"
So he kept his secret from all the rest,
Safely buttoned within his vestj
And in the loft above the shed
Himself he locks, with thimble and thread
And wax and hamm»er and buckles and screws.
And all such things a.~ geniuses use —
Two "bats for patterns, curious fellows 1
A charcoal-pot and a pair of bellows;
An old hoop-skirt or two, as well as
Some wire, and several old umbrellas ;
A carriage-cover, for tail and wings ;
A piece of harness; and strapi. :n.d strings ;

And a big strong box.

In which he locks
These and a hundred other things.

249

fill,

'.:» ■■■■^■■Kift

■ •■•: :'JM

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His grinning brothers, Reuben and Burke

And Nci':han and Jotham and Solomon, lurk

Around the corner to see him work —

Sitting c ross-legged, like a Turk,

Drawing the waxed-end through with a jerk,

And boring the holes with a comical quirk

Of his wise old head, and a knowing smirk.

But vainly they mounted each other's backs,

And poked through knot-holes and pried through cracics.

With wood from the pi' ^ and straw from the stocks

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250 MAH/C TH'-A/A/'S LIBRARY OF HUMOR.

He plugged the knot-holes and calked the cracks;
And a bucket of water, which one would think
He had brought up into the loft to drink

When he chanced to be dry.

Stood always nigh,

For Darius was sly!
And whenever at work he happened to spy
At chink or crevice a blinking eye,
He let a dipper of water fly.
" Take that! an' ef ever ye git a peep,
Guess ye'll ketch a weasel asleep!"

And he sings as he locks

His big strong box: —

SONG.

" The weasel's head is small an' trim,

An' he is leetle an' long an' slim,

An' quick of motion an' nimble of limb,

An' ef yeou'U be

Advised by me,
Keep wide awake when ye're ketchin' him!"

So day after day
He stitched and tinkered and hammered away,

Till at last 't was done —
The greatest invention under the sun!
"An' now," says Darius, "hooray fersome fun!'

'T was the Fourth of July,

And the weather was dry,
kui\ not a cloud was on all the sky,
Save a few light fleeces, which here and there,

Half mist, half air,
Likf foam on the ocean went floating by:
Just as lovely a morning as ever was nren
For a nice little trip in a flying machine.

Thought cunning Darius: "Now / sha'n't go
Along 'ith the fellows to see the show.

DARIUS GREEN AND HIS FLYING MACHINE. 25 1

I'll say I've got sich a terrible cough!
An' then, when the folks 'ave all gone off,

I'll hev full swing

Fcr to try the thing,
An' practyse a leetle on the wing,"

**■ Ain't goin' to see the celebration?"
Says Brother Nate, "No; botheration!
I've got sich a cold — a toothache — I —
My gracious! — feel's though I should fly!"

Said Jothant, "'Sho!

Guess ye better go,"

But Darius said, '* No!
Shouldn't wonder 'f yeou might see me, though,
'Long 'bout noon, ef I git red
O' this jumpin', thumpin' pain 'n my head,"
For all the while to himself he said: —

"'I tell ye what !
I'll fly a few times around tb-^ lot,
To see how't seems; then soon's I 've got
The hang o' the thing, ez likely 's not,

I'll astonish the nation^

An' all creation,
By flyin' over the celebration !
Over their heads I'll sail like an eagle;
I'll balance myself on my wings like a sea-gull;
I'll dance on the chimbleys; I'll stan' on the steeple;
I'll flop up to winders an' scare the people!
I'll light on the libbe'ty-pole, an' crow;
An' I'll say to the gawpin' fools below,
'What world's this 'ere
That I've come near ? '
Fer I'll make 'em b'lieve I'm a chap f m the moon
An' I'll try a race 'ith their ol' builoon! "

He crept from his bed;
And, seeing the others were gone, he said,
*' I'm a i^ittuV over the cold 'n my head."

And away he sped.
To open the wonderful box in the shed.

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AfAEK TWAIN'S LIBRARY OF HUMOR.

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His brothers liad walked but a little way,

When Jotham to Nathan chanced to say,

"What on airth is he up to, hey ?"

" Don'o' — the' 's suthin' er other to pay,

Er he wouldn't 'a' stayed to hum to-day."

Says Burke, " His toothache's all 'n his eye!

He never 'd miss a Fo'th-o'-July,

Ef he hedn't got some machine to try."

Then Sol, the little one, spoke: " By darn I

Le's hurry back an' hide'n the barn,

An' pay him for tellin' us that yarn! "

" Agreed!" Through the orchard they creep,

Along by the fences, beiund the stack,

And one by one, through a hole in the wall,

In under the dusty barn they criwA,

Dressed in their Sunday garments all;

And a very astonishing sight Wiis that.

When each in his cobwebbed coat and hat

Came n\) through the floor like an ancient rat.

And there they hid;

And Reuben slid
The fastenings back, and" the door undid.

"Keep dark! " said he,
*' While I squint an' see what the' is to see."

As knights of old put on their mail —

Prom head to foot

An iron suit.
Iron jacket and iron boot,
Iron breeches, and on the head
No hat, but an iron pot instead,

a-.(l under the chin the bail —
I believe they ^ lied the thing a helm;
And the lid they carried they called a shield;
Ard, thus accoutred, they took the field.
Sallying forth to overwhelm
The dragons and pagans that plagued the realm-

So this modern knight
Prepared for flight.

DARIUS GREEN AND HIS FLYING MACHINE.

253

Put on his wings and strapped them tight;
Jointed and jaunty, strong and light;
Buckled them fast to shoulder and hip —
Ten feet they measured from tip to tip!
And a helm had he, but that he wore,
Not on his head like those of yore.
But more like the helm of a ship.

" Hush! " Reuben said,

*' He's up in the shed!
He's opened the winder — I see his headl

He stretches it out

And pokes it about,
Lookin' to see 'f the coast is clear,

An' nobody .car —
Guess he don'o' who's hid in here!
He's riggin' a spring-board over the sill!
Stop laffin', Solomon! Burke, keep still!
He's a climbin' out now — Of all the things!
What's he got on ? T vow, it's wings!
An' that t'other thing ? I vum, it's a tail!
An' there he sets like a hawk on a rail!
Steppin' careful, he travels the length

.. his spring-board, and teeters to try its strength.
Now ha stretches his wings, like a monstrous bat;
Peeks over his shoulder this way an' that,
Fer to see 'f the' 's any one passin' by;
But the' 's on'y a ca'f an' a goslin nigh.
They turn up at him a wonderin' eye,
To see — The dragon! he's goin' to fly!
Away he goes! Jimminy! what a jump!

Flop — flop — an' plump

To the ground with a thump!
F'.Jtteriin' an' flound'rin', all'n a lump! "

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As a demon is hurled by an angel's spear.
Heels over head, to his proper sphere —
Heels over head, and head over heels,
Dizzily down the abyss he wheels —
So fell Darius. Upon his crown,

254. Jtr,4/!Ar T'rVAJN'S LIDKARY QF HUMOR.

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THE COLLAPSE OF THE FLYING MACHINE.

In the midst of the barn-yard, he came down,

In a wonderful whirl of tanj^lcd strings,
Broken braces and broken springs,
Broken tail and broken wings,
Shooting-stars, and various things —

DARIUS GREEiV AND /IIS FLYING MACHINE,

Barn-yard litter of straw and chaff,

And mucli that wasn't so sweet by half.

Away with a bellow fled the calf.

And what was that ? Did the gosling laugh ?

'Tis a merry roar

From the old barn-door,
And he hears the voice of Jot ham crying,
" Say, D'rius! how de yeou like flyin' ? "

Slowly, ruefully, where he lay,

Darius just turnecf and looked that wciv,

As he stanched his sorrowful nose with his cuff.

" Wall, I like flyin' well enough,"

He said; " but the' ain't sich a thunderin' sight

O' fun in't when ye come to light."

'55

MORAL.

I just have room for the moral here:
And this is the moral— Stick to your sphere.
Or, if you insist, as you have the nght,
On spreading your wings for a loftier flight,
The moral is — Take care how you light.

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256 iW-^iPA" riVji rAT S I. f/iRA A' Y OF HUMOR.

PLUMBERS.

BY CHARLES DUDLEY . Af.NER.

Speaking of the philosophical temper, there is no class of men
whoso society is more to be desircil for this quality than that ot
plumbers. They are the most agreeable men ' know; and the

boys in the business n to be agree-

j!!:!^r^>-"^^^, able very early. I s. /.ect the secret of

.C >.^lk - jj. jg^ j.jj^j^ ^j^^y ^j.^^. agreeable by the hour.

In the dryest days my fountain became
disabled : thr pipe was stopped up. A
couple of plumbers, with th.; implements
of their craft, came out to view the situa-
tion. There was a good deal of differ-
ence of opinion about where the stoppage
was. I found the plumbers perfecMy will-
ing to sit down and talk about it — talk by
the hour. Some of their guesses and re-
marks were exceedingly ingenious; and
their general observations on other sub-
jects were excellent in their way, and
could hardly have been better if they had
been made by the job. The work drag-
ged a little — as it is apt to do by the
hour. The plumbers had occasion to
make me several visits. Sometimes they
would tind, upon arrival, that they had
forgotten some indispensable tool, and
one would go back to the shop, a mile and
a half, after it, and his companion would
await his return with the most exemplary
patience, and sit down and talk — always by the hour. I do not
know but it is a habit to have something wanted at the shop.
They seemed to me very good workmen, and always willing to
stop and talk about the job, or anything else, when I went
near them. Nor had they any of that impetuous hurry that is
said to be the bane of our American civilization. To their credit
be it said, that I never observed anything of it in them. They

THE PLUMBER.

Ill

PLUMBERS,

257

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can afford to wait. Two of them will sometimes wait nearly half
a day while a comrade goes for a tool. They are patient and
philosophical. It is a great pleasure to meet such men. One
only wishes there was some work he could do fur them by the
hour. There ought to be reciprocity. I think they have very
nearly solved the problem of Life: it is to work for other peo-
ple, never for yourself, and get your pay by the hour. You then
have no anxiety, and little work. If you do things by the job
you are perpetually driven: t hours are scourges. If you work
by the hour, you gently ^ the stream of Time, which is

always bearing you on ;» Pay, whether you make

any effort or not. Workin ,r tends to make one moral.

A plumber working by the j ^u, tr) ig to unscrew a rusty, refrac-
tory nut in a cramped position, where the tongs continually slip-
ped off, would swear; but I never heard one of them swear, or
exhibit the lecwt impatience at such a vexation, working by the
hour. Nothing can move a man who is paid by the hour. How
sweet the flight of time seems to his calm mind !

A MAN with a pot of green paint can stand where he pleases
on a ferry-boat. — Neivspaper.

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33 WEST MAIN STREET

WEBSTER, N.Y. MS80

(716) 873-4503

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258 MARJC TWAIN'S LIBRARY OF HUMOR.

THE REMARKABLE WRECK OF THE
"THOMAS HYKE."

BY FRANCIS RICHARD STOCKTON.

CTRANCIS RICHARD STOCKTON, a master in his peculiar sort of humor,
^ was born at Philadelphia in 1834, and was graduated from the Centrsd
High School. He learned wood-engraving, and wrote continuously, with
varying success, for many different magazines, achieving somewhat tardily the
fome due his unique and beautiful talent.

It was half-past one by the clock in the office of the Registrar
of Woes. The room was empty, for it was Wednesday, and the

Registrar always went home early on
Wednesday afternoons. He had made
that arrangement when he accepted the
office. He was willinjf to serve his fellow-
citizens in any suitpole position to which
he might be called, but he had private
interests which could not be neglected.
He belonged tj his country, but there
was a house in the country which be-
longed to him ; and there were a great
many things appertaining to that house
which needed attention, especially in
pleasant summer weather. It is true he
was often absent on afternoons which
did not fall on the Wednesday, but the
fact of his having appointed a particular
time for the furtherance of his outside
interests so emphasized their importance
that his associates in the office had no
difficulty in understanding that affairs
of such moment could not always be
attended to in a single afternoon of the
week.

But although the large room devoted

to the especial use of the Registrar

was unoccupied, there were other rooms connected with it

which were not in that condition. With the suite of offices

THE REGISTRAR OF WOES.

VI i

he
lar

REMARKABLE WRECK OF THE ''THOMAS HYKE**

259

to the left we have nothing to do, but will confine our attention
to a moderate-sized room to the right of the Registrar's office,
and connected by a door, now closed, with that large and hand-
somely furnished chamber. This was the office of the Clerk of
Shipwrecks, and it was at present occupied by five persons. One
of these was the clerk himself, a man of goodly appearance,
somewhere between twenty-five and forty-five years of age, and
of a demeanor such as might be supposed to belong to one who
had occupied a high position in state affairs, but who, by the
cabals of his enemies, had been forced to resign the great opera-
tions of statesmanship whitb he had been directing, and who
now stood, with a quite resigned air, pointing out to the populace
the futile and disastrous efforts of the incompetent one who was
endeavoring to fill his place. The Clerk of Shipwrecks had
never fallen from such a position, having never occupied one,
but he had acquired the demeanor referred to without going
through the preliminary exercises.

Another occupant was a very young man, the personal clerk of
the Registrar of Woes, who always closed all the doors of the
office of that functionary on Wednesday afternoons, and at other
times when outside interests demanded his principal's absence,
after which he betook himself to the room of his friend the
Shipwreck Clerk.

Then there was a middle-aged man named Mathers, also a
friend of the clerk, and who was one of the eight who had made
application for a sub-position in this department, which was now
filled by a man who was expected to resign when a friend of his,
a gentleman of influence in an interior county^ should succeed
in procuring the nomination as congressional representative of
his district of an influential politician, whoae election was con-
sidered assured in case certain expected action on the part of the
administration should bring his party into power. The person
now occupying the sub-position hoped then to get something
better, and Mathers, consequently, was very willing, while wait-
ing for the place, to visit the offices of the department and
acquaint himself with its duties.

A fourth person was J. George Watts, a juryman by profes-
sion, who had brought with him his brother-in-law, a stranger in
the city.

The Shipwreck Clerk had taken off his good coat, which he

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MARK TWAIN'S LIBRARY OF HUMOR.

had worn to luncheon, and had replaced it by a lighter garment
of linen, much bespattered with ink ; and he now produced a
cigar-box, containing six cigars.

"Gents," said he, "here is the fag end of a box of cigars.
It's not like having the pick of the box, but they are all I
have left."

Mr. Mathers, J. George Watts, and the brother-in-law each
took a cigar, with that careless yet deferential manner which

always distinguishes the treatee from
the treator ; and then the box was pro-
truded in an off-hand way toward Harry
Covare, the personal clerk of the Reg-
istrar ; but this young man declined,
saying that he preferred cigarettes, a
package of which he drew from his
pocket. He had very often seen that
cigar-box with a Havana brand, which
he himself had brought from the other
room after the Registrar had emptied it,
passed around with six cigars, no more
nor less, and he was wise enough to
know that the Shipwreck Clerk did not
expect to supply him with smoking
material. If that gentleman had offered
to the friends who generally dropped in
on him on ''' dnesday afternoon the
paper bag c ,ars sold at five cents
each when bought singly, but half a
dozen for a quarter of a dollar, they
woiid have been quite as thankfully
received ; but it better pleased his dep-
recative soul to put them in an empty
cigar-box, and thus throw around them the halo of the presump-
tion that ninety-four of their imported companions had been
smoked.

The Shipwreck Clerk, having lighted a cigar for himself, sat
down in his revolving chair, turned his back to his desk, and
threw himself into an easy cross-legged attitude, which showed
that he was perfectly at home in that office. Harry Covare
mounted a high stool, while the visitors seated themselves in

HARRY COVARE.

REMARKABLE WRECK OF THE ^'THOMAS HYKE." 26 1

three wooden arm-chairs. But few words had been said, and
each man had scarcely tossed his first tobacco ashes on the floor
when some one wearing heavy boots was heard opening an out-
side door and entering the Registrar's room. Harry Covare
jumped down from his stool, laid his half-smoked cigarette
thereon, and bounced into the next room, closing the door after
him. In about a minute he returned, and the Shipwreck Clerk
looked at him inquiringly.

** An old cock in a pea-jacket," said Mr. Covare, taking up his
cigarette, and mounting his stool. *' I told him the Registrar
would be here in the m'bming. He said he had something to
report about a shipwreck ; and I told him the Registrar would be
here in the morning. Had to tell him that three times, and then
he went."

** School don't keep Wednesday afternoons," said Mr. J.
George Watts, with a knowing smile.

<* No, sir," said the Shipwreck Clerk, emphatically, changing
the crossing of his legs. " A man can't keep grinding on day
in and out without breaking down. Outsiders may say what
they please about it, but it can't be done. We've got to let up
sometimes. People who do the work need the rest just as much
as those who do the looking on."

" And more too, I should say," observed Mr. Mathers.

"Our little let-up on Wednesday afternoons," modestly
observed Harry Covare, ** is like death ; it is sure to come, while
the let-ups we get other days are more like the diseases which
prevail in certain areas ; you can't be sure whether you're going
to get them or not."

The Shipwreck Clerk smiled benignantly at this remark, and
the rest laughed. Mr. Mathers had heard it before, but he would
not impair the pleasantness of his relations with a future col-
league by hinting that he remembered it.

"He gets such ideas from his beastly statistics," said the
Shipwreck Clerk.

*« Which come pretty heavy on him sometimes, I expect,"
observed Mr. Mathers.

"They needn't," said the Shipwreck Clerk, "if things were
managed here as they ought to be. If John J. Laylor," meaning
thereby the Registrar, '* was the right kind of a man, you'd see
things very different here from what they are now. There'd be
a larger force."

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MARK TWAIN'S LIBRARY OF HUMOR.

"That's SO," said Mr. Mathers.

" And not only that, but the/e'd be better buildings, and more
accommodations. Were any of you ever up to Anster? Weh,
take a run up there some day, and see what sort of buildings
the department has there. William Q. Green is a very different
man from John J. Laylor. You don't see him sitting in his chair
and picking his teeth the whole winter, while the representative
from his district never says a word about his department from
one end of a session of Congress to the other. Now if I had
charge of things here, I'd make such changes that you wouldn't
know the place. I'd throw two rooms off here, and a corridor
and entrance door at that end of the building. I'd close up this
door," pointing toward the Registrar's room, "and if John J.
Laylor wanted to come in here, he might go round to the end
door like other people."

The thought struck Harry Covare that in that case there
would be no John J. Laylor, but he would not interrupt.

" And what is more," continued the Shipwreck Clerk, " I'd
close up this whole department at twelve o'clock on Saturdays.
The way things are managed now, a man has no time to attend to
his own private business. Suppose I think of buying a piece of
land, and want to go out and look at it, or suppose any one of
you gentlemen were here and thought of buying a piece of land,
and wanted to go out and look at it, what are you going to do
about it ? You don't want to go on Sunday, and wlien are you
going to go?"

Not one of the other gentlemen had ever thought of buying a
piece of land, nor had they any reason to suppose that they ever
would purchase an inch of soil, unless they bought it in a flower-
pot; but they all agreed that the way things were managed now,
there was no time for a man to attend to his own business.

" But you can't expect John J. Laylor to do anything," said
the Shipwreck Clerk.

However, there w:ts one thing which that gentleman always
expected John J. Laylor to do. When the clerk was surrounded
by a number of persons in hours of business, and when he had
succeeded in impressing them with the importance of his func-
tions, and the necessity of paying deferential attention to himself
if they wished their business attended to, John J. Laylor would
be sure to walk into the office and address the Shipwreck Clerk

REMARKABLE WRECK OF THE "THOMAS HYKE:'

263

in such a manner as to let the people present know that he was a
clerk and nothing else, and that he, the Registrar, was the head
of that department. These humiliations the Shipwreck Clerk
never forgot.

There was a little pause here, and then Mr. Mathers remarked:

«« I should think you'd be awfully bored with the long stories
of shipwrecks that the people come and tell you."

He hoped to change the conversation because, although he
wished to remain on good terms with the subordinate officers, it
was not desirable that he should be led to say much against John
J. Laylor. *

" No, sir," said the Shipwreck Clerk, *« I am not bored. I did
not come here to be bored, and as long as I have charge of this
oflBce I don't intend to be. The long-winded old salts who come
here to report their wrecks never spin out their prosy yarns to
me. The first thing I do is to let them know just what I want of
them; and not an inch beyond that does a man of them go, at
least while I am managing the business. There are times when
John J. Laylor eomes in, and puts in his oar, and wants to hear
the whole story, which is pure stuff and nonsense, for John J.
Laylor doesn't know anything more about a shipwreck than he
does about — ' '

" The endemics in the Lake George area," suggested Harry
Covare.

"Yes; or any other part of his business," said the Shipwreck
Clerk ; '* and when he takes it into his head to interfere, all busi-
ness stops until some second mate of a coal-schooner has told
his whole story, from his sighting land on the morning of one
day to his getting ashore on it on the afternoon of the next.
Now I don't put up with any such nonsense. There's no man
living that can tell me anything about shipwrecks. I've never
been to sea myself, but that's not necessary; and if I had gone,
it's not likely I'd been wrecked. But I've read about every kind
of shipwreck that ever happened. When I first came here I took
care to post myself upon these matters, because I knew it would
save trouble. I have read 'Robinson Crusoe,' 'The Wreck of
the Grosvenor," 'The Sinking of thQ Royal George* dLXid wrecks
by water-spouts, tidal waves, and every other thing which would
knock a ship into a cocked hat, and I've classified every sort of
wreck under its proper head; and when I've found out to what

264

MAR/C TWAIN'S LIBRARY OF HUMOR.

class a wreck belongs, I know all about it. Now, when a man
comes here to report a wreck, the first thing he has to do is just
to shut down on his story, and to stand up square and answer a
few questions that I put to him. In two minutes I know just
what kind of shipwreck he's had; and then, when he gives me the
name of his vessel, and one or two other points, he may go. I
know all about that wreck, and I make a much better report of
the business than he could have done if he'd stood here talking
three days and three nights. The amount of money that's been
saved to our tax-payers by the way I've systematized the business
of this office is not to be calculated in figures."

The brother-in-law of J. George Watts knocked the ashes from
the remnant of his cigar, looked contemplatively at the coal for a
moment, and then remarked:

'* I think you said there's no kind of shipwreck you don't know
about?" ^,

" That's what I said," replied the Shipwreck Clerk.

•* I think," said the other, "I could tell you of a shipwreck, in
which I was concerned, that wouldn't go into any of your classes."

The Shipwreck Clerk threw away the end of his cigar, put
both his hands into his trousers' pockets, stretched out his legs,
and looked steadfastly at the man who had made this unwarrant-
able remark. Then a pitying smile stole over his countenance,
and he said: "Well, sir, I'd like to hear your account of it; and
before you get a quarter through I can stop you just where you
are, and go ahead and tell the rest of the story myself."

" That's so," said Harry Covare. ** You'll see him do it just
as sure pop as a spread rail bounces the engine."

"Well, then," said the brother-in-law of J. George Watts,
" I'll teil it." And he began:

*' It was just two years ago, the first of this month, that I sailed
for South America in the Thomas Hyke"

At this point the Shipwreck Clerk turned and opened a large
book at the letter T.

"That wreck wasn't reported here," said the other, "and you
won't find it in your book."

" At Anster, perhaps ?" said the Shipwreck clerk, closing the
volume, and turning round again.

"Can't say about that," replied the other. "I've never been
to Anster, and haven't looked over their books."

REMARKABLE WRECK OF THE *'THOMAS HYKE."

265

••Well, you needn't want to," said the clerk. "They've got
jood accommodations at Anster, and the Registrar has some
ideas of the duties of his post, but they have no such system of
wreck reports as we have here."

" Very like," said the brother-in-law. And he went on with
his story. "The Thomas Hyke was a small iron steamer of
six hundred tons, and she sailed from Ulford for Valparaiso with
a cargo principally of pig-iron."

"Pig-iron for Valparaiso!" remarked the Shipwreck Clerk.
And then he knitted his brows thoughtfully, and said, " Go on."

"She was a new vessel," continued the narrator, "and built
with water-tight compartments; rather uncommon for a vessel of
her class, but so she was. I am not a sailor, and don't know
anything about ships, I went as passenger, and there was an-
other one named William Anderson, and his son Sam, a boy
about fifteen years old. We were all going to Valparaiso on busi-
ness. I don't remember just how many days we were out, nor do
I know just where we were, but it was somewhere off the coast
of South America, when, one dark night — with a fog besides,
for aught I know, for I was asleep — we ran into a steamer
coming north. How we managed to do this, with room enough
on both sides for all the ships in the world to pass, I don't
know; but so it was. When I got on deck the other vessel
had gone on, and we never saw anything more of her. Whether
she sunk or got home is something I can't tell. But we
pretty soon found that the Thomas Hyke had some of the
plates in her bow badly smashed, and she t k in water H'kc a
thirsty dog. The captain had the forward wat ;r-tight bulkhead
shut tight, and the pumps set to work, but it was no use. That
forward compartment just filled up with water, and the Thomas
Hyke settled down with her bow clean under. Her deck was
slanting forward like the side of a hill, and the propeller was
lifted up so that it wouldn't have worked even if the engine had
been kept going. The captain had the masts cut away, thinking
this might bring her up some, but it didn't help much. There
was a pretty heavy sea on, and the waves came rolling up the
slant of the deck like the surf on the sea-shore. The captain
gave orders to have all the hatches battened down, so that water
couldn't get in, and the only way by which any one could f^o
below was by the cabin door, which was aft. This work cf

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Stopping up all openings in the deck was a dangerous business,
for the decks sloped right down into the water, and if anybody had
slipped, away he'd have gone into the ocean, with nothing to stop
him; but the men made a line fast to themselves and worked
away with a good-will, and soon got the deck and the house over
the engine as tight as a bottom. The smoke-stack, which was
well forward, had been broken down by a spar when the masts
had been cut, and as the waves washed into the hole that it left,
the captain had this plugged up with old sails, well fastened
down. It was a dreadful thing to see the ship a-lying with her
bows clean under water, and her stern sticking up. If it hadn't
been for her water-tight compartments that were left uninjured,
she would have gone down to the bottom as slick as a whistle.
On the afternoon of the day after the collision the wind fell and
the sea soon became pretty smooth. The captain was quite sure
that there would be no trouble about keeping afloat until some ship
came along and took us off. Our flag was flying, upside down,
from a pole in the stern; and if anybody saw a ship making such
a guy of herself as the Thomas Hyke was then doing, they'd be
sure to come to see what was the matter with her, even if she had
no flag of distress flying. We tried to make ourselves as com-
fortable as we could, but this wasn'teasy with everything on such
a dreadful slant. But that night we heard a rumbling and grind-
ing noise down in the hold, and the slant seemed to get worse.
Pretty soon the captain roused all hands, and told us that the
cargo of pig-iron was shifting and sliding down to the bow, and
that it wouldn't be long before it would break through all the
bulkheads, and then we'd fill and go to the bottom like a shot.
He said we must all take to the boats, and get away as quick as
we could. It was an easy matter launching the boats. They
didn't lower them outside from the davits, but they just let 'em
down on deck and slid 'em along forward into the water, and
then held 'em there with a rope till everything was ready to start.
They launched three boats, put plenty of provisions and water in
'em, and then everybody began to get aboard. But William
Anderson and me, and his son Sam, couldn't make up our minds
to get into those boats and row out on the dark, wide ocean.
They were the biggest boats we had, but still they were little
things enough. The ship seemed to us to be a good deal safer,
and more likely to be seen when day broke than those three

""JTV-

REMARKABLE WRECK OF THE ^'THOMAS HYKE."

267

It.

Lin

■in.

boats, which might be blown off if the wind rose, nobody knew
where. It seemed to us that the cargo had done all the shifting
it intended to, and the noise below had stopped; and, altogether,
we agreed that we'd rather stick to the ship than go off in those
boats. The captain, he tried to make us go, but we wouldn't d(^
it, and he tolJ us if we chose to stay behind and be drowned it
was our affair, and he couldn't help it; and then he said there
was a small boat aft, and we'd better launch her, and have her
ready in case things should get worse, and we should make up
our minds to leave the vessel. He and the rest then rowed off so as
not to be caught in the vortex if the steamer went down, and we
three stayed aboard. We launched the small boat in the way
we'd seen the others launched, being careful to have ropes tied
to us while we were doing it; and we put things aboard that we
thought we should want. Then we went into the cabin, and
waited for morning. It was a queer kind of a cabin, with a
floor inclined like the roof of a house, but we sat down in the
corners, and were glad to be there. The swinging lamp was
burning, and it was a good deal more cheerful in there than it
was outside. But about daybreak the grinding and rumbling
down below began again, and the bow of the Thomas Hyke kept
going down more and more; and it wasn't long before the for-
ward bulkhead of the cabin, which was what you might call its
front wall when everything was all right, was under our feet, as
level as a floor, and the lamp was lying close against the ceiling
that it was hanging from. You may be sure that we thought it
was time to get out of that. There were benches with arms to
them fastened to the floor, and by these we climbed up to the
foot of the cabin stairs, which, being turned bottom upward, we
went down, in order to get out. When we reached the cabin door
we saw part of the deck below us, standing up like the side of a
house that is built in the water, as they say the houses in Venice
are. We had made our boat fast to the cabin door by a long
line, and now we saw her floating quietly on the water, which was
very smooth, and about twenty feet below us. We drew her up
as close under us as we could, and then we let the boy Sam down
by a rope, and, after some kicking and swinging, he got into her;
and then he took the oars, and kept her right under us while we
scrambled down by the ropes which we had used in getting her
ready. As soon as we were in the boat we cut the rope and pulled

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away as hard as we could; and when we got to what we thought
was a safe distance, we stopped to look at the Thomas Hykc. You
never saw such a ship in all your born days. Two-thirds of the
hull was sunk in the water, and she was standing straight up and
down, with the stern in the air, her rudder upas high as the top-
sail ought to be, and the screw propeller looking like the wheel
on the top of one of these windmills that they have in the
country for pumping up water. Her cargo had shifted so far
forward that it had turned her right upon end, but she couldn't
sink, owing to the air in the compartments that the water hadn't
got into; and on the top of the whole thing was the distress flag
flying from the pole which stuck out over the stern. It was broad
daylight, but not a thing did we see of the other boats. We'd
supposed that they wouldn't row very far, but would lay off at a
safe distance until daylight; but they must have been scared, and
rowed farther than they intended. Well, sir, we stayed in that
boat all day, and watched the Thomas Ilyke, but she just kept
as she was, and didn't seem to sink an inch. There was no use
of rowing away, for we had no place to row to; and, besides, we
thought that passing ships would be much more likely to see that
stern sticking high in the air than our little boat. We had enough
to eat, and at night two of us slept while the other watched, divid-
ing off the time, and taking turns at this. In the morning, there
was the Thomas Hyke sidirxdmg stern up just as before. There
was a long swell on the ocean now, and she'd rise and lean over
a little on each wave, but she'd come up again just as straight as
before. That night passed as the last one had, and in the morn-
ing we found we'd drifted a good deal farther from the Thomas
Ilyke, but she was floating just as she had been, like a big buoy
that's moored over a sand-bar. We couldn't see a sign of the
boats, and we about gave them up. We had our breakfast, which
was a pretty poor meal, being nothing but hard-tack and what
was left of a piece of boiled beef. After we'd sat for awhile
doing nothing, but feeling mighty uncomfortable, William Ander-
son said: ' Look here, do you know that I think we would be
three fools to keep on shivering all night and living on hard-tack
in the day-time, when there's plenty on that vessel for us to eat,
and to keep us warm. If she's floated that way for two days and
two nights, there's no knowing how much longer she'll float, and
we might as well go on board and get the things we want as not.'

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tack
eat,
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REMARKABLE WRECK OF THE "THOMAS IfYKE."

269

* All right,' said I, for I was tired doing nothing, and Sam was
as willing as anybody. So we /cwtd up to the steamer, and
stopped close to the deck, which, as I said before, was standing
straight up out of the water like the wall of a house. The cabin
door, which was the only opening into her, was about twenty feet
above us, and the ropes which we had tied to the rails of the
stairs inside were still hanging down. Sam was an active young-
ster, and he managed to climb up one of these ropes; but when
he got up to the door he drew it up and tied knots in it about
a foot apart, and then he [et it down to us, for neither William
Anderson nor me could go up a rope hand-over-hand without
knots or something to hold on to. As it was, we had a lot of
bother gettmg up, but we did it at last; and then we walked up
the stairs, treading on the front part of each step instead of the
top of it, as we would have done if the stairs had been in their
proper position. When we got to the floor of the cauin, which
was now perpendicular like a wall, we had to clamber down by
means of the furniture, which was screwed fast, until we reached
the bulkhead, which was now the floor of the cabin. Close to
this bulkhead was a small room, which was the steward's pantry,
and here we found lots of things to eat, but all jumbled up in a
way that made us laugh. The boxes of biscuits and the tin cans
and a lot of bottles in wicker covers were piled up on one end of
the room, and everything in the lockers and drawers was jumbled
together. William Anderson and me set to work to get out what
we thought we'd want, and we told Sam to climb up into some of
the staterooms, of which there were four on each side of the
cabin, and get some blankets to keep us warm, as well as a few
sheets, which we thought we could rig up for an awning to the
l)oat — for the days were just as hot as the nights were cool. When
we'd collected what we wanted, William Anderson and me
climbed into our own rooms, thinking we'd each pack a valise with
what we most wanted to save of our clothes and things; and
while we were doing this, Sam called out to us that it was rain-
ing. He was sitting at the cabin door, looking out. I first
thought to tell him to shut the door, so's to keep the rain from
coming in; but when I thought how things really were, I laughed
at the idea. There was a sort of little house built over the entrance
to the cabin, and in one end of it was the door; and in the way
the ship now was, the open doorway was underneath the little

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house, and of course no rain could come in. Pretty soon we
heard the rain pouring down, beating on the stem of the vessel
like hail. We got to the stairs and looked out. The rain was
falling in perfect sheets, in a way you never see, except round
about the tropics. ' It's a good thing we're inside,' said Willianu
Anderson, * for if we'd been out in this rain we'd been drowned
in the boat.' I agreed with him, and we made up our minds to
stay where we were until the rain was over. Well, it rained about
four hours; and when it stopped and we looked out, we saw our
little boat nearly full of water, and sunk so deep that if one of
us had stepped on her she'd have gone down, sure. ♦ Here's a
pretty kettle of fish,' said William Anderson; ' there's nothing for
us to do now but to stay where we are.' I believe in his heart
he was glad of that, for if ever a man was tired of a little boat,
William Anderson was tired of that one we'd been in for two days
and two nights. At any rate there was no use talking about it,
and we set to work to make oui selves comfortable. We got some
mattresses and pillows out of the staterooms, and when it began
to get dark we lighted the lamp, which we had filled with sweet-
oil from a flask in the pantry, not finding any other kind, and we
hung it from the railing of the stairs. We had a good night's
rest, and the only thing that disturbed me was William Anderson
lifting up his head every time he turned over, and saying how
much better this was than that blasted little boat. The next morn-
ing we had a good breakfast, even making some tea with a spirit
lamp we found, using brandy instead of alcohol. William Ander-
son and I wanted to get into the captain's room, which was near
the stern, and pretty high up, so as to see if there was anything
there that we ought to get ready to save when a vessel should
come along and pick us up; but we were not good at climbing,
like Sam, and we didn't see how we could get up there. Sam said
he was sure he had once seen a ladder in the compartment just
forward of the bulkhead, and as William was very anxious to get
up to the captain's room, we let the boy go and look for it. There
was a sliding door in the bulkhead under our feet, and we opened
this far enough to let Sam get through, and he scrambled down
like a monkey into the next compartment, which was light enough,
although the lower half of it, which was next to the engine-room,
was under the water-line. Sam actually found a ladder with
hooks at one end of it, and while he was handing it up to us,

REMARKABLE WRECK OF THE *'THOMAS HYKEy

271

which was very hard to do, for he had to climb up on all sorts of
things, he let it topple over, and the end with the iron hooks fell
against the round glass of one of the port-holes. The glass was
very thick and strong, but the ladder came down very heavy and
shiviered it. As bad luck would have it, this window was below
the water-line, and the water came rushing in in a big spout. We
chucked blankets down to Sam for him to stop up the hole, but
'twas of no use; for it was hard for him to get at the window, and
when he did the water came in with
such force that he couldn't get a
blanket in the hole. We A^fere afraid
he'd be drowned down there, and told
him to come out as quick as he
could. He put up the ladder again, <>
and hooked it on to the door in the
bulkhead, and we held it while he
climbed up. Looking down through
the doorway, we saw, by the way the
water was pouring in at the opening,
that it wouldn't be long before that
compartment was filled up ; so we
shoved the door to and made it all
tight, and then said William
Anderson : ' The ship'll sink
deeper and deeper as that fills
up, and the water may get up to
the cabin door, and we must go
and make that as tight as we
can.' Sam had pulled the lad-
der up after him, and this we
found of great use in getting
to the foot of the cabin stairs,
locked and bolted it; and as it fitted pretty tight, we didn't
think it would let in much water if the ship sunk that far.
But over the top of the cabin stairs were a couple of folding
doors, which shut down horizontally when the ship was in
its proper position, and which were only used in very bad, cold
weather. These we pulled to and fastened tight, thus having a
double protection against the water. Well, we didn't get this
done any too soon, for the water did come up to the cabin door,

THE PORT-HOLE.

We shut the cabin door, and

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MARK TWAIN'S LIBRARY OF HUMOR.

and a little trickled in from the outside door, and through the
cracks in the inner one. But we went to work and stopped these
up with strips from the sheets, which we crammed well in with
our pocket-knives. Then we sat down on the steps and waited
to see what would happen next. The doors of all the state-
rooms were open, and we could see through the thick plate-glass
windows in them, which were all shut tight, that the ship was
sinking more and more as the water came in. Sam climbed up
into one of the after staterooms, and said the outside water was
nearly up to the stern; and pretty soon we looked up to the two
port-holes in the stern, and saw that they were covered with water;
and as more and more water could be seen there, and as the light
came through less easily, we knew that we were sinking under
the surface of the ocean. ' It's a mighty good thing,' said Will-
iam Anderson, ' that no water can get in here.' William had a
hopeful kind of mind, and always looked on the bright side of
things; but I must say that I was dreadfully scared when I looked
through those stern windows and saw water instead of sky. It
began to get duskier and duskier as we sank lower and lower,
but still we could see pretty well, for it's astonishing how much
light comes down through water. After a little while we noticed
that the light remained about the same; and then William Ander-
son, he sings out, * Hooray, we've stopped sinking !' ' What dif-
ference does that make ?' says I, ' we must be thirty or forty feet
under water, and more yet for aught I know.' ' Yes, that may
be,' said he, ' but it is clear that all the water has got into that
compartment that can get in, and we have sunk just as far down
as we are going.' *But that don't help matters,' said I; 'thirty
or forty feet under water is just as bad as a thousand is, to a
drowning man.' * Drowning !' said William; ' how are you going
to be drowned ? No water can get in here.' * Nor no air, either,'
said I; 'and people are drowned for want of air, as I take it.' ' It
would be a queer sort of thing,' said William, ' to be drowned in
the ocean, and yet stay as dry as a chip. But it's no use being
worried about air. We've got enough here to last us for ever
so long. This stern compartment is the biggest in the ship, and
it's got lots of air in it. Just think of that hold ! It must be
nearly full of air. The stern compartment of the hold has got
nothing m it but sewing-machines. I saw 'em loading her. The
pig-iron was mostly amidships, or at least forward of this com-

If LI; ISte

^|t*H«-,,

REMARKABLE WRECK OF THE ''THOMAS HYKE."

273

)mg

par ,cnt. Now, there's no kind of a cargo that'll accommodate
as much air as sewing-machines. They're packed in wooden
frames, not boxes, and don't fill up half the room they take.
There's air all through and around 'em. It's a very comforting
thing to think the hold isn't filled up solid with bales of cotton
or wheat in bulk. ' It might be comforting, but I couldn't get
much good out of it. And now Sam, who had been scrambling
all over the cabin to see how things were going on, sung out that
the water was leaking in a little again at the cabin door and
around some of the iron frames of the windows. « It's a lucky
thing,' said William Andeison, ' that we didn't sink any deeper, or
the pressure of the water would have burst in those heavy glasses.
And what we've got to do now is, to stop up all the cracks. The
more we work, the livelier we'll feel.' We tore off more strips of
sheets, and went all round, stopping up cracks wherever we found
them. ' It's fortunate,' said William Anderson, 'that Sam found
that ladder, for we would have had hard work getting to the win-
dows of the stern staterooms without it; but by resting it on the
bottom step of the stairs, which now happens to be the top one,
we can get to any part of the cabin.' I couldn't help thinking that
if Sam hadn't found the ladder it would have been a good deal
better for us; but I didn't, want to damp William's spirits, and
I said nothing.

*' And now I beg your pardon, sir," said the narrator, address-
ing the Shipwreck Clerk, " but I forgot that you said you'd
finish this story yourself. Perhaps you'd like to take it up just
here ? "

The Shipwreck Clerk seemed surprised, and had, apparently,
forgotten his previous offer. " Oh, no," said he, " tell your own
story. This is not a matter of business."

"Very well, then," said the brother-in-law of J. George Watts,
" I'll go on. We made everything as tight as we could, and then
we got our supper, having forgotten all about dinner, and being
very hungry. We didn't make any tea, and we didn't light the
lamp, for we knew that would use up air ; but we made a better
meal than three people sunk out of sight in the ocean had a
right to expect. * What troubles me most,' said William Ander-
son, as he turned in, ' is the fact that if we are forty feet under
water, our flagpole must be covered up. Now, if the flag was
sticking out, upside down, a ship sailing by would see it and

2 74

MARK TWAIN'S LIBRARY OF HUMOR.

would know there was something wrong.' ' If that's all that
troubles you,' said I, • I guess you'll sleep easy. And if a ship
was to see the flag, I wonder how they'd know we were down
here, and how they'd get us out if they did ! ' * Oh, they'd man-
age it,' said William Anderson ; • trust those sea-captains for
that. ' And then he went to sleep. The next morning the air began
to get mighty disagreeable in the part of the cabin where we
were, and then William Anderson he says : ' What we've got to
do is to climb up into the stern staterooms, where the air is
purer. We can come down here to get our meals, and then go
up again to breathe comfortable.' * And what are we going to
do when the air up there gets foul?' says I to William, who
seemed to be making .irrangements for spending the summer in
our present quarters. ' Oh, that'll be all right,' said he. ' It don't
do to be extravagant with air any more than with anything else.
When we've used up all there is in this cabin, we can bore holes
through the floor into the hold and let in air from there. If
we're economical, there'll be enough to last for dear knows how
long.' We passed the night each in a stateroom, sleeping on
the end wall instead of the berth, and it wasn't till the afternoon
of the next day that the air of the cabin got so bad we thought
we'd have some fresh ; so we went down on the bulkhead, and with
an auger that we found in the pantry we bored three holes, about
a yard apart, in the cabin floor, which was now one of the walls
of the room, just as the bulkhead was the floor, and the stern
end, where the two round windows were, was the ceiling or roof.
We each took a hole, and I tell you, it was pleasant to breathe
the air which came in from the hold. * Isn't this jolly ? ' said
William Anderson. • And we ought to be mighty glad that that
hold wasn't loaded with codfish or soap. But there's noth-
ing that smells better than new sewing-machines that haven't
ever been used, and this air is pleasant enough for anybody.'
By William's advice we made three plugs, by which we stopped
up the holes when we thought we'd had air enough for the present.
'And now,' says he, 'we needn't climb up into those awkward
staterooms any more. We can just stay down here and be
comfortable, and let in air when we want it.' ' And how long do
you suppose that air in the hold is going to last ? ' said I. * Oh,
ever so long,' said he,. ' using it so economically as we do ; and
when it stops coming out lively through these little holes, as I

Pis:!,

REMARKABLE WRECK OF THE ''THOMAS HYKE^

275

suppose it will after a while, we can saw a big hole in this floor-
ing, and go into the hold and do our breathing, if we want to.'
That evening we did saw a hole about a foot square, so as to
have plenty of air while we were asleep, but we didn't go into
the hold, it being pretty well filled up with machines ; though the
next day Sam and I sometimes stuck our heads in for a good
sniff of air, though William Anderson was opposed to this, being
of the opinion that we ought to put ourselves on short rations of
breathing, so as to make the supply of air hold out as long as
possible. ' But what's the good,' said I to William, ' of trying
to make the air hold out if we've got to be suffocated in this
place after all ? ' ' What s the good ? ' says he. ' Haven't you
enough biscuits, and canned meats, and plenty of other things
to eat, and a barrel of water in that room opposite the pantry,
not to speak of wine and brandy, if you want to cheer yourself up
a bit; and haven't we good mattresses to sleep on, and why
shouldn't we try to live and be comfortable as long as we can ? '
• What I want,' said I, ' is to get out of this box. The idea of
being shut up in here down under water is more than I can stand.
I'd rather take my chances going up to the surface and swimming
about till I found a piece of the wreck, or something to float on.'
'You needn't think of anything of that sort,' said William, ' for
if we were to open a door or a v/indow to get out, the water'd
rush in and drive us back and fill up this place in no time ; and
then the whole concern would go to the bottom. And what
would you do if you did get to the top of the water ? It's not
likely you'd find anything there to get on, and if you did you
wouldn't live very long floating about with nothing to eat. No,
sir,' says he, 'what we've got to do is to be content with the com-
forts we have around us, and something will turn up to get us out
of this ; you see if it don't.' There was no use talking against
William Anderson, and I didn't say any more about getting out.
As for Sam, he spent his time at the windows of the staterooms
a-looking out. We could see a good way into the water, further
than you would think, and we sometimes saw fishes, especially
porpoises, swimming about, most likely trying to find out what a
ship was doing hanging bows down under water. What troubled
Sam was that a sword-fish might come along and jab his sword
through one of the windows. In that case it would be all up, or
rather down, with us. Every now and then he'd sing out, * Here

11 i

276

MARK TWAIN'S LIBRARY OF HUMOR,

comes one ! ' And then, just as I'd give a jump, he'd say, * No,
it isn't ; it's a porpoise.' I thought from the first, and I think
now, that it would have been a great deal better for us if that
boy hadn't been along. That night there was a good deal of
motion to the ship, and she swung about and rose up and down
more than she had done since we'd been left in her. < There
must be a big sea running on top,' said William Anderson, 'and
if we were up there we'd be tossed about dreadful. Now the
motion down here is just as easy as a cradle, and, what's more,
we can't be sunk very deep ; for if we were, there wouldn't be
any motion at all.' About noon the next day we felt a sudden
tremble and shake run through the whole ship, and far down
under us we heard a rumbling and grinding, that nearly scared
me out of my wits. I first thought we'd struck bottom, but
William he said that couldn't be, for it was just as light in the
cabin as it had been, and if we'd gone down it would have grown
much darker, of course. The rumbling stopped after a little
while, and then it seemed to grow lighter instead of darker ; and
Sam, who was looking up at the stern windows over our heads,
he sung out, *Sky ! ' And, sure enough, we could see the blue
sky, as clear as daylight, through those windows ! And then the
ship, she turned herself on the slant, pretty much as she had
been when her forward compartment first took in water, and we
found ourselves standing on the cabin floor instead of the bulk-
head. I was near one of the open staterooms, and as I looked
in, there was the sunlight coming through the wet glass in the
window, and more cheerful than anything I ever saw before in
this world. William Anderson he just made one jump, and,
unscrewing one of the stateroom windows, he jerked it open.
We had thought the air inside was good enough to last some
time longer ; but when that window was open and the fresh air
came rushing in, it was a different sort of thing, I can tell you,
William put his head out, and looked up and down and all around.
'She's nearly all out of water! ' he shouted, 'and we can open
the cabin door.' Then we all three rushed at those stairs, which
were nearly right side up now, and we had the cabin door open
in no time. When we looked out, we saw that the ship was
truly floating pretty much as she had been when the captain and
crew left her, though we all agreed that her deck didn't slant as
much forward as it did then. ' Do you know what's happened ? '

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REMARKABLE WRECK OF THE •' THOMAS HYKE.*' 2*J*]

sung out William Anderson, after he'd stood still for a minute, to
look around and think. ' That bobbing up and down that the
vessel got last night shook up and settled down the pig-iron
inside of her, and the iron ^^lates in the bow, that were smashed
and loosened by the collision, have given way under the weight,
and the whole cargo of pig-iron has burst through and gone
to the bottom. Then, of course, up we came ! Didn't I tell
you something would happen to make us all right ? '

•* Well, I won't make this story any longer than I can help.
The next day after that, we were taken off by a sugar-ship
bound north, and we wereicaried safe back to Ulford, where we
found our captain and the crew, who had been picked up by a
ship after they'd been three or four days in their boats. This
ship had sailed our way to find us, which, of course, she couldn't
do, as at that time we were under water and out of sight.

" And now, sir," said the brother-in-law of J. George Watts
to the Shipwreck Clerk, "to which of your classes does this
wreck of mine belong?"

" Gents," said the Shipwreck Clerk, rising from his seat, " it's
four o'clock, and at that hour this office closes."

Qu. — How fast duz sound travel ?

Ans. — This depends a good deal upon the natur ov the noize yu
are talking about. The sound ov a dinner horn, for instance,
travels a half a mile in a seckoned, while an invitashun tew git
up in the morning I hav known to be 3 quarters ov an hour
going up two pair ov stairs, and then not hav strength enuff left
tew be heard.

Josh Billings.

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EXPERIENCE OF THE McWILLIAMSES WITH MEM.
BRANEOUS CROUP.

BY MARK TWAIN.

[As related to the author by Mr. Mc Williams^ a pleasant Neiv-
York gentleman whom the said author met by chance on a journey^

Well, to go back to where I was before I digressed, to explain
to you how that frightful and incurable disease, membraneous
croup, was ravaging the town and driving all mothers mad with
terror. I called Mrs. McWilliams's attention to little Penelope
and said:

" Darling, I wouldn't let that child be chewing that pine stick, if
I were you."

" Precious, where is the harm in it ? " said she, but at the same
time preparing to take away the stick — for women cannot receive
even the most palpably judicious suggestion without arguing it;
that is, married women.

I replied:

" Love, it is notorious that pine is the least nutritious wood
that a child can eat."

My wife's hand paused in the act of taking the stick, and
returned itself to her lap. She bridled perceptibly, and said:

" Hubby, you know better than that. You know you do !
Doctors all say that the turpentine in pine wood is good for weak
back and the kidneys."

"Ah — I was under a misapprehension. I did not know that
the child's kidneys and spine were affected, and that the family
physician had recommended — "

" Who said the child's spine and kidneys were affected?"

" My love, you intimated it." ^

" The idea ! I never intimated anything of the kind."

*• Why, my dear, it hasn't been two minutes since you said — '*

" Bother what I said ! I don't care what I did say. There
isn't any harm in the child's chewing a bit of pine stick if she
wants to, and you know it perfectly well. And she shall chew
it, too. So there, now ! "

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THE MeWn.UAMSES WITH MEMBRANEOUS CROUP.

279

" Say no more, my dear. I now see the force of your reason-
ing, and I will go and order two or three cords of the best pine
wood to-day. No child of mine shall want while I — "

" O, please go along to your office and let me have some peace.
A body can never make the simplest remark but you must take
it up and go to arguing and arguing and arguing, till you don't
know what you are talking about, and you tiever do! "

" Very well, it shall be as you say. But there is a want of logic
in your last remark which — "

However, she was gone with a flourish before I could finish,
and had taken the child M(|th her. That night at dinner she con-
fronted me with a face as white as a sheet: ^

"O, Mortimer, there's another! Little Georgie Gordon is
taken."

" Membraneous croup ? "

" Membraneous croup."

" Is there any hope for him ? "

" None in the wide world. O, what is to become of us ! "

By and by a nurse brought in our Penelope to say good-night
and offer the customary prayer at the mother's knee. In the
midst of ** Now I lay me down to sleep," she gave a slight cough'
My wife fell back like one stricken with death. But the next
moment she was up and brimming with the activities which terror
inspires.

She commanded that the child's crib be removed from the
nursery to our bedroom; and she went along to see the order
executed. She took me with her, of course. We got matters
arranged with speed. A cot bed was put up in my wife's dress-
ing-room for the nurse. But now Mrs. McWilliams &aid we were
too far away from the other baby, and what if he were to have
the symptoms in the night — and she blanched again, poor thing.

We then restored the crib and the nurse to the nursery, and
put up a bed for ourselves in a room adjoining.

' Presently, however, Mrs. McWilliams said, ** Suppose the baby
should catch it from Penelope ?" This thought struck a new panic
to her heart, and the tribe of us could not get the crib out of the
nursery again fast enough to satisfy my wife, though she assisted
in her own person and wellnigh pulled the crib to pieces in her
frantic hurry.

We moved down-stairs; but there was no place there to stow

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the nurse, and Mrs. Mc Williams said the nurse's experience would
be an inestimable help. So we returned, bag and baggage, to
our own bedroom once more, and felt a great gladness, like
storm-buffeted birds that have found their nest again.

Mrs. McWilliams sped to the nursery to see how things were
going on there. She was back in a moment with a new dread.
She said :

•' What ^fl« make Baby sleep so ? "

I said:

"Why, my darling, Baby always sleeps like a graven image."

"I know, I know. But there's something peculiar about his
sleep, now. He seems to — to — he seems to breathe so regularly.
O, this is dreadful ! "

"But, my dear, he always breathes regularly."

" Oh, I know it, but there's something frightful about it now.
His nurse is too young and inexperienced. Maria shall stay
there with her, and be on hand if anything happens." i

"That is a good idea, but who will \it\^youV^

" You can help me all I want. I wouldn't allow anybody to do
anything but myself, any how, at such a time as this."

I said I would feel mean to lie abed and sleep, and leave her
to watch and toil over our little patient all the weary night. But
she reconciled me to it. So old Maria departed and took up her
ancient quarters in the nursery.

Penelope coughed twice in her sleep.

" Oh, why dotit that doctor come ! Mortimer, this room is too

warm. This room is certainly too warm. Turn off the register
—quick ! "

I shut it off, glancing at the thermometer at the same
time, and wondering to myself if 70 was too warm for a sick
child.

The coachman arrived from down-town now, with the news
that our physician was ill and confined to his bed. Mrs. McWill-
iams turned a dead eye upon me, and said in a dead voice:

" There is a Providence in it. It is foreordained. He never
was sick before. Never. We have not been living as we ought
to live, Mortimer. Time and time again I have told you so. Now
you see the result. Our child will never get well. Be thankful
if you can forgive yourself; I never can forgive w^self."

I said, without intent to hurt, but with heedless choice of

THE Me W/LL/AMSES WITH MEMBRANEOUS CROUP. 28 1

words, that I could not see that we had been living such an
abandoned life.

«' Mortimer t " Do you want to bring the judgment upon Baby,
too!"

Then she began to cry, but suddenly exclaimed:

** The doctor must have sent medicines I "

I said:

" Certainly. They are here. I was only waiting for you to
give me a chance."

«* Well, do give them to me! Don't you know that every mo-
ment is precious now? Hlit what was the use in sending medi-
cines, when he knows that the disease is incurable?"

I said that while there was life there was hope.

" Hope ! Mortimer, you know no more what you are talking
about than the child unborn. If you would — . As I live, the
directions say, give one teaspoonful once an hour ! Once an
hour !— as if we had a whole year before us to save the child in !
Mortimer, please hurry. Give the poor perishing thing a table-
spoonful, and try to be quick ! "

•' Why, my dear, a tablespoonful might — "

" Z>^«7 drive me frantic ! .... There, there, there ! my
precious, my own; it's nasty bitter stuff, but it's good for Nelly
— good for Mother's precious darling; and it will make her well.
There, there, there ! put the little head on Mamma's breast and
go to sleep, and pretty soon — oh, I know she can't live till morn-
ing ! Mortimer, a tablespoonful every half hour will — . Oh, the
child needs belladonna too; I know she does — and aconite. Get
them, Mortimer. Now, do let me have my way. You know
nothing about these things."

We now went to bed, placing the crib close to my wife's pillow.
All this turmoil had worn upon me, and within two minutes I was
something more than half asleep. Mrs. McWilliams roused me:

'* Darling, is that register turned on ? "

"No."

*• 1 thought as much. Please turn it on at once. The room
is cold."

I turned it on, and presently fell asleep again. I was aroused
once more:

" Dearie, would you mind moving the crib to your side of the
bed ? It is nearer the register."

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I moved it, but had a collision with the rug and woke up the
child. I dozed off once more, while my wife quieted the suf-
ferer. But in a little while these words came murmuring rer/.ot;;!/
through the fog of my drowsiness:

«' Mortimer, if wc only had some goose-grease — wili you ring ? "

I climbed dreamily out, and stepped on a cat, which responded
with a protest, and would have got a convincing kick for it if a
chair had not got it instead.

«• Now, Mortimer, why do you want to turn up the gas and
wake up the child again ? "

" Because I want to see how much I am hurt, Caroline."

•' Well, look at the chair, too— I have no doubt it is ruined.
Poor cat, suppose you had — "

*' Now I am not going to suppose anything about the ' 'i It
never would have occurred if Maria had been allowed to remain
here and attend to these duties, which are in her line, and are
not in mine."

•' Now, Mortimer, I should think you would be ashamed to
make a remark like that. It is a pity if you cannot do the few
little things I ask of you at such an awful time as this when our
child—"

" There, there, I will do an3rthing you want. But I can't raise
anybody with this bdl. They're all gone to bed. Where is the
goose-grease ? "

"On the mantel-piece in the nursery. If you'll step there and
speak to Maria — "

I fetched the goose-grease and went to sleep again. Once more
I was called:

" Mortimer, I so hate to disturb you, but the room is still too
cold for me to try to apply this stuff. Would you mind lighting
the fire ? It is all ready to touch a match to."

I dragged myself out and lit the fire, and theu sat down dis-
consolate.

"Mortimer, don't sit there and catch ;ou death of cold.
Come to bed."

As I was stepping in, she said:

" But wait a moment. Please give the child some more of the
medicine."

W::ich I did. It was a medicine which made a child more or
les . lively; .'.r my wife made use of its waking interval to strip it

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and grease it all over wi*^h the goose-oil. I was soon asleep once
more, but once mi)r'' I hatl tu g<>t up.

" Mortimer, I feel » 4raft. I foel it distinctly. There is
nothing so bad I r this disea»t' n» a draft. PlcriHC mo\ the crib
in front of the fire."

I did it; and collided with the rug agaui, vhich I threw i the
fire. Mrs. McWilliams sprang 01* of bed and rescued il, md
we had some words. I had anothei 'lifling interval of sleep, and
then got up, by request, and consti cted a flax-seed poultice.
This was placed upon the child's
breast, and left there to db its heal-
ing work.

A wood fire is not a permanent
thing. I got up every twenty minutes
and renewed ours, and this gave
Mrs. McWilliams the opportunity to
shorten the times of giving the medi-
cines by ten minutes, which

KINDLING THE FIRE.

was a great satisfaction to
her. Now and then, be-
tween times, I reorganized
the flax - seed poul-
tices, and applied sin-
apisms and
other sorts
of blisters
where unoc-
cupied places

could be found upon the child. Well, toward morning the wood
gave out, and my wife wanted me to go down cellar and get some
more. I said:

" My dear, it is a laborious job, and the child must be nearly
warm enough, with her extra clothing. Now mightn't we put on
another layer of poultices and — "

I did not finish, because I was interrupted. I lugged wood up
from below for some little time, and then turned in and fell to
snor ng as only a man can whose strength is all gone and whose
soul is worn out. Just at broad daylight I felt a grip on my
shoulder that brought me to my senses suddenly. My wife was
glaring dowi^ upon me and gasping. As soon as she could com-
mand hci lutiguc- !>Ue said:

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"It is all over! All over! The child's perspiring ! What
shall \vt do?"

" Mercy ! how you terrify me ! /don't know what we ought
to do. Maybe if we scraped her and put her in the draft again — "
" O, idiot ! There is not a moment to lose ! Go for the
doctor. Go yourself. Tell him he 7nust come, dead or alive."

I dragged that poor sick man from his bed and brought him.
He looked at the child and said she was not dying. This was
joy unspeakable to me, but it made my wife as mad as if he had
offered her a personal affront. Then he said the child's cough
was only caused by some trifling irritation or other in the throat.

At this I thought my
wife had a mind to
show him the door.
Now the doctor said
he would make the
child cough harder
and dislodge the
trouble. So he gave
her something that
sent her into a spasm
of coughing, and
presently up came a
little wood splinter
or so.

"This child has
n o membraneous
croup," said he.
" She has been chew-
ing a bit of pine shingle or something of the kind, and got some
little slivers in her throat. They won't do her any hurt."

" No," said I, " I can well believe that. Indeed, the turpentine
that is in them is very good for certain sorts of diseases that are
peculiar to children. My wife will tell you so."

But she did not. She turned away in disdain and left the
room; and since that time there is one episode in our life which
we never refer to. Hence the tide of our days flows by in deep
and untroubled serenity.

[Very few married men have such an experience as Mc Williams's, and so the
author of this hook thoui^'ht that maybe the novelty of it would jjive it a passing
interest to the reader.]

A NEW KIND OF CROUP.

MISS MALONY ON THE CHINESE QUESTION. 285

MISS MALONY ON THE CHINESE QUESTION.

BY MARY MAPES DODGE.

QJRS. MARY MAPES DODGE, who was born at New York in 1838, is
^^ the editor of the St. Nicholas magazine, and is the author of many de-
lightful books for young people published during the last twenty-five years.

Och! don't be talkin'. Is it howld on, ye say? An' didn't I
howld on till the heart of me was clane broke entirely, and mc
wastin' that thin you could clutch me wid yer two hands ! To
think o' me toilin' like
a nager for the six year
I've been in Ameriky —
bad luck to the day I
iver left the owld coun-
thry, to be bate by the
likes o' them! (faix an'
I'll sit down when I'm
ready, so I will, Ann
Ryan, an' ye'd better
be list'nin' than drawin'
your remarks) an' it's
mysel', with five good
characters from respect-
able places, would be
herdin' wid the hay-
thens. The saints for-
give me, but I'd be
buried alive soon'n put

up wid it a day longer. j-itstg wing.

Sure an' I was a grane-

horn not to be lavin' at 'onct when the missus kim into me
kitchen wid her perlaver about the new waiter-man which was
brought out from Californy.

"He'll be here the night," says she, "and Kitty, it's meselt
looks to you to be kind and patient wid him, for he's a furriner,"
says she, a kind o' looking off. " Sure an' it's little I'll hinder
nor intcrfare wid him nor any other, mum," says I, a kind o'

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MARK TWAIN'S LIBRARY OF HUMOR.

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iS'' tits'- ■

stiff, for I minded me how these French waiters, wid their paper
collars and brass rings on their fingers, isn't company for no
gurril brought up dacint and honest. Och! sorra a bit I knew
what was comin' till the missus walked into me kitchen smilin',
and says, kind o' schared, •* Here's Fing Wing, Kitty, an' you'll
have too much sinse to mind his bein' a little strange." Wid
that she shoots the doore; and I, misthrusting if I was tidied up
sufficient for me fine buy wid his paper collar, looks up and —
Holy fathers! may I .liver brathe another breath, but there stud
a rale haythen Chineser a-grinnin' like he'd just come off a tay-
box. If you'll belave me, the crayture was that yeller it 'ud
sicken you to see him; and sorra stich was on him but a black
night-gown over his trowsers and the front of his head shaved
claner nor a copper biler, and a black tail a-hangin' down from
behind, wid his two feet stook into the heathenesest shoes you
ever set eyes on. Och! but I was up-stairs afore you could turn
about, a givin* the missus warnin'; an' only stopt wid her by her
raisin' me wages two dollars, and playdin' wid me how it was a
Christian's duty to bear wid haythins and taitch 'em all in our
power — the saints save us! Well, the ways and trials I had wid
that Chineser, Ann Ryan, I couldn't be tellin'. Not a blissed
thing cud I do but he'd be lookin' on wid his eyes cocked up'ard
like two poomp-handles, an' he widdout a speck or a smitch o'
whiskers on him, and his finger-nails full a yard long. But it's
dying you'd be to see the missus a larnin* him, and he grinnin
an' waggin' his pig-tail (which was pieced out long wid some
black stoof, the haythen chate!) and gettin' into her ways won-
derful quick, I don't deny, imitatin' that sharp, you'd be shur-
prised, and ketchin' and copyin* things the best of us will do a-
hurried wid work, yet don't want comin' to the knowledge of the
family — bad luck to him!

Is it ate wid him ? Arrah, an' would I be sittin' wid a hay-
then, and he a-atin' wid drumsticks — yes, an' atin' dogs an' cats
uiiknownst to me, I warrant you, which is the custom of them
Chinesers, till tho thought made me that sick I could die. An'
didn't the crayter proffer to help me a wake ago come Toosday,
an' me a foldin* down me clane clothes for the ironin', an' fill his
haythen mouth wid water, an' afore I could hinder squrrit it
through his teeth stret over the best linen table-cloth, and fold it
up tight, as innercent now as a baby, the dirty baste! But the

MISS MALONY ON THE CHINESE QUESTION. 287

ay,

his

"worrest of all was the copyin' he'd be doin', till ye'd be dishtracted.
It's yerself knows the tinder feet that's on me since ever I've bin
in this country. Well, owin' to that, I fell into the way o' slip-
pin' me shoes off when I'd be settin down to pale the praties or
the likes o' that, and, do ye mind, that haythin would do the
same thing after me whiniver the missus set him parin' applet or
tomaterses. The saints in heaven couldn't have made him belave
he cud kape the shoes on him
when he'd be payling anything.

Did I lave fur that ? Faix an'
didn't he get me into troyble wid
my missus, the haythin ? You're
aware yerself how the boondles
comin' from the grocery often
contains more 'n '11 go into any-
thing dacently. So, for that
matter, I'd now and then take
out a sup o' sugar, or flour, or
tay, an' wrap it in paper and put
it in me bit of a box tucked
under the ironin* blankit the how
it cuddent be bodderin' any one.
Well, what should it be, but this
blessed Sathurday morn the mis-
sus was a spakin* pleasant and
respec'ful wid me in me kitchen,
when the grocer boy comes in
an' stands fornenst her wid his|
boondles, an' she motions like to
Fing W"ing (which I never would
call him by that name nor any
other but just haythin ), she
motions to him, she does, for

to take the boondles an' empty out the sugar an' what not where
they belongs. If you'll belave me, Ann Ryan, what did that
blatherin' Chineser do but take out a sup o' sugar, an' a handful
o' tay, an' a bit o' chaze, right afore the missus, wrap them into
bits o' paper, an' I spacheless wid shuprise, an' he the next
minute up wid the ironin' blankit and pullin' out me box wid a
show o' bein' sly to put them in. Och, the Lord forgive me, but

THE VICTIM.

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MAX/ir TWAIN'S LIBRARY OF HUMOR.

I clutched it, and the missus sayin', "O Kitty!" in a way that
'ud curdle your blood. '* He's a haythin nager," says I. " I've
found you out," says she. " I'll arrist him," says I. "It's you
ought to be arristed," says she. " You won't," says I. "I will,"
says she; and so it went, till she give me such sass as I cuddent
take from no lady, an' I give her warnin' an' left that instant, an*
she a-pointin' to the doore.

THE HODJA'S DONKEY ON HIS VERACITY.

BY S. S. COX.

A FRIEND calls on Narr-ed-din to borrow his donkey.

*' Very sorry," says the Hodja, who does not want to lend the
animal, " but the donkey is not here ; I have hired him out for
the day."

Unfortunately, just at that moment the donkey begins to bray
loudly, thus giving the direct lie to the HoJja.

"How is this, Hodja? "says his friend; "you say the don-
key is away, and here he is braying in the stable ! "

The Hodja, nothing daunted, replies in a grave manner :

" My dear sir, please do not demean yourself so low as to
believe the donkey rather than myself — a fellow-man and a ven-
erable Hodja with a long gray beard."

The moral of the last fable some people will never perceive.
It is this :

A?i ass will always reveal himself by some inappropriate remark.
Asses should be seldom seen, and never heard. The wise man hideth
his ass when the borrower cometh around.

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UTTLE BREECHES. . jgg

LITTLE BREECHES.

BY JOHN HAY.

^OHN HAY, born in Salem, Ind., October 8, 1838, and best known as a
humorist through his '* Pike County Ballads," has had a varied career in
politics, war, diplomacy, journalism and literature. Appointed one of Lincoln's
private secretaries in 1861, he served with ability in the war, with distinction
as Secretary of Legation in Paris, Vienna and Madrid, wrote his signally
important book on Spain, "Castilian Days," became connected with the N. Y.
Tribune on his return, and wal afterwards Assistant Secretary of State under
President Hayes. He is a graduate of Brown University, and was bred to
the law.

I don't go much on religion,

I never ain't had no show;
But I've got a middlin' tight grip, sir,

On the handful o' things I know.
I don't pan out on the prophets

And free-will, and tliat sort of thing —
But I b'lieve in God and the angels,

Ever sence one night last spring.

I come into town with some turnips,

And my little Gabe come along —
No four-year-old in the county

Could beat him for pretty and strong,
Peart and chipper and sassy,

Always ready to swear and fight —
And I'd larnt him to chaw terbacker

Jest to keep his milk-teeth white.

The snow come down like a blanket

As I passed by Taggart's store;
I went in for a jug of molasses

And left the team at the door.
They scared at something and started —

I heard one little squall,
And hell-to-split over the prairie

Went team, Little Breeches and all.

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LITTLE BREECHES.

Hell-to-split over the prairie !

I wcs almost frc«e with skeer;
But we rousted up some torches,

And sarched for 'em far and near.
At last we struck horses and wagon.

Snowed under a soft white mound,

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LITTLE BREECHES.

Upsot, dead beat — but of little Gabe
Nor hide nor hair was found

And here all hope soured on me,

Of my fellow-critter's aid —
I jest flopped down on my marrow-bones,

Crotch-deep in the snow, and prayed.

By this, the torches was played out,

And me and Isrul Parr
Went off for^some wood to a sheepfold

That he said was somewhar than

291

We found it at last, and a little shed

Where they shut up the lambs at night.
We looked in and seen them huddled thar,

So warm and sleepy and white;
And THAR sot Little Breeches, and chirped,

As peart as ever you see,
" I want a chaw of terbacker,

And that's what's the matter of me."

How did he git thar? Angels.

He could never have walked in that storm,
They jest scooped down and toted him

To whar it was safe and warm.
And I think that saving a little child.

And bringing him to his own,
Is a derned sight better business

Than loafing around The Throne.

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LOVE'S YOUNG DREAM.

BY W. D. HOWELLS.

«' Our acquaintance has the charm of novelty every time we
meet," she said once, when pressed hard by Mrs. Ellison. •' We
are growing better strangers, Mr. Arbuton and I. By and by,
some morning, we shall - ^t know each other by sight. 1 can
barely recognize him now, though I thought I knew him pretty
well once. I want you to understand that I speak as an unbiased
spectator, Fanny."

" Oh, Kitty ! how can you accuse me of trying to pry into your
affair??" cries injured Mrs. Ellison, and settles herself in a more
comfortable posture for listening.

" I don't accuse you of anything. Fm sure you've a right
to know everything about me. Only, I want you really to
know."

"Yes, dear," says the matron, with hypocritical meekness.

" Well," resumes Kitty, " there are things ihat puzzle me
more and more about him — things that used to amuse me at first,
because I didn't actually believe that they could be, and that I
felt like defying afterwards. But now I can't bear up against
then. They frighten me, and seem to deny me the right to be
what I believe I am."

'* I don't understand you, Kitty."

"Why, you've seen how it is with us at home, and how Uncle
Jack has brought us up. We never had a rule for anything,
except to do what was right, and to be careful of the rights of
others."

"Well!"

"W.ll, llr. Arbuton seems to have lived in a world where
everything is regulated by some rif^id law that It would be death
to break. Then, you know, ;.t home we are always talking about
people, and discussing them; but we always talk of each person
for what he is in himself, and I always thought a person could
refine himself if he tried, and was sincere, and not conceited.
But /ic seems to judge people according to their origin and local-
ity and calling, and to believe that all refinement must come from
just such training and circumstances as his own. Without

LOVE'S YOUNG DREAM.

293

cxactl, baying so, he puts everything else quite r of the ques-
tion. He doesn't appear to dream that there can b^ any different
opinion. He tramples upon all that I have been taught to
believe; and though I chng the closer to my idols, I cant help,
now and then, trying myself by his criterions; and then I find
myself wanting in every civilized trait, and my whole life coarse
and poor, and all my associations hopelessly degraded. I think
his ideas are hard and narrow, and I believe that even my little
experience would prove them false ; but then, they are his, and I
can't reconcile them with what I see is good in him."

Kitty spoke with half-averted face where she sat beside one of
the front windows, looking absently out o.'i the distant line of
violet hills beyond Charlesbourg, and now and then lifting her
glove from her lap and letting it drop again.

" Kitty," said Mrs. Ellison In reply to her difficulties,, " you
oughtn't to sit against a light like that. It makes your profile
quite black to any one back in the room."

" Oh well, Fanny, I'm not black in reality."

"Yes, but a young lady ought always to think how she is
looking. Suppose some one was to come in."

" Dick's the only one likely to come in just now, and he
wouldn't mind it. But if you like it better, I'll come and sit by
you," said Kitty, and took her place beside the sofa.

Her hat was in her hand, her sacque on her arm ; the fatigue
of a recent walk gave her a soft pallor, and languor of face and
attitude. Mrs. Ellison admired her pretty looks, with a generous
regret that they should be wasted on herself, and then asked,
" Where were you this afternoon ? "

♦' Oh, we went to the Hotel Dieu, for one thing, and afterwards
we looked into the courtyard of the convent ; and there another
of his pleasant little traits came out — a way he has of always
putting you in the wrong, even when it's a matter of no conse-
quence any way, and there needn't be any right or wrong about
it. I remembered the place because Mrs. March, you know,
showed us a rose that one of the nuns in the hospital gave her,
and I tried to tell Mr. Arbuton about it, and he graciously took
it as if poor Mrs. March had made an advance towards his
acquaintance. I do wish you could see what a lovely place that
courtyard is, Fanny. It's so strange that such a thing should
be right there, in the heart of this crowded city \ but there it was

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with its peasant cottage on one side, and its long low barns on
the other, and those wide-horned Canadian cows munching at
the racivs of huy outside, and pigeons and chickens all about
among their feet" —

" Yes, yes ; never mind all that, Kitty, You know I hate
nature. Go on about Mr. Arbuton," said Mrs. Ellison, who
did not mean a sarcasm.

" It looked like a farmyard in a picture, far out in the country

somewhere," resumed
( Kitty;"andMr. Arbu-
I ton did it the honor to
I say it was just like
I Normandy."
{ "Kitty!"

" He did, indeed,
Fanny ; and the cows
didn't f;o down on
their knees out of
gratitude either. Well,
^ off on the right were
the hospital buildings
climbing up, you
know, with their stone
walls and steep roofs,
and windows drt)pped
about over them, like
our convent here ; and
there was an artist
there, sketching it all;
he had such a brown,
pleasant face, with a
little black mustache
THE ARTIST. and imperial, and such

gay black eyes, that
nobody could help falling in love with him ; and he was talking in
such a free-and-easy way with the lazy workmen and women over-
looking him. He jotted down a little image of the Virgin in a
niche on the wall, and one of the people called out — Mr. Arbu-
ton was translating — ' Look there ! with one touch he's made
our Blessed Lady.' ' Oh,' says the painter, 'that's nothing ,

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LOVE'S YOIWG DREAM.

295

with three touches I can make the entire Holy Family.' And
thej' all laughed ; and that little joke, you know, won my heart,
— I don't hear many jokes from Mr. Arbuton — and so I said
what a blessed life a painter's must be, for it would give you a
right to be a vagrant, and you could wander through the world,
seeing everything that was lovely and funny, and nobody could
blame you ; and I wondered everybody who had the chance
didn't learn to sketch. Mr. Arbuton took it seriously, and said
people had to have something more than the chance to learn
before they could sketch, and that most of them were an affliction
with their sketch-books, lyid he had seen too much of the sad
effects of drawing from casts. And he put me in the wrong, as
he always does. Don't you see ? I didn't want to learn draw-
ing ; I wanted to be a painter, and go about sketching beautiful
old convents, and sit on camp-stools on pleasant afternoons, and
joke with people. Of course, he couldn't understand that. But
1 know the artist could. Oh, Fanny, if it had only been the
painter whose arm I took that first day on the boat, instead of
Mr. Arbuton ! But the worst of it is, he is making a hypocrite
of me, and a cowardly, unnatural girl. I wanted to go nearer
and look at the painter's sketch : but I was ashamed to say Fd
never seen a veal artist's sketch before, and Fm getting to be
r.shamed, or to seem ashamed, of a great many innocent things.
He has a way of not seeming to think it possible that any one he
associates with can differ from him. And I do differ from him.
1 differ from him as nmch as ;ny whole past life differs from his;
I know Fm just the kind of production he disapproves of, and
that Fm altogether irregular and unauthorized and unjustifiable;
and though it's funny to have him talking to me as if I must have
the sympathy of a rich girl with his ideas, it's provoking, too,
and it's very bad for me. Up to the present moment, Fanny, if
you want to know, that's the principal effect of Mr. Arbuton on
mc. Fnv being gradually snubbed and scared into treasons,
sti'atagems, and spoils."

Mrs. Ellison did not find all this so very grievous, for she was
one of those women who like a snub from the superior sex, if it
does not involve a slight to their beauty or their power of pleas-
ing. But she thought it best not to enter into the question, and
merely said, •' But surely, Kitty, there are a great many things
in Mr. Arbuton that you must respect."

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«' Respect ? Oh, yes, indeed ! But respect isn't just th^
thing for one who seems to consider himself sacred. Say retiere^
Fanny ; say revere ! "

Kitty had risen from her chair, but Mrs. Kllison waved her
ajjain to her seat with an imploriujj gesture. •' Don't go, Kitty ;
I'm not half done with you yet. You must tell me something
more. You've stirred me up so, now. I know you don't always
hiwe such disagreeable times. You've often come home quite
happy. What do you generally find to talk about? Do tell me
some particulars for once."

"Why, little topics come up, you know. But sometimes we
don't talk at all, because I don't like to say what I think or feci,
for fear I should be thinking or feeling something vulgar. Mr.
Arbuton is rather a blight upon conversation in that way. He
mikes you doubtf.il whether there isn't something a little
common in breathing, and the circulation of the biood, and
whether it woulun't be true refinement to stop them."

" Stuff, Kitty ! He's very cultivated, isn't he ? Don't you
talk about books ? He's read everything, I suppose.'

" Oh, yes, he's ;ra</ enough."

"What do you mean?"

"Nothing. Only sometimes it seems to me as if he hadn't
read because he loved it, but because he thought it due to him-
self. But maybe I'm mistaken. I could imagine a delicate
poem shutting up half \*^ sweetness from his cold, cold scrutiny,
— if you will excuse the floweriness of the idea."

" Why, Kitty ! don't you think he's refined ? I'm sure, I think
he's avcry refined person."

" He's a very elaborated person. But I don't think it would
make much difference to him what our opinion of him was. His
own good opinion would be quite enough."

" Is he — is he — always agreeable ? "

" I thought we were discussing his mind, Fanny. I don't know
that I fee) like enlarging upon his manners," said Kitty, slyly.

" But .surely, Kitty," said the matron, with an air of argu-
ment, " there's some connection between kio mind and his
manners."

♦• Yes, I suppose so. I don't think there's much between his
heart and his manners. They seem to have been put on him
instead of having come out of him. He's very well trained, and

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LOVE'S YOUNG DREAM.

297

nine times r>ii( tjf tfR he's so exquisitely |)olite that it's wonderful ;
but the tenth time lie may say something so rude that you can't
believe it."

" Then you like him nine times out of ten."

'* I didn't say that. But for the tenth time, it's certain, his
training doesn't hold out, and he seems to have nothing natural
to fall back upon. But you can believe that, if he knew he'd
been disagreeable, he'd be sorry for it."

** Why, then, Kitty, how can you say that there's no connection
between his heart and manners ? This very thing proves that
they come from his heart. * Don't be illogical, Kitty," said Mrs.
Ellison, and her nerves added, sotto voce, "if you are so abomi-
nably provoking ! "

•' Oh," responded the young girl, with the kind of laugh that
meant it was, after all, not such a laughing matter, " I didn't say
he'd be sorry for _)w/.' Perhaps he would; but he'd be certain
to be sorry for himself. It's with his politeness as it is with his
reading ; he seems to consider it something that's due to himself
as a gentleman to treat people well ; and it isn't in the least as if
he cared for them. He wouldn't like to fail in such a point."

" But, Kitty, isn't that to his credit ? "

" Maybe. I don't say. If I knew more about the world, per-
haps I should admire it. But now, you see" — and here Kitty's
laugh grew mere natural, and she gave a subtle caricature of Mr.
Arbuton's air and tone as she spoke — •* I can't help ' feeling that
it's a little — vulgar."

Mrs. Ellison could not quite make out how much Kitty really
meant of what she had said. She gasped once or twice for argu-
ment ; then she sat up, and beat the sofa-pillows vengefully in
composing herself anew, and finally — ** Well, Kitty, I'm sure I
don't know what to make of it all," she said with a sigh.

"Why, we're not obliged to make anything of it, Fanny, there's
that comfort," replied Kitty; and then there was a silence, while
she brooded over the whole affair of her acquaintance with Mr.
Arlniton, which this talk had failed to set in a more pleasant or
hopeful light. It had begun like a romance; she had pleased
her fancy, if not her heart, with the poetry of it; but at last she
felt exiled and strange in his presence. She had no right to a
different result, even through any deep feeling in the matter; but
while she owned, with her half-sad, half-comical, consciousness,

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that she had been tacitly claiming and expecting too much, she
softly pitied herself, with a kind of impersonal compassion, as if
it were some other girl whose pretty dream had been broken. Its
ruin involved the loss of another ideal; for she was aware that
there had been gradually rising in her mind an image of Boston,
different alike from the holy place of her childhood, the sacred
city of the anti-slavery heroes and martyrs, and from the jesting,
easy, sympathetic Boston of Mr. and Mrs. March. This new
Boston with which Mr. Arbrcon inspired her, was a Boston of
mysterious prejudices ana lofty reservations; a Boston of high
and difficult tastes, that found its social ideal in the Old World,
and that shrank from contact with the reality of this; a Boston
as alien as Europe to her simple experiences, and that seemed to
be proud only of the things that were unlike other American
things; a Boston that would rather perioh by fire and sword than
be suspected of vulgarity; a critical, fastidious, and reluctant
Boston, dissatisfied with the rest of the hemisphere, and gelidly
self-satisfied in so far as it was not in the least the Boston of her
fond preconceptions. It was, doubtless, no more the real Boston
we know and love, than either of the others; and it perplexed
her more than it need, even if it had not been mere phantasm.
It made her suspicious of Mr. Arbuton's behavior towards her,
and observant of little things that might very well have otherwise
escaped her. The bantering humor, the light-hearted trust and
self-reliance with which she had once met him, deserted her, and
only returned fitfully when some accident called her out of her-
self, and made her forget the differences that she now too plainly
saw in their ways of thinking and feeling. It was a greater and
greater effort to place herself in sympathy with him; she relaxed
into a languid self -contempt, as if she had been playing a part,
when she succeeded. " Sometimes, Fanny," she said, now, after
a long pause, speaking in behalf of that other girl she had been
thinking of, " it seems to me as if Mr. Arbuton were all gloves
and slim umbrella — the mere husk of well-dressed culture and
good manners. His looks t/o promise everything; but, oh dear
me! I should be sorry for any one that was in love with him.
Just imagine some girl meeting with such a man, and taking a
fancy to him! I suppose she never would quite believe but that
he must somehow be what she first thought him, and she would
go down to her grave believing that she had failed to understand
him. What a curious story it would make!"

LOVE'S YOUNG DREAM.

299

"Then why don't you write it, Kitty?" asked Mrs. Ellison.
"No one could do it better."

Kitty flushed quickly; then she smiled: "Oh, I don't think I
could do it at all. It wouldn't V)e a very easy story to work out.
Perhaps he might never do anything positively disagreeable
enough to make anybody condemn him. The only way you
could show his character would be to have her do and say hate-
ful things to him, when she couldn't help it, and then repent of
it, while he wa3 impassively perfect through everything. And
perhaps, after all, he might be regarded by some stupid people
as the injured one. Well,*' Mr. Arbuton has been very polite to
us, I'm sure, Fanny," she said after another pause, as she rose
from her chair, "and maybe I'm unjust to him. I beg his par-
don of you; and I wish," she added, with a dull disappointment
quite her own, and a pang of surprise at words that seemed to
utter themselves, "that he would go away."

" Why, Kitty, I'm shocked !" said Mrs. Ellison, rising from her
cushions.

"Yes; so am I, Fanny."

"Are you really tired of him, then?"

Kitty did not answer, but turned away her face a little, where
she stood beside the chair in which she had been sitting.

Mrs. Ellison put out her hand towards Ler. "Kitty, come
here," she said with imperious tenderness,

"No, I won't, Fanny," answered the young girl, in a trembling
voice. She raised the glove that she had been nervously swing-
ing back and forth, and bit hard upon the button of it. " I don't
know whether I'm tired of h'vi — though he isn't a person to rest
one a great deal — but I'm tired of //. I'm perplexed and trou-
bled the whole time, and I don't see any end to it. Yes, I wish
he would go away' Yes, he is tiresome ! What is he staying
here for? If he thinks himself so much better thr-n all ot us, I
wonder he troubles himself with our company. It's quite time
for him to go. No, Fanny, no," cried Kitty, with a little broken
laugh, still rejecting the outstretched hand; "I'll be flat in private,
if you please." And dashing her hand across her eyes, she
flitted out of the room. At the door, she turned and said, "You
needn't think it's what you think it is, Fanny."

"No indeed, dear; you're just overwrought."

"For I really wish he'd go."

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THE BELLE OF VALLEJO.

BY W. L. ALDEN

Vallejo, California, possesses a young lady of extraordinary
beauty. She is, moreover, as intelligent and bold as she is beau-
tiful, and in grappling with a sudden emergency she is probably
unequaled by any one of her sex. Naturally, she is the admira-
tion of every young man in the town. In fact, she is beyond the
reach of rivalry. The other young ladies of Vallejo are per-
fectly well aware that it is hopeless for them to enter the lists
with her. They never expect to receive calls from marriageable
young ir.sn except on the off nights of the Vallejo belle, and
though they doubtless murmur secretly against this dispensation,
they apparently accept it as a law of nature. ' ;

For two years the beauty in question, whom we will call Miss
Ecks, received the homage of her multitudinous admirers, and
took an evident delight in adding to their number. So far from
selecting any particular young man for front-gate or back-piazza
duty, she preferred to entertain one or two dozen simultaneous
admirers in the full blaze of the brilliantly lighted front parlor.
It is only fair to add that she was an earnest young woman, who
despised coquetry and never dreamed of showing favor to one
young man in order to exasperate the rest.

That so brilliant a girl should have finally selected a meek
young minister on whom to lavish her affections was certainly a
surprise to all who knew her, and when it was first rumored that
she had made such a selection, Vallejo refused to believe it.
The minister made his regular nightly calls upon the object of
his affections, but an avesage quantity of eleven other young men
never failed to be present. Of course, he could not obtain a
single moment of private happiness with his eleven rivals sitting
all around the room, unless he made his evening call at a pre-
posterously early hour. He did try this expedient once or twice,
but the only result was that the eleven admirers at once followed
his example. In these circumstances he began to grow thin with
suppressed affection, and the young lady, alarmed at his condi-
tion, made up her mind that something must be done without
delay.

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301

About three weeks ago the young minister presented himself
in his beloved's front parlor at 6:50 r. m., and, in the ten minutes
that elapsed before the first of his rivals rang the bell, he painted
the misery of courting by battalions in the most harrowing terms.
Miss Ecks listened to him with deep sympathy, and promised him
that if he would stay until nine o'clock, the last of the objection-
able young men would be so thoroughly disposed of that for the
rest of the evening he would have the field to himself. Full of
confidence in the decermination and resources of his betrothed,
his cpirits returned, and he was about to express his gratitude v/ith

A STRANGE DISAPPEARANCE.

his lips, as well as his heart, when the first young man was
ushered into the room.

Miss Ecks received her unwelcome guest with great cordiality,
and invited him to sit on a chair the back of which was placed
clpse to a door. The door in question opened outward, and upon
the top of a flight of stairs leading to the cellar. The latch v/as
old and out of order, and the least pressure would cause it to fly
open. In pursuance of a deep-laid plan. Miss Ecks so molded
her conversation as to place the visitor at his ease. In a very
few moments, he ceased to twist his fingers and writhe his legs,
and presently tilted back his chair after the manner of a con-
tented and hpppy man. No sooner did the bark of the chair

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touch the door than the latter flew open, and the unhappy guest
disappeared into the cellar with a tremendous crash. Checking
the cry that arose from the astonished clergyman, Miss Ecks
quietly reclosed the fatal door, placed a fresh chair in its vicinity,
and calmly remarked, " That's o\-\q of them."

In five minutes more the second young man entered. Like
his predecessor, he seated himself on the appointed chair, tipped
back upon its hind-legs, and instantly vanished. " That's two of
them," remarked the imperturbable beauty, as she closed the door
and once more re-set the trap. From this time until nine
o'clock a constant succession of young men went down those cel-
lar stairs. Some of them groaned slightly after reaching the
bottom, but not one returned. It was an unusually good night
for young men, and Miss Ecks caught no less than fourteen
between seven and nine o'clock. As the last one disappeared
she turned to her horrified clergyman and said, " That's the last
of them! Now for business!" but that mild young man had
fainted. His nerves were unable to bear the strain, and when the
moment of his wished-for monopoly of his betrothed had arrived
he was unable to enjoy it.

Later in the evening he revived sufficiently to seek a railway
station and fly forever from his remorseless charmer. The
inquest that was subsequently held upon the fourteen young men
will long be remembered as a most impressive scene. Miss Ecks
was present with her back hair loose, and the tears stood in her
magnificent eyes as she testified that she could not imagine what
induced the young men to go down cellar. The jury without the
slightest hesitation found that they had one and all committed
suicide, and the coroner personally thanked the young lady for
her lucid testimony. She is now more popular than ever, and,
with the loss of her own accepted lover, has renewed her former
fondness for society, and nightly entertains all the surviving
young men of Vallejo.

This shows what the magnificent climate of California can
accomplish in the production of girls, when it really tries.

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303

KITTY ANSWERS.

BY W, D. HOWELLS.

can

It was the dimmest twilight when Kitty entered Mrs. Ellison's
room and sank down on the first chair in silence.

" The colonel met a friend at the St. Louis, and forgot about
the expedition, Kitty," sa^d Fanny, "and he only came in half
an hour ago. But it's just as well; I know you've had a splendid
time. Where's Mr. Arbuton ? "

Kitty burst into tears.

" Why, has anything happened to him 1 "' cried Mrs. Ellison,
springing towards her.

" To him ? No ! What should happen to him ? " Kitty
demanded with an indignant accent.

"Well, then, has anything happened to you?"

" I don't know if you can call it happening. But I suppose
you'll be satisfied now, Fanny. He's offered himself to me."
Kitty uttered the last words with a sort of violence, as if, since
the fact must be stated, she wished it to appear in the sharpest
reiief.

"Oh dear ! " said Mrs. Ellison, not so well satisfied as the suc-
cessful match-maker ought to be. So long as it was a marriage
in the abstract, she had never ceased to desire it; but as to the
actual union of Kitty and this Mr. Arbuton, of whom, really,
they knew so little, and of whom, if she searched her heart, she
had as little liking as knov.'ledge, it was another affair. Mrs.
Ellison trembled at her triumph, and began to think that failure
would have been easier to bear. Were they in the least suited to
each other? Vvould she like to see poor Kitty chained for life to
that impassive egotist, whose very merits were repellent, and whose
modesty even seemed to convict and snub you ? Mrs. Ellison
was not able to put the matter to herself with moderation, either
way; doubtless she did Mr. Arbuton injustice now. " Did you
accept him ? " she whispered, feebly.

" Accept him ? " repeated Kitty. <' No ! "

" Oh dear ! " agam sighed Mrs. Ellison, feeling that this was
scarcely better, and not daring to ask further.

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" I m dreadfully perplexed, Fanny," said Kitty, after writing
for the questions which did not come, "and I wish you'd help
me think."

" I will, darling. But I don't know that I'll be of much use.
I begin to think I'm no< very good at thinking."

Kitty, who longed chiefly to get the situation more distinctly
before herself, gave no heed to this confession, but went on to
rehearse the whole affair. The twilight lent her its veil; and in
the kindly obscurity she gathered courage to face all the facts,
and even to find what was droll in them.

"It was very solemn, of course, and I was frightened; but I
tried to keep my wits about me, and not\.o say yes, simply because
that was the easiest thing. I tOiJ him that I didn't know — and I
don't; and that I must have time to think — and I must. He was
very ungenerous, and said he had hoped I had already had time
to think; and he couldn't seem to understand, or else I couldn't
very well explain, how it had been with me all along."

" He might certainly say you had encouraged him," Mrs.
Ellison remarked, thoughtfully.

" Encouraged him, Fanny ? How can you accuse me of such
indelicacy ? "

*' Encouraging isn't indelicacy. The gentlemen have to be
encouraged, or of course they'd naver have any courage. They're
so timid, naturally."

" I don't think Mr. Arbuton is very timid. He seemed to
thmk that he had only to ask as a matter of form, and I had no
business to say anything. What has he ever done for me ? And
hasn't he often been intenseiy disagreeable'? He oughtn't to
have spoken just after oveihearing what he did. It was horrid to
do so. He was very obtuse, too, not to see that girls can't
always be so certain of themselves as men, or, if they are, don't
know they are as soon as they're asked."

"Yes," interrupted Mrs. Ellison, " that's the way with girls. I
do believe that most of them — when they're young like you,
Kitty — never think of marriage as the end of their flirtations.
They'd just like the attentions and the romance to go on forever,
and never turn into anything more serious; and they're not to
l)Iame for that, though they do get blamed for it."

"Certainly," assented Kitty, eagerly, "that's it; that's just what
I v/a:; saying; that's the very reason why girls must have time
to make up their minds. K?// hiui, I suppose."

KITTY ANSWERS.

305

" Yes, two minutes. Poor Dick was going back to his regi-
ment, and stood with hisv^tch in his hand. I said no, and called
after him to correct myself. But, Kitty, if the romance had
happened to stop without his saying anything, you wouldn't have
liked that either, would you ? "

" No," faltered Kitty, " I suppose noi."

" Well, then, don't you see ? That's a great point in his favor.
How much time did you want, or did he give you ? "

"I said I should answer before we left Quebec," answered
Kitty, with a heavy si^h.

" Don't you know what to say now ?"

" I can't tell. That's what I want you to help me think out."

Mrs. Ellison was silent for a moment before she said, " Well,
then, I suppose we shall have to go back to the very beginning."

" Yes," assented Kitty, faintly.

" You did have a sort of fancy for him the first time you saw
him, didn't you ? " asked Mrs. Ellison, coa.-ingly, while forcing
herself to be systematic and coherent, by a mental strain of which
1.. idea can be given.

"Yes," said Kitty, yet more faintly; adding, "but I can't tell
just what sort of a fancy it was. I suppose I admired him for
being handsome and stylish, and for having such exquisite man-
ners."

'♦ Go on," aaid Mrs. Ellison. "And after you got acquainted
with him ? "

" Why, you know we've talked that over once already, Fanny."

*' Yes, but we oughtn't to skip anything now," replied Mrs.
Ellison, in a tone of judicial accuracy which made Kitty smile.

But she quickly became serious again, and said, "Afterwards
I couldn't tell whether to like him or not, or whether he wanted
me to. I think he acted very strangely for a person in — love. I
used to feel so troubled and oppressed when I was with him.
He seemed always to be making himself .igreeable under pro-
test."

" Perhaps that was just your imagination, Kitty."

" Perhaps it was; but it troubled me just the same."

"Well, and then?"

"Well, and then after that day of the Montgomery expedition,
he seemed to change altogether, and to try always to be pleasant,
and to do everything he could to make me like him. I don't

! 1
I !

^ %

r >

' 'S

fit

'»;

'ikn

306

MARK TWAIN'S LIBRARY OF HUMOR.

know how to account for it. Ever since then he's been extremely
careful of me, and behaved— of course without knowing it—as if
I belonged to him already. Or may be I've imagined that too.
It's very hard to tell what has really happened the last two
weeks."

Kitty was silent, and Mrs. Ellison did not speak at once.
Presently she asked, " Was his acting ai ; you belonged to him
disagreeable ? "

" I can't tell. I think it was rather presuming. I don't know
why he did it."

"Do you respect him?" demanded Mrs. Ellison.
" Why, Fanny, I've always told you that I did respect some
things in him."

Mrs. Ellison
had the facts be-
fore her, and it
rested upon her
to sum them up,
and do some-
thing with them.
She rose to a
M sitting posture,
and confronted
her task.

"Well, Kitty,
I'll tell you: 1
don't really know
what to think. But I can say this: if you liked him at first, and
then didn't like him, and afterwards he made himself more
agreeable, and you didn't mind his behaving as if you belonged
to him, and you respected him, but after all didn't think him
fascinating — "

«' He is fascinating — in a kind of way. He was, from the
beginning. In a story his cold, snubbing, putting-down ways
would have been perfectly fascinating."
" Then why didn't you take him ? "

'• Because," answered Kitty, between laughing and crying, "it
isn t a story, and I don't know whether I like him."
" But do you think you might get to like him ?"
** I don't know. His asking brings back all the doubts I ever

*• KITTY GLIDED OUT OF THE ROOM.'

I !i

the

KITTY ANSWERS.

307

had of him, and that I've been forgetting the past two weeks. I
can't veil whether I like him or not. If I did, shouldn't I trust
him more?"

" Well, whether you are in love or not, I'll tell you what you
are, Kitty," cried Mrs. Ellison, provoked with her indecision,
and yet relieved that the worst, whatever it was, was postponed
thereby for a day or two.

" What ? "

"You're—"

But at this important juncture the colonel came lounging in,
and Kitty glided out of the room.

** Richard," said Mrs. Ellison, seriously, and in a tone imply-
ing that it was the colonel's fault, as usual, "you know what has
happened, I suppose."

" No, my dear, I don't;, but no matter: I will presently, I dare
say."

" Oh, I wish for once you wouldn't be so flippant. Mr.
Arbuton has offered himself to Kitty."

Colonel Ellison gave a quick, sharp whistle of amazement, but
trusted himself to nothing more articulate.

" Yes," said his wife, responding to the whistle, ** and it makes
me perfectly wretched."

"Why, I thought you liked him."

** I didn't like\(\m\ but I thought it would bean excellent thing
for Kitty."

" And won't it ? "

" She doesn't know."

"No!"

The colonel was silent, while Mrs. Ellison stated the case in
full, and its pending uncertainty. Then he exclaimed vehe-
mently, as if his amazement had been growing upon him, " This
is the most astonishing thing in the world ! Who would ever
have dreamt of that young iceberg being in love ? "

*' Haven't I told you all along he was ? "

•'Oh, yes, certainly; but that might be taken either way, you
know. You would discover the tender passion in the eye of a
potato."

"Colonel Ellison," said Fanny, with sternness, "why do you
suppose he's been hanging about us for the last four weeks ? Why
should he have stayed in Quebec ? Do you think he pitied me,
or found ynu so agreeable ? "

Its ■'■•

3o8

MARK TWAIN'S LIBRARY OF HUMOR,

*< Well, I thought he found us just tolerable, and was interested
in the place."

Mrs. Ellison made no direct reply to this pitiable speech, but
looked a scorn which, happily for the colonel, the darkness hid.
Presently she said that bats did not express the blindness of men,
for any bat could have seen what was going on.

" Why," remarked the colonel, •• I did have a momentary sus-
picion that day of the Montgomery business; they both looked
very confused when I saw them at the end of that street, and
neither of them had anything to say; but that was accounted for
by what you told me afterwards about his adventure. At the
time I didn't pay much attention to the matter. The idea of his
being in love seemed too ridiculous."

" Was it ridiculous for you to be in love with me ? "
" No; and yet I can't praise my condition for its wisdom,
Fanny."

" Yes ! that's like men. As soon as one of them is safely
married, he thinks all the love-making in the world has been
done forever, and he can't conceive of two young people taking a
fancy to each other."

•« That's something so, Fanny. But grantmg — for the sake of
argument merely — that Boston has been asking Kitty to marry
him, and she doesn't know whether she wants him, what are we
to do about it ? / don't like him well enough to plead his cause;
do you ? AVhen does Kitty think she'll be able to make up her
mind?"
" She's to let him know before we leave."
The colonel laughed. '* And so he's to hang about here on
uncertainties for two whole days ! That is rather rough on him.
Fanny, what made you so eager for this business ? "
" Eager ? I loasn'/ eager."
" Well, then — reluctantly acquiescent ? "
'* Why, she's so literary, and that."
" And what ? " ^

" How insulting! Intellectual, and so on; and I thought she
wouiu be just flu to live in a place where everybody is literary
and intellectual. That is, I thought that, if T thought anything."
"Well," said the colonel, "you may ha^e been right on the
whole, but I d&n't think Kitty is showing any particular force of
mind, just now, that would fit her to live in Boston. My opinion

■■M K. r

t 4

ir/rTY ANSWERS.

is, that it's ridiculous for her to keep him in suspense. She might
as well answer him first as last. She's putting herself under a
kind of obligation by her delay. I'll talk to her — "

•« If you do, you'll kill her. You don't knowhowshe's wrought
up about it."

«'0h, well, I'll be careful of her sensibilities. It's my duty to
speak with her. I'm here in the place of a parent. Besides,
don't I know Kitty ? I've almost brought her up."

'< Maybe you're right. You're all so queer that perhaps you're
right. Only, do be careful, Richard. You must approach the
matter very delicately— iiTdirectly, you know. Girls are different,
remember, from young men, and you mustn't be blunt. Do
manoeuvre a little, for once in your life."

"All right, Fanny; you needn't be afraid of my doing anything
awkward or sudden. I'll go to her room pretty soon, after she is
quieted down, and have a good, calm old fatherly conversation
with her."

The colonel was spared this errand; for Kitty had left some of
her things on Fanny's table, and now came back for them with a
lamp in her hand. Her averted face showed the marks of weep-
ing; the corners of her firm-set lips were downward bent, as if
some resolution which she had taken was very painful. This
the anxious Fanny saw; and she made a gesture to the colonel
which any woman would have understood to enjoin silence, or,
at least, the utmost caution and tenderness of speech. The colonel
summoned his finesse and said, cheerily, '* Well, Kitty, what's
Boston been saying to you ? "

Mrs. Ellison fell back upon her sofa as if shot, and placed her
hand over her face.

Kitty seemed not to hear her cousin. Having gathered up her
things, she bent an unmoved face and an unseeing gaze full
upon him, and glided from the room without a word.

"Well, upon my soul," cried the colonel, *' this is a pleasant,
nightmarish, sleep-walking, Lady-Macbethish little transaction.
Confound it, Fanny! this comes of your wanting me to manoeu-
vre: if you'd let me come straight at the subject — like a man — "

^^ Please, Richard, don't say anything more now," pleaded Mrs.
Ellison in a broken voice. " You can't help it, I know; and I
must do the best I can under the circumstances. Do go away
for a liwtle while, darling! Oh, dear! "

. 1 ' 'Utl

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MARK TWAIN'S LIBRARY OF HUMOR.

/ As for Kitty, when she had got out of the room in that phan-
tasmal fashion, she dimly recalled, through the mists of her own
trouble, the colonel's dismay at her so glooming upon him, and
began to think that she had used poor Dick more tragically than
she need, and so began to laugh softly to herself ; but while she
stood there at the entry window a moment, laughing in the moon-
light, that made her lamp-flame thin, and painted her face with
its pale lustre, Mr. Arbuton came down the attic stairway. He
was not a man of quick fancies ; but to one of even slower imag-
inations and of calmer mood, she might very well have seemed
unreal, the creature of a dream, fantastic, intangible, insensible,
arch, not wholly without some touch of the malign. In his lieart
he groaned over her beauty as if she were lost to him forever in
this elfish transfiguration.

" Miss Ellison ! " he scarcely more than whispered.

" You ought not to speak to me now," she answered, gravely.

*' I know it ; but I could not help ft. For heaven's sake, do
not let it tell against me. I wished to ask, if I should not see
you to-morrow, to beg that all might go on as had been plan-
ned, and as if nothing had been said to-day."

"It'll be very strange," said Kitty. "My cousins know every-
thing now. How can we meet before them ? "

** I'm not going away without an answer, and we can't remain
here without meeting. It will be less strange if we let everything
take its course."

"Well."

"Thanks."

He looked strangely humbled, but even more bewildered than
humbled.

She listened while he descended the steps, unbolted the street
door, and closed it behind him. Then she passed out of the
moonlight into her own room, whose close-curtained space the
lamp filleff w n its ruddy glow, and reveMed her again, no
malicious spj'^v, but a very puzzled, conscientious, anxious young
girl.

""^"r^f c- :iraj.y o,,^rmM

FOURTH OF JULY ORATION

"-"' Connecticut, 1859.

BV ARTEMUS WARD

Punktooate worth a cent.] ^'^ '^' ^'"^''" i" ^.mV, /.roffi,; 1°

Feller Citizens : I've bPf.n i,« .
.e'ore you to-day ; a„;:ht'?r J^. f S " '"""= '" "°"'=

They though, this was o„e of my ec«n ri ^'''- '^'^" ■'■PPl"^-
I m a:*; ■ """= ■"'*'- you and ,'""""■ '""'' '"^ ^-t is

--'"- WhaUshansayw^-J^-rZ-ar^S

«^^"::z:';s:r;r:r»dTr''" -^^"^ ^'^ «-'^- ^ve no

I '- .he UnionJieT/Xh ;'"ar . ^"l''" " ""»"-"
«o s« a lot of ornery penle a m„?~? " """'" "y hart hieed
^^ other p,ace_an5 S To buif ,> "'"-™' "' "-ven, S
»as sp„, i„ ,„„„,„, ;"; ° ^r ■ "P. Too much good Liud

Goddess of Liberty to mt 7h ^ respectable female the

f-„fi„ji,„„, u''c:;ef it:d rrnhiiT '" "»• *'/-"

"eatness and despatch, but you ca„.t t' 'l;""'' P""" '^''^
Goddess up there. No by no^Za's 1^ "J"""'' "•""' '"«
herself too well to cast her off n^ r J ""' «" "^^ '"^^aved

Sfs/it:.: sf„£ f -?o;^-— r

-- a. and Withered berat::---r:ho

;*f

i t V ,1

itejf

1 I'

I-

312

MARK TWAIN'S LIBRARY OF HUMOR.

^ftyi -r.

attempts to bust her up. That's me. I hav sed ! [It was a very
sweaty day, and at this pint of the orashun a man fell down with
sunstroke. I told the awjince that considerin' the large number
of putty gals present I was more afraid of a dawter stroke.
This was impromptoo, and seemed to amoose them very much.]

Feller Citizens — I
hain't got time to
notis the growth of
Ameriky frum the
time when the May-
flowers cum over in
the Pi /grim and
brawt Plymmuth
Rock with them, but
every skool boy nose
our kareer has bin
tremenjis. You will
excuse me if I don't
praise the early set-
tlers of the Kolonies.
Peple which hung
idiotic old wimin for
witches, burnt holes
in Quakers' tongues
and consined their
feller critters to the
tredmill and pillery
on the slitost provo-
cashun may have bin
very nice folks in
their way, but I must
confess I don't ad-
mire their stile, and
will pass them by.
I spose they ment well, and so, in the novel and techin lan-
gwidge of the nusepapers, *' peas to their ashis." Thare was
no diskount, however, on them brave men who fit, bled and died
in the American Revolushun. We needn't be afraid of setting
'em up two steep. Like my show, they will stand any amount of
prase. G. Washington was abowt the best man this world ever

AN OLD TIME CELEHRATION.

ery
rith
ber

KE.

FOURTH OF JULY ORATION.

313

sot eyes on. He was a clear-heded, warm-harted, and stiddy-
goin' man. He never slept over ! The prevalin weakness of
most public men is to SLOP OVER ! [Put them words in large
letters— A. W.] They git filled up and slop. They Rush Things.
They travel too much on the hign presher principle. They git
on to the fust poplar hobby hoss whitch trots along, not carin' a
sent whether the beest is even-goin', clear sited and sound, or
spavined, blind and bawky. Of course they git throwed event-
ooaily, if not sooner. When they see the multitood goin' it blind
they go Pel Mel with it, instid of exertin' theirselves to set it
right. They can't see thgt the crowd which is now bearin' them
triumfantly on its shoulders will soon diskiver its error and cast
them into the hoss pond of Oblivyun, without the slitest hesi-
tashun. Washington never slopt over. That wasn't George's
stile. He luved his country dearly. He wasn't after the spiles.
He was a liuman angil in a 3 kornered hat and knee britches,
and we sha'n't see his like right away. My friends, we can't all
be Washington's, but we kin all be patrits & behave ourselves in
a human and a Christian manner. When we see a brother goin'
down hill to Ruin let us not give him a push, but let us seeze
rite hold of his coat-tails and draw him back to Morality.

Imagine G. Washington and P. Henry in the character of
seseshers I As well fancy John Bunyan and Dr. Watts in
spangled tites, doin the trapeze in a one-horse circus !

I tell you, feller-citizens, it would have been ten dollars in Jeff
Davis's pocket if he'd never bin born !

* * % If. in If. if.

Be shure and vote at leest once at all eleckshuns. Buckle on
yer armer and go to the Poles. See two it that your naber is
there. See that tiie kripples air provided with carriages. Go
to the Poles and stay all day. Bewair of the infamous lies whitch
the Opposishun will be sartin to git up fur perlitical effek on the
eve of eleckshun. To the Poles ! and when you git there vote
jest as you darn please. This is a privilege we all persess, and
it is I of the booties of this grate and free land.

I see mutch to admire in New Englan'. Your gals in particklar
air abowt as snug bilt peaces of Calliker as I ever saw. They
air fully equal to the corn fed gals of Ohio and Injianny, and
will make the bestest kind of wives. It sets my Buzzum on fire
to look at 'em.

If:

314

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h., !*'

MARK TWAIN'S LIBRARY OF HUMOR.

Be still, my sole, be still,
& you. Hart, stop cuttin up !

I like your school houses, your meetin' houses, your enter-
prise, gumpshun &c., but your favorite Bevridge I disgust. I
allude to New England Rum. It is wuss nor the korn whisky of
Injianny, which eats threw stone jugs & will turn the stum-
muck of the most shiftliss Hog. I seldom seek consolashun in
the flowin Bole, but t'other day I wurrid down some of your Rum.
The fust glass indused me to swear like a infooriated trooper.
On takin' the secund glass I was seezed with a desire to break
winders, &: arter imbibin' the third glass I knockt a small boy down,
pickt his pocket of a New York Ledger^ and wildly commenced
readin' Sylvanus Kobb's last Tail. It's dreadful stuff — a sort of
lic'.cwid litenin, gut up under the personii. supervishun of the devil
— tears men's inards ah to peaces and makes their noses blossum
as the Lobster. Shun it as you would a wild hyeny with a fire-
brand tied to his tale, and while you air abowt it you will do a
first-rate thing for yourself and everybody abowt you by shunnin
all kinds of intoxicatin lickers. You don't need *em no more'n a
cat needs 2 tales, sayin' nothin* abowt the trubble and sufferin'
they cawse. But unless your inards air cast-iron, avoid New
Englan's favorite Bevridge.

My friends, I'm dun. I tear myself away from you with tears
in my eyes & a pleasant odor of Onyins abowt my close. In the
langwidge of Mister Catterline to the Rummuns, I go, but
perhaps I shall cum back agin. Adoo, peple of Weathersfield.
Be virtoous & you'll be happy

it • ' \-

THE PARSON'S HORSE-RACE. 3 1 5

THE PARSON'S HORSE-RACE.

BY HARRIET BEECHER STOWE.

T=xARRIET BEECHER STOWE, the author of "Uncle Tom's Cabin, "the
* most famous novel ever written, and of other works of world-wide celeb-
rity, was bom at Litchfield, Conn., in 1812. She was married in her twenty,
first year to Calvin E. Stowc, and removed from Hartford to Cincinnati, where
she wrote her first books, and gathered the material for her great work. She
has, since 1850, lived in the East, end now divides her year between Hartford
and Florida. " Oldtown FircsidS Stories " is ©ne of several volumes of New
England sketches.

" Wal, now, this 'ere does beat all! I wouldn't 'a' thought it o'
the deacon."

So spoke Sam Lawson, drooping in a discouraged, contempla-
tive attitude in front of an equally discouraged looking horse,
that had just been brought to him by the Widow Simpkins for
medical treatment. Among Sam's many accomplishments, he
was reckoned in the neighborhood an oracle in all matters of this
kind, especially by women, whose helplessness in meeting such
emergencies found unfailing solace under his compassionate
willingness to attend to any business that did not strictly belong
to him, and from which no pecuniary return was to be expected.

The Widow Simpkins had bought this horse of Deacon Atkins,
apparently a fairly well-appointed brute, and capable as he was
good-looking. A short, easy drive, when the Deacon held the
reins, had shown off his points to advantage; and the widow's
small stock of ready savings had come forth freely in payment for
what she thought was a bargain. When, soon after coming into
possession, she discovered that her horse, if driven with any
haste, panted in a fearful manner, and that he appeared to be
growing lame, she waxed wroth, and went to the Deacon in anger,
to be met only with the smooth reminder that the animal was all
right when she took him; that she had seen him tried herself.
The widow was of a nature somewhat spicy, and expressed her-
self warmly: "It's a cheat and a shame, and I'll take the law
on y^ !"

" What law will you take ?" said the unmoved Deacon. "Wasn't
it a fair bargain ? "

• Kki

.1' :m

f("'\.

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3i6

MARfC TWAIN'S LIBRARY OF HUMOR.

1,4* *' ,

ft:.-.-'

} ^

*• I'll take the law of God," said the widow, with /mpotent
indignation; and she departed to pour her cares and trials into
the ever ready ear of Sam. Having assumed the care of the
animal, he now sat contemplating it in a sort of trance of melan-
choly reflection.

yse^K ** Why, boys," he broke out,

— *«if \it£sss>y " ^^y ^' "^^ ^^ come to me afore

s^ ~ jr^^j gjjg bought this crittur? Why, I

knew all about him : That 'ere
crittur was jest ruined a year ago
last summer, when Tom, the Bea-
con's boy there, come home from
CLllege. Tom driv him over to
Sherburn and back that 'ere hot
Fourth of July. 'Member it, 'cause
I saw the crittur when he come
nome. I sot up with Tom takin*
care of him all night. That 'ere
crittur had the thumps all night,
and he hain't never been good for
nothin' since. I telled the Deacon
he was a gone boss then, and
wouldn't never be good for nothin'.
The Deacon, he took off his shoes,
and let him run to pastur' all sum-
mer, and he's ben a-feedin' and
nussin' on him up ; and now he's
put him ofif on the widder. I
wouldn't 'a' thought it o' the Dea-

^ con! Why, this boss' 11 never be no

y%^ ^"^ v^''T*««<^l|^ gQQjj jQ j^gj. I Yj^,^^. .gj.g.g ^ used-up

crittur, any fool may see ! He'll
mabbe do for about a quarter of an
hour on a smooth road; but come
to drive him as a body wants to drive, why, he blows like my
bellowsis ; and the Deacon knew it — must 'a' known it !"

"Why, Sam!" we exclaimed, ** ain't the Deacon a good man?"

"Wal, now, there's where the shoe pinches! In a gm'al way

the Deacon is a good man — he's consid'able more than middlin'

good; gin'ally he adorns his perfession. On most p'ints I don't

SAM LAWSON.

hevn(
Buttl
natur'
about
forge,
mouri
to be
suthir

folks

timi

4aM.iii£

/ 11

THE PARSON'S HORSE-RACE.

317

hevnothin' agin the Deacon; and this 'ere ain't a bit like him.
But there 'tis! Come to hosses, there's where the unsanctified
natur' comes out. Folks will cheat about hosses when they won't
about 'most nothin' else" And Sam leaned back on his cold
forge, now empty of coal, and seemed to deliver himself to a
mournful train of general reflection. **Yes, hosses does seem
to be sort o' unregenerate critturs," he broke out: "there's
suthin about hosses that deceives the very elect. The best o'
folks gets tripped up when they come to deal in hosses."

" Why, Sam, is there anything bad in horses ? " we interjected
timidly. ' *

"'Tain't the hosses," said Sam with solemnity. " Lordy
massy! the hosses is all right enough! Hosses is scriptural ani-
mals. Elijah went up to heaven in a chari't with hosses, and
then all them lots o' hosses in the Ravelations — black and white
and red, and all sorts o' colors. That 'ere shows hosses goes
to heaven; but it's more'n the folks that hev 'em is likely to, ef
they don't look out.

*' Ministers, now," continued Sam, in a soliloquizing vein —
" folks allers thinks it's suthin' sort o' shaky in a minister to hev
much to do with hosses — sure to get 'em into trouble. There
was old Parson Williams of North Billriky got into a drcff ul mess
about a boss. Lordy massy! he wern't to blame, neither; but he
got into the dreffulest scrape you ever heard on — come nigh to
unsettlin' him."

" O Sam, tell us all about it!" we boys shouted, delighted with
the prospect of a story.

*■ Wal, wait now till I get off this crittur's shoe^, and we'll take
him up to pastur', and then we can kind o' set by the river, and
fish. Hepsy wanted a mess o' fish for supper, and I was cal'latin'
to git some for her. You boys go and be digging bait, and git
yer lines."

.And so, as we were sitting tranquilly beside the Charles River,
watching our lines, Sam's narrative began:

" Ye see, boys, Parson Williams — he's dead now, but when I
was a boy be was one of the gret men round here. He writ
books. He writ a tract agin the Armenians, and put 'em down ;
and he writ a big book on the millennium (I've got that 'ere book
now); and he was a smart preacher. Folks said he had invita-
tions to settle in Boston, and there ain't no doubt he might 'r.'

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hed a Boston parish ef he'd 'a' ben a mind ter take it ; but he'd
got a good settlement and a handsome farm in North Billriky,
and didn't care to move ; thought, I s'pose, that 'twas better to
be number one in a little place than number two in a big un.
Anyway, he carried all before him where he was,

♦• Parson Williams was a tall, straight, personable man ; come
» ^ood family — father and grand'ther before him all ministers.

/ ivas putty up and down, and commandin' in his ways, and
things had to go putty much as he said. He was a good deal
sot by. Parson Williams was, and his wife was a Derby — one o'
them rich Salem Derbys — and brought him a lot o* money ; and
so they lived putty easy and comfortable so fur as this world's
goods goes. Well, now, the parson wa'n't reely what you call
worldly-minded ; but then he was one o' them folks that knows
whafs good in temporals as well as sperituals, and allers liked to
hev the best that there was goin' ; and he allers had an eye to a
good hoss.

"Now, there was Parson Adams and Parson Scranton, and
most of the other ministers : they didn't know and didn't care
what hoss they hed ; jest jogged round with these 'ere poundin',
potbellied, sleepy critturs that ministers mostly hes — good enough
to crawl around to funerals and ministers' meetin's and 'socia-
tions and sich ; but Parson Williams, he allers would hev a hoss
as was a hoss. He looked out for blood ; and, when these 'ere
Vermont fellers would come down with a drove, the parson he hed
his eyes open, and knew what was what. Couldn't none of 'em
cheat him on hoss flesh! And so one time when Zach Buel was
down with a drove, the doctor he bought the best hoss in the lot.
Zach said he never see a parson afore that he couldn't cheat ;
but he said the doctor reely knew as much as he did, and got the
very one he'd meant to 'a' kept for himself.

"This 'ere hoss was a peeler, I'll tell you! They'd called
him Tamerlane, from some heathen feller or other : the boys
caWed him Tam, for short. Tam was a great character. All the
fellers for miles round knew the doctor's Tam, and used to come
clear over from the other parishes to see him.

" Wal, this 'ere sot up Cuff's back high, I tell you .' Cuft was
the doctor's nigger man, and he was nat'lly a drefful proud crit-
tur. The way he would swell and strut and brag about the
doctor and his folks and his things 1 The doctor used to give

THE PARSON'S HORSE-RACB.

319

Cuff his cast-off clothes : and Cuff would prance round in 'em,
and seem to think he was a doctor of divinity himself, and had
the charge of all natur'.

" Well, Cuff he reely made an idol o' that 'ere hoss — a reg'lar
graven image — and bowed down and worshiped him. He didn't
think nothin'. was too good for him. He washed and brushed
and curried him, and rubbed him down till he shone like a lady's
satin dress ; and he took pride in ridin' and drivin' him, 'cause it
was what the doctor wouldn't let nobody else do but himself,
You see, Tam wern't no lady's hoss. Miss Williams was 'fraid
as death of him ; and th^ parson he hed to git her a sort o'
low-sperited crittur that she could
drive herself. But he liked to
drive Tam ; and he liked to go
round the country on his back, and
a fine figure of a man he was on
him, too. He didn't let nobody
else back him or handle the leins
but Cuff ; and Cuff was drefful set
up about it, and he swelled and
bragged about that ar hoss all
round the country. Nobody
couldn't put in a word 'bout any
other hoss, without Cuff's feathers
would be all up stiff as a tom-
turkey's tail ; and that's how Cuff
got the doctor into trouble.

" Ye see, there nat'lly was others
that thought they'd got horses, and didn't want to be crowed
over. There was Bill Atkins, out to the west parish, and Ike
Sanders, that kep' a stable up to Pequct Holler : they was down
a-lookin' at the parson's hoss, and a-bettin' on their'n, and
a darin' Cuff to race with 'em.

" Wal, Cuff, he couldn't stan' it, and, when the doctor's back
was turned, he'd be off on the sly, and they'd hev their race ;
and Tam he beat 'em all. Tam, ye see, boys, was a hoss that
couldn't and wouldn't hev a hoss ahead of him— he ]tsi wotddn.' t !
Ef lie dropped down dead in his tracks the next mimt, he 7iioula
be ahead ; and he allers got ahead. And so his name got up, and
fellers kep' comin' to try their horses ; and Cuff'd take Tam

CUFF.

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out to race with lust one and then another till this 'ere got to be
a reg'lar thing, and begun to be talked about.

"Folks sort o' wondered if the doctor knew; but Cuff was sly
as a weasel, and allers had a story ready for every turn. Cuff
was one of them fellers that could talk a bird off a bush — master
hand he was to slick things over!

"There was foH's as said they believed the doctor was knowin'
to it, and that he felt a sort o' carnal pride sech as a minister
oughtn't fer to hev, and so shet his eyes to what was a-goin'
on. Aunt' Sally Nickerson said she was sure on't. 'Twas all
talked over down to old Miss Bummiger's funeral, and Aunt
Sally she said the church ought to look into't. But everybody
knew Aunt Sally: she was allers watchin' for folks' haltin's, and
settin' on herself up to jedge her neighbors.

"Wal, I never believed nothin' agin Parson Williams: it was
all Cuffs contrivances. But the fact was, the fellers all got their
blood up, and there was hoss-racin' in all the parishes; and it
got so they'd even rac , bosses a Sunday.

"Wal, of course they never got the doctor's boss out a Sun-
day. Cuff wouldn't 'a' durst to do that, Lordy massy, no! He
was allers there in church, settin' up in the doctor's clothes,
rollin' up his eyes, and lookin' as pious as ef he never thought o*
racin' bosses. He was an awful solemn-lookin' nigger in church,
Cuff was.

♦* But there was a lot o' them fellers up to Pequot Holler —
Bill Atkins, and Ike Sanders, and Tom Peters, and them Hokum
boys — used to go out arter meetin' Sunday arternoon, and race
bosses. Ye see, it was jest close to the State-line, and, if the
s'lectmen was to come down on 'em, they could jest whip over
the line, and they couldn't take 'em.

"Wal, it got to be a great scandal. The fellers talked about
it up to the tavern; and the deacons and the tithingman, they
took it up and went to Parson Williams about it; and the parson
he told 'em jest to keep still, not let the fellers know that they
was bein' watched, and next Sunday he and the tithingman and
the constable, they'd ride over, and catch 'em in the very act.

"So next Sunday arternoon Parson Williams and Deacon
Popkins and Ben Bradley (he was constable that year), they got
on to their bosses, and rode over to Pequot Holler. The doctor's
blood was up, and he meant to come down on 'em strong; for

'A',

THE PARSON'S HORSE RACE.

321

1,^'KI

tna'c was his way o' doin' in his parish. And they was m a sort
o' day-o'-jedgment frame o' mind, and jogged along solemn as a
hearse, till, come to rise the hill above the holler, they see three
or four fellers with their hosses gittin' ready to race; and the
parson says he, 'Let's come on quiet, and get behind these
bushes, and we'll see what they're up to, and catch 'em in the act.'

" But the mischief on't was, that Ike Sanders see 'em comin,'
and he knowed Tam in a minit — Ike knowed Tam of old — and
he jest tipped the wink to the rest. ' Wait, boys,' says he : * let
'em git close up, and then I'll give the word, and the doctor's
boss will be racin' ahea^I like thunder.'

" Wal, so the doctor and his folks they drew up behind the
bushes, and stood there innocent as could be, and saw 'em gittin'
ready to start. Tam, he begun to snuffle and paw, but the doc-
tor never mistrusted what he was up to till Ike sung out, ' Go it,
boys!' and the hosses all started, when, sure as you live, boys!
Tam give one fly, and was over the bushes, and in among 'em,
goin' it like chain-lightnin' ahead of 'em all.

" Deacon Popkins and Ben Bradlev jest stood and held their
breath to see 'em all goin' it so like thunder; and the doctor, he
was took so sudden it was all he could do to jest hold on any-
way: so away he went, and trees and bushes and fences streaked
by him like ribbins. His hat flew off behind him, and his wig
arter, and got catched in a barberry-bush; but Lordy massy! he
couldn't stop to think o' them. He jest leaned down, and
caught Tam round the neck, and held on for dear life till they
come to the stopping-place.

"Wal, Tam was ahead of them all, sure enough, and was
snorting and snuffling as if he'd got the very old boy in him, and
was up to racing some more on the spot.

'• That 'ere Ike Sanders was the impudentest feller that ever
you see, and he roared and rawhawed at the doctor. ' Good for
you, parson!' says he. 'You beat us all holler,' says he.
'Takes a parson for that, don't it, boys?' he said. And then he
and Ike and Tom, and the two Hokum boys, they jest roared,
and danced round like wild critturs. Wal, now, only think on't,
boys, what a situation that 'ere was for a minister — a man that
had come out with the best of motives to put a stop to Sabbath-
breakin' ! There he was all rumpled up and dusty, and his wig
hangin' in the bushes, and these 'ere ungodly fellers gettin' the

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Bit"

laugh on him, and all acaiise o' that 'ere boss. There's times,
tx)ys, when ministers must be tempted to swear, if there ain't
preventin' grace, and this was one o' them times to Parson Will-
iams. They say he got red in the face, and looked as if he

COMING IN AHF.AD.

should bus;, but he didn't say nothin': he scorned to answer.
The sons o' Zeruiah was too hard for him, and he let 'em hcv
their say. But when they'd got through, and Ben had brought
him his hat and wig, and braiihed and settled him ag'in, the par-

i.'i'«*.*-v'

THE PARSON'S HORSERACE.

3^3

son he says, 'Well, boys, ye've had your say and your laugh;
but I warn you now I won't have this thing goin' on here any
more,' says he ; * so mind yourselves.'

" Wal, the boys see that the doctor's blood was up, and they
rode off pretty quiet; and I believe they never raced no more in
that spot.

" But there ain't no tellin' the talk this 'ere thing made.
Folks will talk, you know; and there wer'n't a house in all Bill-
riky, nor in the south parish nor centre, where it wer'n't had over
and discussed. There was the deacon, and Ben Bradley was
there, to witness arfd show jest how the thing was, and that the
doctor was jest in the way of his duty; but folks said it made a
great scandal; that a minister hadn't no business to hevthat kind
o' hoss, and that he'd give the enemy occasion to speak reproach-
fully. It reely did seem as if Tarn's sins was imputed to the
doctor; and folks said he ought to sell Tam right away, and get
a sober minister's hoss,

" But others said it was Cuff that had got Tam into bad ways;
and they do say that Cuff bad to catch it pretty lively when the
doctor come to settle with him. Cuff thought his time had come,
sure enough, and was so scairt that he turned blacker'n ever: he
got enough to cure him o' hoss-racin' for one while. But Cuff
got over it arter a while, and so did the doctor. Lordy massy !
there ain't nothin' lasts forever! Wait long enough, and 'most
every thing blows over. So it turned out about the doctor.
There was a rumpus and a fuss, and folks, talked and talked, and
advised; everybody had their say: but the doctor kep' right
straight on, and kep' his hoss all the same.

"The ministers, they took it up in the 'sociation; but» come
to tell the story, it sot 'em all a-laughin', so they couldn't be very
hard on the doctor.

" The doctor felt sort o' streaked at fust when they told the
story on him; he didn't jest like it: but he got used to it, and
finally, when he was twitted on't, he'd sort o' smile, and say,
' Anyway, Tam beat 'em: that's one comfort.' "

III

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WRECKED IN PORT.

BY R. J. BURDETTE.

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As you go to Boston and Hartford by way of the Boston and
Albany Railroad, if you take the morning express there are two
parlor cars thereunto attached, w'th all the appurtenances there-
unto appertaining, including a jwrter with a wisp broom in one
hand and a place for a quarter in the other. Now these two par-
lor cars are twins, differing only, as in the case with twins, in
their manners. The last time I went out that way, one of these
cars was " Governor Hawley," and the other was " 'Tother Gov'-
nor," I don't remember who.

All went well until we reached Springfield. There the usual
halt of five or ten minutes was made, the parlor car for Albany
was switched off to its proper train, and we went thundering on
to Hartford.

Before we were well out of the depot an old gentleman con-
fronted me. Round faced, well dressed, quick spoken, a little
crusty, and a general air of authority about him.
" Young man," he said, sharply, *' out of that !"
" Out of which ?" I said, in innocent surprise.
" Out of that chair !" snapped the old party. " Come, be lively;
I want to sit down."

I was puzzled and annoyed, and stammered something about
this being a parlor car and —

"Yes, yes," he said impatiently, " I know all about that; this
is a parlor car, and you've got my seat. Get up and get out of it
now without any more words. Get a seat of your own some-
where, and don't go around appropriating other people's chairs
when they've gone for lunch. Get out, young fellow !"

I am naturally a very meek man, but I did make one more
desperate effort to retain my seat. I said I had occupied that
seat—"

** Ever since I got out of it at Springfield," snarled the old
man. " I rode in ihat seat all the way from Boston, and the
minute I left it you jumped into it. And now you jump out of
it, and no more words about it, or I'll make the car full of trouble
for you."

WRECKED IN PORT. I

325

It began to dawn upon me then just how matters stood. In
fact 1 knew, but I was nettled. Everybody in the car was laugh'
ing at me, and I do hate tu be laughed at. I determmed to wait
for my sure revenge. I said: "You'll be sorry if you take this
chair." He snorted fiercely, and I abdicated, without another
word, in favor of the testy old jumper of claims who thus sum-
marily evicted me. I arose, gathered up my hat, overcoat, lap-
tablet, newspapers, book, big valise, little valise and arctics, and
thus burdened walked meekly to the rear of the car and sat
down on the meanest, poorest, most uncomfortable seat in the
train — the upholstered bench under the big mirror. The v/ood-

W-

REVENGE,

box in the smoking-cu X" an easy-chair in comparison with that
bench. By and by the .id chair grabber called out:

" Young man, where is that little red hand bag I left here ?"
I meekly said, " T hadn't never tetched it," and he roared out
that it was there when I took his chair. But just then the con-
ductor came along and glanced at his ticket, while the old party
explained how I had made way with his little red hand bag.
"That young man back there," he explained, "was in my chair
when I returned, and my overshoes and a little red leather hand
bag is — "

The conductor, a brisk, taciturn man, full of his own business,
here handed back the old party's ticket.

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il/y4y?A' TWAIN'S LIBRARY OF HUMOR.

" Wrong train," he said, brusquely. " Get off at next station.
This train for Hartford and New York."

The old gentleman's face was a study.

'« For Ha- Ha- wha-what!" he shouted. •* I know better! Told
me at Boston this car went through to Albany."

" Le'me see parlor car ticket," said the conductor, briefly.
" Yes, that's all right, you're on wrong car; this ticket for the
other car. Your baggage half way t' Albany by this time. Get
off at Hartford."

" Well, when can I get a train back to Springfield ?" wailed the
jumper of chairs.

** T'-night," said the conductor, and passed on to the next car.

Then I arose. I gathered up in my weak and long-suffering
arms my hat, overcoat, lap tablet, newspapers, book, big valise,
little valise and arctics, and walked back to that chair and stood
before the most crest-fallen man the immortal gods ever pitied.
I didn't say anything; I didn't make a gesture; I just stood up
before him, holding my goods, personal effects and railway chat-
tels in my arms and looked at him. He arose and vamoosed the
claim. And as I settled down in my recovered possession I
made only one remark. I said to the poor old gentleman:

" I told you you'd be sorry if you took this chair !"

And he marched back and took a seat on the upholstered
bench, to the merry laughter of the happy passengers. And the
last time I looked around, oh crowning woe, the conductor was.
making him pay a quarter for his seat in the parlor car.

^^■'u'i^kj.

A PLEASURE EXERTION. 32/

A PLEASURE EXERTION.

BY MARIETTA HOLLEY.

/Y) ARIETTA HOLLEY was bom in Jefferson County, N. Y.,in 1844. She
'"^ has written a number of books, sketches, etc, under the pen name of
•'Josiah Allen's Wife," which include "My Opinions and Betsy Bobbett's,"
'• Josiah Allen's Wife, as P. A. and P. L" (1877), " Sweet Cicely " (1887), and
a volume of "Poems" (1888).

Wal, the very next mornin' Josiah got up with a new idee in
his head. And he broached it to me to the breakfast-table.
They have been havin' sights
of pleasure exertions here to
Jonesville lately. Every week
a'most they would go off on a
exertion after pleasure, and
Josiah was all up on end to
go too.

That man is a well-principled
man as I ever see, but if he had
his head, he would be worse
than any young man I ever see
to foller up picnics and 4th of
Julys and camp-meetin's and
all pleasure exertions. But I
don't encourage him in it. I
have said to him time and
again : ** There is a time for
everything, Josiah Allen, and
after anybody has lost all their
teeth and every mite of hair on
the top of their head, it is time
for *em to stop goin' to pleasure
exertions."

But good land ! I might jest
as well talk to the wind 1 If
that man should get to be as
old as Mr. Methusler, and be goin' on a thousand years old, hi
would prick up his ears if he should hear of a exertion. Al.

JOSIAH.

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MAHJsr TWAIN'S LIBRARY OF HUMOR.

sinnmer long that man has beset me to go to "em, for he wouldn't
go without me. Old Bunker Hill himself hain't any sounder in
principle than Josiah Allen, and I have had to work head-work
to make excuses and quell him down. But last week they was
goin' to have one out on the lake, on a island, and that man sot
his foot down that go he would.
We was to the breakfast-table a talkin' it over, and says I:
" I sha'n't go, for I am afraid of big water, anyway."
Says Josiah: " You are jest as liable to be killed in one place
as another."
Says I, with a almost frigid air, as 1 passed him his coffee,

"Mebby I shall be
drounded on dry land,
Josiah Allen, but I don't
believe it."

Says he, in a complain-
in' tone:*' I can't get you
started onta a exertion
for pleasure any way."

Says I, in a almost elo-
quent way : " I don't
believe in makin' such
exertions after pleasure.
As I have told you time
and agin, I don't believe
in chasin' of her up.
Let her come of her own
free will. You can't ketch her by chasin' after her no more
than you can fetch up a shower in a drowth by goin' out doors
and runnin' after a cloud up in the heavens above you. Sit down
and be patient, and when it gets ready the refreshin* rain-drops
will .)egin to fall without none of your help. And it is jest so
with pleasure, Josiah Allen; you may chase her up over all the
oceans and big mountains of the earth, and she will keep ahead
of you al! the time; but set down and not fatigue yourself a
thinkin' about her, and like as not she will come right into your
house unbeknown to you."

"Wal," says he, "I guess I'll have another griddle-cake, Sa-
mantha."

And as he took it, and poured the maple-syrup over it, he
added gently, but firmly:

GRIDDLE-CAKES.

EL.-'*

A PLEASURE EXERTION.

329

•*1 shall go, Samantha, to this exertion, and I should be glad
to have you present at it, because it seems jest to me as if I
should fall overboard durin' the day."

Men are deep. Now that man knew that no amount of religious
preachin' could stir me up like that one speech. For though I
hain't no hand to coo, and don't encourage him in bein' spoony
at all, he knows that I am wrapped almost completely up in him.
I went.

Wal, the day before the exertion Kellup Cobb come into our
house of a errant, and I asked him if he was goin' to the exer-
tion: and he sai5 he would like to go, but he dassent.

" Dassent ! " says I. '* Why dassent you ? "

"Why," says he, " how would the rest of the wimmin round
Jonesville feel if I should pick out one woman and wait on her ? "
Says he bitterly: "I hain't perfect, but I hain't such a cold-
blooded rascal as not to have any regard for wimmin's feelin's.
I hain't no heart to spile all the comfort of the day for ten or a
dozen wimmen."

<' Why," says I, in a dry tone, " one woman would be happy,
accordin' to your tell."

" Yes, one woman happy, and ten or fifteen eiauled — bruised
in the tenderest place."

" On their heads ? " says I, inquirin'ly.

" No," says he, "their hearts. All the girls have probable had
more or less hopes that I would invite 'em — make a choice of 'em.
But when the blow was struck, when I had passed 'em by and
invited some other, some happier woman, how would . them
slighted ones feel ? How do you s'pose they would enjoy the
day, seein' me with another woman, and they droopin' round with-
out me ? That is the reason, Josiah Allen's wife, that I dassent
go. It hain't the keepin' of my horse through the day that stops
me. For I could carry a quart of oats and a little jag of hay in
the bottom if the i)uggy. If I had concluded to pick out a girl
and go, I heel got it all fixed out in my mind how I would man-
age. I had thought it over, while I was ondecided and duty was
a strugglin' with me. But I was made to see where the righ^
way for me lay, and I am goin' to foller it. Joe Purday is goin'
to have my horse, and give me seven shillin's for the use of it
and its keepin'. He come to hire it just before I made up m.y
mind that I hadn't ort to go.

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"Of course it is a cross to me. But I am willin* to bear
crosses for the fair sect. Why," says he, a comin' out in a open,
generous way, " I would be willin', if necessary for the general
good of the fair sect — I would be willin' to sacrifice ten cents for
'em, or pretty nigh that, I wish so well to 'em. I haitit that
enemy to ' m that they think I am. I can't marry *em all.
Heaven kio'vs I can't, but I wish 'era well."

"Wal," s? s I, "I guess my dish-water is hot; it must be
pretty near bilin' by this time."

And he took the hint and started off. I see it wouldn't do no
good to argue with him that wimmen didn't worship him. For
when a feller once gets it into his head that female wimmen are
all after him, you might jest as well dispute the wind as argue
with him. You can't convince him nor the wind — neither of 'em
— so what's the use of wastin' breath on 'em. And I didn't
want to spend a extra breath that day, anyway, knowin' I had
such a hard day's work in front of me, a finishin' cookin' up pro-
visions for the exertion, and gettin' things done up in the house
so I could leave 'em for all day.

We had got to start about the middle of the night; for the lake
was 15 miles from Jonesville, and the old mare bein' so slow, we
had got to start an hour or two ahead of the rest. I told Josiah
in the first on't, that I had just as lives set up all night, as to be
routed out at two o'clock. But he was so animated and happy
at the idee of goin' that he looked on the bright side of every-
thing, and he said that we would go to bed before dark, and get
as much sleep as we commonly did. So we went to bed the sun an
hour high. And I was truly tired enough to lay down, for 1 had
worked dretful hard that day — almost beyond my strength. But
we hadn't more'n got settled down into the bed, when we heard
a buggy and a single wagon stop at the gate, and I got up and
peeked through the window, and I see it was visitors come to
spend the evenin' — Elder Bamber and his family, and Deacon
Dobbinses' folks.

Josiah vowed that he wouldn't stir one step out of that bed
that night. But I argued with him pretty sharp, while I was
throwin' on my clothes, and I finally got him started up. I
hain't deceitful, but I thought if I got my clothes all on before
they came in, I wouldn't tell 'em that I had been to bed that
time of day. And I did get all dressed up, even to my handker-

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A PLEASURE EXERTION.

331

to
:on

chief pin. And I guess they had been there as much as ten
minutes before I thought that I hadn't took my night-cap off.
They looked dreadful curious at me, and I felt awful meachin'.
But I jest ketched it off, and never said nothin'. But when
Josiah come out of the bedroom with what little hair he has got
standin' out in every direction, no two hairs a layin' the same way,
and one of his galluses a hangin' most to the floor under his best
coat, I up and told 'em. I thought mebby they wouldn't stay
long. But Deacon Dobbinses* folks seemed to be all waked up
on the subject of religion, and they proposed we should turn it
into a kind of a conference meetin' ; so they never went home
till after ten o'clock

It was most eleven when Josiah and me got to bed agin. And
then jest as I was gettin' into a drowse, I heerd the cat in the
buttery, and I got up to let her out. And that roused Josiah up,
and he thought he heered the cattle in the garden, and he got up
and went out. And there we was a marchin' round most all night.

And if we would get into a nap, Josiah would think it was
mornin', and he would start up and go out to look at the clock.
He seemed so afraid we would be belated, and not get to that
exertion in time. And there we was on our feet most all night.
I lost myself once, for I dreamptthat Josiah was a-drowndin', and
Deacon Dobbins was on the shore a-prayin' for h.'m. It started
me so, that I jist ketched hold of Josiah and hollered. It skairt
him awfully, and says he, " What does ail you, Samantha ? I
hain't been asleep before, to-night, and now you have rousted me
up for goo'j I wonder what time it is ! "

And then he got out of bed again, and went and looked at the
ciock. It was half-past one, and he said " He didn't believe we
had better go to sleep again, for fear we would be too late for
the exertion, and he wouldn't miss that for nothin'."

'• Exertion !" says I, in a awful cold tone. " I should think
we had had exertion enough for one spell."

But as bad and wore out as Josiah felt bodily, he was all
animated in his mind about what a good time he was a-goin' to
have. He acted foolish, and I told him so. I wanted to wear
my brown-and-black gingham and a shaker, but Josiah insisted
that I should wear a new lawn dress that he had brought me
home as a present, and I had jest got made up. So, jest to
please him, I put it on, and my best bonnet.

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.V/iA'A' TWAIN'S LIBRARY OF HUMOR.

And that man, all I could do and say, would put on a pair of
pantaloons I had been a makin' for Thomas Jefferson. They
was gettin' up a milatary company to Joucbviilt;, and these panta-
loons wi'; blue, with a red stripe do\v;i the siUt-s - i kiau of uni-
form. j'>siah took a awful fancy to '{".m. a.'Kl says he ;
' I will wear 'em, Samantha ; they look so dressy."

Says I : " They hain't har>!iy dom . i wms goui' to slii'.h that
red stripe on the left leg on again. Trey hain't finished as they
ort to be, and I would not wear 'em. it looks vain in you."

Says he : " T will wea' 'em, Samantha. I will be dressed up
for once."

I didn't contC'id with him. Thinks I : we are maJcin* fools of
oursdves by goin* at all, and ii' he wants to nii s. a little bigger
fool oi himself, by wearin' them l»lue pa-raloons, I won't stand
in his light. And then I had got some machine oil onto 'em, so
I It It that 1 had got to wash 'em, anyway, before Thomas J.
ci.''Ok 'em to wear. So he put 'em on.

I had good vittles, and a sight of 'em. The basket wouldn't
hold 'em all, so Josiah had to pui a bottle of red rossberry jell
into the pocket of his dress-coat, and lots of other little things,
such as spoons and knives and forks, in his pantaloons and breast-
pockets. He looked like Captain Kidd armed up to the teeth,
and I told him so. But good land ! he would have carried a
knife in his mouth if I had asked him to, he felt so neat about
goin", and boasted so on what a splendid exertion it was goin' to be.

We got to the lake about eight o'clock, for the old mare went
slow. We was about the first ones there, but they kep' a comin',
and before ten o'clock we all got there.

The young folks made up their minds they would stay and eat
their dinner in a grove on the mainland. But the majority of
the old folks thought it was best to go and set our tables where
we laid out to in the first place. Josiah seemed to be the most
rampant of any of the company about goin'. He said he shouldn't
eat a mouthful if he didn't eat it on that island. He said, what
was the use of goin' to a pleasure exertion at all if you didn't try
to take all the pleasure you could. So about twenty old fools
of us sot sail for the island.

I had made up my mind from the first on't to face trouble, so
it didn't put me out so much when Deacon Dobbins, in gettin'
into the boat, stepped onto my new lawn dress and tore a hole

is.' • ■

A PLEASURE EXERTION.

335

in it as big as mj' two hands, and ripped it half offen the waist.
But Josiah havin' felt so animated and tickled about the exertion,
it worked him up awfully when, jest after we had got well out
onto the lake, the wind took his hat off and blew it away out onto
the lake. He had made up his mind to look so pretty that day
that it worked him up awfully. And then the sun beat down
onto him ; and if he had had any hair onto his head it would
have seemed more shady.

But I did the best I could by him. I stood by him and pin-
ned on his red bandanna handkerchief onto his head. But as I
was a fixin' it on, I see there was suthin' more than mortification
ailed him. The lake was rough and the boat rocked, and I s.ie
he was beginnin' to be awful sick. He looked deathly. Pretty
soon I felt bad, too. Oh ! the wretchedness of that time. I
have enjoyed poor health considerable in my life, but never did
I enjoy so much sickness in so short a time as I did on that
pleasure exertion to that island. I s'pose our bein' up all night
a'most made it worse. When we reached the island we was both
weak as cats.

I sot right down on a stun and held my head for a spell, for it
did seem as if it would split open. After a while I staggered up
onto my feet, and finally I got so I could walk straight and
sense things a little; though it was tejus work to walk, anyway,
for we had landed on a sand-bar, and the sand was so deep it
was all we could do to wade through it, and it was as hot as hot
ashes ever was.

Then I began to take the things out of my dinner-basket. The
butter had all melted, so we had to dip it out with a spoon. And
a lot of water had washed over the side of the boat, so my pies
and tarts and delicate cake and cookies looked awful mixed up.
But no worse than the rest of the company's did.

But we did the best we could, and the chicken and cold meats
bein' more solid, had held together quite well, so there was some
pieces of it conside'able hull, though it was all very wet and
soppy. But we separated 'em out as well as we could, and
begun to make preparations to eat. We didn't feel so animated
about eatin' as we should if we hadn't been so sick to our stom-
achs. But we felt as if we must hurry, for the man that owned
the boat said he knew it would rain before night, by the v/ay the
sun scalded.

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334

AfAJiX^ TWAIN'S LIBRARY OF HUMOR.

There wasn't a man or a woman there but what the prespera-
tion and sweat jest poured down their faces. We was a haggard
and melancholy lookin' set. There was a piece of woods a little
ways off, but it was up quite a rise of ground, and there wasn't
one of us but what had the rheumatiz more or less. We made
up a fire on the sand, though it seemed as if it was hot enough to
steep the ic and coffee as it was.

After we got the fire started, I histed a umberell and sot
down under it, and fanned myself hard, for I was afraid of a
sunstroke.

Wal, I guess I had set there ten minutes or more, when all of
a sudden I thought. Where is Josiah ? I hadn't seen him since we
had got there. I riz up and asked the company, almost wildly,
if they had seen my companion, Josiah.

They said, " No, they hadn't."

But Celestine Wilkin's little girl, who had come with her
grandpa and grandma Gowdy, spoke up, and says she:

" I seen him goin' off towards the woods. He acted dretful
strange, too; he seemed to be a wal kin' off sideways."

" Had the sufferin's he had undergone made him delerious ?"
says I to myself; and then I started off on the run towards the
woods, and old Miss Bobbet, and Miss Gowdy, and Sister Bam-
ber, and Deacon Dobbinses' wife all rushed after me.

Oh, the agony of them two or three minutes! my mind so dis-
tracted with fourbodin's, and the presperation and sweat a pourin'
down. But all of a sudden, on the edge of the woods, we found
him. Miss Gowdy weighin' a little less ;,han me, raebby loo
pounds or so, had got a little ahead of me. He sbt backed up
against a tree, in a awful cramped position, with his left leg
under hirn. He looked dretful uncomfortable. But when Miss
Gowdy hollered out : '* Oh, here you be ! We have been skairt
about you. What is the matter?" he smiled a dretful sick
smile, and says he : " Oh, I ' "lought I would come out here
and meditate a spell. It was always a real treat to me to medi-
tate."

Just then I come up a pantin' for breath, and as the wimmen
all turned to face me, Josiah scowled at me, and shook his fist
at them four wimmen, and made the most mysterious motions of
his hands towards 'em. But the minute they turned round he
smiled in a sickish way, and pretended to go to whistlin'.

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A PLEASURE EXERTION, i

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Says I, '♦ What is the matter, Josiah Allen ? What are you off
here for ? "

«*I am a meditatin', Samantha."

Says I, "Do you come down and jine the company this min-
ute, Josiah Allen. You was in a awful takin' to come with 'em,
and what will they think to see you act so ? "

The wimmen happened to be a lookin' the oiher way for a
minute, and he looked at me as if he would take my head off,
and made the strangest motions towards 'em; but the minute
they looked at him he would pretend to smile — that deathly
smile.

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A CATASTROPHE.

Says I, " Come, Josiah Allen, we're goin' to get dinner right
away, for we are afraid it will rain."

" Oh, wal," says he, " a little rain, more or less, hain't a goin'
to hender a man from meditatin'."

I was wore out, and says I, " Do you stop meditatin' this
minute, Josiah Allen! "

Says he, " I won't stop, Samantha. I let you have your way a
good deal of the time; but when I take it into my head to medi-
tate, you hain't a goin' to break it up."

Jest at that minute they called to me from the shore to come
that minute to find some of my dishes. And we had to start off.
But oh! the gloom of my mind that was added to the lameness
of my body. Them strange motions and looks of Josiah wore on
me. Had the sufferin's of the night, added to the trials of the

lit'!

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336

MARK TWAIN'S LIBRARY OF HUMOR.

day, made him crazy ? I thought more'n as likely as not I had
got a luny on my hands for the rest of my days.

And then, oh how the sun did scald down onto me, and the
wind took the smoke so into my face that there wasn't hardly a
dry eye in my head. And then a perfect swarm of yellow wasps
lit down onto our vittles as quick as we laid 'em down, so you
couldn't touch a thing without runnin' a chance to be stung. Oh,
the agony of that time! the distress of that pleasure exertion!
But I kep' to work, and when we had got dinner most ready, I
went back to call Josiah again. Old Miss Bobbet said she
would go with me, for she thought she see a wild turnip in the
woods there, and her Shakespeare had a awful cold, and she
would try to dig one to give him. So we started up the hill again.
He set in the same position, all huddled up, with his leg under
him, as uncomfortable a lookin' creeter as I ever see. But when
we both stood in front of him, he pretended to look careless and
happy, and smiled that sick smile.

Says I, " Come, Josiah Allen; dinner is ready."

"Oh! I hain't hungry," says he. "The table will probable be
full. I had jest as lieves wait."

"Table full! " says I. "You know jest as well as I do that we
are eatin' on the ground. Do you come and eat your dinner
this minute! "

" Yes, do come," says Miss Bobbet; "we can't get along with-
out you! "

"Oh! " says he, with a ghastly smile, a pretendin' to joke, ** I
have got plenty to eat here — I can eat muskeeters."

The air was black with 'em, I couldn't deny it.

** The muskeeters will eat you, more likely," says I. " Look
at your face and hands; they are all covered with 'em."

" Yes, they have eat considerable of a dinner out of me, but 1
don't bcgrech 'em. I hain't small enough, nor mean enough, I
hope, to begrech 'em one good meal."

Miss Bobbet started off in search of her wild turnip, and after
she had got out of sight Josiah whispered to me with a savage
look, and a tone sharp as a sharp axe:

" Can't you bring forty or fifty more wimmen up here ? You
couldn't come here a minute, could you, without a lot of other
wimmen tight to your heels ? "

I begun to see daylight, and after Miss Bobbet had got her

A PLEASURE EXERTlOl^,

337

ter
ige

ou
ler

wild turnip and some spignut, I made some excuse to send her
on ahead, r.nd then Josiah told me all about why he had gone off
by himself alone, and why he had been a settin' in such a curi-
ous position all the time since we had come in sight of him.

It seems he had sot down on that bottle of rossberry jell. That
red stripe on the side wasn't hardly finished, as I said, and I
hadn't fastened my thread properly, so when he got to puUin' at
'em to try to wipe off the jell, the thread started, and bein' sewed
on a machine, that seam jest ripped from top to bottom. That
was what he had walked off sideways towards the woods fur. But
Josiah Allen's wife hain't one to desert a companion in distress.
I pinned 'em \x\ as well as 1
could, and I didn't say a word
to hurt his fcelin's, only I jest
said this to him, ao I was fixin'
'em : I fastened my gray eye
firmly, and almost sternly, onto
him, and says I:

" Josiah Allen, is this pleas-
ure ?" Says I, " You was deter-
mined to come."

"Throw that in my face
agin, will you ? What if I was ?
There goes a pin into my leg !
I should think I had suffered
enough without your stabbin' of
me with pins."

" Wal, then, stand still, and
not be a caperin' round so. How
do you s'pose I can do anything vviih you a tossin' round so ?"

" Wal, don't be so aggravatin', then."

I fixed 'em as well as I could, but they looked pretty bad, and
there they was all covered with jell, too. What to do I didn't
know. But finally I told him I would put my shawl onto him.
So I doubled it up corner-ways as big as I cou'd, so it almost
touched the ground behind, and he walked back to the tabic
with me. I told him it was best to tell the company all about it,
but he just put his foot down that he wouldn't, and I told him,
if he wouldn't, that he must make his own excuses to the com-
pany about wearin* the shawl. So he told *em he always loved to

"IS THIS PLEASURE?'*'

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338

AfA/!A' '/WAm'S LIBRAR\

HUMOR,

wear summer shawls ; he thought it made a man look so dressy.

But he looked as if he would sink, all the time he was a sayin'
it. They all looked dretful curious at him, and he looked as
meachin' as if he had stole sheep — and meachin'er — and he
never took a minute's comfort, nor I nuther. He was sick all
the way back to the shore, and so was I. And jest as we got
into our wagons and started for home, the rain began to pour
down. The wind turned our old umbcrell inside out in no time.
My lawn dress was most spilte before, and now I give up my
bonnet. And I says to Josiah :

"This bonnet and dress are spilte, Josiah Allen, and I shall
have to buy some new ones."

"Wal, wal ! who said you wouldn't?" he snapped out.

But it were on him. Oh, how the rain poured down ! Josiah,
havin' nothin' but a handkerchief on his head, felt it more than I
did. I had took a apron to put on a gettin' dinner, and I tried
to make jiim let me pin it on his head. But says he, firmly :

*' I hain't proud and haughty, Samantha, but I do feel above
ridin' (uit with a pink apron on for a hat."

" Wa!, then," says I, " get as wet as sop, if you had ruther."

I didn't say no more, but there we jest sot and suffered. The
rain poured down ; the wind howled at us ; the old mare went
slow ; the rheumatiz laid holt of both of us ; and the thought
of the new bonnet and dress was a wearin' on Josiah, I knew.

There wasn't a house for the first seven miles, and after we
got there I thought we wouldn't go in, for we had got to get home to
milk, anyway, and we was both as wet as we could be. After I
had beset him about the apron, we didn't say hardly a word for as
much as thirteen miles or so ; but I did speak once, as he leaned
forward, with the rain drippin' offen his bandanna handkerchief
onto his blue pantaloons. I says to him in stern tones:

" Is this pleasure, Josiah .Allen ? "

He give the old mare a awful cut, and says he : "I'd like to
know what you want to be so aggravatin' for."

I didn't multiply any more words with him, only as we drove
up to our doorstep, and he helped me out into a mud puddle, I
says to him :

" Mebby you'll hear to me another time, Josiah Allen."

And I'll bet he will. I hain't afraid to bet a ten-cent bill that
that man won't never open his mouth to me again about a pleas-
ure exertion.

THE ANT AND THE GRAIN OF CORN

339

like to

)ill that
a pleas>

THE ANT AND THE GRAIN OF CORN.

LV BIERCE.

An ant laden with a j;rain of corn, which he had acquired with
infinite toil, was breasting a current of his fellows, each of whom.

THE SNT AND THE GRAIN OF CORN.

as is their etiquette, insisted upon stopping him, feeling him all
over, and shaking hands. It occurred to him that an excess of
ceremony is an abuse of courtesy. So he laid down his burden,

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MAHA^ TWAIN'S LIBRARY OF HUMOR.

sat upon Li, folded all his legs tight to his body, and smiled a.
smilf of great grimness.

"Hullo! what's the matter with ^<7« ? " exclaimed the first in-
sect whose overtures were declined.

"Sick of the hollow conventionalities of a rotten civilization,"
was the rasping reply. " Relapsed into the honest simplicity of
primitive observances. Go to grass! "

" Ah! then we must trouble you for that c^^n. In p ondi-
tion of primitive simplicity there are no rights of property, you
know. These are 'hollow conventionalities.' "

A light dawned upon the intellect of that pismire. He shook
the reefs out of his legs; he scratched the reverse of his ear; he
grappled that cereal, and trotted away like a giant refreshed. It
was observed that he submitted with a wealth of patience to
manipulation by his friends and neighbors, and went some dis-
tance out of his way to shake hands with strangers on competuig
lines of traffic.

"What makes that noise?" asked a little boy on the train,
the other day. " The cars," answered his mother. " What for ? "
Becausethey are moving." " What are they moving for ? " "The
engine makes them." " What engine ? " "The engine in front."
" What's it in front for ? " " To pull the train." " What train ? "
" This one." " This car ? " repeated the youngster, pointing to the
one in which they sat. " Yes." " What does it pull for ? " " The
engineer makes it." "What engineer?" "The man on the
engine." " What engine ? " " The one in front." " What is that
in front for?" " I told you that before." " Told who what ? "
"Told you." "What for?" "Oh, be still; you are a nuis-
ance ? " " What's a nuisance ? " "A boy who asks too many
questions." "Whose boy? "My boy." "What questions?"
The conductor came through just then and took up the tickets,
and the train pulled up to the station before we could get
all the conversation. The last we heard, as the lady jerked the
youngster off the platform, was, "What conductor?" — News-
paper.

FROWENFELD' S CLERK.

341

FROWENFELD'S CLERK.

BY GEORGE W. CABLE.

^EORGE W. CABLE was bom at New Orleans in 1840, and has spent
almost his whole life in that city. He fought, during the war, on the
Confederate side, but since the reconstruction of the South, he has been a thor-
ough and fervent friend of Northern — or, rather, anti-slavery — civilization. He
was not regularly edi^cated, but his instinctive feeling for style and color in
literature received the usual development through work tor the newspapers,
though he was in mercantile life when he began to write the "Old Creole
Days" sketches. These were followed by '-The Grandissimes," a novel;
"Madame Delphine," a brief romance; a sketch of the "History of New-
Orleans," and "Dr. Sevier," a novel. In the winter of 1883-84 he began a
series of public readings from his books, which had a success almost as immedi-
ate and widespread as the books themselves.

It was some two or three days after the interview just related
that the apothecary of the rue Royale found it necessary to ask
a friend to sit in the shop a few minutes while he should go on a
short errand.

On his retuiii to the shop his friend remarked that if he
received many such visitors as the one who had called during his
absence) he might be permitted to be vain. It was Honors
Grandissime, and he had left no message.

" Frowenfeld," said his friend, *' it would pay you to employ a
regular assistant."

Joseph was in an abstracted mood.

" I have some thought of doing so."

Unlucky slip! As he pushed open his door next morning,
what was his dismay to find himself confronted by some forty
men. Five of them leaped up from the door-sill, and some
thirty-five from the edge of the /r^/Z^/r, brushed that part of their
wearing apparel which always fits with great neatness on a Creole,
and trooped into the shop. The apothecary fell behmd his
defenses — that is to say, his prescription desk — and explained to
them in a short and spirited address that he did not wish to
employ any of them on any terms. Nine-tenths of them under-
stood not a word of English; but his gesture was unmistakable.
Ihey bowed gratefully, and said good-day.

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i»/y4^A' TWAIN'S LIBRARY OF HUMOR.

Now Frovvenfeld did these young men an injustice; and tliough
they were far from letting him know it, some of them felt it, and
interchanged expressions of feeling reproachful to him as they
stopped on the next corner to watch a man painting a sign. He
had treated them as if they all wanted situations. Was this so?
Far from it. Only twenty men were applicants; the other twenty
were friends who had come to see them get the place. And

frowenfeld's clerk..

again, though, as the apothecary had said, none of them knevv
anything about the drug business — no, nor about any other
business under the heavens — they were willing th..t he should
teach them — except one. A young man of patrician softness
and costly apparel tarried a moment after the general exodus,
and quickly concluded that on Frowenfeld's account ii. was prob-
ably as well that he could not qualify, since he was expecting

FROWENFELD'S CLERIC.

343

from France an important Government appointment as soon as
these troubles should be settled and Louisiana restored to her
former happy condition. But he had a friend — a cousin — whom
he would recommend, just the man for the position; a splendid
fellow; popular, accomplished — what? the best trainer of dogs
that M. Frowenfeld miglit ever hope to look upon; a "so good
fisherman as I never saw! " — the marvel of the ballroom — could
handle a partner of twice his weight; the speaker had seen him
take a lady so tall that his head hardly came up to her bosom,
whirl her in the waltz from right to left — this way! and then, as
quick as lightning, turn and whirl her this way, from left to
right — "so grezful ligue a peajohn! He could read and write,
and knew more comig song ! " — the speaker would hasten to
secure him before he should take some other situation.

The wonderful waltzer never appeared upon the scene; yet
Joseph made shift to get along, and by and by found a man who
partially met his requirements. The way of it was this: With
his forefinger in a book which he had been reading, he was one
day pacing his shop floor in deep thought, when there came in —
or, more strictly speaking, there shot in — a young, auburn-curled,
blue-eyed man, whose adolescent buoyancy, as much as his deli-
cate, silver-buckled feet and clothes of perfect fit, pronounced
him all-pure-Creole. His name, when it was presently heard,
accounted for the blond type by revealing a Franco-Celtic origin.

" 'Sieur Frowenfel*,'' he said, advancing like a boy coming in
after recess, '* I'ave somet'in;,, oeauteefulto place intoyo' window."

He v/heeled half around as he spoke, and seized from a naked
black boy, who at that instant entered, a rectangular object
enveloped in paper.

Frowenfeld's window was fast growing to be a place of art
exposition. A pair of statuettes, a golden tobacco-box, a costly
jewel-casket, or a pair of richly gemmed horse-pistols — the prop-
erty of some ancient gentleman or dame of emaciated fortune,
and which must be sold to keep up the bravery of good clothes
and pomade that hid slow starvation, went into the shop-window
of the ever-obliging apothecary, to b» disposed of by tombola.
And it is worthy of note in passing, concerning the moral educa-
tion of one who proposed to make no conscious compromise with
any sort of evil, that in this driveling species of gambling he saw
nothing hurtful nr^ improper. But "in Frowenfeld's window"

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appeared also articles for simple sale or mere transient exhibi-
tion; as, for instance, the .vonderful tapestries of a blind widow
of ninety; tremulous little bunches of flowers', proudly stated to
have been made entirely of the bones of the ordinary catfish;-
others, large and spreading, the sight of which would make any
botanist fall down "and die as mad as the wild waves be,"
whose ticketed merit was that they were composed exclusively of
materials produced upon Creole soil; a picture of the Ursulines'
convent and chapel, done in forty-five minutes by a child of ten
years, the daughter of the widow Felicie Grandissime; and the
siege of Troy, in ordinary ink, done entirely with the pen, the
labor of twenty years, by "a citizen of New Orleans." It was
natural that these things should come to " Frowenfeld's corner," for
there, oftener than elsewhere, the critics were gathered together.
Ah! wonderful men, those critics; and, fortunately, we have; a
few still left. *

The young man with auburn curls rested the edge of his bur-
den upon the counter, tore away its wrappings and disclosed a
painting.

He said nothing — with his mouth; but stood at arm's length
balancing thi? painting, and casting now upon it and now upon
Joseph Frowenfeld a look more replete with triumph than CiEsar's
three-worded despatch.

The apothecary fixed upon it long and silently the gaze of a
somnambulist. At length he spoke:

" What is it ? "

" Louisiana rif-using to hanter de h-Union! " replied the Cre-
ole, with an ecstasy that threatened to burst forth in hip-hurrahs.

Joseph said nothing, but silently wondered at Louisiana's
anatomy.

"(ira/)' subjec'!" said the Creole.

" Alleg(;r/<;ai." replied the hard-prrssed apothecary.

" Allegoricon ? No, sir ! AlJegoricon never saw that pigsh:>e.
If you insist to know who make dat pigshoe — de hartis' stan'
bif-ore you!"

"It is your work?"

" 'Tis de work of rne, Raoul i/merarity, cousin to de disting-
wish Honore Grandissime. I swear to you, sir, on stack of Bible
as 'igh as yo' head! "

He smote his breast

sF n

FROWENFELD'S CLERK.

345

" Do you wish to put it in the window ? "

" Yes, seh."

"For sale?"

M. Raoul Innerarity hesitated a moment before replying:

'' 'Sieur Frowenfel', I think it is a foolishness to De too proud,
eh ? I want you to say, * My frien', 'Sieur Innerarity, never care
to sell anything; 'tis for egshibbyshun' ; mais — when somebody
look at it, so," the artist cast upon his work a look of languish-
ing covetousness, " ' you %a.y,foudre tonnerre ! what de dev' ! — I
take dat ris-pon-ybble-ty — you can have her for two hun'red
fifty dollah ! ' Better not be too proud, eh, 'Sieur Frowenfel' ? "

" No, sir," said Joseph, proceeding to place it in the window,
his new friend following him about, spaniel-wise; "but you had
better let me say plainly that it is for sale."

" Oh — I don't care — mais — my rillation' will never forgive
me! Mais — go-ahead-I-don't-care! 'Tis for sale."

"'Sieur Frowenfel'," he resumed, as they came away from the
window, " one week ago" — he held up one. finger — "what I was
doing? Makin' bill of ladin', my faith! — for my cousin Honor6!
an' now, I ham a hartis'! So soon I foun' dat, I say, ' Cousin
Honore' " — the eloquent speaker lifted his fojtand administered
to the empty air a soft, polite kick — "I never goin' to doanoder
lick o' work so long I live; adieu! "

He lifted a kiss from his lips and wafted it in the direction of
his cousin's ofifice.

"Mr. Innerarity," exclaimed the apothecary, *< I fear you are
making a great mistake."

"You tink I hass too much?"

" Well, sir, to be candid, I do ; but that is not your greatest .
mistake."

"What she's worse?"

The apothecary simultaneously smiled and blushed.

" I would rather not say ; it is a passably good example of
Creole art ; there is but one way by which it can ever be worth
what you ask for it."

"What dat is?"

The smile faded and the blush deepened as Frowenfeld
replied :

" If It could become the means of reminding this community
that crude ability counts next to nothing in art, and that nothing

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AfAJi/sT TWAIN'S LIBRARY OF HUMOR.

else in this world ought to work so hard as genius, it would be
worth thousands of dollars ! "

" You tink she is worse a t'ousand dollah ?" asked the Creole^
shadow and sunshine chasing each other across his face.

<'No, sir."

The unwilling critic strove unnecessarily against his smile.

" 'Ow much you t'ink ? "

" Mr, Innerarity, as an exercise it is worth whatever truth or
skill it has taught you ; to a judge of paintings it is ten dollars'
worth of paint thrown away ; but as an article of sale it is worth
what it will bring without misrepresentation."

" Two — hun-rade an' — fifty — dollahs — or not'in' ! " said the
indignant Creole, clenching one fist, and with the other hand
lifting his hat by the front corner and slapping it down upon the
counter. "Ha, ha, ha! a pase of waint — a wase of paint !
* Sieur Frowenfel', you don' know not'in' 'bout it ! You har a
jedge of painting ? " he added cautiously.

"No, sir."

" Eh, bicn ! foiidre tonnerre ! — look yeh ! you know ? ' Sieur
Frowenfel' ? Dat de way de publique halways talk about a
hartis's firs' pigshoe. But, I hass you to pardon me, Monsieur
Frowenfel', if I 'ave speak a lill too warm."

" Then you must forgive me if, in my desire to set you right,
I have spoken with too much liberty. I probably should have
said only what I first intended to say, that unless _, ou are a per-
son of independent means "

" You t'ink I would make bill of ladin' ? Ah ! Hm-m ! "

" that you had made a mistake in throwing up your means

of support "

" But 'e 'as fill de place an' don' want me mo'. You want a

clerk? -one i"hat can speak fo' lang-widge — French, Eng-lish,

Spanish, an' Italicnne ? Come ! I work for you in de miwnin'
an' paint in de evenin'; come !"

Joseph was taken unaware. He smiled, frowned, passed his
hand across his brow, noticed, for the first time since his delivery
of the picture, the naked little boy standing against the edge of
a door, said, " why ," and smiled again.

"I riffer you to my cousin Honore," said Innerarity.

" Have you any knowledge of this business? "

" I 'ave."

'-W<^k

FROWENFELUS CLERK.

347

'"Can you keep shop in the forenoon or afternoon indifferently,
as I may require ? "

'< Eh ? Forenoon — afternoon ? " was the reply.

•* Can you paint sometimes in the morning and keep shop in
the evening ? "

<' Yes, seh."

Minor details were arranged on the spot. Raoul dismissed
the black boy, took off his coat and fell to work decanting some-
thing, with the understanding that his salary, a microscopic one,
should begin from date if his cousin should recommend him.

*' 'Sieur Froweniel','' he called from under the counter, later
in the day, " jou t'ink it would be hanny disgrace to paint de pig-
shoe of a niggah ?"

" Certainly no*^

" Ah, my soul ; what a pigshoe I could paint of Bras-Coupe ! '^

We have the afflatus in Louisiana, if nothing else.

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348 MAHAT TWAIN'S LIBRARY OF HUMOR.

THE MAN AND THE GOOSE.

BY BIERCE.

A MAN was plucking a living goose, when his victim addressed
him thus :

" Suppose you were a goose ; do you think ou would relish
this sort of thing ? "

JUST THE WAY HE FELT.

"Well, suppose I were," answered the man; "do you think
you would like to pluck me ? "

" Indeed I would ! " was the emphatic, natural, but injudicious
reply.

"Just so," concluded her tormentor; *' that's the way /feel
about the matter."

JfEVADA NABOBS IN NEW YORK.

349

NEVADA NABOBS IN NEW YORK.

BY MARK TWAIN.

In Nevnda there used to be current the story of an adventure
of two of her nabobs, which may or may not have occurred. I
give it for what it is worth :

Col. Jim had seen somewhat of the world, and knew more or
less of its ways ; but Col. Jack was from the back settlements of
the States, had l^d a life of arduou:> toil, and had never seen a
city. These two, blessed with sudden wealth, projected a visit to
New York — Col. Jack to see the sights, and Col. Jim to guard
his unsophistication from misfortune. They reached San Fran-
cisco in the night, and sailed in the morning. Arrived ia New
York, Col. Jack said :

'* I've heard tell of carriages all my life, and now I mean to
have a ride in one : I don't care what it costs. Come along."

They stepped out on the sidewalk, and Col. Jim called a stylish
barouche. But Col. Jack said :

'* iV<7, sir ! None of your cheap- John turn-outs for me. I'm
here to have a good time, and money ain't any object. I mean
to have the nobbiest rig that's going. Now here comes the very
trick. Stop that yaller one with the pictures on it — don't you
fret — I'll stand all the expenses myself,"

So Col. Jim stopped an empty omnibus, and they got in.
Said Col. Jack :

" Ain't it gay„though ? Oh, no, I reckon not! Cushions and
windows and pictures, till you can't rest. What would the boys
say if they could see us cutting a swell like this in New York ?
By George, T A^ish they could stt us !"

Then he put his head out of che window,and shouted to the driver:

" Say, Johnny, this suits me! — suits yours truly, you bet, you!
I want this shebang all day. I'm on it, old man ! Let 'em out!
Make 'em go ! We'll make it all right with you, Johnny ! "

The driver passed his hand through the strap-hole, and tapped
for his fare — it was before the gongs came into common use.
Col. Jack took the hand, and shook it cordially. He said :

"You twig me, old jiaxd ! All right between gents. Smell of
that, and see how you like it ! "

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MARK TWAIN'S LIBRARY OF HUMOR,

And he put a twenty-dollar gold piece in the driver's hand.
After a moment the driver said he could not make change.

*• Bother the change ! Ride it a, Put it in your pocket."

Then to Col. Jim, with a soun^.ug slap on his thigh :

" Aiiit it style, though ? Hanged if I don't hire this thing-
every day for a week."

The omnibus stopped, and a young lady got in. Col. Jack
stared a moment, then nudged Col. Jim h iiis elbow :

" Don't say a word," he whispered. wit her ride, if she
wants to. Gracious, there's room enough ; "

The young lady got out her porte-monnaie, and handed her fare
to Col. Jack.

''What's this for?" said he.

"Give it to the driver, please."

" Take back your money, madam. We can't allow it. You're
welcome to ride here as long as you please, but this shebang's
chartered, and we can't let you pay a cent."

The girl shi'unk into a corner, bewildered. An old lady with
a basket climbed in, and proffered her fare.

" E.xcuse me," said Col. Jack. "You're perfectly welcome
here, madam, but we can't allow you to pay. Set right down
there, mum, and don't you be the least uneasy. Make yourself
just as free as if you was in your own turn-out. "

Within two minutes, three gentlemen, two fat women, and a
couple of children entered.

"Come right along, friends," said Col. Jack ; " don't mind us.
This is a free blow-out." Then he whispered to Col. Jim, "New York
ain't no sociable place, I don't reckon — it ain't no name for it ! "

He resisted every effort to pass fares to the driver, and made
everybody cordially welcome. The situation dawned on the peo-
ple, and they pocketed their money, and delivered themselves up
to covert enjoyment of the episode. Half a dozen more pas-
sengers entered.

"Oh, there's //fw/y of room," said Col. J.ick. "Walk right
in, and make yourselves at home. A blow-out ain't worth any-
thing as a blow-out, unless a body has company." Then in a
whisper to Col. Jim : "But ain't these New Yorkers friendly?
And ain't they cool about it, too ? Icebergs ain't anywhere. I
reckon they'd tackle a hearse, if it was going their way."

More passengers got m ; more yet, and still more. Both

4^^^^S

NEVADA NABOBS IN NEW YORK.

351

seats were filled, and a file of men were standing up, holding on
to the cleat, overhead. Parties with baskets and bundles were
climbing up on the rooi. Half-suppressed laughter rippled up
from all sides.

" Well, for clean, cool, out-and-out cheek, if this don't bang
anythmg that ever I saw, I'm an Injun ! " whispered Col. Jack.

A Chinaman crowded his way in:

** I weaken !" sn id Col. Jack. " Hold on, driver ! Keepycur
seats, ladies an'' its. Just make yourselves free — everyth it.';'"
paid for. D these folks around as long as th -le u

1 "

COL. JACK WEAKENS,

minn to go— friends of ours, you know. Take them everywheres

and if you want more money, come to the St. Nicholas, and

we'll make it all right. Pleasant journey to you, ladies and
gents— go it just as long as you please— it sha'n't cost you a cent !"
The two comrades got out, and Col. Jack said :
"Jimmy, it's the sociablest place /ever saw. The Chinaman
waltzed in as comfortable as anybody. If we'd stayed awhile,
I reckon we'd had some niggers. B' George! we'll have to barri-
cade our doors to-ni^ht, or some of these ducks will be trying
to sleep with us."

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23 WEST MAIN STREET

WEBSTER, N.Y. 14500

(716) 872-4503

352

MARK TWAIN'S UBRARY OF HUMOR.

A JERSEY CENTENARIAN.

BY BRET HARTE.

I HAVE seen Ler at last. She is a hundred and seven years old,
and remembers George Washington quite distinctly. It is some-
what confusing, however, that she also remembers a contem-
poraneous Josiah W. Per-
kins, of Basking Ridge,
N. J., and, I think, has
the impression that Per-
kins, was the better man.
Perkins, at the close of
the last century, paid her
some little attention.
There are a few things
that a really noble
woman of a hundred and
seven never forgets.

It was. Perkins, who
said to her in 1795, in ^^^
streets of Philadelphia,
•• Shall I show thee Gen-
eral Washington ?" Then
she said, carelesslike (for
you know, child, at that
time it wasn't what it is
now to see General Wash-
ington)— she said," So do,
Josiah, so do !" Then he
pointed to a tall man who
got out of a carriage,
and went into a large house. He was larger than you be
He wore his own hair— not powdered; had a- flowered chintz vest,
with yellow breeches and blue stockings, and a broad-brimmed
hat. In summer he wore a white straw hat, and at his farm at
Basking Ridge he always wore it. At this point, it became too
evident that she was describing the clothes of the all-fascinating
Perkins: so I gently but firmly led her back to Washington.

JOSIAH W. PERKINS.

A JERSEY CENTENARIAiV.

353

Then it appeared that she did not remember exactly what he
wore. To assist her, I sketched the general historic dress of that
period. She said she thought be was dressed like that. Em-
boldened by my success, I added a hat of Charles II., and
pointed shoes of the eleventh century. She indorsed these with
such cheerful alacrity that I dropped the subject.

The house upon which I had stumbled, or, rather, to which my
horse — a Jersey hack, accustomed to historic research — had
brought me, was low and quaint. Like most old houses, it had
the appearance of being encroached upon by the surrounding
glebe, as if it were already half in the grave, with a sod or two,
in the shape of moss, thrown on it, like ashes on ashes, and dust'
on dust. A wooden house, instead of acquiring dignity with age, is
apt to lose its youth and respectability together. A porch, with
scant, sloping seats, from which even the winter's snow must have
slid uncomfortably, projected from a doorway that opened most
unjustifiably into a small sitting-room. There was no vestibule,
ox locus poenitentiee, for the embarrassed or bashful visitor: he
passed at once from the security of the public road into shame-
ful privacy. And here, in the mellow autumnal sunlight, that,
streaming through the maples and sumach on the opposite bank,
flickered and danced upon the floor, she sat and discoursed of
George Washington, and thought of Perkins. She was quite in
keeping with the house and the season, albeit a little in advance
of both; her skin being of a faded russet, and her hands so like
dead November leaves, that I fancied they even rustled when she
moved them.

For all that, she was quite bright and cheery; her faculties still
quite vigorous, although perform ujg irregularly and spasmodi-
cally. It was somewhat discomposing, I confess, to observe that
at times her lower jaw would drop, leaving her speechless, until
one of the family would notice it, and raise it smartly into place
with a slight snap— an operation always performed in such an
habitual, perfunctory manner, generally in passing to and fro in
their household duties, that it \«as very trying to the spectator.
It was still more embarrassing to observe that the dear old lady
had evidently no knowledge of this, but believed she was still
talking, and that, on resuming her actual vocal utterance, she
was often abrupt and incoherent, beginning always in the middle
of a sentence, and often in the middle of a word. ** Sometimes,"

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354

MARK TWAIN'S LIBRARY OF HUMOR.

said her daughter, a giddy, thoughtless young thing of eighty-
five — " sometimes just moving her head sort of unhitches her
jaw; and, if we don't happen to see it, she'll go on talking for
hours without ever making a sound." Although I was convmced,
after this, that during my interview I had lost several important
revelations regarding George Washington through these peculiar

TALKING UNDER DIFFICULTIES.

lapses, I could not help reflecting how beneficent were these pro-
visions of the Creator — how, if properly studied and applied, they
might be fraught with happiness to mankind — how a slight jostle
or jar at a dinner-party might make the post-prandial eloquence
of garrulous senility satisfactory to itself, yet harmless to others
— how a more intimate knowledge of anatomy, introduced into

A JERSEY CENTENARIAN.

355

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into

the domestic circle, might make a home tolerable at least, if not
happy — how a long-suffering husband, under the pretense of a
conjugal caress, might so unhook his wife's condyloid process as
to allow the flow of expostulation, criticism or denunciation to
go on with gratification to her, and perfect immunity to himself.

But this was not getting back to George Washington and the
early struggles of the Republic. So I returned to the comman-
der-in-chief, but found, after one or two leading questions, that
she was rather inclined to resent his re-appearance on the stage.
Her reminiscences here were chiefly social and local, and more
or less flavored witn Perkins. We got back as far as the Revo-
lutionary epoch, or, rather, her impressions of that epoch, when' it
was still fresh in the public mind. And here I came upon an
incident, pu'-cly personal and local, but, withal, so novel, weird
and uncanny, that for a while I fear it quite displaced George
Washington in my mind, and tinged the autumnal fields beyond
with a red that was not of the sumach. I do not remember to
have read of it in the books. I do not know that it is entirely
authentic. It was attested to me by mother and daughter, as an
uncontradicted tradition.

In the little field beyond, where the plough still turns up mus-
ket-balls and cartridge-boxes, took place one of those irregular
skiriiiishes between the militiamen and Knyphausen's stragglers,
that made the retreat historical. A Hessian soldier, wounded in
both legs and utterly helpless, dragged himself to the cover of a
hazel-copse, and lay there hidden for two days. On the third
day, maddened by thirst, he managed to creep to the rail-fence
of an adjoining farm-house, but found himself unable to mount
it or pass through. There was no one in the house but a little
girl of six or seven years. He called to her, and in a faint voice
asked for water. She returned to the house, as if to comply with
his request, but, mounting a chair, took from the chimney a
heavily loaded Queen Anne musket, and, going to the door, took
deliberate aim at the helpless intruder, and fired. The man fell
back dead, without a groan. She replaced the musket, and,
returning to the fence, covered the body with boughs and leaves,
until it was hidden. Two or three days after, she related the
occurrence in a careless, casual way, and leading the way to the
fence, with a piece of bread and butter in her guileless little fin-
gers, pointed out the result of her simple, unsophisticated effort.

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MARK TWALV'S LIBRARY OF HUMOR.

The Hessian was decently buried, but I could not find out M'hat
became of the little girl. Nobody seemed to remember. I trust
that, in after years, she was happily married; that no Jersey
Lovelace attempted to trifle with a heart whose impulses were so
prompt, and whose purposes were so sincere. They did not seem
to know if she had married or not. Yet it does not seem proba-
ble that such simplicity of conception, frankness of expression,
and deftness of execution, were lost to posterity, or that they
failed, in their time and season, to give flavor to the domestic
felicity of the period. Beyond this, the story perhaps has little
value, except as an offset to the usual anecdotes of Hessian
atrocity.

They had their financial panics even in Jersey, in the old days.
She remembered when Dr. White married your cousin Mary — or
was it Susan? — yes, it was Susan. She remembers that your
Uncle Harry brought in an armful of bank-notes — paper money,
you know — and threw them in the corner, saying they were no
good to anybody. She remembered playing with them, and giv-
ing them to your Aunt Anna — no, child, it was your own mother,
bless your heart! Some of them was marked as high as a hun-
dred dollars. Everybody kept gold and silver in a stocking, or
in a " chaney " vase, like that. You never used money to buy
anything. When Josiah went to Springfield to buy anything,
he took a cartload of things with him to exchange. That yaller
picture-frame was paid for in greenings. But then people knew
jest what they had. They didn't fritter their substance away in
unchristian trifles, like your father, Eliza Jane, who doesn't know
that there is a God who will smite him hip and thigh; for ven-
geance is mine, and those that believe in me. But here, singu-
larly enough, the inferior maxillaries gave out, and her jaw
dropped. (I noticed that her giddy daughter of eighty-five was
sitting near her, but I do not pretend to connect this fact with
the arrested flow of personal disclosure.) Howbeit, when she
recovered her sp'jech again, it appeared that she was complaming
of the weather.

The seasons had changed very much since your father went to
sea. The winters used to be terrible in those days. When she
went over to Springfield, in June, she saw the snow still on Wat-
son's Ridge. There were whole day3 when you couldn't get over
to William Henry's, their next neighbor, a quarter of a mile away.

I iil

A JERSEY CENTENARIAN.

357

It was that drefful winter that the Spanish sailor was found.
You don't remember the Spanish sailor, Eliza Jane — it was before
your time. There was a little personal skirmishing here, which I
feared, at first, might end in a suspension of maxillary functions,
and the loss of the story: but here it is. Ah, me! ii is a pure
white winter idyl: how shall I sing it this bright, gay autumnal
day?

It was a terrible night, that winter's night, when she and the
century were young together. The sun was lost at three o'clock:
the snowy night came down like a white sheet, that flapped
around the house, beat at the windows with its edges, and at last
wrapped it in a close embrace. In the middle of the night, they
thought they heard above the wind a voice crying, " Christus, Chris-
tus!" in a foreign tongue. They opened the door — no easy task
in the north wind that pressed its strong shoulders against it —
but nothing was to be seen but the drifting snow. The next
morning dawned on fences hidden, and a landscape changed and
obliterated with drift. During the day, they again heard the cry
of " Christus!" this time faint and hidden, like a child's voice.
They searched in vain: the drifted snow hid its secret. On the
third day they broke a path to the fence, and then they heard
the cry distinctly. Digging down, they found the body of a man
— a Spanish sailor, dark and bearded, with ear-rings in his ears.
As they stood gazing down at his cold and pulseless figure, the
cry of "Christus!" again rose upon the wintry air; and they
turned and fled in superstitious terror to the house. And then
one of the children, bolder than the rest, knelt down, and opened
the dead man's rough pea-jacket, and found — what think you! —
a little blue-and-green parrot, nestling against his breast. It was
the bird that had echoed mechanically the last despairing cry of
the life that was given to save it. It was the bird, that ever after,
amid outlandish oaths and wilder sailor-songs, that I fear often
shocked the pure ears of its gentle mi.stress, and brought scandal
into the Jerseys, still retained that one weird and mournful cry.

The sun meanwhile was sinking behind the steadfast range
beyond, and I could not help feeling that I must depart v/ith my
wants unsatisfied. I had brought away no historic fragment: I
absolutely knew little or nothing new regarding George Washing-
ton. I had been addressed variously by the names of different
members of the family who were dead and forgotten; I had

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siood for an hour in the past: yet I had not added to my historic
cal knowledge, nor the practical benefit of your readers. I spoke
once more of Washington, and she replied with a reminiscence
of Perkins.

Stand forth, O Josiah W. Perkins, of Basking Ridge, N. J. !
Thou wast of little account in thy life, I warrant ; thou didst not
even feel the greatness of thy day and time; thou didst criticise
thy superiors; thou wast small and narrow in thy ways; thy very
name and grave are unknown and uncared for: but thou wast
once kind to a woman who survived thee, and, lo! thy name is
again spoken of men, and for a moment lifted up above thy
betters.

PHCENIX AT SEA.

359

PHCENIX AT SEA.

BY JOHN PHCENIX.

Bright and beautiful rose the sun, from out the calm blue sea,
its early rays gleaming on the snow-white decks of the Northerner^
and " gilding refined gold " as they penetrated the stateroom
«* A," and lingering, played among the tresses of the slumbering
Mc Auburn. It was a lovely morning ; "the winds were all
hushed, and the waters at rest," and no sound was heard but
the throbbing of the qpgine and the splash of the paddle-wheels
as the gallant old Northerner sped on her way, " tracking the
trackless sea." Two sailors, engaged in their morning devotions
with the holy-stones near my room, amused me not a little. One
of them, either accidentally or with " malice prepense," threw a
bucket of water against the bulwark, which, ricocheting, struck
the other on his dorsal extremity, as he leaned to his work, mak-
ing that portion of his frame exceedingly damp and him exceed-
ingly angry. " You just try that again, your soul," exclaimed

the offended one, " and I'll slap your chops for you." " Oh, yes,
you will," sarcastically rejoined he of the water bucket. I've
heerd of you afore ! You're old chop-slapper' s son, aint you f
Father 7iient round slapping people's chops, didn't he V Then fol-
lowed a short fight, in which, as might have been expected, " Old
chop-slapper's son " got rather the worst of it.

"there was no excuse for being sick that morning, so our pas-
sengers, still pale, but with cheerful hope depicted in their coun-
tenances, soon began to throng the dv. :. : segars were again
brought into requisition, and we had an opp >rtunity of ascertain-
ing " whether there was any Bourbon among us." A capital set
of fellows they were. There was Moore, and Parker, and Bowers
(one of Joe Bowers's boys), and Sarsaparilla Meade, and Free-
man, v/hich last mentioned gentlemen, so amusing were they,
appeared to be travelling expressly to entertain us. And there
were no ladies, which to me was a blessed dispensation.

"Oh, woman! in our hours of ease
Uncertain, coy, and hard to please ;
When pain and anguish wring tlie brow,
A ministering angel thou."

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Certainly : but at sea, Woman, you are decidedly disagreeable,
lu the first place, you generally bring babies with you, which are
a crying evil, and then you have to have the best stateroom and
the finest seat at the table, and monopolize the captain's atten-
tion and his room, and you make remarks to one another about
us, and our segars and profanity, and accuse us of singing rowdy
songs nights ; and you generally wind up by doing some scanda-
lous thing yourself, when half of us take your part and the
other half don't, and we get all together by the ears, and a pretty
state of affairs ensues. No, woman ! you are agreeable enough
on shore, if taken homeopathically, but on a steamer, you are a
decided nuisance.

We had a glorious day aboard the old Northerner ; we played
whist, and sang songs, and told stories, many of which were
coeval with our ancient school-lessons, and, like them, came very
easy, going over the second time, and many drank strong waters,
and becoming mopsed thereon, toasted "the girls we'd left
behind us," whereat one, who, being a temperance man, had guz-
zled soda-water until his eyes seemed about to pop from his head,
pondered deeply, sighed, and said nothing. And so we laughed
and sang and played and whiskied and soda-watered through
the day. And fast the old Northerner rolled on. And at night
the Captain gave us a grand game supper in his room, at which
game we played not, but went at it in sober earnest ; and then
there were more songs (the same ones, though, and the same
stories too, over again), and some speechifying, and much fun,
until at eight bells we separated, some shouting, some laughing,
some crying (but not with sorrow), but all extremely happy, and
so we turned in. But before I sought stateroom A that night, I
executed a small scheme, for insuring undisturbed repose, which
I had revolved in my mind during the day, and which met with
the most brilliant success, as you shall hear.

You remember the two snobs that every night, in the pursuit
of exercise under difficulties, walk up and down on the deck,
arm in arm, right over your stateroom. You remember how,
when just as you are getting into your first doze, they commence,
tramp ! tramp ! tramp ! right over your head ; then you " hear
them fainter, fainter still ; " you listen in horrible dread of their
return, nourishing the while a feeble-minded hope that they may
have gone below— when, horror ! here they come, louder, louder.

PHCENIX AT SEA,

361

till tramp ! tramp ! tramp ! they go over your head again, and
with rage in your heart, at the conviction that sleep is impossible,
you sit up in bed and despairingly light an unnecessary segar.
They were on board the Northerner, and the night before had
aroused my indignation to that strong pitch that i had deter-
mined on their downfall.
So, before retiring, I pro-
ceeded to the upper
deck, and there did I
quietly attach a small
cord to the stanchions
which, stretching across
about six inches from the
planking, formed what in
maritime matters is
known as a "booby
trap." This done, I re-
paired to my room, turn-
ed in, and calmly awaited
the result. In ten min-
utes they came; I heard
them laughing together
as they mounted the lad-
der. Then commenced
the exercise, louder,
louder, tramp ! tramp ! —
thump ! (a double-liar-
reled thump) down they
came together, "Oh, what
a fall was there, my coun-
trymen!" Two deep
groans were elicited, and

then followed what, if published, would make two closely printed
royal octavo pages of profanity. I heard them d — n the soul of
the man that did it. It was fny soul that they alluded to, but I
cared not, I lay there chuckling; "they called, but I answered
not again," and when at length they limped away, their loud pro-
fanity subdued to a blasphemous growl, I turned over in a sweet
frame of mind, and, falling instantaneously asleep, dreamed a
dream, a happy dream of " home and thee " — Susan Ann Jane !

" TRAMP ! TRAMP ! TRAMP ! "

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A VICTIM OF HOSPITALITY.

BY REV. F. W. SH ELTON.

W. SHELTON was born at Jamaica, L. I., in 1814. He studied Divin-
• ity, and was ordained in 1847. His •' Up the River Letters" were

written at Fishkill-on-the-Hudson, and published first in the Knichtrbotker
Magazine, of which he was a favorite contributor. He was the author of " The
Trollopiad," a satire on English travelers in America, "The Rector of St.
Bardolph's," «* Peeps from the Belfry," and other bright and spirited volumes,
characterized by humor of a quiet and refined sort.

«« M — ," I said, " I have brought you to a cold, dreary house! "

1 must tell you that I had been fool enough to bring a friend to
my house, and he an invalid man. Sitting in the cars, I espied
him, and with a devilish selfishness said, " I will have that man to
share with me the dreariness of this cold and misty night." I
walked up to him, and tapped him on the shoulder. *' Ah ! " said
he. " Come," said I, in a chirping tone of concealed hypocrisy,
" and make my house your home. There is nobody there, but
we will have a good time of it. You are going to the Point.
Never mind, come with me." In a moment of delusion the in-
fatuated man agreed. After we had conversed for a few minutes
in the study we began to feel cold. " Now," said I, "we must
have a rousing fire, and a cup of hot tea : that will make us feel
better. Excuse me for a moment : amuse yourself till I return.
I will step over and ask Palmer to come and kindle a good fire,
and help me along. All will be right." " Well," said he. Palmer
is my right-hand man. There is an old farm-house about fifty
yards off. It used to be a tavern in the Revolutionary War. It
has settled a good deal within the last hundred years ; that is to
say, the walls, the floors, and the beams are sunken very much
from the horizontal line observable in the floor of a bowling-
alley ; and the chimney* look weather-beaten. Still, it is a stout
and substantial old house, and there is no doubt that it would last,
with a little more patching, another hundred years. There is s
long piazza in front of it, which is much sunken, and in the yard
an old-fashioned well, which has afforded drink to cattle and to
men for a century and more. The waters are still transcendently
sweet and lucid. When the summer-heats raged in the past

A VICTIM OF HOSPITALITY.

363

August, I used to stop and imbibe, taking my turn out of the
tin cup with the itinerating pedler, who had unburdened his back
of the wearisome load and placed it besic? j the trough. Your
wine of a good vintage may make the eyes glisten a little at the
tables of luxury, but depend upon it, a well of water, pure water,
gushing up by the way-side, to the weary and heavy-laden is
drink indeed. As I ascended the steps of the piazza, I observed
that there was a single-mold candle burning within, and knocked

KEEPING UP A FIRE.

confidently at the door of the house. It was opened. '« Is Pal-
mer within?" "No, John is absent. He will begone over
Sunday." Alas ! alas ! I turned on my heel, opened the garden-
gate, and finding the path through the peach-trees with some
difficulty on the misty night, went back to the forlorn study.

My invalid friend looked dismal enough. "Come," said I,
slapping him on the back very gently (to have done it roughly
on the present emergency would have been to insult him), ** we
have to take care of ourselves. What is more easy ? We must

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flare up. We must have a little light, a little fire. My next-
door neighbor is away. That makes not the least difference."
With that, I lighted the astral lamp— no, the globe-lamp — a con-
temptible affair, which is a disgrace to the inventor. You raise
the wick as high as possible before it will shed any light at all. In
a moment it glares out, and presently becomes dim, filling your
apartment with suffocating smoke and soot. Confound the lamp,
with its brazen shaft and marble pedestal ! I could with a good-
will dash it on the floor.

I remembered that there was an abundance of shavings under
the shed. Going out, I collected an arm-full and rammed them
into the kitchen stove, put in a few chips, and a stick or two of
wood, and applied a match. Then I took the tea-kettle, and
tramping to the well, filled it with water, placed it upon the stove,
and it presently bubbled. Took down a caddy of black tea.
After a while I found a loaf of stale bread, which makes excellent
toast. In three-quarters of an hour, during which I spent the
time in purgatory, 1 returned to the study and said, touching my
friend on the ehoulder, "Tea is ready." We went into the kitchen
and sat down. I said grace. The lamp smoked, the fire burned
poorly, the tea was cold, my friend shivered, and I afterward
heard that he said that I seemed to think that the globe-lamp was
both light and warmth. The ungrateful wretch ! After tea, the
first natural impulse was to get warm, and still keep ourselves
alive. My friend behaved extremely Well, all things considered;
and as the stove wanted replenishing with shavings every five
minutes, he acted once or twice as a volunteer on this mission.
He tried to be cheerful, but his visage: looked sad. " How stern
of lineament, how grim! " For my part I could not but enjoy
an inward chuckle, like one who has the best of a bargain in the
purchase of a horse. People come to your house to be enter-
tained. In the hands of your hospitality they are like dough, to
be molded into any shape of comfort. Thoy fairly lay them-
selves out to be feted and feasted and flattered and soothed
and comforted, and tucked in at night. They enjoy for the time-
being a luxurious irresponsibility. With what ;omposure do they
lounge in your arm-chair, and lazily troll their eyes over the
pictures in your show-books! How swingingly they saunter on
your perch or in your garden, with their minds buoyant as thistle-
down, lightly inhaling- the aromatic breeze, fostered by all whom

A VICTIM OF HOSPITALITY,

>65

they meet, and addressing all in lady-tones. Bless their dear
hearts, how they do grind their teeth for dinner! Dinner! Some-
times it is no easy matter to get up a dinner. While they are in
this opiate state, the man of the house is in cruel perplexity, and
beef -steaks are rare. Oh! it is a rich treat and triumph, nov/ and
then, to have these fellows on the hip; to see them put to some
little ex3rtion to conceal their feelings, when they have expected
all exertion to be made on the other part; to scan their physi-
ognomy, and to read their thoughts as plainly as if printed in the
clearest and most open type: "This does not pay. You will
not catch me in this scrape again. I will go where I can be
entertained better." I say that fen joj' their discomfiture, and
consider it (if it happens rarely) a rich practical joke. It is
entirely natural, and in accordance with correct principles, that
they should feel exactly as they do. Does it not agree with
what I have already said! Constituted as we are, there must be
the outward and visible sign to stir up the devotion of the heart.
Your grace of warm welcome will not do. Give your friend a
good dinner, or a glass of wine; let the fire be warm and bright.
Then he will come again. Otherwise not. It is human nature.
At any rate, it is my nature. Here, however, we draw the fine
hair-line of distinction. If your friend thinks more of the animal
than of the spiritual; if he neglects any duty, undervalues any
friendship, because the outward is poor, meagre, of necessity
wanting — call him your friend no more!

" Let us go to bed," said I. " Done," said he. " No, not done.
The beds are to be made. There is no chambermaid in the
house. What of that ? Excuse me for a moment, while you ram
a few more shavings into the stove." I go up-stairs into the spare
chamber. I can find nothing. Afte a half-hour's work, I man-
age, however, to procure pillow-ca es, sheets, blankets. I go
down-stairs and tap my shivering friend on the shoulder, and
say, chirpingly, " Come, you must go to your snuggery, your
nest. You will sleep like a top, and feel better in the morning."

I get him into bed, and after his nightcap is on, and his head
upon the pillow, I say, " Good night; pleasant dreams to you."

" Good night," he responded, with a feeble smile.

Then I tumbled into my own bed, which was made up anyhow,
looking out first on the moon just rising above the fog. Oh !
thou cold, dry, brassy Moon! do not shine into my chamber

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when I want repose. Phcebe, Di Jna, Luna, call thee by what'
ever name, let not thy pale smile be cast upon my eyes! If so,
sweet sleep is gone, and pleasant dreams. Out, out, out with
thy skeleton face, O volcanic, brassy Moon!

When the morrow came, I went into my friend's chamber, and,
as if he had been a king or a prince, asked him how he had rested
during the night, and if the coverlets had kept him warm. He
was compelled to say, as he was a man of strict veracity, that he
had been a little cold. The undiscriminating varlet! I had
given him all the blankets in the house.

It was Sunday morning. A Sunday in the country is a theme
on which my invalid friend, who is an author, had expatiated
with wonderful effect in one of his books. When he came down-
stairs, as the shavings were not yet lighted, I took him by the
arm and proposed a walk on the grass. But the grass was wet-
tened by copious dews. He returned chilled, and hovered over
the cold stove. It was nearly time for breakfast, but I had not
given him a word of encouragement on that point. Breakfast
was a puzzler. All of a sudden, striking my hand on my fore-
head, as if in the elicitment of a bright idea, I rushed out of the
kitchen, crossed the little garden, and knocked at the door of
the old farm-house.

The face of the good landlady was forthwith visible. " Mad-
ame," I said, " I am in a little quandary. I have a friend with
me; besides ourselves, there is nobody and nothing in the house.
Will you have the kindness to provide us breakfast, dinner and
tea to-day ? "

She most obligingly consented. In half an hour I conducted
the author triumphantly to the old mansion. The clean white
table-cloth was spread; the room was "as warm as toast," and
my friend's spirits revived. We went to church. His responses
were heart-felt and audible. On returning, the walk made his
blood circulate a little, and as he sat in the rocking-chair in the
old farm-b -use waiting for the broiled chicken and looking up at
the white-washed beams, he was the picture of contentment. I
was almost provoked with myseH for getting him into such a
comfortable fix.

THE DONATION FARTY.

367

THE DONATION PARTY.

BY R. J. BURDETTE.

There was a sound of revelry by night.

The flickering rays of the street lamps fell upon the joyful
ones as they gathered themselves unto the feast, for lo, they
reasoned one with another, Hath not the preacher said, " There
is nothing better for a man than that he should eat and drink,
and that he should make his soul enjoy good in his labor." So
they got themselves up unto the'house of feasting and bore their
countenances merrily. And it
was so that the Painted Pine
called aloud unto the
Hearth Broom and said :

"Lo, here, thou fair one
the broom-corn
bang, whither
goest thou ?"

And the Cheap
Hearth Broom
answered and
said :

*' Thou know-
est."

Therefore said
the Painted Pine
Pail:

"You bet your blue handle."

And then came unto them the Tin Dipper and the Jar of the
Tomato Preserves and the Peck of Beans. And they cried unto
them, saying:

'< Tarry a little, for we also journey your way."

And they greatly were rejoiced and vrent their way, and they
sang and lifted up the voice and shouted with an exceeding great
shout, for their hearts were light as a pay-roll.

And there met them in the way the Hideous Dressing Gown,
and the dozen Tin Spoons, and the Odd Slippers, and the square
of Oil Cloth, and the Three Old Books, and the Kitchen Chair,

THE PARSON S WIFE.

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MARK TWAIN'S LIBRARY OF HUMOR.

\ t-: ¥,

and the Yard of Flannel, and the Cotton Tidy, and the Bag of
Crackers, and the Awful Pen Wiper, and the Button Hook, and
the Bar of Soap, and all the Things. And wfien they saw them
they raised a mighty shout, insomuch that the watchmen of the
city were awaked, and one said to another:

•* Lo! a noise; let us hasten away, lest we be called in."

For the watchmen of the city wist not what the racket was,
and they were afraid, which of a verity was their normal con-
dition.

And the Painted Pine Pail called unto the others and said: "^

'* Journey with our band, for we also go upon thine errand.
Moreover, we likewise are going to the donation party."

And they joined the band.

And the Kitchen Chair said: •' Of a surety there will be much
good-cheer, for the matter is not a surprise, but the birds of the
air carried the matter to the parsonage, and the parson's wife
hath boiled and baked and brewed all day, that there might be
an abundance of provisions and cakes of fine meal and of barley,
and oil and wine, and ice cream and grapes, and White Mountain
cake and Lady Jane Washington pie, and all that is good and
expensive, for after this manner doth always the parson's wife
do when she heareth of a donation party."

" It will be the swell feed of all swell feeds," said the Odd
Slipper. And he was right.

"It will be the boss lay-out," said also the other Odd Slipper.
And he likewise was right. They were both rights.

And they began to make merry.

And when they were come into the parsonage, they made as
though they would enter in at the gates, but the gates were
locked, as with a skein of telegraph wire. Now the same was
barbed.

And there came to the doors of the parsonage an holely Old
Rag Carpet, and he rolled himself up and leaned against the
door jamb. Now he was old and stricken in years. Often had
he been beaten with rods, forty stripes plus a thousand and ten,
and many times had he been put down, but as oft he got up and
dusted the next spring. Neither was his natural force abated.
Moreover, he carried a stair-rod in his hand, and spoke as one
who meant business. And he said:

" Slide ! Stay not upon the order of your going, but scatter.

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369

Vamoose ! Climb out of this. Verily, I was beaten but one day
ago, and I am to be pasted down to-night, if peradventure I
may hold on to the boards until next spring. It's bad enough
that a salary of $500 a year compels me to be tacked down with
mucilage; may the beasts of the field rant over me if I lie
down to have this howling mob shuffle around on me and grind
cake and bread crumbs into my long suffering pores. Stampede,
or, by the doom of Jericho, I'll pass around the hat I "

And presently they began to fade down the dusky high-
way. And the Things sat down by the roadside and cast dust
upon their heads. And the Odd Slipper said:

" It seems that we are left." *

And he was right. And the other Odd Slipper said:

"I should say left. Verily, we are distanced."

And he also was right. They were all left.

The fust thing a man duz in the morning, iz to feel for hiz
pocket-book, and the fust thing a woman duz, iz to see if the
locking-glass iz all right.

Josh Billings.

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3 70 ^-4/rAr TWAIN ' 5 UBRAR Y OF HUMOR.

THE ALLIGATOR.

BY JOSH BILUNGS.

The alligator iz an original kritter, a chip of the old bloci:,
and az ugly to kontemplate az a congo darkey. They are resi-
dents ov Florida, and gro 12 feet and nine inches, and then halt.
Their teeth are all tushes, and their mouth iz az full ov them az
a buzz saw iz. Their eys are sot up and down in their bed like
a chinamans, and they hav an appetight equal to 18 distrikt skool
masters. They are the krokerdiles ov Amerika, and lay egjjs az

A TASTE FOR YOUNG DARKIES.

eazy az a hen duz, but don't kackle when they cum oph from the
nest. They are grate cowards, but ain't afrade ov yiing pork, or
little darkeys, and kan eat all the time, or go without eating, az
long az a gold fish kan. The alligator waz made for sum usefull
purpose, but like the muskeeter, the bedbugg and the kokroach,
their usefullness haz been karephully hid from us. Yu kan
shoot a hundred alligators a day on the St. Johns river, but you
knnt bag one, and thare aint enny more game in them than thare iz
in a rotten log. They are long lived, and liv, if mi memory serves
me right, 4 thousand years, and their grate strength lays in their
tails. They hiss, when they are angry, like a tea kittle, and want
az much room to turn round in az a fore and aft skooner.

I III!

PE TERKINS DECIDE TO LEARN THE LANGUA GES. 371

'HIE PETERKINS DECIDE TO LEARN THE
LANGUAGE'-

BY LUCRETIA PEABODY HALE.

TjUCRETIA PEABODY HALE is a well-known author, and the contribu-
tor of many ingenious tales for young and old in the leading magazines.
She was born at Boston in 1820, and is the sister of Rev. Edward Everett
Hale.

Certainly now was the time to study the languages. The
Peterkins had moved into a new house, far more convenient than
their old one, where they would have a place for everything, and
everything in its place. Of course they would then have more
time.

Elizabeth Eliza recalled the troubles of the old house ; how
for a long time she was obliged to sit outside of the window upon
the piazza, when she wanted to play on her piano.

Mrs. Peterkin reminded them of the difficulty about the table-
cloths. The upper table-cloth was kept in a trunk that had to
stand in front of the door to the closet under the stairs. But tha
under table-cloth was kept in a drawer in the closet. So, when-
ever the cloths were changed, the trunk had to be pushed away
under some projecting shelves to make room for opening the
closet door (as the under table-cloth must be taken out first)^
then the trunk was pushed back to make room for it to be opened
for the upper table-cloth, and, after all, it. was necessary to push
the trunk away again to open the closet-door for the knife-tray.
This always consumed a great deal of time.

Now that the china-closet was large enough, everything could
find a place in it.

Agamemnon especially enjoyed the new library. In the old
house there was no separate room for books. The dictionaries
were kept up-stairs, which was very inconvenient, and the volumes
of the Encyclopaedia could not be together. There was not
room for all in one place. So from A to P were to be found
down-stairs, and from Q to Z were scattered in different rooms
iip-stairs. And the worst of it was, you could never remember
whether from A to P included P. " I always went up-stairs after

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P," said Agamemnon, «*and then always found it down- stairs, or
else it was the other way."

Of course, now there were more conveniences for study. With
the books all in one room there would be no time wasted in look-
ing for them.

Mr. Peterkin suggested they should each take a separate lan-
guage. If they went abroad, this would prove a great conveni-
ence. Elizabeth Eliza could talk French with the Parisians;
Agamemnon, German with the Germans; Solomon John, Italian
with the Italians; Mrs, Peterkin, Spanish in Spain; and perhapr,
he could himself master all the Eastern languages and Russian.

Mrs. Peterkin was uncertain about undertaking the Spanish;
but all the family felt very sure they should not go to Spain (as
Elizabeth Eliza dreaded the Inquisition), and Mrs. Peterkin felt
more willing.

Still she had quite an objection to going abroad. She had
always said she would not go till a bridge was made across the
Atlantic, and she was sure it did not look like it now.

Agamemnon said there was no knowing. There was some-
thing new every day, and a bridge was surely not harder to invent
than a telephone, for they had bridges in the very earliest days.

Then came up the question of the teachers. Probably these
could be found in Boston. If they could all come the same day,
three could be brought out in the carryall. Agamemnon could
go in for them, and could learn a little on the way out and in.

Mr. Peterkin made some inquiries about the Oriental languages.
He was told that Sanscrit was at the root of all. So he proposed
they should all begin with Sanscrit. They would thus require
but one teacher, and could branch out into the other languages
afterward.

But the family preferred learning the separate languages.
Elizabeth Eliza already knew something of the French. She had
tried to talk it, without much success, at the Centennial Exhibi-
tion, at one of the side stands. But she found she had been
talking with a Moorish gentleman who did not understand French.
Mr. Peterkin feared they might need more libraries if all the
teachers came at the same hour; but Agamemnon reminded him
that they would be using different dictionaries. And Mr. Peter-
kin thought something might be learned by having them all at
once. Each one might pick up something besides the language

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rETERKlNS DECIDE TO LEARN THE LANGUAGES.

373

he was studying, and it was a great thing to learn to talk a for-
eign language while others were talking about you. Mrs. Peter-
kin was afraid it would be like the Tower of Babel, and hoped
it was all right.

Agamemnon brought forward another difificulty. Of course,
they ought to have foreign teachers who spoke only their native
languages. But, in this rase, how could they engage them to
come, or explain to them about the carryall, or arrange the pro-
posed hours ? He did not understand how anybody ever Ijegan
with a foreigner, because he could not even tell him what he
wanted.

Elizabeth Eliza thought a great deal might be done by signs
and pantomime. Solomon John and the little boys began to
show how it might be done. Elizabeth Eliza explained how
*^langucs" meant both "languages" and "tongues," and Ihey
could point to their tongues. For practice, the little boys repre-
sented the foreign teachers talking in their different languages,
and Agamemnon and Solomon John went to invite them to come
out and teach the family by a series of signs.

Mr. Peterkin thought their success was admirable, and that they
might almost go abroad without any study of the languages, and
trust to explaining themselves by signs. Still, as the bridge was
not yet made, it might be as well to wait and cultivate the lan-
guages.

Mrs. Peterkin was afraid the foreign teachers might imagine
they were invited out to lunch. Solomon John had constantly
pointed to his mouth as he opened it and shut it, putting out his
tongue, and it looked a great deal more as if he were inviting them
to eat than asking them to teach. Agamemnon suggested that
they might carry the separate dictionaries when they went to
see the teachers, and that would show that they meant lessons,
and not lunch.

Mrs. Peterkin was not sure but she ought to prepare a lunch
for them, if they had come all that way; but she certamly did
not know what they were accustomed to eat.

Mr. Peterkin thought this would be a good thing to learn of
the foreigners. It would be a good preparation for going abroad,
and they might get used to the dishes before starting. The little
boys were delighted at the idea of having new things cooked.
Agamemnon had heard that beer-soup was a favorite dish with

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374

MARA' TWAIN'S LIBRARY OF HUMOR.

the Germans, and he would inquire how it was made in the first
lesson. Solomon John had heard they were all very fond ot
garlic, and thought it would be a pretty attention to have some in
the house the first day, that they might be cheered by the odor.
Elizabeth Eliza wanted to surprise the lady from Philadelphia
by her knowledge oi French, and hoped to begin on her lessons
before the Philadelphia family arrived for their annual visit.
There were still some delays, Mr. Peterkin was very anxious

to obtain teachers who had been
but a short time in this country.
He did not want to be tempted to
talk any English with them. He
wanted the latest and freshest lan-
guages, and at last came home one
day with a list of '* brand-new
foreigners."

They decided to borrow the
Bromwicks' carryall to use, besides
their own, for the first day, and
,Mr. Peterkin and Agamemnon
drove, into town to bring all the
teachers out One \Yas a Russian
gentleman, traveling, who came
with no idea of giving lessons, but
perhaps would consent to do so.
He could not yet speak English.
Mr. Peterkin had his card-case
and the cards of the several gen-
tlemen who had recommended the
different teachers, and he went
THE LADY FROM PHILADELPHIA, with Agamemjion from hotel to

hotel collecting them. He found
them all very polite and ready to come, after the explanation by
signs agreed upon. 'J'he dictionaries had been forgotten, but
Agamemnon had a directory, which looked the same and seemed
to satisfy the foreigners.

Mr. Peterkin was obliged to content himself with the Russian
instead of one who could teach Sanscrit, as there was no new
teacher of that language lately arrived.

But there was an unexpected difficulty in getting the Russian

..-i.

PETERKINS DECIDE TO LEARN THE LANGUAGES.

375

gentleman into the same carriage with the teacher of Arabic, for
he was a Turk, sitting with a fez on his head, on the back seat !
They glared at each other, and began to assail each other in every
language they knew, none of which Mr. Peterkin could understand
It might be Russian ; it might have been Arabic. It was easy
to understand that they would never consent to sit in the same
carriage. Mr. Peterkin was in despair; he had forgotten about
the Russian war ! What a mistake to have invited th^Turk i

Quite a crowd collected on the sidewalk in front of the hotel.
But the French gentleman politely, but stiffly, invited the Russian
to go with him in the first carryall. Here was another difficulty.
For the German pro-
fessor was quietly
ensconced on the back
seat !

As soon as the
French gentleman put
his foot on the step
and saw him, he ad-
dressed him in such
forcible language that
the German professor
got out of the xloor
the other side, *ind
came round on the
sidewalk and took him
by the collar. Cer-
tainly the German and
French gentlemen
could not be put together, and more crowd collected !

Agamemnon, however, had happily studied up the German
word " Herr," and he applied it to the German, inviting him by
signs to take a seat in the other carryall. The German con-
sented to sit by the Turk, as they neither of them could under-
stand the other; and at last they started, Mr. Peterkin v/ith the
Italian by his side, and the French and Russian teachers behind,
vociferating to each other in languages unknown to Mr. Peterkin,
while he feared they were not perfectly in harmony; so he drove
home as fast as possible. Agamemnon had a silent party. The
Spaniard at his side was a little moody, while the Turk and the
German behind did not utter a word.

NOT FRIENDLY.

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MARK TWAIN'S LIBRARY OF HUMOR.

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At last they reached the house, and were greeted by Mrs.
Peterkin and Elizal)eth Eliza, Mrs. Peterkin with her llama lace
shawl over her shoulders, as a tribute to the Spanish teacher.
Mr. Peterkin was careful to take his party in first, and deposit
them in a distant part of the library, far from the Turk or tl'R
German, even putting the Frenchman and Russian apart.

Solomon John found the Italian dictionary, and seated himself
by his Italian; Agamemnon, with the German dictionary, i)y the
German. The little boys took their copy of the ••Arabian
Nights " to the Turk. Mr. Peterkin attempted to explain to the
Russian that he had no Russian dictionary, as he had hoped to
learn Sanscrit of him, while Mrs. Peterkin was trying to inform
her teacher that she had no books in Spanish. She got over all
fears of the Inquisition, he looked so sad, and she tried to talk a
little, using English words, but very slowly, and altering the
accent as far as she knew how. The Spaniard bowed, looked
gravely interested, and was very polite.

Elizabeth Eliza, meanwhile, was trying her grammar phrases
with the Parisian. She found it easier to talk French than to
understand him. But he understood perfectly her sentences.
She repeated one of her vocabularies, and went on with, " J'ai le
livre." " As-tu le pain?" "L'enfant a une poire." He listened
with great attention, and replied slowly. Suddenly she started,
after making out one of his sentences, and went to her mother
to whisper, •' They have made the mistake you feared. They
think they are invited to lunch ! He has just been thanking
me for our politeness in inviting them to li/JcHtier — that means
breakfast ! "

'•They have not had their breal:fast!" exclaimed Mrs. Peter-
"kin, looking at her Spaniard; "he does look hungry! What shall
v.edo?"

Elizabeth Eliza was consulting her father. What should they
do ? How should they make them understand thn*- thry invited
them t teach, not lunch. Eliz.beth Eliza begged AtfamtJinnon
to look o\\\. '■'■ apprendre" \\\ the dictionary. It n-i.c aj.cn to
teach. Alas, they found it means both to teach and to learn!
What should they do ? The foreigners were now sitting silent in
their di "ferent corners. The Spaniard grew mor^ and more sallow.
What if be should faint ? The Frenchman was rolling up each
of hW' mustiChe- to a pcint as he gazed at the German. What if

PETKRKINS DECIDE TO LEARN THE LANGUAGES.

J77

the Russian should fight tl^ Turk? What if the German should
be exasperated by the airs oi the Parisian?

'• We nuist ^'ive them somethiii^^ to eat," said Mr. Peterkin, in
n low tone. " It would calm lem."

•'If I only knew what they w -p 'sed to eating !" said Mrs.
Pctcrkin.

Solomon John suggested that none of them ii^w what the
others were used to eating, and they might bring in ..nytliing,

Mrs. Petcrkin hastened out with hospital " intent Amanda
could make good coffee. Mr. Peterkin h. d suggi sted some
Aiuerican dish. Solomon John sent a little b(;y for some olives.

At was not long before the cofleft came in, an<i a dish of baked
beans. Ne.\t, some olives and a loaf of bread, and some lM)iled
eggs, and some bottles of beer. The effect was astonishing.
Every man spoke his own tongue, and fluently. M;.s. Petcrkin
poured out coffee for the Spaniard, while he bowed to her. 'J hey
all liked beer; they all liked olives. The Frenchman v as fluent
about '■''les viceurs Americaincs" Elizabeth Eliza sup )sed he
alludcil to their not having set any table. The Turk sniled; the
Russian was voluble. In the midst of the. clang of the (iTe.-ent
languages, just as Mr. Peterkin was again repeating, undc cover
of the noise of many tongues, "How shall we make them
understand that we want them to teach?" — at this momei • the
door was flung open, and there came in the lady from Philadel-
phia, that day arrived, her first call of the season.

She started back in terror at the tumult of so many diffe ent
languages. The family, with joy, rushed to meet her. All
together they called upon her to explain for them Could .he
help them? Could she tell the foreigners that they wanted to
take lessons? Lessons? They had no sooner uttered the wf^rd
than their guests all started up with faces beaming with joy. It
was the one English word they all knew! They had come to
Boston to give lessons! The Russian traveler had hoped to
learn Etiglij ".i in this way. The thought pleased them more than
the dt'jcfincr. Yes, gladly would they give lessons. The Turk
smiled at the idea. The first step was taken. The teachers
knew they were expected to teach.

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378 MARK TWAIN'S LIBRARY OF HUMOR.

THE SIAMESE TWINS.

BY MARK TWAIN.

I DO not wish to write of the personal habits of these strange
creatures solely, but also of certain curious details of various
kinds concerning them, which, belonging only to their private life,
have never crept into print. Knowing the Twins intimately, I feel
that I am peculiarly well qualified for the task I have taken upon
myself.

The Siamese Twins are naturally tender and affectionate in

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THEY ALWAYS PLAYED TOGETHER.

disposition, and have clung to each other with singular fidelity
throughout a long and eventful life. Even as children they were
inseparable companions; and it was noticed that they always
seemed to prefer each other's society to that of any other per-
sons. They nearly always played together; and so accustomed
was their mother to this peculiarity, Lliat, whenever both of them
chanced to be lost, she usually only hunted for one of them —
satisfied that when she found that one she would find his brother
somewhere in the immediate neighborhood. And yet these
creatures were ignorant and unlettered — barbarians themselves,
and the offspring of barbarians, who knew not the light of phi-

'i^Jnfei>tvJu'

it^'i

THE SIAMESE TWINS.

379

losophy and science. What a withering rebuke is this to our
boasted civilization, with its quarrelings, its wranglings, and its
"^parations of brothers !

As men, the Twins have not always lived in perfect accord;
but still, there has always been a bond between them which made
them unwilling to go away from each other and dwell apart.
They have even occupied the same house, as a general thing,
and it is believed that they have never failed to even sleep
together on any night since they were born. How surely do the
habits of a lifetime become second nature to us ! The Twins
always go to bed at the same time; but Chang usually gets up
about an hour before his brother* By an understanding between
themselves, Chang does all the in-door work and Eng runs all
the errands. This is because Eng likes to go out; Chang's
habits are sedentary. However, Chang always goes along. Eng
is a Baptist, but Chang is a Roman Catholic; still, to please his
brother, Chang consented to be baptized at the same time that
Eng was, on condition that it should not " count." During the
war they were strong partisans, and both fought gallantly all
through the great struggle — Eng on the Union side, and Chang on
the Confederate. They took each other prisoners at Seven
Oaks, but the proofs of capture were so evenly balanced in favor
of each, that a general army court had to be assembled to deter-
mine which one was properly the captor, and which the captive.
The jury was unable to agree for a long time; but the vexed
question was finally decided by agreeing to consider them both
prisoners, and then exchanging them. At one time Chang was
convicted of disobedience of orders, and sentenced to ten days in
the guard-house, but Eng, in spite of all arguments, felt obliged
to share his imprisonment, notwithstanding he himself was entirely
innocent; and so, to save the blameless brother from suffering,
they had to discharge both from custody — the just reward of
faithfulness.

Upon one occasion the brothers fell out about something, and
Chang knocked Eng down, and then tripped and fell on him;
whereupon both clinched, and began to beat and gouge each
other without mercy. The bystanders interfered, and tried to
separate them, but they could not do it, and so allowed them to
fight it out. In the end both were disabled, and were carried to
the ho.soital on one and the same shutter.

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MARK TWAIN'S LIBRARY OF HUMOR.

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Their ancient habit of going always together had its drawbacks
when they reached man's estate, and entered upon the luxury of
courting. Both fell in love with the same girl. Each tried to
steal clandestine interviews with her, but at the critical moment
the other would always turn up. By and by Eng saw, with dis-
traction, that Chang had won the girl's affections; and from that
day forth he had to bear with the agony of being a witness to all
their dainty billing and cooing. But with a magnanimity that
did him infinite credit, he succumbed to his fate, and gave
countenance and encouragement to a state of things that bade
fair to sunder his generous heart-strings. He sat from seven
every evening until two in the morning, listening to the fond fool-
ishness of the two lovers, and to the concussion of hundreds of
squandered kisses — for the privilege of sharing only one of which
he would have given his right hand. But he sat patiently, and
waited and gaped and yawned and stretched, and longed for two
o'clock to come. And he took long walks with the lovers on
moonlight evenings — sometimes traversing ten miles, notwith-
standing he was usually suffering from rheumatism. He is an
inveterate smoker; but he could not smoke on these occasions,
because the young lady was painfully sensitive to the smell of
tobacco. Eng cordially wanted them married, and done with it; but
although Chang often asked the momentous question, the young
lady could not gather sufficient courage to answer it while Eng
was by. However, on one occasion, after having walked some
sixteen miles, and sat up till nearly daylight, Eng dropped asleep,
from sheer exhaustion, and then the question was asked and
answered. The lovers were married. All acquainted with the
circumstance applauded the noble brother-in-law. His unwaver-
ing faithfulness was the theme of every tongue. He had stayed
by them all through their long and arduous courtship; and when
at last they were married, he lifted his hands above their heads,
and said, with impressive unction, " Bless ye, my children; I will
never desert ye !" and he kept his word. Fidelity like this is all
too rare in this cold world.

By and by Eng fell in love with his sister-in-law's sister, and
married her, and since that day they have all lived together,
night and day, in an exceeding sociability which is touching and
beautiful to behold, and is a scathing rebuke to our boasted civil-
ization.

^■^i^.

THE SIAMESE TWINS.

The sympathy existing between these two brothers is so close
and so refined that the feelings, the impulses, the emotions, of the
Dne are instantly experienced by the other. When one is sick,
the other is sick ; when one feels pain, the other feels it ; when
Dne is angered, the other's temper takes fire. We have already
seen with what happy facility they both fell in love with the same
girl. NovV, Chang is bitterly opposed to all forms of intemper-
ance, on principle; but Eng is the reverse — for while these men's
feelings and emotions

are so closely wedded,
theii reasoning facul-
ties are unfettered ;
their thoughts are free,
Chang belongs to the
Good Templars, and
is a hard - working,
enthusiastic supporter
of all temperance re-
forms. But, to his
bitter distress, every
now and then Eng
gets drunk, and, of
course, that makes
Chang drunk too.
This unfortunate
thing has been a great
sorrow to Chang, for
it almcist destroys his
usefulness in his fav-
orite field of effort. As
sure as he is to head a
great temperance pro-
cession Eng ranges up alongside of him, prompt to the minute,
and drunk as a lord; but yet no more dismally and hopelessly
drunk than his brother, who has not tasted a drop. And so the
two begin to hoot and yell, and throw mud and bricks at the
Good Templars; and, of course, they break up the procession.
It would be manifestly wrong to punish Chang for what Eng
does, and, therefore, the Good Templars accept the untoward
situ.ition, and suffer in silenv^e and sorrow. They have officially

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382

MA/iA- TWAIN'S LIBRARY OF HUMOR.

and deliberately examined into the matter, and find Chang blame-
less. They have taken the two brothers and filled Chang full of
warm water and sugar, and Eng full of whisky, and in twenty-
five minutes it was not possible to tell which was the drunkest.
Both were as drunk as loons — and on hot whisky punches, by the
smell of their breath. Yet all the while Chang's moral principles
were unsullied, his conscience clear; and so all just men were
forced to confess that he was not morally but only physically
drunk. By every right and by every moral evidence the man was
strictly sober; and, therefore, it caused his friends all the more
anguish to see him shake hands with the pump, and try to wind
his watch with his night-key.

There is a moral in these solemn warnings — or, at least, a warn-
ing in these solemn morals; one or the other. No matter; it is
somehow. Let us heed it; let us profit by it.

I could say more of an instructive nature about these interest-
ing beings, but let what I have written sufifice.

Having forgotten to mention it sooner, I will remark, in conclu-
sion, that the ages of the Siamese Twins are respectively fifty-
one and fifty-three years.

"Father," she said, burying her tace upon the old man's
shoulder, " if I can win the pure, earnest love of an honest, up-
right man, my life will be full indeed. I ask not for mere wealth.
I would love and honor such a man, dear father, if even one hun-
dred thousand dollars were all that he could rightly call his own."

" Noble girl," responded the old man, deeply affected, " I hope
you may find him." — Newspaper.

A FATAL THIRST,

383

A FATAL THIRST.

BY BILL NYE.

/T'DGAR WILSON NYE was born August 21, 1850, in Penobscot County,
Maine, but v ;nt early to the West, with which section his humor and
h'o fortunes were long identified. His contributions to the press have given
him a reputation commensurate with the country.

From the London Lancet we Id^rn that " many years ago a
case was recorded by Dr. Otto, of Copenhagen, in which 495
needles passed through the skin of a hysterical girl, who had
probably swallowed them during a hysterical paroxysm, but these
all emerged from the regions below the diaphragm, and were col-
lected in groups, which gave rise to inflammatory swellings of
some size. One of these contained 100 needles. Quite recently
Dr. Bigger described before the Society of Surgery, of Dublin, a
case in which more than 300 needles were removed from the
tody of a woman. It is very remarkable in how few cases
the needles were the cause of death, and how slight an interfer-
ence with function their presence and movement cause."

It would seem, from the cases on record, that needles in the
system rather assist in the digestion and promote longevity.

For instance, we will suppose that the hysterical girl above
alluded to, with 495 needles in her stomach, should absorb the
midsummer cucumber. Think how interesting those needles
would make it for the great colic promoter !

We can imagine the cheerful smile of the cucumber as it enters
the stomach, and, bowing cheerfully to the follicles standing
around, hangs its hat upon the walls of the stomach, stands its
umbrella in a corner, and proceeds to get in its work.

All at once the cucumber looks surprised and grieved about
something. It stops in its heaven-born colic generation, and pulls
a rusty needle out of its person. Maddened by the pain, it once
more attacks the digestive apparatus, and once more accumu-
lates a choice job lot of needles.

Again and again it enters into the unequal contest, each time
losing ground and gaining ground, till the poor cucumber, with

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MARK TWAIN'S LIBRARY OF HUMOR.

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assorted hardware sticking out in all directions, like the hair on a
cat's tail, at last curls up like a caterpillar, and yields up the victory.
Still, this needle business will be expensive to husbands,
if wives once acquire the habit and allow it to obtain the
mastery over them.

If a wife once permits this demon appe-
tite for cambric needles to get control of
the house, it will soon secure a majority in
the senate, and then there will be trouble.
The woman who once begins to tamper
with cambric needles
is not safe. She may
think that she has
power to control her
appetite, but it is only
a step to the madden-
ing thirst for the soul-
destroying darning-
needle, and perhaps to
the button-hook and
carpet-stretcher.

It is safer and better
to crush the first desire
for needles, than,when
it is too late, to under-
take reformation from
the abject slavery to
this hellish thirst.

We once knew a
sweet young creature,
with dewy eye and
breath like timothy
hay. Her merry laugh
rippled out upon the summer air like the joyful music of bald-
headed bobolinks.

Everybody loved her, and she loved everybody too. But in a
thoughtless moment she swallowed a cambric needle. This did
not satisfy her. The cruel thraldom had begun. Whenever she
felt depressed and gloomy, there was ..othing that would kill her
ennui and melancholy but the fatal needle-cushion.

A TASTE FOR NEEDLES.

MRS. BROWN'S FATE.

385

' From this she rapidly became more reckless, till there was
hardly an hour that she was not under the influence of needles.

If she couldn't get needles to assuage her mad thirst, she would
take hair-pins or door-keys. She gradually pined away to a mere
skeleton. She could no longer sit on one foot and be happy.

Life for her was filled with opaque gloom and sadness. At last
she took an overdose of sheep-shears and monkey-wrenches one
day, and on the following morning her soul had lit out for the
land of eternal summer.

We should learn from this to shun the maddening needle-cush-
ion as we would a viper, and never tell a lie.

MRS. BROWN'S FATE.

Old Mrs. Bently — Have ye heerd anything about Mrs. Brown,
lately, Obadiah ?

Old Mr. Bently — She died several days ago. I thought ye
knew that?

Old Mrs. Bently — I never heard of it. Poor soul ; an' so she's
dead !

Old Mr. Bently — Yes, dead an' buried.

Old Mrs. Bently — And buried, too ! Oh, my ; wuss an' wuss!
—Newspaper,

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MAXX^ TWAIN'S LIBRARY OF HUMOR.

CAPTAIN EFN'S CHOICE.

BY FRANCIS LKE PRATT.

An old red house on a rocky shore, with a fisherman's blue
boat rocking on the bay, and two white sails glistening far away
over the water. Above, the blue, I'.'.ning sky; and below, the
blue, shining sea.

" It seems clever to have a pleasant day," said Mrs. Davids,
sighing.

Mrs. Davids said everything with a sigh, and now she wiped

her eyes also
on her calico
apron. She was
a woman with a
complexion like
faded seaweed,
who seemed al-
vv a y s pitying
herself.

"I tell them,"
said she, "I
have had real
hard luck. My
husband is bur-
ied away off in
California, and
my son died in
Neither one of

MRS. DAVIDS AND MISS TAME.

the army, and he is buried away down South
them is buried together."

Then she sighed again. Twice, this time.

" And so." she continued, takinof out a pinch ov bayberry
snuff, " I am left alone in the world. Abuc, I say ! why, I've
got a daughter, but she is away out West. She is married to an
enginccrman. And I've got two grandchildren."

Mrs. Davids took the pinch of bayberry and shook her head,
looking as though that was the " hardest luck " of all.

CAPTAIN BEN'S CHOICE.

3^7

" Well, everybody has to have their pesters, and you'll have to
have yours," rejoined Miss Persis Tame, taking a pinch of sr-<f
^the real Maccaboy — twice as large, with twice as fierce i
action. " I don't know what it is to bury children, nor to lose a
husband ; I s'pose I don't ; but I know what it is to be jammed
round the world and not have a ruff to stick my head under, I
wish I had all the money I ever spent traveling — and that's
twelve dollars ! " she continued, regretfully.

»' Why in the world don't you marry, and have a home of your
own ? " sighed Mrs. Davids.

«<Well, I don't expect to marry. I don't know as I do, at my
time life," resoonded the spinster. "I rather guess my
day lor .nances is gone by."

" You ain't such a dreadful sight older than I am, though,"
replied Mrs. Davids, reflectively.

*' Not so old by two full years," return 2d Miss Tame, taking
another smart pinch of snuff, as though it touched the empty
spot in her heart and did it good. " But you ain't looking out
for opportunities yet, I suppose ? "

Mrs. Davids sighed evasively. " We can't tell what is before
us. There is more than one man in want of a wife."

As though to point her words, Captain Ben Lundy came in
sight on the beach, his head a long way forward and his sham-
bling feet trying in vain to keep up.

"Thirteen months and a half since Lyddy was buried," con-
tinued Mrs. Davids, accepting this application to her words, "and
there is Captain Ben taking up with just what housekeeper he can
get, and no housekeeper at all. It would be an excellent home
for you, Persis. Captain Ben always had the name of making a
kind husband."

She sighed again, whether from regret for the bereaved man,
or for the multitude of women bereft of such a husband.
By this time Captain Ben's head was at the door.
"Morning! " said he, while his feet were coming up. "Quite
an accident down here below the lighthouse last night. Schooner
ran ashore in the blow, and broke all up into kindling-wood in less
than no time. Captain Tisdale's been out looking for dead bodies
ever since daylight."

" I knowed it! " sighed Mrs. Davids. " I heard a rushing
sound some time about the break, of day, that waked me out of a

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MAHA' TWAIN'S LIBRARY OF HUMOR.

I* .'

sound sleep, and I knowed then there was a spirit leaving its
body. I heard it the night Davids went, or I expect I did. It
must have been very nearly at that time."

•'Well, I guess it wasn't a spirit, last night," said Captain Ben,
" for, as I was going on to say, after searching back and forth.
Captain Tisdale came upon the folks, a man and a boy, rolled up
in their wet blankets, asleep behind the lifeboat house. He said
he felt like he could shake them for staying out in the wet.
Wrecks always make for the lighthouse, so he s'posed those
ones were drowned to death, sure enough."

"O, then it couldn't have been them I was warned of!"
returned Mrs. Davids, looking as though she regretted it. " It
was right over my head, and I waked up just as the thing was
rushing past. You haven't heard, have you," she continued,
"whether or no there was any other damage done by the
gale ? "

" I don't know whether you would call it damage exaccly,"
returned Captain Ben; "but Loizah MuUers got so scared she
left me and went home. She said she couldn't stay and
run the chance of another of our coast blows, and off she
trapsed."

Mrs. Davids sighed like November. " So you have some hard
luck, as well as myself. I don't suppose y >u zvco. get a house-
keeper, to keep her long," said she, dismall)'.

" Abel Grimes tells me it is enough sight easier getting wives
than housekeepers, and I'm some of a mind to try that tack,"
replied Captain Ben, smiling grimly.

Mrs. Davids put up her hand to feel of her back hair, and
smoothed down her apron; while Miss Persis Tame blushed
like a withered rose, and turned her eyes modestly out of the
window.

" I am so ! But the difficulty is, who will it be ? There are
so many to select from, it is fairly bothersome," continued
Captain Ben, winking fast, and looking as though he was made
of dry corn-cobs and hay.

Misir Tcrsis Tame turned about abruptly. "The land alive! "
she ejaculated, with such sudden emphasis that the dishes shook
on their shelves and Captain Ben in his chair. " It makes me
as mad as a March hare to hear men go on as though all
they'd got to do was to throw down their handkerchers to a

C APT Am BEN'S CHOICE.

389

woman, and, no matter who, she'd spring and run to pick it
up. It is always, • Who will I marry ? ' and not, • Who will
marry me ?' "

"Why, there is twice the number of widders that there is of
widderers here at the P'int. That was what was in my mind,"
said Captain Ben, in a tone of meek apology. " There is the
Widow Keens, she that was Azubah Muchmore. I don't know
but what she would do; Lyddy used to think everything of her,
and she is a first-rate of a housekeeper."

"Perhaps so," assented Mrs. Davids, dubiously. " But she is
troubled a sight with the head complaint; I suppose you know
she is. That is against her." ,

"Yes," assented Miss Tame. " The Muchmores all have weak
heads. And, too, the Widow Keens, she's had a fall lately. She
was up in a chair cleaning her top buttery shelf, and somehow
one of the chair legs give way — it was loose or something, I
expect — and down she went her whole heft. She keeps about,
but she goes with two staves."

" I want to know if that is so !" said Captain Ben, his honest
soul warming with sudden sympathy. " The widder has seen a
sight of trouble."

"Yes, she has lived through a good deal, that woman has. I
couldn't live through so much, 'pears to me; but we don't know
what we can live through," rejoined Miss Tame.

Captain Ben did not reply, but his ready feet began to move to
and fro restlessly; for his heart, more ready yet, had already
gone out toward the unfortunate widow.

"It is so bad for a woman to be alone," said he to himself,
shambling along the shingly beach a moment after. " Nobody to
mend her chairs, or split up her kindlings, or do a chore for her;
and she lame into the bargain ! It is too bad !"

" He has steered straight for the widow Keens' s, as sure as A
is apple-dumpling," remarked Miss Persis, peering after him from
the window.

" Well, I must admit I wouldn't have thought of Captain
Ben's being en-a-mored after such a sickly piece of business.
But men never know what they want. Won't you just hand me
that gum-camphyer bottle, now you are up ? It is on that chest of
drawers behind you."

" No more they don't," returned Miss Tame, with a plaintive

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MA /HAT TIVAWS LIBRARY OF HUMOR.

cadence, taking a sniff from the camphor-bottle on the way.
'• However, I don't begrutch him to her — I don't know as I do.
It will nuke her a good hum, though, if she concludes to make
arrangements."

Meantime, Captain Ben Lundy's head was wellnigh at Mrs.
Keens's door, for it was situated only aro".nd the first sand-hill.
She lived in a little bit of a house that looked as though it had
been knocked together for a crockery-crate in the first place,
with two vvindows and a rude door thrown in as after-thoughts.
In the rear of this house was another tiny building, something
like a grown-up hen-coop ; and this was where Mrs. Keens car-
ried on the business bequeathed to her by her deceased husband,
along with five small children, and one not so small. liut, worse
than thai, one who was '' not altogether there," as the B^nglish
say.

She was about this busim ss now, dressed in a primitive sort of
bloomer, with a washtub and clothes-wringer before her, and an
army of bathing-suits of every kind and color flapping wildly in
the fresh sea air at one side.

From a litde farther on, mingling with the sound of the Ideat-
ing surf, came the merry voices of bathers — boarders at the
great hotels on the hill.

" Here you be ! Hard at it ! " said Captain Ben, puffing around
the corner like a portable west wind. " I've understood you've
had a hurt. Is that so ? "

" Oh, no ! Nothing to mention," returned Mrs. Keens, turning
about a face bright and cheerful as the full moon ; and throwing,
as by accident, a red bathing-suit over the two broomsticks that
leaned against her tub.

Unlike Mrs. Davids, Mrs. Keens neither pitied herself nor
would allow anybody else to do .so.

" Sho ! " remarked Captain Ben, feeling defrauded. He had
counted on sacrificing himself to his sympathies, but he didn't
give up yet. "You must see some pretty tough times, 'pears to
me, with such a parcel of little ones, and only yourself to look
to," said he, proceeding awkwardly enough to hang the pile of
wrung-out clothes upon an empty line.

"I don't complain," returned the widow, bravely "My
children are not tmsoinc ; and Jack, why, you would be surprised
to see how many things Jack can do, for all he isn't quite right."

1 1

CAJ'TAJN BUN'S GtlOlCM.

391

As ihc spoke thus with affertlmiate pfirk, Jack came up
wheeling u roughljr made cajrt, filled with wet hathing-clothts,
from the bcuch. He iookcii up at the sound of his mother's
voice with something ut the dumb tenderness of an intelligenL
dog. "Jack helps, Jack good boy," said he, nodding with a happy
smile. '

" Yes, Ja( k helps. We don't complain," repeated the mother.

»« It would come handy, though, to have a man around to see

PICKING BARBERRIES.

to things and kind o' provide, wouldn't it, though ? " persisted
Captain Ben.

" Some might think so," replied Mrs. Keens, stopping her
wringer to reflect a little. " But I haven't any wish to change
my situation," she added, decidedly, going on again with her
work.

'* Sure on't ? " persisted the Captain.

" Certain," replied the widow.

Captain Ben sighed. "■ T thought ma'be you was having a
hard row to hoe, and I thoughts like enough — "

What, he never said, excepting by a beseeching glance at the
cheerful widow, for just then an interruption came from some
people after bathing-suits.

So Captain Ben moved off with a dismal countenance. But

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before he had gone far it suddenly brightened. " It might not
be for the best," quoth he to himself. " Like enough not. I was
very careful not to commit myself, and I am very glad I didn't."
He smiled as he reflected on his judicious wariness. " But,
however," he continued, "I might as well finish up this business
now. There is Rachel Doolittle. Who knows but she'd make a
likely wife ! Lyddy sot a good deal by her. She never had a
quilting or a sewing-bee but what nothing would do but she must
give Rachel Doolittle an invite. Yes ; I wonder I never decided
on her before! She will be glad of a home, sure enough, for she
haves to live around, as it were, upjn her brothers."

Captain Ben's feet quickened themselves at these thoughts,
and had almo.t overtaken his head, when behold ! at a sudden
turn in the road there stood Miss Rachel Doolittle, picking bar-
berries from a wayside bush. " My sakes ! If she ain't right
here, like Rachel in the Bible ! " ejaculated Captain Ben, taking
heart at the omen.

Miss Doolittle looked up from under her tied-down brown hat
in surprise at such a salutation. But her surprise was increased
by Captain Ben's next remark.

" It just came into my mind," said he, " that you was the right
one to take Lyddy's place. You two used to be such great knit-
ups that it will seem 'most like having Lyddy back again. No,"
he continued, after a little reflection, " I don't know of anybody
I had rather see sitting in Lyddy's chair and wearing Lyddy's
things than yourself."

" Dear me. Captain Lundy, I couldn't think of it. Paul's
folks e.xpect me to stay with them while the boarder-season lasts,
and I've as good as promised Jacob's wife I'll spend the winter
with her."

"Ain't that a hard life you are laying out for yourself ? And
then, bum by you will get old or sick, ma'be, and who is going to
want you around then ? Every woman needs a husband of her
own to take care of her."

" I'm able to take care of myself as yet, thanks to goodness !
And I am not afraid my brothers will see me suffer in case of
sickness," returned Miss Doolittle, her cheeks flaming up like a
sumach in October.

" But hadn't you better take a little time to think it over ?
Ma'be it come sudden to you," pleaded Captain Ben.

CAPTAIN BEN'S CHOICE.

393

"No, I thank you; some things don't need thinking over,"
answered Miss Doolittle, plucking at the barberries more dili-
gently than ever.

' 1 wish Lyddy was here. She would convince you you are
standing in your own light," returned Lyddy's widower in a per-
plexed tone.

" I don't need one to come from the dead to show me my own
mind," retorted Miss Doolittle, firmly.

"Well, like enough you are right," said Captain Ben, mildly,
putting a few stems of barberries in her pail ; " ma" be 'twouldn't
be best. I don't want to be rash."

And with that he moved off, on the whole congratulating him-
self he had not decided to marry Miss Doolittle.

" I thought, after she commenced her miserable gift of the
gab, that Lyddy used to be free to admit she had a fiery tongue,
for all they were such friends. And I'm all for peace myself. I
guess, on the whole, ma'be she ain't the one for me, perhaps, and
it is as well to look further. Why, what in the world ! Well,
there, what have I been thinking of ! There is Mrs. Davids, as
neat as a new cent, and the master hand to save. She is always
taking on ; and she will be glad enough to have somebody to
look out for her — why, sure enough ! And there I was, right at
her house this very day, and never once thought of her ! What
an old dunce ! "

But, fortunately, this not being a sin of comva\s%\or\, it could
easily be rectified ; and directly Captain Ben had turned about
and was trotting again toward the red house on the beach.

" Pound for pound of the best white sugar," he heard Miss
Tame say as he neared the door.

" White sugar ! " repeated Mrs. Davids, her usual sigh drawn
out into a little groan. " White sugar for cramhtxx'\e% ! Who
ever heard of such a thing ! I've always considered I did well
when 1 had plenty of brown."

" Poor creeter! " thought Captain Ben. " How she will enjoy
getting into my pantry. Lyddy never complained that she didn't
have enough of everything to do 7c////."

And in the full ardor of his intended benevolence, he went
right in and opened the subject at once. But, to his astonish-
ment, Mrs. Davids refused him. She sighed, but she refused
him.

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" I've seen trouble enough a'ready, without my rushing into
more with my eyes wide open," sighed she.

" Trouble ? Why, that is just what I was meaning to save
you! " exclaimed the bewildered widower. " Pump right in the
house, and stove e'enamost new. And Lyddy never knew what
it was to want for a spoonful of sugar or a pound of flour. And
such a handy buttery and sink! Lyddy used to say she felt the
worst about leaving her buttery of anything."

" Should thought she would," answered Mrs. Davids, forget-
ting to sigh. '* However, I can't say that I feel any hankering
after marrying a buttery. I 've got buttery-room enough here,
■without the trouble of getting set up in a new place."

"Just as you say," returned the rejected. "I ain't sure as
you'd be exactly the one. I 7cias a thinking of looking for some-
body a little younger."

'•Well, here is Tcrsis Tame. Why don't you bespeak her?
She is younger, and she is in need of a good home. I can
recommend her, too, as the first-rate of a cook," remarked Mrs.
Davids, benevolently.

Miss Tame had been sitting a little apart by the open window,
smiling to herself.

But now she turned about at once. "H'm!" said she, with
contempt. " I should rather live under an umbrella tied to a
stake, than marry for a hum."

So Captain Ben went home without engaging either wife or
housekeeper.

And the first thing he saw was Captain Jacob Doolittle's old
one-eyed horse eating the apples Loizah MuUers had strung and
festooned from nails against the house, to dry.

The next thing he saw was, that, having left a window open,
the hens had flown in and gone to housekeeping on their own
account. But they were not, like Mrs. Davids, as neat as a new
cent, and not, also, such master hands to save.

"Shoo! shoo! Get out! Go 'long there with you!" cried
Captain Ben, waving the dish-cloth and the poker. "I deckxre
for 't! I most hadn't ought to have left that bread out on the
table. They've made a pretty mess of it, and it is every spec
tiiere is in the house too. Well, I must make a do of potatoes
for supper, with a bit of pie and a mouthful of cake."

Accordingly he went to work building a fire that wouldn't burn.

CAPTAIN BEN'S CHOICE.

395

Then, forgetting the simple matter of dampers, the potatoes
wouldn't bake. The tea-kettle boiled over and cracked the stove,
and after that, boiled dry and cracked itself. Finally the pota-
toes fell to baking with so much ardor they overdid it and burnt
up. And, last of all, the cake-jar and pie-cupboard proved to be
entirely empty. Loizah had left on the eve of baking-day.

" The old cat! Well, I'd just as soon live on slapjacks a spell."
said Captain Ber., when he made this discovery.

But even slapjacks palled on his palate, especially when he had
them always to cook for himself.

"'Tain't no way to live, this ain't," said heat last. "I'm a
good mind to marry as ever I had to eat."

So he put on his hat and walked out. The first person he met
was Miss Persis Tame, who turned her back and fell to picking
thoroughwort blossoms as he came up

"Look a here," s^aid he, stopping short, "I'm dreadful put
to 't! I can't get ne'er a wife nor ne'er a housekeeper, and I am
e'enamost starved to death. I wish you would consent to marry
with me, if you feel as if you could bring your mind to it. I am
sure it would have been Lyddy's wish."

Miss Tame smelt of the thoroughwort blossoms.

"It comes pretty sudden on me," she replied. "I hadn't
given the subject any thought. But you arc to be pitied in your
situation."

"Yes. And I m dreadful lonesome. I've always been used
to having Lyddy to talk over things with, and I miss her a sight.
And I don't know anybody that has her ways more than you
have. You are a good deal such a built woman, and you have
the same hitch to your shoulders when you walk. You've got
something the same look to your eyes, too; I noticed it last
Sunday in meeting-time," continued the widower, anxiously.

" I do feel for you. A man alone is in a deplorable situation,"
replied Miss Tame. " I'm sure I'd do anything in my power to
help yoi!."

"Well, marry with me then ! That is what I want. We could
be real comfortable together. I'll go for the license this minute,
and we'll be married right away," returned the impatient suitor.
** You go up to Elder Crane's, and I'll meet you there as soon as
I can fetch around."

Then he hurried away, "without giving me a chance to say

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« no,' " said " she that was " Persis Tame, afterward. " So I haa
to marry with him, as you might say. But I've never seen cause
to regret it. I've got a first-rate of a hum, and Captain Ben
makes a first-rate of a husband. And no hain't he, I hope,
found cause to regret it," she added, with a touch of wifely pnde;
" though I do expect he might have had his pick among s.\) the
single women at the Point ; but out of them all he chose /r,e ' '

THE MACKREL.

BY JOSH BILLINGS.

The mackrel iz a game fish. They ought te\* Ui wJ\ eduka-
ted, for they are always in schools.

They are very eazy to bite, and are caught with a pieci ov old
red flannel pettycoat tied onto a hook.

They ain't the only kind ov fish that are caught by the same
kind ov bait.

Mackrel inhabit the sea, but those which inhabit the grocerys
alwus taste to me az tho they had been born and fatted on salt.

They want a good deal ov freshning before they are eaten, and
want a good deal ov freshning afterward.

If I can hav plenty ov mackrel for brekfasst i can generally
make the other two meals out ov cold water.

Mackrel are considered by menny folks the best fish that swims,
and are called " the salt of the earth. "

A QUICK EYE FOR BUSLVESS.

397

''\

A QUICK EYE FOR BUSINESS.

As one of the most prominent young burglars of San Francisco
was walking out of court the other day, just after having secured
an acquittal regarding his latest job by a prompt and business-
like " divvy " with the powers that be, at the usual rates, a well-
to do but anxious-looking stranger touched his arm and beck-
oned him into a doorway.

" You are < Teddy, the Ferret,* aren't you," asked the gentle-
man; "the man who was tried to-day for
safe-cracking ?"

" Well, wot of it?" replied the house-
breaker.

" Why, just this — you'll excuse my
speaking so low — but the fact is, I've
come all the way from the San Joaquin to
look up a party in your line of business."

" Have, eh !"

"Yes — I — well, I've a little proposi-
tion to make to you."

"Exactly," said the Ferret calmly;
"you're a bank cashier down in the
foot-hills."

"How did you know that?" stam-
mered the gentleman, much amazed.

" And your cash and accounts are to be gone over by the direc-
tors on the first, and as you can't realize on your stocks, you
want me to gag you some time next week, shoot your hat full of
holes, find the combination in your breast pocket, and go through
the safe in the regular v/ay."

" Great heavens, man ! how did you find all that out ?"

" Why, I guessed it. It's the regular thing, you know. Got
three orders to nttend to ahead of yours now. Lemme see!
Can't do anything for you next week, but might give you Wed-
nesday and Thursday of the week after. How'll that suit you ?"

The cash er said he thought he could make that do, and in less
than five minutes they had struck a bargain and arranged the
whole affair.

Even New York isn't much ahead of San Francisco in regard
to modern conveniences. — N. Y. World.

TEDDY THE FERRET.

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MARK TWAIN'S LIBRARY OF HUMOR.

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THE OWL-CRITIC.

A Lesson to Fault- Finders.

BY JAS. T. FIELDS.

^AS. T. FIELDS, the well-known publisher, of the house of Ticknor & Fields,
was born at Portsmouth, N. H., in 1817. He went to Boston while still
a boy, and was, almost to the day of his death, i38i, identified with its lite-
rary history. He was the author of several volumes of verse and prose, and
the editor of various posthumous collections— conspicuously those of De
Quinccy . From 1861 to 1872 he was the editor of The Atlantic Monthly,

" Who stuffed that white owl ?" No one spoke in the shop:

The barber was busy, and he couldn't stop;

The customers, waiting their turns, were aU reading

The Daily, the Herald, the Post, little heeding

The young man who blurted out such a blunt question;

Not one raised a head, or even made a suggestion;

And the barber kept on shaving.

" Don't you see, Mister Brown,"

Cried the youth, with a frown,

" How wrong the whole thing is.

How preposterous each wing is,

How flattened the head is, how jammed down the neck is —

In short, the whole owl, what an ignorant wTeck 't is!

I make no apology;

I've learned owl-eology.

I've passed days and nights in a hundred collections,

And cannot be blinded to any deflections

Arising from unskillful fingers that fail

To stuff a bird right, from his beak to his tail.

Mister Brown! Mister Brown!

Do' take that bird down.

Or you'll soon be the laughing-stock all over town!"

And the barber kept on shaving.

" r ve studied owl s,
And other night fowls,
And I tell you

THE OWI^CRITIC.

What I know to be true:
An owl cannot roost
With his limbs so unloosed;
No owl in this world
Ever nad his claws curled,
Ever had his legs slanted,
Ever had his bill canted.
Ever had his neck screwed
Into that attitude.

399

A CRITIC.

He can't do it, because

'T is against all bird-laws.

Anatomy teaches,

Ornithology preaches

An owl has a toe

That cant turn out so!

I've made the white owl my study for years,

And to see such a job almost moves me to tearsi

Mister Brown, I'm amazed

You should be so gone crazed

As to put up a ird

In that posture absurd!

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.W^^i'A' TWAIN'S LIBRARY OF HUMOR,

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To A»^^ at that owl really brings on a dizziness;

The man who stufted him don't half know his business!"

And the barber Kept on shaving.

" Examine those eyes.
I'm filled with surprise
Taxidermists should pass
Off on you such poor glass ;
So unnatural they seem
They'd make Audubon scream,
And John Burroughs laugh
To encounter such chaff.
Do take that bird down ;
Have him stuffed again, Brown !"

And the barber kept on shaving,

" With some sawdust and bark

I would stuff in the dark

An owl better than that,

I could make an old hat

Look more like an owl

Than that horrid fowl,

Stuck up there so stiff like cv side of coarse leather.

In fact, about him there's not one natural feather."

Just then, with a wink and a sly normal lurch,
The owl, very gravely, got down from his perch,
Walked round, and regarded his fault-finding critic
(Who thought he was stuffed) with a glance analytic,
Anil then fairly hooted, as if he should say:
" Your learning's at fault this time, any way;
Don't waste it again on a live bird, I pray.
I'm an owl ; you're another. Sir Critic, good-day !"

And the barber kept on shaving.

Tim KIND-HEARTED SlIE-ELEHUI^-'*

401

THE KIND-HEARTED SHE-ELEPHANT.

BY GEO. T. LANIGAN.

A KIND-HEARTED She-*:.iephant, while walking through the
Jungle where the Spicy Breezes blow soft o'er Ceylon's Isle,
heedlessly set fo it upon a Partridge, which she crushed to death
within a few inches of the Nest containing its Callow Brood.

MISPLACED KINDNESS,

« Poor little things ! " said the generous Mammoth. " I have been
.■> Mother myself, and my affection shall atone for the Fatal C011-
sefiuences of my Neglect." So saying, she sat down upon the
Orphaned Birds.

Moral. — The aliove Teaches us What Home is Without a
Mother: also, that it is not every Person who should be intrusted
with the Cire of an Orphan Asylum

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A DOG IN CHURCH.

BY MARK TWAIN.

After the hymn had been sung, the Rev. Mr. Sprague turned
himself into a bulletin board, and read off " notices " of meet-
ings and societies and things, till it seemed that the list would
stretch out to the crack of doom — a queer custom which is still
kept up in America, even in cities, away here in this age of abun-
dant newspapers. Often, the
less there is to justify a tra-
ditional custom, the harder it
is to get rid of it.

And new the minister
prayed. A good, generous
prayer, it was, and went into
details : it pleaded for the
church, and the little chil-
dren of the church ; for the
other churches of the village;
for the village itself; for the
county; for the State; for the
State officers; for the United
States; for the churches of
the United States ; for Con-
gress; for the President; for
the officers of the Govern-
ment; for poor sailors tossed
REV. MR SPRAGUE. by stormy seas; for the op-

pressed millions groaning
under the heel of European monarchs and Oriental despotisms;
for such as have the light and the good tidings, and yet have not
eyes to see nor ears to hear withal; for the heathen in the far
islands of the sea; and closed with a supplication that the words
he was about to speak might find grace and favor, and be as
seed sown 'H fertile ground, yielding in time a grateful harvest
of good. Amen.

There was a rustling of dresses, and the standing congregation
sat down. The boy whose history this book relates did not enjoy

A DOG IN aiVRCH.

40.1

the prayer, he only endured it — if he even did that much He
was restive all through it; he kept tally of the details of the
prayer, unconsciously — for he was not listeninij, but he knew the
ground of old, and the clergyman's regular route over it — and
when a little trifle of new matter was interlarded, his ear detected
it and his whole nature resented it; he considered additions
■unfair and scoundrelly. In the midst of the prayer a fly had lit
on the back of the pew in front of him, and tortured his spirit by
calmly rubbing its hands together, embracing its head with its
arms, and polishing it so vigorously that it seemed to almost part
company with the body, and the slender thread of a neck was
exposed to view; scraping its wings with its hind legs and smooth-
ing them to its body as if they had been coat tails; going through
its whole toilet as tranquilly as if it knew it was perfectly safe.
As indeed it was; for as sorely as Tom's hands itched to grab
for it, they did not dare — he believed his soul would be instantly
destroyed if he did such a thing while the prayer was going on.
But with the closing sentence his hand began to curve and steal
forward; and the instant the "Amen" was out, the fly was a
prisoner of war. His aunt detected the act, and made him let it go.

The minister gave out his text and droned along monotonously
through an argument that was so pro?y that many a head by and
by began to nod — and yet it was an argument that dealt in limit-
less fire and brimstone, and thinned the predestined elect down to
a company so small as to be hardly worth the saving. Tom
counted the pages of the sermon; after church he always knew
how many pages there had been, but he seldom knew anything
else about the discourses. However, this time he was really
interested for a little while. The minister made a grand and
moving picture of the assembling together of the world's bust at
the millennium, when the lion and the lamb should lie down
together, and a little child should lead them. But the pathos, the
lesson, the moral, of the great spectacle were lost upon the boy;
he only thought of the conspicuousnessof the principal character
before the on-looking nations; his face lit with the thought, and
he said to himself that he wished he could be that child, if it was
a tame lion.

Now he lapsed into suffering again, as the dry argument was
resumed. Presently he bethought him of a treasure he had, and
got it out. It was a large black beetle with formidable jaws — a

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*• pinch-biijf," he called it. It was in a percussion-cap box. The
first thin;; the beitle did was to take him by the fin^'er. A natu-
ral fillip followed, the beetle went floundering into the aisle and
lit on its back, and the hurt finger went into the boy's mouth.
The beetle lay there working its helpless legs, unabl« to turn
over. Tom eyed it, and longed for it; but it was safe out of his
reach. Other people uninterested in tne sermon found relief in
the beetle, and they eyed it too. Presently a vagrant poodle dog
came idling along, sad at heart, lazy with the summer softness
and the quiet, weary of captivity, sighing for change. He spied
the beetle; the drooping tail lifted and wagged. He surveyed the

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DIVERSION IN CHURCH.

prize; walked around it; smelt at it from a safe distance; walked
around it again; grew bolder, and took a closer smell; then lifted
his lip and made a gingerly snatch at it, just missing it; made
another, and another; began to enjoy the diversion; subsided to
his stomach with the beetle between his paws, and continued his
experiments; grew wcvn at last, and then indifferent and absent-
minded. His head sKjfJded, and little by little hischin viescended
and touched the eneiny, who eized it. There was a sharp yelp,
a flirt of the poodle's iie;4d, and the beetle fell a couple of yards
away, and lit (»<n its l^»t:ft once more. The neighboring spectators
shook with a gentle i.<vard jo}, several faces went behind fan*
and handkerchiefs, am. Tom wa ^ entirely happy. The dog looked

A DOG IN CHURCH,

405

foolish, and probably felt so; but there was resentment in his
heart, too, and a craving for revenjjc. So he went to the l)eetlc
and began a wary attack on it again; jumping at it from every
point of a circle, lighting with his fore paws within an inch of the
creature, making even closer snatches at it with his teeth, and
lerking his head till his ears flapped again. But he grew tired
once more, after a while; tried to amuse himself with a fly, but
found no relief; followed an ant around, with his nose close to the
floor, and (piickly wearied of that; yawned, sighed, forgot the beetle
entirely, and sat down on it ! Then there was a wild yelp of agony,
and the poodle went sawing up the aisle; the yelps continued, and
so did the dog; he crossed the house in front of the altar; he flew
down the other aisle; he crossed before the doors; he clamored up
the home-stretch; his anguish grew with his progress, till pres-
ently he was but a woolly comet moving in its orbit with the gleam
and the speed of light. At last the frantic s.ifferer sheered from
its course, and sprang into its master's lap; he flung it out of the
window, and the voice of distress quickly thinned away and died
in the distance.

By this time the whole church was red-faced and suffocating
with suppressed laughter, and the sermon had come to a dead
standstill. The discourse was resumed presently, but it went
lame and halting, all possibility of impressiveness bemg at an
end; for even the gravest sentiments were constantly being
received with a smothered burst of unholy mirth, under cover of
some remote pew-Kick, us if the poor parson had said a rarely
facetious things It was a genuine relief to the whole congrega-
tion when tii< orrleal was over and the benediction pronounced,

Tom S.'i»yer went home quite cheerful, thinking to himself that
there wa> some satisfaction about divine service when there was
a bit (I variety in it. He had but one marring thought; he was
willitti;; that the dog should play with hi;; pinch-bug, but he did
not thiuk it was upright in him to carry it off.

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iW/ii?A' TWAIN'S LIBRARY OF HUMOR.

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A VISIT TO THE ASYLUM FOR AGED AND DECAYED

PUNSTERS.

BY OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES.

QLIVER WENDELL HOLMES was bom in Cambridge, Mass., in 1809,
and was graduated at Harvard in 1829. He first studied law, but after-
wards took up medicine in the schools of Paris, and , on his return home, became
Professorof Anatomy and Physiology at Dartmouth in 1838. I'rom 1847 to
1883 he filled the same chair in Harvard. He is the author of many vol-
umes of poetry and prose, which have all a wide fame, but of which " The
Autocrat of the Breakfast Table" is perhaps the best known. He is easily
the first of our more literary humorists.

Having just returned from a visit to this admirable institution^
in company with a friend who is one of the Directors, we pro-
pose giving a short account of what we saw and heard. The
great success of the Asylum for Idiots and Feeble-minded Youth,
several of the scholars from which have reached considerable
distinction, one of them being connected with a leading Daily
Paper in this city, and others having served in the State and
National Legislatures, was the motive which led to the foundation
of this excellent charity. Our late distinguished townsman, Noah
Dow, Esquire, as is well known, bequeathed a large portion of
his fortune to this establishment — " being thereto moved," as his
will expressed it, " by the desire of N. Dounng some publick
Institution for the benefit of Mankind." Being consulted as to
the Rules of the Institution and the selection of a Superintend-
ent, he replied, that "all Boards must construct their own Plat-
forms of operation. Let them select anyho7i\ and he should be
lileascd." N. E. Howe, Esq., was chosen in compliance with
this delicate su;i:«:estion.

The charter provides for the support of "One hundred aged
and decayed Gentlemen-Punsters." On inquiry if there was no
provision for females, my friend called my attention to this
remarkable psychological fact, namely:

There is no such thing as a female punster.

This remark struck me forcibly, and, on reflection, I found
ih^it I nczier knczu nor /leard of one, though I have once or twice

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ASYLUM FOR AGED AND DECAYED PUNSTERS.

407

heard a woman make a single detached pun, as I have known a
hen to crow.

On arriving at the south gate of the Asylum grounds, I was
about to ring, but my friend held my arm and begged me to rap
with my stick, which I did. An
old man, with a very comical
face, presently opened the gate
and put out his head.

" So you prefer Cane to A Bell,
do you ?" he said, and began
chuckling and coughing at a
great rate.

My friend winked at me.

*' You're here still, Old Joe,
I see," he said to the old man.

"Yes, yes; and it's very odd,
considering how often I've
boltedy nights."

He then threw open the
double gates for us to ride
through.

"Now," said the old man,
as he pulled the gates after us,
" you've had a long journey."

"Why, how is that. Old
Joe ?" said my friend.

«' Don't you see ?" he an-
swered ; " there's the East
hinges on one side of the gate,
and there's the West hinges on
t'other side— haw! haw! hatvl"

Wc had no sooner got into
the yard than a feeble little
gentleman, with a remarkably

bright eye, came up to us, looking very serious, as if something
had happened.

" The town has entered a complaint against the asylum as a
gambling establishment," he said to my friend the Director.

" What do you mean ?" said my friend.

"Why, they complain that there's a loto' rye on the premises,"

OLD JOB_

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he answered, pointing to a field of that grain, and hobbled away,
his shoulders shaking with laughter as he went.

On entering the main building we saw the Rules and Regula-
tions for the Asylum conspicuously posted up. I made a few
extracts, which may be interesting.

SECT. I. OF VERBAL EXERCISES

5. Each Inmate shall be permitted to make Puns freely, from
eight in the morning until ten at night, except during Service in
the Chapel and Grace before Meals.

6. At ten o'clock the gas will be turned off, and no further Puns,
Conundrums, or other play on words will be allowed to be uttered,
or to be uttered aloud.

9. Inmates who have lost their faculties, and cannot any longer
make Puns, shall be permitted to repeat such us may be selected
for them by the Chaplain out of the work of Mr. Joseph Miller.

10. Violent and unmanageable Punsters who interrupt others,
when engaged in conversation, with Puns, or attempts at the same,
shall be deprived of Va&vc Joseph Millers, and, if necessary, placed
in solitary confinement.

SECT. III. OF DEPORTMENT AT MEALS

4. No inmate shall make any Pun, or attempt at the same,
until the Blessing has been asked and the company are decently
seated.

7. Certain Puns having been placed on the Index Expurgato-
rius of the Institution, no Inmate shall be allowed to utter them,
on pain of being debarred the perusal of Punch and Vanity Fair,
and, if repeated, deprived of his Joseph Miller.

Among these are the following:

Allusions to Attic salt, when asked to*passthe salt-cellar.

Remarks on the Inmates being mustered, etc., etc.

Personal allusions in connection with carrots and turnips.

Attempts upon the word tomato, etc., etc.

The following are also prohibited, excepting to such Inmates
as may have lost their faculties, and cannot any longer make
Puns of their own:

" your own liair or a wig; " " it will be long enough, etc.,

etc.; " little of its age," etc., etc.; also playing upon the follow-

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ASYLUM FOR AGED AND DECAYED PUNSTERS.

409

ing words: //^jpital, mayor, pun, pitied, bread, sauce, sole, etc., etc.,
etc. See Index Expurgatorius, printed for use of Inmates.

The Superintendent, who went round with us, had been a noted
punster in his time, and well known in the business world, but
lost his customers by making too free with their names — as in
the famous story he set afloat in '29, oi forgeries attaching to the
names of a noted JuJge, an eminent lawyer, the Secretary of the
Board of Foreign Missions, and the well-known Landlord at
Springfield. One of the/<?«r Jerries, he added, was of gigantic
magnitude.

The Superintendent showed some of his old tendencies as he
went round with us.

" Do you know " — he broke out all at once — " why they don't
take steppes in Tartary for establishing Insane Hospitals ?"

We both confessed ignorance.

" Because there are wwa^ people to be found there," he said,
with a dignified smile.

He proceeded to introduce us to different Inmates. The first
v,if a middle-aged, scholarly man, who was seated at a table with
;\ Webster's Dictionary and a sheet of paper before him.

" Well, what luck to-day, Mr. Mowzer ?" said the Superin-
tendent.

He turned to his notes and read:

' Don't you see Webster ers in the words center and theater ?

" If he spells leather kther, and feather f ether, isn't there dan-
ger that he'll give us a bad spell of weather 7

" Besides, Webster is a resurrectionist; he does not allow u to
rest quietly in the mould.

" And again, because Mr. Worcester inserts an illustration in
his text, is that any reason why Mr. Webster's publishers should
hitch one on in their appendix ? It's what I call a Connect-a-cut
trick.

" Why is his way of spelling like the floor of an oven? Because

it is under bread."
"Mowzer!" said the Superintendent— " that word is on the

Index! "

*' I forgot," said Mr. Mowzer—" please don't deprive me of
Vanity Fair, this one time. Sir."

*' These are all, this morning. Good day, Gentlemen. Then
to the Superintendent — Add you. Sir! "

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I'he next Inmate was a semi-idiotic- looking old man. He had
a heap of block-letters before him, and, as we came up, he
pointed, without saying a word, to the arrangements he had made
with them on the table. They were evidently anagrams, and had
the merit of transposing the letters of the words employed with-
out addition or subtraction. Here are a few of them:

Times.

Smite !

Post.

Stop!

Tribune,

Irue nib.

World.

Dr, Owl.

Advertiser.

Res veri dat.
Is true. Read!

Allopathy.

All

0' th' pay.

HOMCEOPATHV.

0, THE ! ! 0, MY ! Pah I

The mention of several New York papers led to two or three

questions. Thus: Whether the Editor
of the Tribune was H. G. really? If
the complexion of his politics were
not accounted for by his being an

eager per-
son himself?
Whether Wen-
dell Fillips
were not a re-
duced copy of
John Knoclis 1
Whether a New York Feuille-
tonis^e is not the same thing
as a Fellow doivn East?

At this time a plausible-
looking, bald - headed man
joined us, evidently waiting
to take a part in the con-
versation,

" Good morning, Mr, Rig-
gles," said the Superinten-
dent. " Anything fresh this morning? Any Conundrum? "

"Nothing of any account," he answered, "We had hasty-
pudding yesterday,"

" What has that got to do with conundrums ? " asked the Super-
intendent,

PUNS WITH BLOCKS.

ASYLUM FOR AGED AND DECA YED PUNSTERS. 41 1

"I asked the Inmates why it was like the Prince."

"Oh! because it comes attended by its s^veet" said the Super-
intendent.

'< No," said Mr. Riggles, " it is because the 'lasses runs after it."

"Riggles is faili-.:g," said the Superintendent, as we moved on.

The next Inmate looked as if he might have been a sailor
formerly.

" Ask him what his calling was," said the Superintendent.

<' Followed the sea," he replied to the question put by one of
us. ** Went as mate in a fishing-schooner."

"Why did you give it up? "

"Because I didn't like working*for two-masters" he replied.

Presently we came upon a group of elderly persons gathered
about a venerable gentleman with flowing locks, who was pro-
pounding questions to a row of Inmates.

"Can any Inmate give me a motto for M. Berger?" he said.

Nobody responded for two or three minutes. At last one old
man, whom I at once recognized as a Graduate of our Univer-
sity (Anno 1800), held up his hand.

" Rem a cue tetigit."

" Go to the head of the Class, Josselyn," said the venerable
Patriarch.

The successful Inmate did as he was told, but in a very rough
way, pushing against two or three of the Class.

*' How is this ? " said the Patriarch.

"You told me to go upj'osf/tn'," he replied.

The old gentlemen who had been shoved about enjoyed the
Pun too much to be angry.

Presently the Patriarch asked again —

" Why was M. Berger authorized to go to the dances given to
the Prince ? "

The Class had to give up this, and he answered it himself:

"Because every one of his carroms was a tick-it to the da//."

"Who, collects the money to defray the expenses of the last
campaign in Italy ? " asked the Patriarch.

Here again the Class failed.

" The war-cloud's rolling Dim," he answered.

" And what is mulled wine made with ?"

Three or four voices exclaimed at once:

" Sizzlc-v Madeira !"

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Here a servant entered, and said, "Luncheon-time." The old
gentlemen, who have excellent appetites, dispersed at once, one
of them politely asking us if we would not stop and have a bit of
bread and a little mite of cheese.

" There is one thing I have forgotten to show you," said the
Superintendent — "the cell for the confinement of violent and
unmanageable Punsters."

We ' "' t very curious to see it, particularly with reference to
the all? .1 absence of every object upon which a play of words
could possibly be made.

The Superintendent led us up some dark stairs to a corridor,
then along a narrow passage, then down a broad flight of steps
into another passage-way, and opened a large door which looked
out on the main entrance.

" We have not seen the cell for the confinement of 'violent
and unmanageable * Punsters," we both exclaimed.

♦* This is the sell!" he exclaimed, pointing to the outside pros-

p'.'Ct.

My friend, the Director, looked me in the face so good-
naturedly that I had to laugh.

" We like to humor the Inmates," he said. "It has a bad
effect, we find, on their health and spirits, to disappoint them of
their little pleasantries. Some of the jests to which we have
listened are not new to me, though I dare say you may not have
heard them often before. The same thing happens in general
society, with fhis additional disadvantage, that there is no pun-
ishment provided for * violent and unmanageable ' Punsters, as
in our Institution."

We made our bow to the Superintendent, and walked to the
place where our carriage was waiting for us. Oi our way, an
exceedingly decrepit old man moved slowly towards us, with a
perfectly blank look on his face, but still appearing as if he
vvished to speak.

"Look !" said the Director — " that is our Centenarian."

The ancient man crawled towards us, cocked one eye, with
which he seemed to see a little, up at us, and said;

" Sarvant, young Gentlemen. Why is a — a — a — like a — a— a
— ? Give it up ? Because it's a — a — a — a — ."

He smiled a pleasant smile, as if it were all plain enough.

" One hundred and seven last Christmas," said the Director.

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MINNESOTA WHEAT.

413

" He lost his answeis about the age of ninety-eight. Of late
years he puts his whole Conundrums in blank — but they please
him just as well."

We took our departure, much gratified and instructed by our
visit, hoping to have some future opportunity of inspecting the
Records of this excellent Charity, and making extracts for the
benefit of our Readers.

Mi y t A

It of 'violent

MINNESOTA WHEAT.

** Let's see: they raise some wheat in Minnesota, don't they?"
asked a Schoharie granger of a Michigander.

" Raise wheat ! Who raises wheat ? No, sir ; decidedly no,
sir. It raises itself. Why, if we undertook to cultivate wheat in
that State it would run us out. There wouldn't be any place to
put our house."

" But I've been told that grasshoppers take a good deal of it."

" Of course they do. If they didn't, I don't know what we
would do. The cussed stuff would run ail over the State and
drive us out— choke us up. Those grasshoppers are a Godsend,
only there ain't half enough of em."

" Is the wheat nice and plump !"

" Plump ! Why, I don't know what you call plump wheat,
but there are seventeen in our family, including ten servants,
and when we want bread we just go out and fetch in a kernal of
wheat and bake it."

«* Do you ever soak it in water first ?"

"Oh, no ; that wouldn't do. It would swell a little, and then
we couldn't get it in our range ovtxi"— Newspaper.

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GETTING A GLASS OF WATER.

BY F. W. COZZENS.

One evening Mrs. S. had retired, and I was busy writing, when
it struck me a glass of ice-water would be palatable. So I took

the candle and a pitcher, and
went down to the pump. Our
pump is in the kitchen. A
country pump in the kitchen is
more convenient ; but a well
v/ith buckets is certainly most
picturesque. Unfortunately,
our well-water has not been
sweet since it was cleaned out.
P'irst I had to open a bolted
door that lets you into the
basement-hall, ;.nd then I wont
to the kitchen - door, which
proved to be locked. Then I
remembered that our girl al-
ways carried the key to bed
with her, and slept with it
under her pillow. Then I re-
traced my steps, bolted the
basement-door, and went up
in the dining-room. As is al-
ways the case, I found, when
I could not get any water, I
was thirstier than I supposed
I was. Then I thought I would
wake our girl up. Then I con-
cluded not to do it. Then I
thought of the well, but I gave
that up on account of its flavor. Then I opened the closet doors;
there was no water there ; and then I thought of the dumb-waiter'
The novelty of the idea made me smile ; I took out two of the
movable shelves, stood the pitcher on the bottom of the dumb-
waiter, got in myself with the lamp ; let myself down, until I

GOING TO THE PUMP.

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GETTING A GLASS OP WATER.

415

supposed I was within a foot of the floor below, and ti»en

let go !

We came down so suddenly, that I was shot out of the appara-
tus as if it had been a catapult ; it broke the pitcher, extinguished
the lamp, and landed me in the middle of the kitchen at mid-
night, with no fire, and the air not much above the zero point. The

truth is, I had miscalculated the distance of the descent instead

of falling one foot, I had fallen five. My first impulse was, to
ascend by the way I came down, but I found that impracticable.
Then I tried the kitchen door; it was locked. I tried to force it
open ; it was made of two-inch stuff, and held its own. Then I
hoisted a window, and there were the rigid iron bars. If ever
I felt angry at anybody it was at myself, for putting up those
bars to please Mrs. Sparrowgrass. I put them up, not to keep
people in, but to keep people out.

I laid my cheek against the ice-cold barriers and looked out at
the sky ; not a star was visible ; it was as black as ink overhead.
Then I thought of Baron Trenck, and the prisoner of Chillon.
Then I made a noise ! I shouted until I was hoarse, and ruined
our preserving-kettle with the poker. That brought our dogs
out in full bark, and between us we made night hideous. Then
I thought I heard a voice, and listened — it was Mrs. Sparrow-
grass calling to me from the top of the stair-case. I tried to
make her hear me, but the infernal dogs united with howl and
growl and bark, so as to drown my voice, which is naturally
plaintive and tender. Besides, there were two bolted doors and
double deafened floors between us ; how could she recognize my
voice, even if she did hear it ? Mrs. Sparrowgrass called once or
twice, and then got frightened ; the next thing I heard was a
sound as if the roof had fallen in, by which I understood that
Mrs. Sparrowgrass was springing the rattle ! That called out
our neighbor, already wide awake ; he came to the rescue with a
bull-terrier, a Newfoundland pup, a lantern and a revolver. The
moment he saw me at the window, he shot at me, but fortunately
just missed me. I threw myself under the kitchen table and
ventured to expostulate with him, but he would not listen to
reason. In the excitement I had forgotten his name, and that
made matters worse. It was not until he had roused up every-
body around, broken in the basement door with an axe, gotten
into the kitchen with his cursed savage dogs and shooting-iron.

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and seized me by the collar, that he recognized me — and then»
he wanted me to explain it ! But what kind of an explanation
could I make to him ? I told him he would have to wait until
my mind was composed, and then I would let him understand
the whole matter fully. But he nevci* would have had the par-
ticulars from me, for I do not approve of neighbors that shoot at
you, break in your door, and treat you, in your own house, as if
you were a jail-bird. He knows all about it, however — somebody
has told him — somebody tells everybody everything in our village.

THE HODJA AS A PROPHET.

BV S. S. COX.

The Hodja was considered the most learned man in his town.
Every one called on him for information and advice. One day
a number of people called, and demanded of him a reply to this
question:

" When, O Hoaja ! will be the end of the world ?"

"Oh I" says he, "ask me something difficult. That is very
easy to answer. When my wife dies, it will be the end of half of
the world ; when I die, then the whole world will end."

Moral by Sir Boyle Roche : Single misfortunes never come alone,
and the greatest possible misfortune is foUoived by one greater.

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BLUE.JA Va.

417

BLUE-JAYS.

BY MARK TWAIN.

Animals talk to each other, of course. There can be no
question about that; but I suppose there are very few people
who can understand them. I never knew but one man who
could. I knew he could, however, because he told me so him-
self. He was a middle-aged, simple-hearted miner, who had lived
in a lonely corner of

California, among the
woods and moun-
tains, a good many

years,

and had stud-

ied the ways of his

only neighbors, the

beasts and the birds,

until he believed he

could accurately

translate any remark

which they made.

This was Jim Baker.

According to Jim

Baker, some animals

have only a limited

education and use

only very simple

words, and scarcely

ever a comparison or

a flowery figure ; whereas, certain other animals have a large

vocabulary, a fine command of language and a ready and fluent

delivery; consequently this latter talk a great deal; they like it;

they are conscious of their talent, and they enjoy " showing off."

baker said that, after long and careful observation, he had come

to the conclusion that the blue-jays were the best talkers he had

found among birds and beasts. Said he:

" There's more to a blue- jay than any other creature. He has
got more moods and more different kinds of feelings than other
creatures; and, mind you, whatever a blue- jay feels, he can put

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into language. And no mere commonplace language, cither,
but rattliivj;, out-and-out book-talk — and bristling with metaphor
too — just bristling ! And as for command of language — why, you
never see a bhie-jay get stuck for a word. No man ever did.
They just boil out of him ! And another thing: I've noticed a
good deal, and there's no bird, or cow, or anything that uses as
good grammar as a blue-jay. You may say a cat uses good
grammar. Well, a cat does — but you let a cat get excited, once;
you let a cat get to pulling fur with another cat on a shed, nights,
and you'll hear grammar that will give you the lockjaw. Ignor-
ant people think it's the /wise which fighting cats make that is so
aggravating, but it ain't so; it's the sickening grammar they use.
Now I've never heard a jay use bad grammar but very seldom;
and when they do, they are as ashamed as a human; they shut
right down and leave.

"You may call a jay a bird. Well, so he is, in a measure—
because he's got feathers on him, and don't belong to no church,
perhaps; but otherwise he is just as much a human as you be.
And I'll tell you for why. A jay's gifts, and instincts, and feel-
ings, and interests cover the whole ground. A jay hasn't got
any more principle than a Congressman. A jay will lie, a jay
will steal, a jay will deceive, a jay will betray; and, four times
out of five, a jay will go back on his solemnest promise. The
sacredness of an obligation is a thing which you can't cram into
no blue-jay's head. Now, on top of all this, there's another thing:
a jay can out-swear any gentleman in the mines. You think a
cat can swear. Well, a cat can; but you give a blue-jay a subject
that calls for his reserve powers, and where is your cat ? Don't
talk to me — I know too much about this thing. And there's yet
another thing: in the one little particular of scolding — just good,
clean, out-and-out scolding — a blue jay can lay over anything,
human or divine. Yes, bir, a jay is everything that a man is. A
jay can cry, a jay can laugh, a jay can feel shame, a jay can
reason and plan and discuss, a jay likes gossip and scandal, a jay
has got a sense of humor, a jay knows when he is an ass just as
well as you do — maybe better. If a jay ain't human, he better
take in his sign, that's all. Now I am going to tell you a perfectly
true fact about some blue- jays.

" When I first begun to understand jay language correctly,
there was a little incident happened here. Seven years ago, the

BLUE.JAYS,

419

last man in this region but me moved away. There stands his
house — been empty ever since; a log house, with a plank roof —
just one big room, and no more; no ceiUng — nothing between
the rafters and the floor. Well, one Sunday morning I was sitting
out here in front of my cabin with my cat, taking the sun, and
looking at the blue hills, and listening to the leaves rustling so
lonely in the trees, and thinking of the home away yonder in the
States, that I hadn't heard from in thirteen years, when a blue-
jay lit on that house, with an acorn in his mouth, and says,
' Hello, I reckon I've struck something !* When he spoke, the
acorn fell out of his mouth and rolled down the roof, of coune,
but he didn't care; his mind was all on the thing he had struck.
It was a knot-hole in the roof. He cocked hib head to onr side,
shut one eye and put the other one to the hole, like a 'possum
looking down a jug; then he glanced up with his bright eyes,
gave a wink or two with his wings — which signihes gratification,
you understand — and says, ' It looks like a hole, it's located likt,
a hole — blamed if I don't believe it is a hole !

" Then he cocked his head down and took anothfi i ^ok; he
glances up perfectly joyful this time; winks his win,;s aiid hib
tail both, and says, ' Oh, no, this ain't no fat thing, I reckon ! \i
I ain't in luck ! — why, it's a perfectly elegant hole ! ' So he flew
down and got that acorn, and fetched it up and dropped it in, and
was just tilting his head back with the heavenliest smile on his
face, when all of a sudden he was paralyzed into a listening
attitude, and that smile faded gradually out of his countenance
like breath off n a razor, and the queerest look of surprise took
its place. Then he says, ' Why, I didn't hear it fall ! ' He
cocked his eye at the hole again and took a long look; raised up
and shook his head; stepped around to t.ii ."*^her side of the hole,
and took another look from that side; shou\ his head again. He
studied a while, then he just went into the ^/ftails — walked round
and round the hole, and spied into it f'-nm every point of the com-
pass. No use. Now he took a thin!dng attitude on the comb of
the roof, and scratched the bacK of his head with his right foot a
minute, and finally says, 'Well, it's too many for inc, that's cer-
tain; must be a mighty long hole; however, I ain't got no time
to fool around here; I got to 'tend to business; I reckon it's all
right — chance it, anyway ! '

'• So he flew off and fetched another acorn and dropped it in,

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and tried to flirt his eye to the hole quick enough to see what
become of it, but he was too late. He held his eye there as much
as a minute; then he raised up and sighed, and says, 'Consound
it, I don'c seem to understand this thing, no way; however, I'll
tackle her again.' He fetched another acorn, and done his level
best to see what become of it, but he couldn't. He says, * Well,
/never struck no such a hole as this before; I'm of the opinion
it's a totally new kind of a hole.' Then he begun to get mad.
He held in for a spell, walking up and down the comb of the roof,
and shaking his head and muttering to himself; but his feelings
got the upper hand of him presently, and he broke loose and
cussed himself black in the face. I never see a bird take on so
about a little thing. When he got through, he walks to the hole
and looks in again for a half a minute; then he says, ' Well, you're
a long hole, and a deep hole, and a mighty singular hole alto-
gether — but I've started in to hll you, and I'm d d if I don')

fill you, if it takes a hundred years ! '

'* And with that, away he went. You never see a bird work
so since you was born. He laid into his work like a nigger, and
the way he hove acorns into that hole for about two hours and a
half was one of the most exciting and astonishing spectacles I
ever struck. He never stopped to take a look any more — he just
hove 'em in, and went for more. Well, at last he could hardly
flop his wings, he was so tuckered out. He comes a-drooping
down, once more, sweating like an ice-pitcher, drops his acorn
in and says, ' No7ii I guess I've got the bulge on you by this
time! ' So he bent down for a look. If you'll believe me, when
his head come up again he was just pale with rage. He says,
' I've shoveled acorns enough in there to keep the family thirty
years, and if I can see a sign of one of 'em, I wish I may land in
a museum with a belly full of sawdust in two minutes! '

" He just had strength enough to crawl up on to the comb and
lean his back agin the chimbly, and then he collected his impres-
sions and begun to free his mind. I see in a second that
what I had mistook for profanity in the mines was only just the
rudimentii, as you may say,

" Another jay was going by, and heard him doing his devo-
tions, and stops to inquire what was up. The sufferer told him
the whole circumstance, and says, * Now yonder's the hole, and
if you don't believe me, go and look for yourself.' So this fellow

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BLUE-JA YS.

421

went and looked, and comes back and says, ' How many did
you say y(ju put in there?' ' Not any less than two tons,' says
the sufferer. The other jay went and looked again. He couldn't
seem to make it out, so he raised a yell, and three more jays
come. They all examined the hole, they all made the sufferer
tell it over again, then they all discussed it, and got off as many
leather-headed opinions about it aS an average crowd of humans

could have done.

" They did call in more jays; then more and more, till pretty
soon this whole region 'peared to have a blue flush about it.
There must have been five thousand of them; and such another
jawing and disputing and ripping and cussing, you never heard.
Every jay in the whole lot put his eye to the hole, and delivered
a more chuckle-headed opinion about the mystery than the jay
that went there before him. They examined the house all over,
too. The door was standing half-open, and at last one old jay
happened to go and light on it and look in. Of course, that
knocked the mystery galley-west in a second. There lay the
acorns, scattered all over the floor. He flopped his wings and
raised a whoop. * Come here ! ' he says, * Come here, everybody;
hang'd if this fool hasn't been trying to fill up a house with
acorns ! ' They all came a-swooping down like a blue cloud, and
as each fellow lit on the door and took a glance, the whole
absurdity of the contract that that first jay had tackled hit him
home, and he fell over backwards suffocating with laughter, and
^he next jay took his place and done the same.

"Well, sir, they roosted around here on the house-top and
the trees for an hour, and guffawed over that thing like human
beings. It ain't no use to tell me a blue-jay hasn't got a sense of
humor, because I know better. And memory too. They brought
jays here from all over the United States to look down that hole,
every summer for three years. Other birds too. And they could
all see the point, except an owl that come from Nova Scotia to
visit the Yo Semite, and he took this thing in on his way back. He
said he couldn't see anything funny in it. But then, he was a
good deal disappointed about Yo Semite, too."

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MA/iJir TIVAIN'S LIBRARY OF HUMOR.

AN ITALIAN'S VIEW OF A NEW ENGLAND WINTER.

BV J. M. BAILEY.

There was a burst in a tin conductor leading from the roof of
the house on the corner of Rose and Myrtle streets the other
afternoon, and the water thus escaping ran across the walk.

Toward night the
weather stiffened up,
and the loose water
became a sheet of ice.
About four o'clock the
next morning there
was a slight fall of
snow. In the base-
ment of the building!
an Italian gentleman
has a fruit store. Short-
ly after six o'clock this
morning he had his
outside wares in a line
of display. Peanuts
being a specialty with
him, two or three bush-
els of that article made
a tempting pile on a
large stand. While
he was making this ar-
rangement, a carpenter
with a tool -box on his
shoulder came around
the corner and, stepping on the concealed ice, immediately threw
his tool-box into the street, got up himself, looked around to see
what had happened, and then picked up his tools. This so amused
the Itolian that he felt obliged to rush into the shelter of the base-
ment to conceal his delight. Had he been a native of this country,
it might have suggested itself to him to sweep the thin guise of snow
from the ice and to sprinkle salt or ashes upon it, but l)eing a for-
eigner, and not very well acquainted with our language, he did

A SLIPPERY SPOT.

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AN ITALIAN'S VIEW OF WINTER.

) WINTER.

423

not think of this, but, instead, he posted himself in a position
to give him a good view of the corner, and patiently waited for
developments. He saw them. If his object was to get an idea
of the fullness and flexibility of the English language, he could
not have possibly adopted a better course.

Scarcely had the carpenter gathered up his things and limped
off, when a man smoking came hurrying along. When he reached
the ice he suddenly turned part way around, bit a brier-wood pipe
completely in twain, and slid on his breast off from the walk into
the gutter. He got up, cautiously recovered his pipe, and melted
away. The Italian shook all over.

Following closely after this mishap was a laborer with a dinner-
kettle. When he touched the ice it was difficult for the fruit
merchant to determine whether it was his feet or another part of
his perL.on — it was done so quick. The new-comer appeared to
suddenly come apart and shut up at the middle, and in the same
flash the tin pail described a circle of lightning rapidity, and was
then slapped against the pavement with terrific force. At the same
instant the It^^lian saw a piece of pie, several half-slices of buttered
bread, two hard-boiled eggs, a piece of cold beef, and a fork and
spoon fly off in different directions, while a pint tin of coffee
made its appearance, and emptied its contents in the prostrate
man's lap. While this individual was getting up to his feet, and
securing his pail and cutlery, the Italian managed to blend con-
siderable instruction with the amusement.

Then there came a man with a board on his shoulder. He laid
down on the board, with one of his hands under the board. Then
he got up, and put the injured hand between his knees, where he
pressed it tightly, while he used the most dreadful language the
Italian ever heard; and he didn't hear it all either, being so con-
vulsed with laughter as to necessarily divide his attention.

And thus the performance went on until after eight o'clock.
Scarcely ten minutes elapsed between the acts. Sometimes a boy
would be the hero, then again a couple of merchants, or perhaps
somebody connected with a bank. Whoever it might be, he went
down, and went down hard, and the Italian watched and improved
his mind, and began to think that this country had its advantages
as well as its disadvantages. It was eleven minutes past eight
when the final catastrophe occurred. This was consummated in
the perison ot a long slim man with a picture under his arm, and

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iJf^>PAr TWAIN'S LIBRARY OF HUMOR.

a very large woman carrying a basket. The long slim man was
somewhat in advance. The Italian, being impressed with the con-
viction that something of an extraordinary nature was about to
transpire, stared with fairly bulging eyes at the coming figure.
No sooner did the tall slim man touch the treacherous spot, than
the venturing foot kicked out most savagely at the atmosphere,
and his body shot around like fireworks. The picture flew from
his possession at the same moment, and being thus freed he made
a spasmodic clur h W.h all his limbs,at once for a place of refuge,
and in a flash hi; legs whipped about a corner leg of the inoffen-
sive peanut stand, and the great shining yellow pyramid followed
him to the pavement. The horrified Italian, stunned for an instant
by the enormity of the catastrophe, sought to plunge out to the
rescue of his goods, but was too late. The fleshy woman, having
rushed to the aid of the tall slim man, who was her husband, was
caught herself by the subtle foe, and in her descent, which was
by far the most vigorous of the series, she took in two-thirds of
the peanuts; and the crash of the demolished fruit, as she pinned
it to the walk, might have been heard four squares away.

The unhappy vender reached the place in time to be taken in
himself, and the addition of one hundred and thirty pounds of
macaroni-fed Italian added to the dismal propiortions of the scene.
How they got disentangled and on their feec, no one seems able
to explain, but the result was reached amid an appalling uproar
of Italian, English and feminine noises.

What a great matter a little fire kindleth ! Ten cents' worth
of salt would have saved all the misery and distress. As it is,
Danbury has some twenty persons with damaged backs or legs,
the owner of the building has four suits on hand for damages,
the tall slim man and his wife are confined to their beds, and on
Saturday last the Italian was morosely squatted alongside of the
funnel of a steamer bound for Italy.

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THE NOBLEMAN AND THE OYSTER.

BY AMBROSE BIERCE.

425

APl^

rir MBROSE BIERCE, author of «• Bierce's Fables," was born in Akron, O.,
j^ in 1843. He served as a soldier in the war, and in 1865 went to San
Francisco, where he was in newspaper work until 1872. Then he went to
London, where he had great success, and published "Bierciana." With the
younger Tom Hood he founded London Fun. He returned to California in
1877, and is now an editor of the San Francisco Examiner.

A CERTAIN Persian noblem^p obtained from a cow gipsy a
small Oyster. Holding him up by the beard, he addressed him
thus :

" You must try tc forgive me for what I am about to do ; and

- V

THE NOBLEMAN AND THE OYSTER.

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you might as well set about it at once, for you haven't much
time, I should never think of swallowing you if it were not
so easy ; but opportunity is the strongest of all temptations.
Besides, I am an orphan, and very hungry."

•'Very well," replied the Oyster; "it affords me genuine
pleasure to comftrvt the parentless and the star^Jng, .1 have
already done my best for our friend here, of wl.om y . j purchased
me ; but although she has an amiable and accoinmodut'.ng ^^ova-
ach, we c<<uldnt agnc. For this trifling inconipatibiiity — would
you believe it? — she was about to stewmc ! Savior, benefactor,
proceed ! "

" I think," said the tiobleman, rising and laying down the
Oyster, " I ought to know something more d 'iinite about your
antecedents before succoring you. If 3'ou couldn't agree with
yoir mistrebs. you are probably no better than yoit shou.'- be."

Pcuplc who begin doinfj something from a selfish motive, fre-
quei'iiy drop il wben they learn that it is a real benevolence.

.Jf^'^vuil

BIRDOFREDUI' SAWIN AFTER THE WAR, 42/

BIRDOFREDUM SAWIN AFTER THE WAR.

BY J. R. LOWELL.

I s'posE you wonder ware I be; I can't tell, fer the soul o' me,
Exactly ware I be myself — meanin' by thet the hoU o' me.
Wen I left hum, I hed two legs, an' they worn't bad ones neither
(The scaliest trick they ever played wuz bringin' on me hither),
Now one on 'em's I dunno ware — they thought I wuz adyin'.
An' sawed it off because they said 'twuz kin' o* mortifyin';
I'm willin' to believe it wuz, an^it I don't see, nuther,
Wy one should take to feelin' cheap a minnit sooner'n t'other,
Sence both wuz equilly to blame; but things is ez they be;
It took on so they took it off, an' thet's enough fer me:
There's one good thing, though, to be said about my wooden

new one —
The liquor can't git into it ez 't used to in the true one;
So it saves drink; an' then, besides, a feller couldn't beg
A gretter blessin' then to hev one oilers sober peg;
It's true a chap's in want o' two fer follerin' a drum.
But all the march I'm up to now is jest to Kingdom Come.

I've lost one eye, but thet's a loss it's easy to supply

Out o' the glory that I've gut, fer thet is all my eye;

An' one is big enough, I guess, by diligently usin' it,

To see all I shall ever git by way o' pay fer losin' it,

Off cers, I notice, who git paid fer all our thumps an' kickin's,

Du wal by keepin' single eyes arter the fattest pickin's;

So, ez the eye's put fairly out, I'll larn to go without it,

An' not allow myself to be no gret put out about it.

Now, le' me see, thet isn't all; I used, 'fore leavin' Jaalam,

To count things on my finger-eends, but sutthin* seems to ail 'em:

Ware's my left hand ? O, darn it, yes, I recollect wut's come

on't;
I hain't no left arm but my right, an' thet's gut jest a thumb on 't;
It ;nt so hendy ez it wuz to cal'late a sum on 't.
I've hed some ribs broke — six (I b'lieve) — I hain't kep' no

account on 'em;
Wen pensions git to be the talk, I'll settle the amount on 'em.

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An' now I'm speakin' about ribs, it kin' o' brings to mind
One thet I couldn't never break — the one I lef behind;
Ef you should see her, jest clear out the spout o' your invention
An' pour the longest sweet' nin' in about annooal pension.
An' kin' o' hint (in case, you know, the critter should refuse to be
Consoled) I ain't so 'xpensive now to keep ez wut I used to be;
There's one arm less, ditto one eye, an' then the leg thet's wooden
Can be took off an* sot away wenever ther's a puddin'.

I s'pose you think I'm comin' back ez opperlunt ez thunder,
With shiploads o' gold images* an' varus sorts o' plunder;
Wal, 'fore I vullinteered, I thought this country wuz a sort o'
Canaan, a reg'lar Promised Land flowin' with rum an' water,
Ware propaty growed up like time, without no cultivation.
An' gold wuz dug ez taters be among our Yankee nation,
Ware nateral advantages were pufficly amazin',
Ware every rock there wuz about with precious stuns wuz blazin',
Ware mill-sites filled the country up ez thick ez you could cram

'em.
An' desput rivers run about abeggin' folks to dam 'em;
Then there were meetin' houses, tu, chockful o' gold an' silver
Thet you could take, an' no one couldn't hand ye in no bill fer —
Thet's wut I thought afore I went, thet's wut them fellers told us
Thet stayed to hum an' speechified an' to the buzzards sold us;
I thought thet gold mines could be gut cheaper than Chiny asters,
An' see myself acomin' back like sixty Jacob Astors;
But sech idees soon melted down an' didn't leave a grease-spot;
I vow my holl sheer o' the spiles wouldn't come nigh a V spot;
Although, most anywares we've ben, you needn't break no locks,
Nor run no kin' o' risks, to fill your pocket full o' rocks.
I guess I mentioned in my last some o' the nateral feeturs
O' this all-fiered buggy hole in th' way o' awfle creeturs.
But I fergut to name (new things to speak on so abounded)
How one day you'll most die o' thust, an' 'fore the next git

drovvnded.
The clymit seems to me jest like a teapot made o' pewter
Our Prudence hed, thet wouldn't pour (all she could du) to suit

her;
Fust place, the leaves 'ould choke the spout, so's not a drop'ould

dreen out.

BIRDOFREDUM SAWm AFTER THE WAR.

429

Then Prude 'ould tip an' tip an' tip, till the holl kit bust clean

out,
The kiver hinge-pin bein' lost, tea-leaves an' tea an' kiver
'Ould all come down kerswosh ! ez though the dam broke in a

river.
Jest so't is here; holl months there aint a day o' rainy weather.
An' jest ez th' officers 'ould be alayin' heads together
Ez t' how they'd ni'x their drink at sech a milingtary deepot —
'T 'ould pour ez though the lid wuz off the everlastin' teapot.
The consequence is, thet I shall take, wen I'm allowed to leave

here,
One piece o' propaty along — an'*thet's the shakin' fever;
It's reggilar employment, though, an' thet aint thought to harm

one,
Nor 't ain't so tiresome ez it wuz with t'other leg an' arm on; .
An' it 's a consolation, tu, although it doosn't pay.
To hev it said you're some gret shakes in any kin' o' way.
'T worn't very long, I tell ye wut, I thought o' fortin-makin' —
One day a reg'lar shiver-de-freeze, an* next ez good ez bakin' —
One day abrilin* in the sand, then smoth'rin' in the mashes —
Git up all sound, be put to bed a mess o' hacks an' smashes.
But then, thinks I, at any rate there's glory to be hed —
Thet's an investment, arter all, thet mayn't turn out so bad;
But somehow, wen we'e fit an' licked, I oilers found the thanks
Gut kin' o' lodged afore they come ez low down ez the ranks;
The Gin'rals gut the biggest sheer, the Gunnels next, an' soon —
We never gut a blasted mite o' glory, ez I know on;
An' spose we hed, I wonder how you're goin* to contrive its
Division so's to give a piece to twenty thousand privits;
Ef you should multiply by ten the portion o' the brav'st one,
You wouldn't git more'n half enough to speak of on a grave-
stun;
We git the licks — we're jest the grist thet 's put into War's

hoppers;
Leftenants is the lowest grade thet helps pick up the coppers.
It may suit folks thet go agin a body with a soul in't,
An' aint contented with a hide without a bagnet hole in't;
But glory is a kin' o' thing /sha'n't pursue no furder
Coz thet 's the off'cers parquisite — yourn 's on'y jest the

murder.

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Wal, arter I gin glory up, thinks I, at least there's one

Thing in the bills we aint hed yit, an' thet's the glorious fun;

Ef once we git to Mexico, we fairly may persume we

All clay an' night shall revel in the halls o' Montezumy.

I'll tell ye wut my revels wuz, an' see how you would like 'em;

We never gut inside the hall: the nighest ever /come

Wuz stan'in' sentry in the sun (an', fact, it seemed a ccnt'ry)

A ketchin' smells o' biled an' roast thet come out thru the entry,

An' hcarin' ez I sweltered thru my passes an' repasses,

A rat-tat-too o' knives an' forks, a clinkty-clink o' glasses:

I can't tell off the bill o' fare the Gin'rals hed inside;

All I know is, thet out o' doors a pair o' soles wuz fried,

An' not a hundred miles away frum ware this child wuz posted,

A Massachusetts citizen wuz baked :.n' biled an' roasted;

The on'y thing like revellin' thet ever come to me

Wuz bein' routed out o' sleep by thet darned rcvelee.

They say the quarrel's settled now; for my part I've some doubt

on't.
'T'll take more fish-skin than folks think to take the rile clean out

on't;
At any rate, I'm so used up I can't do no more fightin'
The only chance thet's left to me is politics or writin';
Now, ez the people's gut to hev a milingtary man,
An* I ain't nothin' else jest nov;, I've hit upon a plan;
The can'idatin' line, you know, 'ould suit mc to a T,
An' ef I lose, 't wunt hurt my ears to lodge another flea;
So I'll set up as can'idate fer any kin' o' office
(I mean fer any thet includes good casy-checrs an' soffies;
Fer ez tu runnin' fer a place ware work's the time o' day.
You know thet's wut I never did — except the other way);
Ef it's the Presidential cheer fer which I'd better run,
Wut two legs anyware about could keep up with my one?
There ain't no kin' o' quality in can'idates, it's said.
So useful ez a wooden leg — except a wooden head;
There's nothin' ain't so poppylar — (wy, it's a parfect sin
To think wut Mexico hex jwid fer Santy Anny's pin) —
Then I hain't gut no princtrples, an', sence I wuz !;nee-high,
I never <//;/hev any gret, ez you can testify;
I'm a decided peace-man, tu, an' go ag'in the war —

- ^'j**-ili\

"Vk L ii^:'M..

BIRDOFREDUM SAWIN AFTER THE VVAi:.

43t

1
Fer now the holl on't's gone ui' past, wut is there to go for i

Ef, wile you're 'lectioneerin' round, somecurus chaps should beg

i'o know my views o' State otfairs, jest answer, wooden leg !

Ef they ain't settisficd with thet, an' kin o' pry an' doubt.

An' ax fer sutthin' deffynit, jest say, one eye put out !

Thet kin' o' talk I guess you'll find I'll answer to a charm,

An' wen you're druv tu nigh the wall, hoi' up my missin' arm

timbertoes.

Ef they should nose round fer a pledge, put on a vartoous look
An' t^ll 'em thet's percisely wut I never gin nor— took !

•I

Then you can call me " Timbertoes "—thet's wut the people likes;
Sutthin' combinin' morril truth with phrases sech ez strikes;
Some say the people's fond o' this, or thet, or wut you please —
I tell ye, wut the people want is jest correct idees;
" Old Timbertoes," you see, 's a creed it's safe to be quite bold on.

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There's nothin' in't the other side can any ways gii lolrl on;
It'a a good tangible idee, a sutthin' to embody
Thet valooable class o' men who look thru brandy-toddy;
It gives a Party Platform, tu, jest level with the mind i

Of all right-thinkin', honest folks thet mean to go it blind; \
Then there air other good hooraws to dror on ezyou need 'era.
Sech ez the one-eved Slarterer, the bloodv Birdokredum;
Them's wut takes hold o' folks thet think, ez well ez o' the

masses,
An' makes you sartin o' the aid o' good men of all classes.

There's one thing I'm in doubt about; in order to be Presidunt,

It's absolutely no'ssary to be a Southern residunt;

The Constitution settles thet, an' also thet a feller

Must own a nigger o* some sort, jet black or brown or yeller

Now I hain't no objections ag'in particklar climes,

Nor agin ownin' anythin' (except the truth, sometimes), 1

But. ez I haint no capital, up there among ye, maybe.

You might raise funds enough for me to buy a low-priced baby.

An' then to suit the No'thern folks, who feel obleeged to say

They hate an' cuss the very thing they vote fer every day.

Say your're assured I go full butt fer Libbaty's diffusion,

An' made the purchis on'y jest to spite the Institootion—

But, golly ! there's the currier's hoss upon the pavement pawin'!

I'll be more 'xplicit iu my next.

Yourn.

BiRDOFREiJUM SaWIN.

CUSTOM HOUSE MORALS.

oddy;

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the

433

CUSTOM HOUSE MORALS.

BY W. D. HOWELLS.

The travelers all met at breakfast and duly discussed the
adventures of the night; and for the rest, the forenoon passed
rapidly and slowly with Basil and Isabel, as regret to leave Que-
bec, or the natural impatience of travelers to be off, overcame
them. Isabel spent part of it Hn shopping, for she had found
some small sums of money and certain odd corners in her trunks
still unappropriat-
ed, and the hand-
some stores on the
Rue Fabrique were
very tempting. She
said she would just
go in and look; and
the wise reader im-
agines the result.
As she knelt over
her boxes, trying so
to distribute her
purchases as to
make them look as
if they were old —

old things of hers, which she had brought all the way round from
Boston with her — a fleeting touch of conscience stayed her hand.

" Basil," she said, "perhaps we'd better declare some of these
things. What's the duty on those ? " she asked, pointing to cer-
tain articles.

"I, don't know. About a hundred per cent, ad valorem.'^

" Cest h dire—? "

" As much as they cost."

" O then, dearest," responded Isabel indignantly, " it cati't be
wrong to smuggle! I won't declnre a thread! "

" That's ver> well for you, whom they won't ask. But what if
they ask me whether there's anything to declare ? "

CUSTOM HOUSE MORALS.

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MARK TWAIN'S LIBRARY OF HUMOR.

Isabel looked at her husband and hesitated. Then she replied,
in terms that I am proud to record in honor of American woman-
hood: "You mustn't fib about it, Basil" (heroically); "I
couldn't respect you if you did " (tenderly); " but " (with deci-
sic ") '■'■you must slip out of it some way!

A WESTERN REMINISCENCE.

Years ago, when Rock Island was a small village, and its peo-
ple had lots of fun all to themselves, one of our very sober and
dignified citizens out his own head under one end of a yoke and
a little bull's under the other, to teach the animal how to be use-
ful and work. When he found the bull was running away with
him down a dirt road towards a crowd around the country store
on Illmois Street, he measured sixteen feet at a jump, kept up
with the bull, and yelled at the top of his voice : " Look out !
Here we come, darn our fool souls ! Head us, somebody ! " and
when halted and the yoke was being lifted from his neck, he
yelled, " Unyolce the bull ; never mind me. I will stand ! " —
Newspaper,

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THE TOTAL DEPRAVITY OF INANIMATE THINGS.

435

THE TOTAL DEPRAVITY OF INANIMATE THINGS.

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BY KATHERINE KENT CHILD WALKER.

T7ATHERINE KENT CHILD WALKER was born in Pittsfield, Vt., in
\ 1842. She is a daughter of the Rev. Willard Child. She married the
Rev. Edward Ashley Walker in 1856, and has published several juveniles anony-
mously, edited two compilations of sacred poetry, " The Cross Bearer, " and
"Songs of Prayer and Praise," translated from the German "Climbing the
Glacier," and is best known by an article in The Atlantic, entitled "The Total
Depravity of Inanimate Things " (September, 1864).

I AM confident that, at the annunciation of my theme, Andover,
Princeton and Cambridge will skip like rams, and the little hills
of East Windsor, Meadville and
Fairfax like lambs. However di-
vinity schools may refuse to " skip "
in unison, and may butt and batter
each other about the doctrine and
origin of human depravity, all will
join devoutly in the credo, I believe
in the total depravity of inani-
mate things.

The whole subject lies in a
nutshell, or, rather,
an apple-skin. We
have clerical author-
ity for affirming that
all its miseries were
let loose upon the
human race by
"them greenin's "
tempting our mother
to curious pomolog-
ical speculations ;
and from that time
till now — Longfel-
low, thou reasonest well! — ♦' things are not what they seem,"
but arc diabolically otherwise — masked-batteries, nets, gins,
and snare; of evil.

A LOST EFFORT.

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MARA' TWAIN'S LIBRARY OF HUMOk.

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(In this connection I am reminded of — can I ever cease to
remember ? — the unlucky lecturer at our lyceum a few winters
ago, who, on rising to address his audience, applauding him all
the while most vehemently, pulled out his handkerchief, for ora-
torical purposes only, and inadvertently flung from his pocket
three " Baldwins," that a friend had given to him on his way to
the hall, straight into the front row of giggling girls.)

My zeal on this subject received new impetus recently from an
exclamation which pierced the thin partitions of the country-
parsonage, once my home, where I chanced to be a guest.

From the adjoining dressing-room issued a prolonged " Y-ah !'*
— not the howl of a spoiled child, nor the protest of a captive
gorilla, but the whole-souled utterance of a mighty son of Anak,
whose amiability is invulnerable to weapons of human aggrava-
tion.

I paused in the midst of toilet-exigencies, and listened sym-
pathetically, for I recognized the probable presence of the old
enemy to whom the bravest and sweetest succumb.

Confirmation and explanation followed speedily in the haU
apologetic, wholly wrathful declaration^" The pitcher was made
foolish in the first place." I dare affirm that, if the spirit oi
Lindley Murray himself were at that moment hovering over that
scene of trial, he dropped a tear, or, better still, an adverbial /r
upon the false grammar, and blotted it out forever.

I comprehended the scene at once. I had been there. I felt
again the remorseless swash of the water over neat boots and
immaculate hose ; I saw the perverse intricacies of its meander-
ings over the carpet, upon which the " foolish " pitcher had been
confidingly deposited ; I knew, beyond the necessity of ocular
demonstration, that, as sure as there were " pipe-hole " or crack
in the ceiling of the study below, those inanimate things would
inevitably put their evil heads together, and bring to grief the
long-suffering Dominie, with whom, during my day, such inun-
dations had been of at least bi-weekly occurrence, instigated by
crinoline. The inherent wickedness of that "thing of beauiy"
will be acknowledged by all mankind, and by every female not
reduced to the deplorable poverty of the heroine of the folio; uig
veracious anecdote.

A certain good bishop, on making a tour of inspection through
a mission-school of his dioccjc, was so impressed by the aspccl

THE TOTAL DEFRA VITY OP INANIMA TE THINGS. 43 7

of all its beneficiaries that his heart overflowed with joy, and he
exclaimed to a little maiden whose appearance was particularly
suggestive of creature-comforts— « Why, my little girl ! you have
everything that heart can wish, haven't you ?" Imagine the
bewilderment and horror of the prelate, when the miniature Flora
McFlimsey drew down the corners of her mouth lugubriously,
and sought to accommodate the puffs and dimples of her fat
little body to an expression of abject misery, as she replied " No
indeed, sir 1 I haven't got any — skeleton !"

We who have suffered know the disposition of graceless " skele-
tons" to hang themselves on "foolish" pitchers, bureau-knobs,
rockers, cobble-stones, splinters,^ nails, and, indeed, any projec-
tion a tenth of a line beyond a dead level.

The mention of nails is suggestive of voluminous distresses.
Country-parsonages, from some inexplicable reason, are wont to
bristle all over with these impish assailants of human comfort.

I never ventured to leave my masculine relatives to their own,
devices for more than twenty-four consecutive hours, that I did
not return to find that they had seemingly manifested their grief
at my absence after the old Hebraic method (" more honored
in the 1)reach than the observance "), by rending their garments.
When summoned to their account, the invariable defense has
been a vehement denunciation of some particular nail as the
guilty cause of my woes.

By the way, O Christian woman of the nineteenth centuiy, did
it ever enter your heart to give devout thanks that you did not
share the woe of those whose fate it was to " sojourn in Mesech
and dwell in the tents of Kcdar "? that it ('id not fall to your lot
to do the plain sewing and mendinp; for bome Jewish patriarch,
or prophet of yore ?

Realize, if you can, the masculi'-.e aggravation and the femi-
nine long-suffering of a period when the head of a family could
neither go down-town, nor even sit ;;t his tent-door, without
descrying some wickedness in high places, some insulting
placard, some exasperating war-lmlletin, some offensive order
from headquarters, which caused him to transform himself
instantly into an animated ragbag. Whereas, in these women-
savin'^ days, similar grievances send President i^braham into
his cabinet to issue a proclamation, the Reverend Jeremiah
into his pulpit with a scathing homily, PoetjLaureate David to

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MAJiAT rWALV'S LIBRARY OF HUMOR.

the Atlantic \\''\t\i a burning lyric, and Major- General Joab to
the privacy of his tent, there to calm his perturbed spirit with
Drake's Plantation Bitters. In humble imitation of another, I
would state that this indorsement of the potency of a specific is
entirely gratuitous, and that I am stimulated thereto by no remu-
neration, fluid or otherwise.

Blessed be this day of sewing-machines for women, and of
safety-valves and innocent explosives for their lords !

But this is a digression.

I awoke very early in life to the consciousness that I held the
doctrine which we are considering.

On a hapless day, when I was perhaps five years old, I was, in
my own estimation, intrusted with the family dignity, when I
was deposited for the day at the house of a lordly Pharisee of
the parish, with solemnly repeated instructions in table-manners
and the like.

One who never analyzed the mysteries of a sensitive child's
heart cannot appreciate the sense of awful responsibility which
oppressed me during that visit. But all went faultlessly for a
time. I corrected myself instantly each time I said, "Yes,
Ma'am," to Mr. Simon, and "No, Sir," to Madam, which was as
often as I addressed them ; I clenched little fists and lips reso-
lutely, that they might not touch, taste, handle tempting <5'//i;«/m<;.
I even held in check the spirit of inquiry rampant within me,
and indulged myself with only one cinestioa ''co every three ipin-
utes of time.

At last I found myself at the handsome dinner-table, triumph-
antly mounted upon two "Comprehensive Commentaries" and
a dictionary, fearing no evil from the viands before me. Least
of all did I suspect the vegetables of guile. But deep in the
heart of a bland, mealy mouthed potato lurked cruel designs
upon my /air reputation.

No sooner had i, m the most approved style of nursery good-
breedin'4, applied my fr>rk to its surface, than the hard-hearted
thing L'xecuted a wild pironflti' before my astonished eyes, and
then (lew on impish wi/igs across the room, dashing out its mali-
ciou.-> l)!-ains, I am happy to say, against the parlor door, but
leaving me in a half-comatose state, stirred only by vague long-
ings for a 'odge with "proud Korah's troop," whose destination
is unmistakabiy set forth in the •' Shorter Catechism."

Tim TOTAL DEPRA VITY OF INANIMA TE THINGS.

439

nen, and of

tf- I held the

There is a possibility that I received my innate distrust of
things by inheritance from ray maternal grandmother, whose holy
"horror at the profanity they once provoked from a bosom friend
in her childhood was still vivid in her old age.

It was on this wise: When still a pretty Puritan maiden, my
grandame was tempted irresistibly by the spring sunshine to the
tabooed indulgence of a Sunday-walk, Th? temptation was
probably intensified by the presence of the Briti^li troops, giving
unwonted fascination to village promenades. Her confederate
in this guilty pleasure was a like-minded little samt; so there was
a tacit agreement between them that their transgression should be
sanctified by a strict adherence^to religious topics of conversa-
tion. Accordingly they launched boldly upon the great subject
Avhich was just then agitating church circles in New England.

Fortune smiled upon these criminals against the Blue Laws,
until they encountered a wall surmounted by hickory rails.
Without intermitting the discussion, Susannah sprang agilely up.
Quoth she, balancing herself for one moment upon the summit —
♦'No, no, Betsey, / believe God is the author of sin!" The
next, she sprang toward the ground ; but a salient splinter, a chip
of depravity, clutched her Sunday govn, and converted her,
incontinently, it seems, into a confessor of the opposing faith;
for history records that, following the above-mentioned dogma,
there came from hitherto unstained lips — " The Devil !"

Time and spacciwoiild, of course, be inadequate to the enu-
meration of all the demonstrations (;f the truth of the doctrine of
the absolute depravity of things. A few examples only can be
cited.

There is melanclioly pleasure in the knowledge that a great
soul has gone mourning before me in the path I am now pursu-
ing. It was only to-day that, in glancing over the pages of Vic-
tor Hugo's greatest work, I chanced upon the following: " Every
one will have noticed with what skill a coin let fall upon the
ground runs to hide itself, and what art it has in rendering
itseif invisible ; there are thoughts which play us the same
trick," etc., etc.

The similar tendency of pins and needles is universally under-
stood and execrated — their base secretiveness when searched for,
and their incensing intrusion when one is off guard.

I know a man whose sense of their malignity is so keen that,

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MA/l/C TWAIN'S LIBRARY OF HUMOR.

whenever he catches a gleam of their treacherous lustre on the
carpet, he instantly draws his two and a quarter yards of length
into the smallest possible compass, and shrieks until the domestic
police come to the rescue, and apprehend the sharp little villains.
Do not laugh at this. Years ago he lost his choicest friend by
the stab of just such a little dastard lying in ambush.

So, also, every wielder of the needle is familiar with the pro-
pensity of the several parts of a garment in the process of manu-
iacture to turn themselves wrong side out, and down side up ;
and the same viciousness cleaves like leprosy to the completed
garment so long as a thread remains.

My blood still tingles with a horrible memory illustrative of
this truth.

Dressing hurriedly and in darkness for a concert one evening,
I appealed to the Dominie, as we passed under the hall-lamp, for
a toilet inspection.

*• How do I look, father ?''

After a sweeping glance came the candid staniment —

" Beau-tifully !''

Oh, the blessed glamor which invests a child whose father
views her " with a critic's eye "!

'= Yes, of course ; but look carefully, please ; how is my dress ?"

Another examination of apparently severest scrutiny.

*' All right, dear ! 'I hat's the new cloak, is it? Never saw
you look better. Come, we shail be late."

Confidingly I went to the hall ; conhdingly I entered ; since
the concert-room was crowded with rapt listeners to the Fifth
Symphony, I, gingerly, but still confidingly, followed the author
of my days, and the critic of my toilet, to the very uppermost
seat, which I entered, barely nodding to my finically fastidious
friend, (iny Livingston, who was seated near us with a stylish-
looking stranger, who bent eyebrows and glass upon me super-
ciliously.

Seated, the Dominie was at once lifted into the midst of the
massive harmoi.ics of the Adagio ; I lingered outside a moment
in order to settle ny garments and — that woman's look. What !
was that a partially suppressed titter near me? Ah ! she has no
soul for music ! How such ill-timed merriment will jar upon my
friend's exquisite sensibilities !

Shade of Beethoven! A hybrid cough and laugh, smothered

% \\

THE TO TAL DEPRA VITY OF lA^ANIMA TE THINGS. 44 1

ustrative of

hose father

, smothered

decorously, but still recognizable, from the courtly Guy himself I
What can it mean ?

In my perturbation my eyes fell, and rested upon the sack,
whose newness and glorifying effect had been already noticed by
my lynx-eyed parent.

I here pause to remark, that I had intended to request the
compositor to " set up " the coming sentence in explosive cap-
itals, by way of emphasis, but forbear, realizing that it already
staggers under the weight of its own significance.

That sack was wrong side out !

Stern necessity, proverbially known as " the mother of mven-
tion," and practically the step-«nother of ministers' daughters,
had made me eke out the silken facings of the front with cam-
bric linings for the back and sleeves. Accordingly, in the full
blaze of the concert-room, there sat I, ** accoutred as I was," in
motley attire — my homely litt' economies patent to admiring
spectators: on either shouldei, budding wings composed of
unequa' parts of sarcenet-cambric and cotton-batting; and in
my heart — parricide I had almost said,but it was rather the more
filial sentiment of desire to operate for cataract upon my father's
eyes. But a moment's retlection sufficed to transfer my indigna-
tion to its proper object, the sinful sack itself, which, concerting
with its kmdred darkness, had planned this cruel assault upon my
innocent pride

A constiti ..al obtuseness renders me delightfully insensible
to one fruittul source of provocation among inanimate things. I
am so dull as to regard all distinctions between "rights" and
"lefts " as invidious; but I have witnessed the agonized struggles of
many a victim of fractious boots, and been thankful that " I am
not as other men are," in ability to comprehend the difference
between my right and left foot. Still, as already intimated, I
have seen wise men driven mad by a thing of leather and
waxed-ends.

A little innocent of tliree years, in all the pride of his first
boots, was agt,ravated, by the perversity of the right to thrust
itself on to the left leg, to the utterance of a contraband expletive.

When reproyed by his horror-stricken mamma, he maintained
a dogged silence.

In order to pierce his apparently indurated conscience, his
censor finally said, solemnly :

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"Dugald! God knows that you said that wicked word."

"Does He?" cried the baby-victim of reral depravity, in a
tone of relief; '• then He knows it was a doke " {Anglic^, joke).

But, mind you, the sin-tempting boot intended no "doke."

The toilet, with its multiform details and complicated machin-
ery, is a demon whose surname is Legion.

'J'ime would fail me to speak of the elusiveness of soap, the
knottiness of strings, the transitory nature of buttons, the inclina-
tion of suspenders to twist, and of hooks to forsake their lawful
eyes, and cleave only unto the hairs of their hapless owner's head.
(It occurs to me as barely possible that, in the last case, the hooks
may be innocent, and the sinfulness may lie in capillary
attraction.)

And, O my brother or sister in sorrow, has it never befallen
you. when bending all your energies to the mighty task of
" doing " your back-hair, to find yourself gazing inanely at the
opaque back of your brush, while the hand-mirror, which had
maliciously insinuated itself into your right hand for this express
purpose, came down upon your devoted head with a resonant
whack ?

I have alluded, parenthetically, to the possible guilt of capil-
lary attraction, but I am prepared to maintain against the tittrac-
tion of gravitation the charge of total depravity. Indeed, I
should say of it, as did the worthy txhortcr of the Dominie's
old parish in regard to slavery, " It's the wickalest thing in the
world, except sin! "

It was only the other day that I saw depicted upon the young
divine's countenance, from this cause, thoughts *' too deep for
tears," and, perchance, too earthly for clerical utterance.

From a mingling of sanitary and economic considerations, he
had cleared his own sidewalk after a heavy snow-storm. As he
stood, leaning upon his shovel, surveying with smiling compla-
cency his accomplished task, the spite of the arch-fiend Gravitation
was raised against him, and, finding the impish slates (hadn't
Luther something to say about " as many devils as tiles" /) ready
to co-operate, an avalanche was the result, making the last state
of that sidewalk worse than the first, and sending the divine into
the house with a l)attered hat, and an article of faith supplement-
ary to the orlhc^Jox thirty-nine.

Prolonged retlection upon a certam class of grievances has

THE TOTAL DEPRAVITY OF INANIMATE THINGS.

443

evaiices has

convinced me that mankind has generally ascribed them to a
guiltless source. I refer to the unspeakable aggravation of
"typographical errors," rightly so-called— for, in nine cases out
of ten, I opine it is the types themselves which err.

I appeal to fellow-sufferers, if the substitutions and interpola-
tions and false com-
binations of letters
are not often alto-
gether too absurd for
humanity.

Take as one in-
stance, the experience
of a friend who, in /J
writing in all inno-
cency of a session of
the Historical Socie-
ty, affirmed mildly in
manuscript, "All went
smoothly," but weeks
after was made to de-
clare in lilatant print,
'■All went s)wringly r

As among men, so in
the alphabet, one sin-
ner destroyeth much l^
good.

The genial Senator
from thcGranite Hills
told me of an early
aspiration of his own
for literary distinc-
tion, Wi.ich was beheaded remorselessly by a villain of this type.
By way of majestic perorat- jn to a pathetic article, he had ex-
claimed, '* For what would we exchange the fame of Washing-
ton?" — referring, I scarcely need say, to the man of fragrant
memory, and not to the odorous capital. The black-hearted
little dies, left to their own devices one night, struck dismay to
the heart of the aspirant author by propounding in black and
white a prosaic inquiry as to what would be considered a fair
equivalent for the farm of the Father of his Country!

A SURPRISE.

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Amonjj frequent instances of this depravity in my own expe-
rienCv.', a flajjrant example still shows its ugly front on a (•jre of
a child's bonk. In the latest edition of "Our Little Girls"
(g;)od Mr. Randolph, pray read, mark, learn and inwardly digest),
there occurs a de.scriptiou of a christening, wh -0; » a venerable
divine is made to dip "his head" into the ccisccrating water,
and lay it upon the child.

Disembodied words are also sinners and the occaoions of sin.
Who has not broken the Commandments in consequence of the
provocation of some miserable little monosyllable liiig his
grasp in the moment of his direst need, or of some wCtinent
interloper thrusting itself in, to the utter demoralization of his
well-organized sentences ? Who has not been covered with shame
at tripping over the pronunciation of some i)('rfectly simple word
like " statistics," "inalienable," " inextricable," etc., etc. ?

Whose experience will not empower him to sympathize with
that unfortunate invalid who, on being interrogated by a pious
visitor in regard to her enjoyment of means of grace, informed
the horror-stricken inquisitor : " I have not been to church for
years, I have been such an infidel;" and then, moved by a dim
impression of wrong somewhere, as well as by the evident shock
inllicted upon her worthy visitor, but conscious of her own integ-
rity, rercated still more emphatically : " No; I have been a con-
firinetl infid"'! for years."

iJut x peremptory summons from an animated nursery forbids
my lin;^'ering longer in this fruitful field. I can only add an
instance o( corroborating testimony from each member of the
circle originating this essay.

The Dominie log. — " Shan't have anything to do with it! It's
a wicked thing! To be sure, I do remember, when I was a little
boy, I used to throw stones at the chip-b^:;ket when it upset the
cargo I had just laded, and it was a great relief to my feelings
too. Besides, you've to'd stories about me which were anything
but true. I don't remember anything about that sack."

Lady-visitor loq. — " Ihe first time I was invited to Mr. — — 's

(the Hon. 's, you know), I was somewhat anxious,

but went home flattering myself I had made a creditable impres-
sion. Imagine my consternation, when I came to relieve the
pocket of my gal<! gown, donned for the occasion, at discovering
among its treasures a tea-napkin, marked gorgeously with the

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Um TO TAL DEPRA VITY OF INAS'IMA TE T///.VGS. 445

Hon. 's family-crest, which had maliciously crept

into its depths in order to bring me into disgrace! I have never
been able to bring myself to the i)v)int of confession, in spite of
my subsequent intimacy with the family. It" it were not foi
Joseph's positive assertion U< the contrary, I should be of the
opinion that his cup of divination conjured itself deliberately and
sinfully into innocent Benjamin's sack."

Student loq. (Testiniony open to criticism.)—** Met pretty girl
on the street yesterday. Sure I had on my 'Armstrong' hat
when I left home— sure as fate; but when 1 went to pull it off —
by the crown, of course — to bow i^retty girl, I smashed in my
beaver! How it got there, (I'>: ,a'. Knocked it off Pretty

girl picked it up and haude. Confounded things,

any way! "

Young divine ioq. — "While i ,\aa in the army, I was in Wash-
ington on • leave ' for two or three days. One night, at a party,
I became utterly bewildered in an attempt to converse, after
long desuetude, with a fascinating woman. I went stumbling on,
amazing her more and more, until finally I covered myself with
glory by the categorical statement that in my opinion General
McClellan could ' never get across the Peninsula without a
fattlt' ; I beg pardon, Madam ! what I mean to say is, without
a big hi.' "

School-girl /o(/. — " When Uncle was President, I was at

the White House at a state-dinner one evening. Senator

came rushing in frantically after we had been at table some time.
No sooner was he seated than he turned to Aunt to apologize for
his delay; and, being very much heated, and very much embar-
rassed, he tugged away desperately at his pocket, and finally
succeeded in extracting a huge blue stocking, evidently of home
manufacture, with which he proceeded to wipe his forehead very
energetically and very conspicuously. I suppose the truth was
that the poor man's handkerchiefs were * on a strike,' and thrust
forward this homespun stocking to bring him to terms."

School-girl, No. 2, /or/. — " My last term at F., I was expectuig
a box of 'goodies' from home. So when the message came,
' An express-package for you, Miss Fanny!' I invited all my
specials to come and assist at the opening. Instead of the
expected box, there appeared a misshapen bundle, done up in
yellow wrapping-paper. Four such dejected-looking damsels

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ii L

were never seen before as we, standing around the ugly Oid thing.
Finally, Alice suggested :

"'Open it!'

"<0h, I know what it is,' I said; *it is my old Thibet, that
mother has had made over for me.'

" * Let's see,' persisted Alice.

" So I opened the package. The first thing I drew out was too
much for me.

"'What a funny-looking basque!' exclaimed Alice. All the
rest were struck dumb with disappointment.

"No! not a basque at all, but a uian's black satin waistcoat !
and next came objects about which there could be no doubt — a
pair of dingy old trousers, and a swallow-tailed coat! Imagine
the chorus of damsels!

" The secret was, that two packages lay in father's office — one
for me, the other for those everlasting freedmen. John was to
forward mine. He had taken up the box to write my address on
it, when the yellow bundle tumbled off the desk at his feet and
scared the wits out of his head. So I came in for father's second-
hand clothes, and the Ethiopians had the ' goodies '! "

Repentant Dominie log. — " I don't approve of it at all ; but
then, if you must write the wicked thing, I heard a good story

for you to day. Dr. found himself in the pulpit of a

Dutch Reformed Church the other Sunday. You know he is one
who prides himself on his adaptation to places and times. Just
at the close of the introductory service, a black gown lying over
the arm of the sofa caught his eye. He was rising to deliver his
sermon, when it forced itself on his attention again.

" * Sure enough,' thought he, ' Dutch Reformed clergymen do
wear gowns. I might as well put it on.'

" So he solemnly thrust himself into the malicious (as you
would say) garment, and went through the services as well ^s he
could, considering that his audience seemed singularly agitated,
and indeed on the point of bursting out into a general laugh,
throughout the entire service. And no wonder! The good Doctor
in his zeal for conformity, had attired himself in the black cam-
bric duster in which the pulpit was shrouded during week-days,
and had been gesticulating his eloquent homily with his arms
thrust through the holes left for the pulpit-lamps ! "

OON CEITEEK DE BEnNHARDT.

447

OON CRITEEK DE BERNHARDT.

If i

BY EUGENE FIELD.

The reappearance of Sara Bernhardt in the midst of us has,
of course, set our best society circles into a flutter of excitement;
and we have been highly edified by the various criticisms which
we have heard passed upon that gifted woman's performance of
" Fedora " night before last. All these criticisms have flavored
of that directness, that frankness, and that rugged discrimination
which are so characteristic of true Western culture. Col. J. M.
Hill, the esteemed lessee of the Columbia Theatre, told us some
weeks ago that his object in securing a season of Bernhardt was
to give ai series of entertainments which would appeal for appre-
ciation and for patronage to the intellectuality of our cr^.ine de la
crime, and which would be several degrees above the comprehen-
sion of the hoi polloi. We noticed last Monday evening that the
hoi polloi vittt not on hand to welcome the French artiste; and we
were ineffably pained to notice, too, that the crStne de la crime
was very meagrely represented. This amazed as well as pained
us: if Sara Bernhardt cannot pack the Columbia at Col. Hill's
popular prices, who, by the memory of Racine and Moli^re ! who
—we ask in all solemnity — who can? And what amazed us,
furthermore — perhaps we should say what shocked us — was the
exceeding frigidity with which the select few of our crime de la
(rime received the superb bits of art which Sara Bernhardt threw
out, much as an emery wheel emits beauteous vari-colored sparks.

" Zis eez awful !" exclaimed Sara to her stage-manager, as she
came off the stage after the first act of " Fedora." " Ze play eez
in Russia, but ze audiongce eez in ze circle polaire !"

It strikes us that Sara was pretty nearly correct: but for the
date on the play-bill, we might have surmised that our French
friends were performing amid the surroundings of the glacial
period.

" Ze play eez * Fedora,' " said Sara to M. le General Carson,
entre acte, " ze artiste eez Bernhardt, and ze audiongce eez ' Les
Miserables !* "

M. le G6n^rnl came right out and told this to distinguished

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friends in the lobby. He said it was a bong mo; but young
Horace McVicker, who once conducted a Paris-green manufac-
tory in California, and therefore is an accomplished French
scholar, corrected M. le General by alleging that Sara's witticism
was not a bong mo, but a judy spree.

THE CRITICS.

The Markeesy di Pullman applauded the famous actress a great
deal after he had once located her. In order to make sure of
doing the proper thing, he applauded every woman that appeared
on the stage; and by the time the second act was fairly under
way, he was able to identify the "cantatreese " (as he called her)
by the color of her hair. " But," he remarked to his friend, M.
le Colonnel Potter Palmer, later in the evening, " I don't mind

Imm

OON CRITEEK DE BERNHARDT.

449

telling you that I don't like her as well as I do Patti; and as for
this man, Sardoo " —

" Sardoo ? Who's he ?" interrupted M. le Colonnel Palmer.

"Why, he's the man who wrote this piece! " said the Markeesy;
«' and he doesn't hold a candle to our Italian poets, Danty and
Bockashyo."

" I don't know anything about such things," said M. le Colon-
nel Palmer, meekly. " As for myself, I like to be amused when
I go to a show; and I presume I'd like this woman very much if
I could see her in one of the fine old English comedies, such as
the ' Bunch of Keys,' or the « Rag Baby.'"

Now, while these two distinguished personages were aware that
the play was ** Fedora," there were many in the auditorium who
had not very clear convictions on this point. M. Thomas J.
Hooper, the prominent linseed-oil manufacturer (whose palatial
residence on Prairie Avenue is the Mecca of our most cultured
society) — M. Hooper, we say, sat through three acts without
dreaming that the play was *' Fedora."

'« I like Clara Morris better in this rdle,'' said he to M. T. Des-
plaines Wiggins, one of the vice-presidents of the Chicago Liter-
ary Club.

•♦ But, my dear fellow," said M. Wiggins, in a tone of expostu-
lation, " Clara Morris never played that part!"

< 'Never played 'Cameel?'" cried M. Hooper. " Why, bless
you, man, I seen her do it right here in this theatre !"

" But this isn't ' Cameel,' " said M. Wiggins, " it's < Feedorer.' "

" Well, now, I'll bet you fifty it's ' Cameel,' " said M. Hooper,
calmly but firmly.

M. Wiggins covered the wager, and M. Billy Lyon decided in
favor of Wiggins and " Fedora."

" I knew I was right," exclaimed M. Wiggins, triumphantly,
" for I saw it on the programme."

M. Hooper was very much put out. "You don't pronounce
that word right, anyway," he muttered, sulkily.

"What word ?" demanded M. Wiggins, hotly.

" That word programmay," said M. Hooper. " It's French;
and it isn't program, but programmay."

They wagered fifty dollars on it between them, and referred it
to M. Jean McConnell.

"At popular prices it's program," said M. McConnell; "but
during this engagement it's programmay, sure."

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i)/,4^A' TWAIN'S LIBRARY OF HUMOR.

So M. Hooper squared himself financially; and M. Wiggins
went down to his seat in the parqiiettay, muttering something
that sounded very like a profane and inexcusable rhyme for pro-
gram.

But, as we have hinted above, M. Hooper was not the only one
in \hz audience who was unsettled as to what the play was, and
what it was all about. Throughout the auditorium, messieurs,
mesdaines and mademoiselles v/cre sadly bothered to know whether
it was " Cameel " or " Faydorah " or " Tayodorah " or " Fru-Fru '■
or some other morso from the Bernhardt repertevoi. M. James
M. Billinij;s, the prominent restaurateur, told his family that the
bill had been changed, and that the piece was '• Jennie Saper."

" Why, no, 'tain't, pa," protested Mdlle. Billings, " it's « Fay-
dorah.' "

" Now, look here, Birdie," said M. Billings, sternly, "I know
what I'm talking about. As we were comin' in, I asked one of
the men in the entry what the piece was, and he said, * Jennie
Saper; ' and he knew, for he was a Frenchman."

"Our seats," said M. T. Frelinghuysen Boothby, "were so far
back that we had difficulty in making out what Burnhart said;
but from what I did hear, I would judge that she spoke better
English than Rhea — at any rate, I could understand her better
than I ever could Rhea."

M. le Colonnel Fitzgerald confessed to being disappointed.
"It may be my fault, however," said he, " for I am very rusty
in my French, having paid no attention to it since I visited Mon-
treal in the summer of 1880. I brought my ' French Conversa-
tions ' along with me to-night, but it was of no assistance to me.
I hadn't got half through the first scene in the first act when
Fedora was dying in the last act. This was slow business. Of
course there were a good many words and phrases that were
familiar, such as 'voyla,' 'toot sweet,' 'tray be-yen,* ' mercee,'
'pardong,' 'bong zhour,' and 'wee wee,' You can depend upon
it, that whenever I heard these old friends, I applauded with the
nicest and the heartiest discrimination." \

Now, all these criticisms and features (and there were many,
many more such) interested us — or, at least, they entertained us.
But we were grieved to discover a disposition (shall we say a pong-
sh'jng ?) on the part of the audience, to compare Bernhardt's
Fedora with Fanny Davenport's. To institute any such compari-

OON CRITEEK DE BERiVIIARDT.

451

son would be a sore injustice to both ladies. Bernhardt and
Davenport represent two very different dramatic schools : one is
the school of avoirdupois, and the other is essentially so different
that it must be estimated only under the accepted rules of troy
weight. To be more explicit, we will say that, while you would
properly weigh Miss Davenport's art on a hay-scales, you must
use a more delicate machine if you would seek to learn the true
magnitude and concinnity of Bernhar^lt'a art. It is quite true
that to both Fedoras the same amount of practical appreciation
is paid her in Chicago. When Miss Davenport played " Fedora " at
the Columbia Theatre last January, she was applauded raptur-
ously by 2,000 delighted tradesfolk at 50 cents a piece : now
Bernhardt comes along with her subtile impersonation, and does
business to 333/4 of the crime de la crhne of our pork-packers at
$3 per head. You see that the box-office receipts are the same
in both instances: it would be impossible, therefore, to compare the
merits of each actress by the amount of money derived from the
performance of each. < '

It is far from our purpose to institute any invidious comparisons
between these two gifted women : each excels in her way ; and
the way of the one is as far from the way of the other as the
beauties of a fat-stock show are removed from the beauties of a
floral display. If there is in Fanny's art a breadth and a weight
that remind us of the ponderous thud of a meat-axe, there is (it
must also be confessed) in Sara's art a daintiness and an insinu-
ation that remind us of the covert swish of a Japanese paper-
knife. Horace has explained this very difference in that charm-
ing ode wherein he tells of Naeera, who, "with ruddy, glowing
arm, holds out an earthen cup of goat's milk," while, on the
other hand, Lydia extends to the parched poet a silver flagon,
" filled to the brim with old Falernian chilled with snow." Now,
there is no doubt in our mind that Horace chose the Falernian ;
but we are not all Horaces ; and we presume to say that, as
between goat's milk at popular prices, and Falernian at war-rates,
a vast majority of Chicagoans would choose the former.

"The last act was a great disappointment," said one of our
most cultured beef-canners. " It is there that Davenport gets
away with this French woman. Why, Davenport's tussle with
that young Rooshan is the grandest piece of art I ever saw ! she
just tears around and horns the furniture like a Texas steer in a
box-car."

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MAJtIC TWAIN'S LIBRARY OF HUMOR.

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George Bowron, leader of the orchestra at the Columbia, says
that he knew, just as soon as he saw the score of the incidental
music, that Bernhardt' s Fedora was very unlike Davenport's.

" Bernhardt's score," says he, " is interspersed throughout with
♦ pianissimo,' * con moto,' and 'andante.' On the other hand, the
music of Davenport's Fedora is in big black type, and every,
other bar is labelled * forte ' or 'fortissimo ; ' and our trombone-
player blew himself into a hemorrhage last January, trying to
keep up with the rest of the orchestra in the death-struggle in
the last act."

We can see that Bernhardt labors under one serious disadvan-
tage, and that is the fact that her plays are couched in a foreign
language. We asked Col. J. M. Hill why Sardoo did not write
his plays in English, and he said he supposed it was because
Sardoo was a Frenchman. This may be all very well for Paris,
but we opine that it will not do in Chicago. What protection has
a Chicago audience in a case of this kind ? What assurance
have we that, while we are admiring this woman's art, the Avomah
herself is not brazenly guying and blackguarding us in her
absurd foreign language ?

Now, we would not seek to create the impression that Sardoo's
work is not meritorious : on the contrary, we are free to say, and
we say it boldly, that we recognize considerable merit in it. We
fancy, however, that Sardoo is not always original : we find him
making use of a good many lines that certainly were not born of
his creative genius. As we remember now, Sardoo introduces
into his dialogue the very " pardonnez-moy," the very "mong-
du," and the very "too zhoors," which we hear every day in our
best society ; and will he have the effrontery to deny that he has
stolen from us — ay, brazenly stolen from us — the very " wee-wee "
which is the grand commerical basis upon which Chicago culture
stands and defies all competition ?

Oh, how glad — how proud — Chicago is that Bronson Howard,
and William Shakespeare, and Charley Hoyt, and her other
favorite dramatists, have been content to put their plays in
honest but ennobling Anglo-Saxon !

J! ii!« ^

LECTURES ON ASTRONOMY.

453

LECTURES ON ASTRONOMY.

BY JOHN PHCENIX.
INTRODUCTORY.

The following pages were originaljy prepared in the form of a
course of Lectures to be delivered before the Lowell Institute,
of Boston, Mass., but, owing to the'Vinexpected circumstance of
the author's receiving no invitation to lecture before that institu-
tion, they were laid aside shortly after their completion.

Receiving an invitation from the trustees of the Vallecetos

THE ASTRONOMER.

Literary and Scientific Institute, during the present summer, to
deliver a course of Lectures on any popular subject, ;!ie author
withdrew his manuscript from the dusty shelf on which it had
long lain neglected, and, having somewhat revised and enlarged
it, to suit the capacity of the eminent scholars before whom it
was to be displayed, repaired to Vallecetos. But, on arriving at
that place, he learned, with deep regret, that the only inhabitant
had left a few days previous, having availed himself of the oppor-
tunity presented by a passing emigrant's horse — and that, in conse-
quence, the opening of the Institute was indefinitely postponed.
Under these circumstances, and yielding with reluctance to the
earnest solicitations of many eininent scientific friends, he has
been induced to place the Lectures before the public in their

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MA/t/r TiVAIN'S LIBRARY OF HUMOR.

present form. Should they meet with that success which his san<
guine friends prognosticate, the author may be induced subse-
quently to publish them in the form of a text-book, for the use
of the higher schools and universities ; it being his greatest
ambition to render himself useful in his day and generation, by
widely disseminating the information he has acquired among
those who, less fortunate, are yet willing to receive instruction.
San Diego Observatory, September i, 1854.

im; .'»" i \ .

PART I.

CHAPTER I.

The term Astronomy is derived from two Latin words — Astra,
a star, and onomy^ a science ; and .literally means the science of
stars. "It is a science," to quote our friend Dick (who was no
relation at all of Big Dick, though the latter occasionally caused
individuals to see stars), "which has, in all ages, engaged the
attention of the poet, the philosopher, and the divine, and been
the subject of their study and admiration."

By the wondrous discoveries of the improved telescopes of
modern times, we ascertain that upwards of several hundred
millions of stars exist, that are invisible to the naked eye — the near-
est of which is millions of millions of miles from the Earth; and
as we have every reason to suppose that every one of this inconceiv-
able number of worlds is peopled like our own, a consideration
of this fact — and that we are undoubtedly as superior to these
beings as we are to the rest of mankind — is calculated to fill the
mind of the American with a due sense of his own importance in
the scale of animated creation.

It is supposed that each of the stars we see in the Heavens in
a cloudless night is a sun shining upon its own curvilinear, with
light of its own manufacture ; and as it would be absurd to sup-
pose its light and heat were made to be diffused for nothing, it is
presumed farther, that each sun, like an old hen, is provided with
a parcel of little chickens, in the way of planets, which, shining
but feebly by its reflected light, are to us invisible. To this
opinion we are led, also, by reasoning from analogy, on consider-
ing our own Solar System.

LECTURES nN ASTRONOMY.

455

The Solar System is so called, not because we believe it to be
the sole system of the kind in existence, but from its principal
body the Sun ; the Latin name of which is Sol. (Thus we read
of Sol Smith, literally meaning the son of Old Smith.) On a close
examination of the Heavens, we perceive numerous brilliant stars
which shine with a steady light (differing from those which sur-
round them, which are always twinkling like a dew-drop on a
cucumber-vine), and which, moreovgr, do not preserve constantly
the same relative distance from the stars near which they are first
discovered. These are the planets of the Solar System, which
have no light of their own — of which the Earth, on which we
reside, is one — which shine by light reflected from the Sun —
and which regularly move around that body at different intervals
of time and through different ranges in space. Up to the time
uf a gentleman named Copernicus, who flourished about the
middle of the Fifteenth Century, it was supposed by our stupid
ancestors that the Earth was the centre of all creation, being a
large flat body, resting on a rock which rested on another rock,
and so on "all the way down," and that the Sun, planets and
immovable stars all revolved about it once in twenty-four hours.

This reminds us of the simplicity of a child we once saw in a
railroad-car, who fancied itself perfectly stationary, and thought
the fences, houses and fields were tearing past it at the rate of
thirty miles an hour ; and poking out its head, to see where on
earth they went to, had its hat — a very nice one with pink ribbons
— knocked off and irrecoverably lost. But Copernicus (who was
a son of Daniel Pernicus, of the firm of Pernicus & Co., wool
dealers, and who was named Co. Pernicus, out of respect to his
father's partners) soon set this matter to rights, and started the
idea of the present Solar System, which, greatly improved since
his day, is occasionally called the Copernican system. By this
system we learn that the Sun is stationed at ono. focus (not hocus,
as it is rendered, without authority, by the philosopher Partington)
of an ellipse, where it slowly grinds on for ever about its own axis,
while the planets, turning about their axes, revolve in elliptical
orbits of various dimensions and different planes of inclination
around it.

The demonstration of this system in all its perfection was left
to Isaac Newton, an English Philosopher, who, seeing an apple
tumble down from a tree, was led to think thereon with such

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gravity, that he finally discovered the attraction ot gravitation,
which proved to be the great law of Nature that keeps every thing
in its place. Thus we see that as an apple originally brought sin
and ignorance into the world, the same fruit proved thereafter
the cause of vast knowledge and enlightenment — and, indeed, we
may doubt whether any other fruit but an apple, and a sour one
at that, would have produced these great results — for, had the
fallen fruit been a pear, an orange, or a peach, there is little doubt
that Newton would have eaten it up and thought no more on the
subject.

As in this world you will hardly ever find a man so small but
that he has some one else smaller than he to look up to and revolve
around him, so in the Solar System we find that the majority of
the planets have one or more smaller planets revolving about them.
These small bodies are termed secondaries, moons or satellites —
the planets themselves being cailcd primaries.

Wo know at present of eighteen primaries; viz.. Mercury,
Venus, the Earth, Mars, Flora, Vesta, Iris, Metis, Hebe, Astrea,
Juno, Ceres, Pallas, Hygeia, Jupiter, Saturn, Herschcl, Neptune,
and another unnamed. There are distributed among these,
nineteen secondaries, all of which, except our Moon, are invis-
ible to the naked eye.

We shall now proceed to consider, separately, the different
bodies composing the Solar System, and to make known what
little information, comparatively speaking, science has collected
regarding them. And first in order, as in place, we come to

THE SUN.

This glorious orb may be seen almost any clear day, by look-
ing intently in its direction, through a piece of smoked glass.
Through this medium it appears about the size of a large orange,
and of much the same color. It is, however, somewhat larger,
being, in fact, 887,000 miles in diameter, and containing a volume
of matter equal to fourteen hundred thousand globes of the size
of the Earth, which is certainly a matter of no small importance.
Through the telescope it appears like an enormous globe of fire,
with many spots upon its surface, which, unlike those of the
leopard, are continually changing. These spots were first dis-
covered by a gentleman named Galileo, in the year 161 1.
Though the Sun is usually termed and considered the luminary

LECTURES OV ASTROSOMY.

457

of day, it may not be unintereating to our readers to know that
it certainly has been seen in the night. A scientific friend of
ours from New England (Mr. R. W. Emerson) while traveling
through the northern part of Norway, with a cargo of tinware, on
the 2ist of June, 1836, distinctly saw the Sun ii. all its majesty,
shining at midnight I— in fact, shining all night! Emerson is
not what you would call a superstitious man, by any means— but
he left! Since that time many persons have observed its noctur-
nal appearance in that part of the country, at ♦^^he same time of
the year. This phenomenon has never been witnessed in the
latitude of San Diego, however, and it is very improbable that it
ever will be. Sacred history informs us that a distinguished
military man named Joshua once caused the Sun to "stand
still;" how he did it, is not mentioned. There can, of course,
be no doubt of the fact that he arrested its progress, and
possibly caused it to ♦* stand still" — but translators are not
always perfectly accurate, and we are inclined to the opinion that
it might have wiggled a very little, when Joshua was not looking
directly at it. The statement, however, does not appear so very
incredible, when we reflect that seafaring men are in the habit of
actuaWy Ifringiug the Sun dinvn to the horizon every day at 12
Meridian. This they effect by means of a tool made of bniss,
glass and silver, called a sextant. The composition of the Sun
has long been a matter of dispute.

By close and accurate observation with an excellent opera-glass,
we have arrived at the conclusion that its entire surface is
covered with water to a great depth; which water, being com-
posed by a process known at the present only to the Creator of
the Universe and Mr. Paine, of Worcester, Massachusetts, gene-
rates carbureted hydrogen gas, which, being inflamed, surrounds
the entire body with an ocean of fire, from which we and the
other planet", receive our light and heat. The spots upon its
surface are ; '.impses of water obtained through the fire; and we
call the atte: tion of our old friend and former schoolmate, Mr.
Aga'ssiz, to this fact; as by closely observing one of these spots
with a stron ; refracting telescope, he may discover a new species
of fish, with little fishes inside of them. It is possible that the
Sun may burn out after awhile, which would leave this world in
a state of darkness quite uncomfortable to contemplate; but even
under these circumstances it is pleasant to reflect that courting

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and love-making would probably increase to an indefinite extent,
and that many persons would make large fortunes by the sudden
rise in value of coal, wood, candles and gas, which would go to
illustrate the truth of the old proverb, " It's an ill wind that
blows nobody any good."

Upon the whole, the Sun is a glorious creation; pleasing to
gaze upon (through smoked glass), elevating to think upon, and
exceedingly comfortable to every created being on a cold day; it
is the largest, the brightest, and may be considered by far the
most magnificent object in the celestial sphere; though with all
these attributes it must be confessed that it is occasionally entire-
ly eclipsed by the moon.

CHAPTER II.

We shall now proceed to the consideration of the several

planets.

MERCURY.

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This planet, with the exception of the asteroids, is the smallest
of the system. It is the nearest to the Sun, and, in consequence,
cannot be seen (on account of the Sun's superior light) except
at its greatest eastern and western elongations, which occur in
March and April, August and September, when it may be seen
for a short time immediately after sunset and shortly before sun-
rise. It then appears like a star of the first magnitude, h'^ving a
white twinkling light, and resembling somewhat the star Regulus
in the constellation Leo. The day in Mercury is about ten
minutes longer than ours, its year is about equal to three of our
months. It receives six and a half times as much heat from the
Sun as we do; from which we conclude that the climate must be
very similar to that of Fort Yuma, on the Colorado River. The
difficulty of communication with Mercury will probably prevent
its ever being selected as a military post; though it possesses
many advantages for that purpose, being extremely inaccessible,
inconvenient, and, doubtless, singularly uncomfortable. It
receives :*^s name from the God, Mercury, in the Heathen Mythol-
ogy, who is the patron and tutelary Divinity of San Diego
County.

LECTURES ON ASTRONOMY.

459

VENUS.

This beautiful planet may be seen either a little after sunset, or
shortly befort sunrise, according as it becomes the morning or
evening star, but never departing quite 48° from the Sun. Its
day is about twenty-five minutes shorter than ours; its year seven
and a half months, or thirty-two weeks. The diameter of Venus

MARS AND VENUS..

is 7,700 miles, and she receives from the Sun thrice as much lijjht
and heat as the Earth.

An old Dutchman named Schroeter spent more than ten years
in o'l)servations on this planet, and finally discovered a mountain
on it twenty-two miles in height, but he never could discover any
thing- on the mountain, not even a mouse, and finally died about
as wise as when he commenced his studies.

Venus, in Mythology, was a Goddess of singular beauty, who
became the wife of Vulcan, the blacksmith, and, we regret to add,

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behaved in the most immoral manner after her marriage. The
celebrated case of Vulcan vs. Mars, and the consequent scandal,
is probably still fresh in the minds of our readers. By .1 large
portion of society, however, she was considered an ill-used and
persecuted lady, against whose high tone of morals and strictly
virtuous conduct not a shadow of suspicion could be cast; Vul-
can, by the same parties, was considered a horrid brute, and
they all agreed that it served him right when he lost his case and
had to pay the costs of court. Venus still remains the Goddess
of Beauty, and not a few of her prot/ge's may be found in
California.

THE EARTH.

PA
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The Earth, or as the Latins called it, Tellus (from which
originated the expression, "do tell us,") is the third planet in
the Solar System, and the one on which we subsist, with all our
important joys and sorrows. The San J^iego Ilera/d is published
weekly on this planet, for five dollars per annum, payable invari-
ably in advance. As the Earth is by no means the most impor-
tant planet in the system, there is no reason to suppose that it is
particularly distinguished from the others by being inhabited.
It is reasonable, therefore, to conclude, that all the other planets
of the system are filled with living, moving and sentient beings;
and as some of them are superior to the Earth in size and posi-
tion, it is not improbable that their inhabitants may be superior
to us in physical and mental organization.

But if this were a demonstrable fact, instead of a mere hypoth-
esis, it would be found a very difficult matter to persuade us of
its truth. To the inhabitants of Venus, the Earth appears like a
brilliant star, very much, in fact, as Venus appears to us; and,
reasoning from analogy, we are led to believe that the election of
Mr. Pierce, the European war, or the split in the great Demo-
cratic party produced but very little excitement among them.

To the inhabitants of Jupiter, our important globe appears
like a small star of the fourth or fifth magnitude. We recollect
some years ago gazing with astonishment upon the inhabitants of
a drop of water, developed by the Solar Microscope, and secretly
wondermg whether they were or not reasoning being.s, with souls
to be saved. It is not altogether a pleasant reflection that a
highly scientific inhabitant of Jupiter, armed with a telescope of

LECTURES ON ASTRONOMY.

461

(to us) incorxeiva' form, may be pursuing a similar course of
inquiry, and indui; ; in similar speculations regarding our Earth
and its inhabitants, Gazing with curious eye, his attention is
suddenly attracted by the movements of a grand celebration of
Fourth of July in New York, or a mighty convention in Balti-
more. " God bless my soul ! " he exclaims; " I declare, they're
alive, these little creatures; do see them wriggle ! " To an inhab-
itant of the Sun, however, he of Jupiter is probably quite as
insignificant, and the Sun man is possibly a mere atom in the
opinion of a dweller in Sirius. A little reflection on these sub-
jects leads to the opinion, that the death of an individual man on
this Earth, though perhaps as important an event as can occur
to himself, is calculated to cause no great convulsion of Nature,
or disturb particularly the great aggregate of created beings.

The earth moves round the sun from west to east in a year,
and turns on its axis in a day; thus moving at the rate of 68,000
miles an hour in its orbit, and rolling around at the tolerably
rapid rate of 1,040 miles per hour. As our readers may have
seen that when a man is galloping a horse violently over a smooth
road, if the horse, from viciousness or other cause, suddenly
stops, the man keeps on at the same rate over the animal's head ;
so we, supposing the Earth to be suddenly arrested on its axis —
men, women, children, horses, cattle and sheep, donkeys, editors
and members of Congress, with all our goods and chattels — would
be thrown off into the air at the speed of 173 miles a minute,
every mother's son of us describing the arc of a parabola, which
is probably the only description we should ever be able to give
of the affair.

The catastrophe, to one sufficiently collected to enjoy it, would
doubtless be exceedingly amusing; but as there would probably
be no time for laughing, we pray that it may not occur until after
our demise; when, should it take place, our monument will prob-
ably accompany the movement. It is a singular fact, that if a
man travel round the Earth in an eastwardly direction, he will
find, on returning to the place of departure, he has gained one
whole day; the reverse of this proposition being true also, it
follows that the Yankees, who are constantly traveling to the
West, do not live as long by a day or two as they would if they
had staid at home; and supposing each Yankee's time to be
worth $1.50 per day, it may be easily shown that a consider-

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able amount of money is annually lost by their roving disposi-
tions.

Science is yet but in its infancy; with its growth, new discov-
eries of an astounding nature will doubtless be made, among
which, probably, will be some method by which the course of
the Earth may be altered, and it be steered with the same ease
and regularity through space and among the stars as a steamboat
is now directed in the water. It will be a very interesting spectacle
to see the Earth "rounding to," with her head to the air, off
Jupiter, while the moon is sent off laden with mails and passengers
for that planet, to bring back the return mails and a large party
of rowdy Jupiterians going to attend a grand prize fight in the
ring of Saturn.

Well, Christopher Columbus would have been just as much
astonished at a revelation of the steamboat and the locomotive
engine as we should be to witness the above performance, which
our intelligent posterity during the ensuing year, a. d. 2,000, will
possibly look upon as a very ordinary and commonplace affair.

Only three days ago we asked a medium where Sir John
Franklin was at that time; to which he replied he was cruising
about (officers and crew all well) on the interior of the Earth, to
which he had obtained entrance through Svmmes Hole !

With a few remarks upon the Earth's satellite, we conclude the
first Lecture on Astronomy; the remainder of the course being
contained in a second Lecture, treating of the planets Mars,
Jupiter, Saturn and Neptune, the Asteroids, and the fixed stars,
which last, being " fixings," are, according to Mr. Charles Dickens,
American property.

THE MOON.

This resplendent luminary, like a youth on the 4th of July, has
■ts first quarter; like a ruined spendthrift, its last quarter; and,
like an omnibus, is occasionally full and new. The evenings on
which it appears between these last stages are beautifully illu-
mined by its clear, mellow light.

The Moon revolves in an elliptical orbit about the Earth in
twenty-nine days, twelve hours, forty-four minutes and three sec-
onds — the time which elapses between one new Moon and another.
It was supposed by the ancient philosophers that the Moon was
made of green cheese, an opinion still entertained by the credu-

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LECTURES ON ASTRONOMY,

463

lous and ignorant. Kepler and Tycho Brahe, however, held to the
opinion that it was composed of Charlotte Russe, the dark por-
tions of its surface being sponge cake, the light blanc mange.
Modern advances in science, and the use of Lord Rosse's famous
telescope, have demonstrated the absurdity of all these specula-
tions by proving conclusively that the Moon is rnainly composed
of the Fcrro—sesgui—cyamiret, of the cyanide of potassium ! Up
to the latest dates from the Atlantic States, no one has succeeded
in reaching the Moon. Should any onS do so hereafter, it will
probably be a woman, as the sex will never cease making an exer-
tion for that purpose as long as there is a man in it.

Upon the whole, we may consider the moon an excellent insti-
tution, among the many we enjoy under a free, republican form
of government, and it is a blessed thing to reflect that the Presi-
dent of the United States cannot veto it, no matter how strong an
inclination he may feel, from principle or habit, to do so.

It has been ascertained beyond a doubt that the Moon has no
air. Consequently, the common expressions, " the Moon was
gazing down with an air of benevolence," or with " an air of com-
placency," or with "an air of calm superiority," are incorrect and
objectionable, the fact being that the moon has no air at all.

The existence of the celebrated " Man in the Moon " has been
frequently questioned by modern philosophers. The whole sub-
ject is involved in doubt and obscurity. The only authority we
have for believing that such an individual exists, and has been
seen and spoken with, is a fragment of an old poem composed by
an ancient Astronomer by the name o£ Goose, which has been
handed down to us as follows*

"The man in the Moon, came down too soon
To Inquire the way to Norwich ;
The man in the South, he burned his mouth,
Kating cold, hot porridge."

The evidence conveyed in this distich is, however, rejected by
the skeptical among modern Astronomers, who consider the pas-
sage an allegory — "The man in the South" being supposed
typical of the late John C. Calhoun, and the "cold, hot porridge "
alluded to the project of nullification.

END OF LECTURE FIRST.

NoTP, BY THR Author. — Itinerant Lecturers are cautioned against making
use of the above production, without obtaining the necessary authority from

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tlic proprietors of the Pioneer Magazine. To those who may obtain such
authority, it inay be well to state that at the close of the Lecture it was the
intention of the author to exhibit and explain to the audience an orrery, accom-
panyiny; and interspersing his remarks by a choice selection of popular airs on
the hand-organ.

An economical orrery may be constructed by attaching eighteen wires of
graduated lengths to the shaft of a candlestick, apples of different sizes being
placed at their extremities to represent the Planets, and a central orange, rest-
ing on the candlestick, representin^? the Sun.

An orrery of this description is, however, liable to the objection that, if handed
around among the audience for examination, it is seldom returned uninjured.
The author has known an instance in which a child four yeais of apje, on an
occasion of this kind, devoured iu succession the jjlancts Jupiter and Herschel,
and bit a large spot out of the Sun, before he could be arrested.

! %

, 1 THE DIAMOND WEDDING.

THE DIAMOND WEDDING.

BY EDMUND CLARENCE EDMAN.

g[DMUND CLARENCE STEDMAN, a writer who has made a threefold
fame, in poetry, criticism and joamalism, was bom at Hartford, October
8, 1833. He is a member of the New York Sjpck Exchange, where he is busy
throughout the day, giving his evenings to literature. He has always worked
hard, with a high ideal, and his writings are expressive of his fine scholarship
and his rare gifts. ' ' The Diamond Wedding " was called forth by the marriage of
a beautiful New Yorker and a rich Cuban, the sensation of thirty years ago.

O Love ! Love ! Love ! what limes were those,
Long ere the age of belles and beaux,

Alii Brussels lace and silken hose.

When, in the green Arcadian close,

You married Psyche under the rose.
With only the grass for bedding !

Heart to heart, and hand to hand.

You followed Nature's sweet command,

Roammg lovingly through the land.
Nor sighed for a Diamond Wedding.

So have we read, in classic Ovid,
How Hero watched for her beloved,

Impassioned youth, Leander,
She was the fairest of the fair,
And wrapt him round with her golden hair,
Whenever he landed cold and bare,
With nothing to eat and nothing to wear,

And wetter than any gander;
For Love was Love, and better than money;
The slyer the theft, the sweeter the honey;
And kissing was clover, all the world over,

Where ver Cupid might wander.

So thousands of years have come and gone,
And still the moon is shining on.
Still Hymen's torch is lighted;

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And hitherto, in this land of the West,
Most couples in love have thought ii best
To follow the ancient way of the rest,
And quietly get united.

But now, True Love, you're growing old-
Bought and sold, with silver and gold,
Like a house, or a horse and carriage !
^, Midnight talks.

Moonlight walks.
The glance of the eye and sweetheart sigh,
The shadowy haunts, with no one by,
I do not wisl\to disparage;
But every kiss
Has a price for its bliss,
In the modern code of marriage;

And the compact sweet
Is not complete
Till the high contracting parties meet

Before the altar of Mammon;
And the bride must be led to a silver bower,
Where pearls and rubies fall in a shower
That would frighten Jupiter Ammon !

I need not tell
How it befell,

(Since Jenkins has told the story
Over and over and over again.
In a style I cannot hope to attain,

And covered himself with glory !)
How it befell, one summer's day.
The king of the Cubans strolled this way-
King January's his name, they say —
And fell in love with the Princess May,

The reigning belle of Manhattan;
Nor how he began to smirk and sue,
And dress as lovers who come to woo.
Or as Max Maretzek and Juliien do,
When they sit full-bloomed in the ladies' view,

And flourish the wondrous baton.

Jjiiiiiiii

' THE DIAMOND WEDDING.

He wasn't one of your Polish nobles,

Whose presence their country somehow troubles,

And so our cities receive them;
Nor one of your make-believe Spanish grandees,
Who ply our daughters with lies and candies,

Until the poor girls believe them. -

No, he was no such charlatan —
Count de Hoboken Flash-in-the-pan,
Full of gasconade and bravado —
But a regular, rich Don Rataplan,
Santa Claus de la Muscovado,
Seftor Grandissimo Bastinado.
His was the rental of half Havana
And all Matanzas; and Santa Anna,
Rich as he was, could hardly hold
A candle to light the mines of gold
Our Cuban owned, choke-full of diggers;
And broad plantations, that, in round figures.
Were stocked with at least five thousand niggers !

46'/

" Gather ye rosebuds while ye may !"

The Seftor swore to carry the day.

To capture tlie beautiful Princess May,

With his battery of treasure;
Velvet and lace she should not lack;
Tiffany, Haughwout, Ball & Black,
Genin and Stewart his suit should back.

And come and go at her pleasure;
Jet and lava — silver and gold —
Garnets — emeralds rare to behold —
Diamonds — sapphires — wealth untold-
All were hers, to have and to hold:

Enough to fill a peck-measure !

He didn't bring all his forces on
At once, but like a crafty old Don,
Who many a heart had fought and won,

Kept bidding a little higher;
And every time he made his bid.
And what she said, and all they did —

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'Twas written down,
For the good of the town,
By Jeems, of The Daily Flyer.

A coach and horses, you'd think, would buy
For the Don an easy victory;

But slowly our Princess yielded.
A diamond necklace caught her eye,
But a wreath of pearls first made her sigh.
She knew the worth of each maiden glance,
And, like young colts, that curvet and prance.
She led the Don a deuce of a dance,

In spite of the wealth he wielded.

She stood such a fire of silks and laces.

Jewels and gold dressing-cases.

And ruby brooches, and jets and pearls,

That every one of her dainty curls

Brought the price of a hundred common girls;

Folks thought the lass demented !
But at last a wonderful diamond ring,
An infant Koh-i-noor, did the thing,
And, sighing with love, or something the same,

(What's in a name ?)
The Princess May consented.

Ring ! ring the bells, and bring

The peoiiie to see the marrying !

Let the gaunt and hungry and ragged poor

Throng round the great cathedral door,

To wonder what all the hubbub's for,

And sometimes stupidly wonder
■ At so much sunshine and brightness, which
Fall from the church upon the rich.

While the poor get all the thunder.

Ring, rin;^ ! merry bells, ring !

O fortunate few.

With letters blue.
Good fur a seat and a nearer view !
Fortunate few, whom I dare not name;
Dilettanti ! Crime de la crSme !

THE DIAMOND WEDDING,

Wc commoners stood by the street facade,
And caught a glimpse of the cavalcade.
We saw the bride
In diamonded pride,
With jeweled maidens to guard her side-
Six lustrous maidens in tarletan.
She led the van of the caravan;

Close behind her, her mother
{Dressed in gorgeous moire antique,
That told, as plainly as words could speaK,
She was more antique than the other)

Leaned on the arm of Don Rataplan
Santa Claus de la Muscovado,
Senor Grandissimo Bastinado.

Happy mortal ! fortunate man !
And Marquis of El Dorado !

In they swept, all riches and grace,
Silks and satins, jewels and lace;
In they swept from the dazzled sun,
And soon in the church the deed was done.
Three prelates stood on the chancel high:
A knot that gold and silver can buy.
Gold and silver may yet untie.

Unless it is tightly fastened;
What's worth doing at all 's worth doing well,
And the sale of a young Manhattan belle

Is not to be pushed or hastened ;
So two Very-Reverends graced the scene,
And the tall Archbishop stood between.

By prayer and fasting chastened.
The Pope himself would have come from Rome,
But Garibaldi kept him at home.
Haply these robed prelates thought
Their words were the power that tied the knot;
But another power that love-knot tied,
And I saw the chain round the neck of the bride—
A glistening, priceless, marvelous chain,
Coiled with diamonds again and again,

As befits a diamond wedding;
Yet still 'twas a chain, and I thought she knew it,

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MARK TWAIN* S LIBRARY OF IIUAfOR,

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And halfway longed for the will to undo it,
By the secret tears she was shedding.

But isn't it odd to think, whenever

We all go through that terrible River —

Whose sluggish tide alone can sever

(The Archbishop says) the Church decree,

By floating one into Eternity

And leaving the other alive as ever —

As each wades through that ghastly stream,

The satins that rustle and gems that gleam,

Will grow pale and heavy, and sink away

To the noisome River's bottom-clay!

Then the costly bride and her maidens six

Will shiver upon the bank of the Styx,

Quite as helpless as they were born —

Naked souls, and very forlorn;

The Princess, then, must shift for herself.

And lay her royalty on the shelf;

She, and the beautiful Empress, yonder,

Whose robes are now the wide world's wonder^

And even ourselves, and our dear little wives.

Who calico wear each morn of their lives,

And the sewing-girla, and les chiffonnicrs,

In rags and hunger- - a gaunt array —

And all the grooins of the caravan —

Ay, even the great Don Rataplan

Santa Claus de la Muscovado

Senor Grandissimo Bastinado —

That gold-encrusted, fortunate man —

All will land in naked equality:

The lord of a ribboned principality

Will mourn the loss of his cordon;
Nothing to eat and n(>thing to wear
M'ill certainly be the fashion there !
Ten to one, and I'll go it alone;
Those most used to a rag an'.! bone,
Though here on earth they labor and groan,
iVill stand it best, as they wade abreast

To '.he other side of Jordan.

UTILE CHA/iLEU AND THE FRUIT. 471

LITTLE CHARLES AND THE FRUIT.

OiHE day when little Charles, if'' good t)oy of whom I have
told you, was on his way to iifhool, h p sed by a large orchard
in which there were a great mimy kinds of /ruit, and as the sun-
shine came streaming through the branches of the tre( - ^nd feil
upon the rosy-cheeked apples, the swe<jt, mellow peaches, and the
red cherries, Charles thought they looked very i autiful 'ndeed,
and would go down nicely with the lunch which !< s kind mother

*■>

A WARM RECEPTION.

had wrapped up in a white napkin for him, and placed in the little
basket he carried in his hand.

Some of the fruit hung very near the fence, and as Charles
looked at it wishfully he said to himself: "How easily I could
climb over there and pluck several of the apples and pears with-
out being discovered, for there is no one in the orchard now.
But that w(vuld be wrong, and if I did it should always be sorry,
and suffer dreadfully from the pangs of conscience."

So he stood there a little lon^rer. The little birds in the trees
were singing their merriest lays, the soft and balmy zephyrs of
early suimner were kissing the flowers as they nodded their pretty
heads in the v.' ass liy the roadside, and all nature seemed rejoic-
ing in its strength.

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MAHA' TWAIN'S LIBRARY OF HUMOR.

Many times Charles looked up at the fruit, and thought hov;
easy it would be to take it, but every time he did this the small
vcice would say: " That would be wr?na:, Charles," and he would
resolve not to make any such break.

But pretty soon a bright thought struck him, and his pure
young face lighted up with a sunny smile. "I will go to the
owner of the orchard," he said, " who lives in yonder house, and
tell him how I have conquered temptation. Then he will give

me all the f r u i t I
want, because that is
the way sturdy farm-
ers always do in the
little books I get at
Sunday-school."

So he went boldly

up to the farm-house,

y/j, but just as he entered

- \'^ the gate a fierce dog

/ grabbed him by the

seat of his panties

and wiped the ground

with him for a few

moments. The nice

lunch that his mother

had put up for him

was distributed a 1 1

over the yard, and

his new jacket looked

as if it had been out

with the boys. When

the farmer heard the

noise he came running out of the house and called off the dog.

" What do you want, my little man?" he said to Charles.

So Charles told him he had been tempted to take the fruit,

but would not do so because it was wrong. And then he asked

the man for some fruit.

The farmer looked at him for a moment, and then he said: " I
have two more dogs, both larger than the one you tackled, and
unless you are out of here in three jerks of a lamb's tail, they will
be lunching, and you will be quite conspicuous in the bill-of-fare."

THOMAS TOUGH.

®?-

LITTLE CHARLES AND THE FRUIT.

473

So Charles ran quickly away, not even stopping to ge his bas-
ket. A little way down the road he overtook Thomas Tough,
who was eating a delicious peach.

" Where did you get that peach, Thomas ? " asked Charles.

" Over in that orchard," replied Thomas. " I waited until the
Old Crank who owns the place had gone to breakfast, and then
appointed myself receiver of the orchard."

" You are a verj' wicked boy," said Charles.

"Yes," replied Thomas, " I am a trifle wicked, but I keep Get-
ting to the Front all the time, and my clothes don't seem quite
so much Disarranged as yours. You will also notice that my
Lunch Basket is with me, and that my piece of Pie for the Noon-
day Meal is not lying in Farmer Brown's Garden."

When Charles went home that evening he told his Papa what
he had done. "You know. Papa," he said, "that I would sooner
Le right than President."

" Yes," replied his Papa, " but I am not seriously alarmed about
your being President either." — Chicago Tribune.

Thare iz nothing that yu and I make so menny blunders
about, and the world so few, az the aktual amount ov our import-
ance.

Josh Billings.

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MARK TWAIN'S LIBRARY OF HUMOR.

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OUR ITALIAN GUIDE.

BY MARK TWAIN.

In this connection I wish to say one word about Michael
Angelo Buonarotti — I used to worship the mighty genius of
Michael Angelo — that man who was great in poetry, painting,
sculpture, architecture — great in every thing he undertook. But
I do not want Michael Angelo for breakfast — for luncheon — for
dinner — for tea — for supper — for between meals. I like a change^
occasionally. In Genoa, he designed every thing; in Milan, he
or his pupils designed every thing; he designed the Lake of
Como; in Padua, Verona, Venice, Bologna, who did we ever hear
of, from guides, but Michael Angelo ? In Florence, he painted
every thing, designed every thing, nearly, and what he did not
design he used to sit on a favorite stone and look at, and they
showed us the stone. In Pisa, he designed every thing but the
old shot-tower, and they would have attributed that to him if it
had not been so awfully out of the perpendicular. He designed
the piers of Leghorn and the custom-house regulations of Civita
Vecchia. But here — here it is frightful. He designed St.
Peter's; he designed the Pope; he designed the Pantheon, the
uniform of the Pope's soldiers, the Tiber, the Vatican, the Colis-
eum, the Capitol, the Tarpeian Rock, the Barberini Palace, St.
John Lateran, the Campagna, the Appian Way, the Seven Hills,
the Baths of Caracalla, the Claudian Aqueduct, the Cloaca Max-
ima—the eternal bore designed the Eternal City, and unless al)
men and books do lie, he painted every thing in it ! Dan said
the other day to the guide, " Enough, enough, enough ! Say no
more ! Lump the whole thing ! say that the Creator made Italy
from designs by Michael Angelo ! "

I never felt so fervently thankful, so soothed, so tranquil, so
filled with a blessed peace, as I did yesterday when I learned that
Michael Angelo was dead.

But we have taken it out of this guide. He has marched us
through miles of pictures and sculpture in the vast corridors of
the Vatican; and through miles of pictures and sculpture in
twenty other palaces; he has shown us the great picture in the
Sistine Chapel, and frescoes enough to fresco the heavens —

*^4:m

OUR ITALIAN GUIDE.

475

pretty much all done by Michael Angela So with him we have

played that game which has vanquished so many guides for us

imbecility and idiotic questions. These creatures never suspect
— they have no idea of a sarcasm.

He shows us a figure and says: " Statoo brunzo." (Bronze
statue.)

We look at it indifferently, and the doctor asks: *«By Michael
Angelo?"

" No — not know who." *

Then he shows us the ancient Roman Forum. The doctor
asks: " Michael Angelo ? "

A staie from the guide. "No-~thousan' year before he is
born."

Then an Egyptian obelisk. Again: " Michael Angelo ? "

" Oh, mon dicu, genteelmen ! Zis is two thousan* year before
he is born ! "

He grows so tired of that unceasing question, sometimes, that
he dreads to show us anything at all. The wretch has tried all
the ways he can think of to make us comprehend that Michael
Angelo is only responsible for the creation of Sipart of the world,
but somehow he has not succeeded yet. Relief for overtasked
eyes and brain from study and sight-seeing is necessary, or we
shall become idiotic sure enough. Therefore this guide must
continue to suffer. If he does not enjoy it, so much the worse
for him. We do.

In this place I may as well jot down a chapter concerning
those necessary nuisances, European guides. Many a man has
wished in his heart he could do without his guide; but knowing
he could not, has wished he could get some amusement out of
him as a remuneration for the affliction of his society. We
accomplished this latter matter, and if our experience can be
made useful to others, they are welcome to it.

The guides in Genoa are delighted to secure an American
party, because Americans so much wonder, and deal so much in
sentiment and emotion, before any relic of Columbus. Our guide
there fidgeted about as if he had swallowed a spring, mattress.
He was full of animation — full of impatience. He said:

" Come wis me genteelmen ! — come I I show you ze letter
vvritinij by Christopher Colombo ! — write it himself ! — write it wis
his own hand ! — come ! "

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476

AfA/^AT TIVAIN'S LIBRARY OF HUMOR.

He took us to the municipal palace. After much impressive
fumbling of keys and opening of locks, the stained and aged
document was spread before us. The guide's eyes sparkled. He
danced about us and tapped the parchment with his finger:

" What I tell you, genteelmen ! Is it not so ? See ! hand^
writing Christopher Colombo ! — write it himself !-"

We looked indifferent — unconcerned. The doctor examined
the document very deliberately, during a painful pause. Then
he said, without any show of interest:

" Ah — Ferguson — what — what did you say was the name of
the party who wrote this ? "

"Christopher Colombo ! ze great Christopher Colombo ! "

Another deliberate examination.

•<Ah — did he write it himself, or — or how?"

" He write it himself ! — Christopher Colombo ! he's own hand-
writing, write by himself ! "

Then the doctor laid the document down and said:

" Why, I have seen boys in America only fourteen years old
that could write better than that."

•' But zis is ze great Christo — "

" I don't care who it is ! It's the worst writing I ever saw.
Now you musn't think you can impose on us because ve are
strangers. We are not fools, by a good deal. If you have got
any specimens of penmanship of real merit, trot them out ! — and
if you haven't, drive on ! "

We drove on. The guide was considerably shaken up, but he
made one more venture. He had something which he thought
would overcome us. He said:

" Ah, genteelmen, you come wis me ! I show you beautiful, O,
magnificent bust Christopher Colombo ! — splendid, grand, mag-
nificent ! "

He brought us before the beautiful bust — for it was beautiful
— and sprang back and struck an attitude:

"Ah, look, genteelmen ! — beautiful, grand — bust Christopher
Colombo ! — beautiful bust, beautiful pedestal ! "

The doctor put up his eye-glass — procured for such occasions:

" Ah — what did you say this gentleman's name was ? "

" Christopher Colombo ! — ze great Christopher Colombo ! "

"Christopher Colombo — the great Christopher Colombo.
Well, what did he do ? "

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was beautiful

It Christopher

OUR ITALIAN GUIDE.

A77

" Discover America ! — discover America. Oh, ze devil ! "

" Discover America ! No — that statt.nent will hardly wash.
We are just from America ourselves. We heard nothing about
it. Christopher Colombo — pleasant name— is — is he dead ? "

'« Oh, corpo di Baccho !— three hundred year ! "

"What did he die of?"

<« I do not know ! — I can not tell."

" Small-pox, think ? "

" I do not know, genteelmen!— I *» not know what he die of! '*

" Measles, likely ? "

« May be— may be— I do not know— I think he die of some-
things." ^*

" Parents living ? "

*i Im-posseeble ! "

" Ah — which is the bust and which is the pedestal ? "

'* Santa Maria ! — zis ze bust \—zis ze pedestal ! "

" Ah, I see, I see — happy combination— very happy combina-
tion, indeed. Is — is this the first time this gentleman was ever
on a bust ? "

That joke was lost on the foreigner— guides cannot master
the subtleties of the American joke.

We have made it interesting for this Roman guide. Yester-
day we spent three or four hours in the Vatican again, that
wonderful world of curiosities. We came very near expressing
interest, sometimes — even admiration — it was very hard to keep
from H. We succeeded, though. Nobody else ever did, in the
Vatican museums. The guide was bewildered — nonplussed.
He walked his legs off, nearly, hunting up extraordinary things,
and exhausted all his ingenuity on us, but it was a failure ; we
never showed any interest in anything. He had reserved what
he considered to be his greatest wonder till the last — a royal
Egyptian mummy, the best preserved in the world, perhaps. He
took us there. He felt so sure, this time, that some of his old
enthusiasm came back to him :

" See, genteelmen ! — Mummy ! Mummy !"

The eye-glass came up as calmly, as deliberately as ever.

" Ah — Ferguson — what did I understand you to say the gentle-
man's name was ? "

■'Name ? — he got no name ! — Mummy ! — 'Gyptian mummy !'*

*' Yes, yes. Born here?"

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MA/IX- TWAm'S LIBRARY OF HUMOR.

' "No! ' Gyptian vswxxaxay V
** Ah, just so. Frenchman, I presume ? "
« No \—nof Frenchman, not Roman !— born in Egypta ! "
" Born in Egypta. Never heard of Egypta before. Foreign

locality, likely. Mummy — mummy. How calm he is— how self

possessed. Is, ah — is he dead ? "

IS HE DEAD?*

"Oh, sacfe bleu, been dead three thousan' year !"

The doctor turned on him savagely:

'• Here, now, what do you mean by such conduct as this !
Playing us for Chinamen because we are strangers, and trying to
learn ! Trying to impose your vile second' hand carcasses on us !
— thunder and lightning, I've a notion to — to — if you've got a
n\c& fresh corpse, fetch him out ! — or, by George, we'll brain you !"

Lasting reputashuns are ov a slo growth: the man who wakes
up famus sum morning, iz very apt to go to bed sum night and
sleep it all off.

Josh Billings.

ii^^

SH Billings.

SHE HAD TO TAKE HER THINGS ALONG. a-jq

SHE HAD TO TAKE HER THINGS ALONG.

BY ROBERT J. BURDETTE.

Erasmus T. Ruggleson, a young man of Saxon lineage, worked
on a farm out here in Yellow Spring township. He was not rich
but he was industrious, and just too pretty for anything. So was
the daughter of the farmer for whom he worked. She was
wealthier than Erasmus, but she was not proud. When the
chores were done in the winter evenings, she went with him to
the singing school, and she walked by his side to church. She
loved him ; she had rather sit at her casement in the gloaming,
and hear him holler "poo-oo-sy ! " in long-drawn, mellow caden-
ces, at the hour of the feeding of the swine, than hear Cam-
panini sing " Macaroni del Vermicelli " from " Handorgzanhandi
in Venezuela." And he — he was clean gone on her. Mashed
past all surgery. When they foolishly let the old man into their
plans for each other's happiness and half the farm, the wrathful
agriculturist said if he heard one more word of such nonsense,
just another word, he would lay that farm waste with physical
havoc, and blight its winter wheat with the salt tears of his only
child, and that was the kind of father-in-law he was inclined to be.
Naturally, the young people determined to fly. Their plans
were laid ; the night was set. So was the ladder. At its foot
waited the ardent Erasmus Ruggleson, gazing at the window for
the appearance of his love. Presently the window opened softly,
and a face he loved appeared.
"'Rasmus!"
" Florence ! "

" Yes, dearest. Shall I drop my things right down ? "
"Yes, love ; I will catch them. Let the bundles fall."
The glittering starlight of the clear March night fell on Eras-
mus's glad and upturned face. So did a trunk, four feet high, four
feet wide, and about eight feet long. It weighed about 2,700
pounds. It contained a few " things " that no woman could be
expected to travel without, and Florence had spent three weels
packing that trunk for her elopement.

Erasmus Ruggleson did not scream. He did not moan. He*
couldn't. He had no show. Florence came down the ladacr,

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MARK TWAIN'S LIBRARY OF HUMOR.

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having iirst, with a maidenly sense of propriety, requested her
lover to turn his back and look at the barn. He was busily
engaged in looking at the bottom of that trunk, and thinking
how like all creation he would yell if he ever got his mouth out-
dsors again.

Florence reached the foot of the ladder. " Did you get my

trunk, Erasmus ?"
she said, looking
around for him.

" Oh, yes !" said
a hoarse mocking
voice at her elbow.
"Oh, yes, he got
it! Got it bad,
too !"

She turned,
knew her papa,
shrieked once,
twice, again, and
once more for the
boys, and fainted
away.

" I never wor-
ried about it a
minute," the heart-
Jess old man told
his neighbors the
next day, " though
I knowed well
enough what was
goin' on all the
time. I've been married twice, an' I've married off four daughters
and two sons, an' if I don't know what baggage a woman carries
when she travels, by this time, I'm too old to learn."

And Erasmus Ruggleson ! The jury brought in s verdict that
he ca;Ae to h«s death by habitual drunkenness, and the temper-
ance papers didn't talk about anything else for the next six
weeks.

HER BUNDLE.

T^HE GARDEN AND ITS ENEMIES. 48 1

THE GARDEN AND ITS ENEMIES.

BY C. D. WARNER.

I LEFT my garden for a week, just at the close of the dry spelj.
A season of rain immediately set in, and when I returned, the
transformation was wonderful. In one week, every vegetable
had fairly jumped forward. The tornatoes which I left slender
plants, eaten of bugs and debating whetiier they would go back-
ward or forward, had become stout and lusty, with thick stems
and dnrlr leaves, and some of them had blossomed. The corn
waveu .Is that whioh grows so rank out of the French-English
mixture at Waterloo. The squashes— I will not speak of the
squashes ! The most remarkable growth was the asparagus.
There was not a spear above-ground when I went away; and
now it had sprung up and gone to seed, and there were stalks
higher than my head. I am entirely aware of the value of
words, and of moral obligations. When I say that the aspara-
gus had grown six feet in seven days, I expect and wish to be
believed. I am a little particular about the statement, for, if there
is any prize offered for asparagus at the next agricultural fair, I
wish to compete — speed to govern. What I claim is the fastest
asparagus. As for eating purposes, I have seen better. A
neighbor of mine, who looked in at the growth of the bed, said,

•' Well, he'd be d :" but I told him there was no use of

affirming now; he might keep his oath till I wanted it on the
asparagus affidavit. In order to have this sort of asparagus, you
want to manure heavily in the early spring, fork it in, and top-
dress (that sounds technical) with a thick layer of chloride of
sodium: if you cannot get that, common salt will do, and the
neighbors will never notice whether it is the orthodox Na. CI.
5S.5 or not.

I scarcely dare trust myself to speak of the weeds. They grow
as if the devil was in them. I know a lady, a member of the
Church and a very good sort of woman, considering the subject
condition of that class, who says that the weeds work on her to
that extent that, in going through her garden, she has the great-
est difficulty in keeping the ten commandments in anything like
an unfractured condition. I asked her which one ? but she said

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MARK TWAIN'S LIBRARY OF HUMOR.

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all of them: one felt like breaking the whole lot. The sort of
weed which I most hate (if I can be said to hate anything which
grows in my garden) is the "pusley," a fat, ground-clinging.

MY SUMMER IN A GARDEN.

spreading, greasy thing, and the most propagations (it is not my
fault if the word is not in the dictionary) plant I know. I saw
a Chinaman who came over with a returned missionary, and
pretended to be converted, boil a lot of it in a pot, stir in eggs,

THE GARDEN AND ITS ENEMIES.

and mix and eat it with relish — " Me likee he." It will be a good
thing to keep the Chinamen on when they come to do our garden-
ing. I only fear they will cultivate it at the expense of the straw-
berries and melons. Who can say that other weeds which we
despise may not be the favorite food of some remote peopl'j or
tribe. Wc ought to abate our conceit. It is possible r'aat we
destroy in our gardens that which is really of most value in some
other place. Perhaps, in like manner, our faults and vices are
virtues in some remote planet. I cannot sec, however, that this
thought is of the slightest value to us here, any more than
weeds are.

There is another subject which is forced upon my notice. I
like neighbors, and I like chickens; but I do not think they
ought to be united near a garden. Neighbors' hens in your
garden are an annoyance. Even if they did not scratch up the
corn, and peck the strawberries, and eat the tomatoes, it is not
pleasant to see them straddling about in their jerkey, high-step-
ping, speculative manner, picking inquisitively here and there.
It is of no use to tell the neighbor that his hens eat your tomatoes:
it makes no impression on him, for the tomatoes are not his.
The best way is to casually remark to him that he has a fine lot
of chickens, pretty well grown, and that you like spring chickens
broiled. He will take them away at once. The neighbors' small
children are also out of place in your garden in strawberry and
currant time. I hope I appreciate the value of children. We
should soon come to nothing without them, though the Shakers
have the best gardens in the world. Without them the common
school would languish. But the problem is, what to do with them
in a garden. For they are not good to eat, and there is a law
against making away with them. The law is not very well en-
forced, it is true; for people do thin them out with constant dos-
ing, paregoric and soothing-syrups, and scanty clothing. But I,
for one, feel that it would not be right, aside from the law, to take
the life, even of the smallest child, for the sake of a little fruit,
more or less, in the garden. I may be wrong; but these are my
sentiments, and I am not ashamed of them. When we come, as
Bryant says in his " Iliad," to leave the circus of this life and
join that innumerable caravan which moves, it will be some satis-
faction to us that we have never, in the way of gardening, dis-
posed of even the humblest child unnecessarily. My plan v/ould

^1- ..''

484

MAKA' TiyALW'S LIBRARY OF HUMOR.

be to put them into Sunday-schools more thoroughly, and to
give the Sunday-schools an agricultural turn; teaching the
children the sacredness of neighbors' vegetables, I think that
our Sunday-schools do not sufficiently impress upon children the
danger, from snakes and otherwise, of going into the neighbors'
gardens.

THE HODJA MAKES UP HIS MIND TO MARRY.

BY S. S. COX.

When the Hodja made up his mind to marry, his neighbors
came to him and told him thiit if he married, his "wife would
turn his house upside down."

" Very well " says he, " \ will take care of that,"

A few days after, he began building his house. Instead of
beginning at the foundation, he surprises his neighbors by pre-
paring the tiles for the roof. The neighbors come again ani
inquire of the Hodja :

" What are you doing ? "

" I am building my house," he responds,

" But," they reply, ** you cannot build a house, starting from
the roof,"

" Yes," says the Hodja, " but did I not tell you I rim going to
marry ? "

•' What then ? " say the anxious neighbors, fearing he had gone
clean daft.

" What then ? Did you not tell me that if I married, my wife
would turn my house upside down ? Now, I build it so thnt
when she turns it upside down, it will be right-side up. If what
you say to me be true, I advise you to follow my plan toward
your wives. As they never agree with you, give them the oppo-
site of what you wish, and you will always have your own will,"

The moral whereof is : that often by indirection and tacking, we
bring the ship into port.

THE OLD SETTLER.

485

and to

ing

the

nk that
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iRRY.

neighbors
wife would

Instead of
ore by pre-
5 again an 1

tarting from

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d it so th;>.t
up. If^vhat
plan towavd
:em the oppo-
vir own will-'
%ndtacking,ive

OLP SETTLER.

His Rkasons for Thinking there is Natural Gas i»
Deep Rock Gulley.

by edward harold mott.

g'DVVARD HAROLD MOTT is a nati»e of Milford, Pike Co., Pa., and is .1
printer by trade and journalist by profession. He is a contributor to
Fuck, The Judge, and other comic papers. He was born January 17, 1845.

" I SEE by the papers, 'Squire," said the Old Settler, " that they're
a finding signs o' coal ile aji' nat'ral gas like sixty here an' thar in
dcestric's not so terrible fur from here, an' th't konsekciitly land
they usety beg folks to come an' take offen their hands at any
price at all is wuth a dollar now, jist for a peep over the stun
wall at it. The minute a feller finds signs o' ile or nat'ral gas on
his plantation he needn't lug home his supplies in a quart jug no
more, but kin roll 'em in by the bar'l, fer signs o' them kind is
wuth more an inch th'n a sartin-per-sure grass an' 'tater farm is
wuth an acre."

"Guess yer huggin* the truth pootyclus fer wunst, Major,"
replied the 'Squire, " but th' hain't none o' them signs ez likely
to strike anywhar in our bailiwick ez lightnin* is to kill a crow
roostin' on the North Pole. Thuz one thing I've alluz wanted to
see," continued the 'Squire, " but natur' has ben agin me, an' I
hain't never seen it, an' that thing is the h'istin' of a balloon.
Th' can't be no balloon h'isted nowhar, I'm told, 'nless thuz gas
to h'ist it with. I s'pose if we'd ha' had gas here, a good many
fellers with balloons 'd ha' kim 'round this way an' showed us a
balloon raisin' ev'ry now an' then. Them must be lucky dees-
trie's that's got gas, an' I'd like to hev somebody strike it 'round
here some'rs, jist fer the sake o' havin' the chance to see a bal-
loon h'istin' 'fore I turn my toes up. But that's 'bout es liable
to happen ez it is fer me to go out an' find a silver dollar rollin'
up hi!I, an' my name gouged in it."

"Don't ye be so consarned sure o' that, 'Squire," said the Old
Settler, mysteriously, and with a knowing shake of his head.
" Ive been a thinkin' a leetle sence readin' 'bout them signs o'
gas, b'gosh ! I hain't been only thinkin', but I've been a reco!-

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lectin', an' the chances is th't me an' you'll see wonders yet afore
we paddle over Jurdan, I'm agointer tell ye fer w'y, but I
hadn't orter, 'Squire, an' if it wa'n't fer makin' ye shamed o' yer-
self, an' showin' th't truth squashed in the mud is bound to git
up agin if ye give her time, I wouldn't do it. Ye mowt remem-
ber th't jist ten
years ago this
month I kim in
from a leetle b'ar
hunt. I didn't
bring in no b'ar,
but I fotched back
an up - an' - up ac-
count o' how I had
shot one, an' how
th' were s u ni p i n
fearful an' queer
an' amazin' in the
p'formances o' that
b'ar arter bein' shot.
Mebby ye 'member
me a tellin' ye that
story, 'Squire, an'
\\\^ you a tellin' mc
, . i I I'j right in my teeth
r\\/ \\| th't ye know'd th't
' ^- some o' yer friends

"^^ had took to lyin',
''^♦^ ' but th't ye didn't

think any of 'em
had it so bad ez that.
But I hain't a hold-
in' no gredge, an'
now I'll tell ye sump-
in' that'll s'prise ye.
" Ez I tol' ye at the time, 'Squire, I got the tip ten year ago
this month, th't unless somebody went up to Steve Groner's hill
place an' poured a jwund or two o' lead inter a big b'ar th't had
squatted on tha' farm, th't Steve wouldn't hev no live-stock left
to pervide pork an' beef fer his winterin' over, even if he man-

THE FIGHT.

THE OLD SETTLER.

487

aged to keep hisself an' fam'ly theirselfs from linin' the b'ar's
innards. I shouldered my gun an' went up to Steve's to hev
some fun with brum, an' to save Steve's stock and resky him an'
his folks from the rampagin' b'ar,

" ' He's a rip-snorter,' Steve says to me, w'en I got than ' He
don't think nuthin' o' luggin' off a cow,' he says, <■ an' ye don't
wanter hev yer weather eye shet w'en you an' him comes
together,' he says. *

" ' B'ars,' I says to Steve, ' b'ars is nuts fer me, an' the bigger
an' sassier they be,' I says, < the more I inj'y 'em,' I says, an' with
that I dim' inter the woods to show bruin th't th' wa'n't room
enough here below fer me an' him both. 'Tain't necessary fer
me to tell o' the half-dozen or more lively skrimmages me an'
that b'ar had ez we foUered an' chased one another round an'
round them woods— how he'd hide ahind some big tree or stump,
an' ez 1 went by, climb on to me with all four o' his feet an'
yank an' bite an' claw an' dig meat an' clothes offen me till I
slung him off an' made him skin away to save his bacon ; an'
how I'd lay the same way fer him, an' w'en he come sneakin'
'long arter me agin, pitch arter him like a mad painter, an' swat
an' pound an' choke an' rassel him till his tongue hung out, till
I were sorry for him, an' let him git away inter the brush agin
to recooperate fer the next round. 'Taint wuth w'ile fer me to
say anything 'bout them little skrimmages 'cept the last un, an'
that un wa'n't a skrimmage, but sumpin' that'd 'a' skeert some
folks dead in their tracks.

" Arter havin' a half a dozen or so o' rassels with this big b'ar,
jist fer fun, I made up my mind, ez 'twere gettin' late, an' ez
Steve Groner's folks was mebby feelin' anxious to hear which
was gointer run the farm, them or the b'ar, th't the next heat
with bruin would be for keeps. I guess the ol' feller had made
up his mind the same way, fer w'en I run agin him the las' time,
he were riz up on his hind legs right on the edge o' Deep Rock
Guiley, and were waitin' fer me with his jaws wide open. I
unslung my gun, an' takin' aim at one o' the b'ar's fore paws,
thought I'd wing him an' make him come away from the edge o*
the guiley 'fore I tackled him. The ball hit the paw, an' the
b'ar throw'd 'em both up. But he throw'd 'em up too fur, an'
he fell over back'rds, an' went head foremost inter the guiley.
Deep Rock Guiley ain't an inch less'n fifty foot from top to bot-

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488

;f/.-fi?A' TWAIN'S LIBRARY OF HUMOR.

torn, an' the walls is ez steep as the side of a house. I went up
to the edge an' looked over. Ther' were the b'ar layin' on his
face at the bottom, whar them queer cracks is in the ground, an'
he were a howlin' like a hurricane and kickin' like a mule. Ther'
he laid, and he wa'n't able to raise up. Th' wa'n't no way o' get-
tin' down to him, 'cept by tumblin' down ez he had; an' if ever
anybody were poppin' mad, I were, ez I see my meat a layin' at

the bottom o' that
gulley, an* the crows
a getherin' to hev a
picnic with it. The
more I kep' my eyes
on that b'ar the mad-
der I got, an' I were
jist about to roll and
tumble an' slide down
the side o' that gulley
ruther than go back
home an' say th't I'd
let the crows steal a
b'ar away from me,
w'en I see a funny
change comin' over
the b'ar. He didn't
howl so much, and
his kicks wa'n't so
vicious. Then his
hind parts began to
lift themse'fs up offen
the ground in a
cur'ous sort o' way,
and swung an' bob-
bed in the air. They kep' raisin' higher an' higher, till the
b'ar were act'ally standin' on his head, an' swayin' to and fro ez
if a wind were blowin' him an' he couldn't help it. The sight was
so oncommon out o' the reg'lar way b'ars has o' actin' that it
seemed skcery, an' I felt cz if I'd ruther be home diggin' my
'taters. But I kep' on gazin' at the b'ar a circusin' at the bot-
tom o' the gulley, and 't wa'n't long 'fore the hull big carcase
begun to raise right up offen the ground an' come a-fioatin' up

A RISE IN BEAR MEAT.

THE O. D SETTLER.

489

outen that gulley, fer all the world ez if 't wa'n't more'n a feather.
The b'ar come up'ards tail foremost, an' I noticed th't he looked
consid'able puffed out like, makin' him seem lik' a bar'l sailin' in
the air. Ez the b'ar kim a-floatin' out o' the dep's, I could feel
my eyes begin to bulge, an' my knees to shake like a jumpin*
jack's. But I couldn't move no more'n a stun wall kin, an' thar
I stood on the edge 0' the gulley, starin' at the b'ar ez it sailed
on up t'ords me. The b'ar were making a desper't effort to git
itself back to its nat'ral p'sition on all fours, but th' wa'n't no use
an' up he sailed, tail foremost, an' looking ez if he were gointer
bust the next minute, he were swelled out so. Ez the b'ar
bobbed up and passed by m.e I could ha' reached out an' grabbed
him by the paw, an' I think he wanted me to, the way he acted,
but I couldn't ha' made a move to stop him, not if he'd ha' ben
my gran'mother. The b'ar sailed on above me, an' th' were a
look in his eyes th't I won't never fergit. It was a skeert look,
an' a look that seemed to say th't it were all my fault, an' th't I'd
be sorry fer it some time. The b'ar squirmed an' struggled agin
comin' to setch an' onheerdon end, but up'ards he went, tail
foremost, to'ards the clouds.

"I stood thar par'lyzed w'ile the b'ar went up'ard. The crows
that had been settlin' round in the trees, 'spectin' to hev a bully
meal, went to flyin' an' scootin' around the onfortnit b'ar, an'
yelled till I were durn nigh deef. It wa'n't until the b'ar had
floated up nigh onto a hundred yards in the air, an' begun to
look like a flyin' cub, that my senses kim back to me. Quick ez
a flash I rammed a load inter my rifle, wrappin' the ball with a
big piece o' dry linen, not bavin' time to tear it to the right size.
Then I took aim an' let her go. Fast ez that ball went, I could
see that th. linen round it had been sot on fire by the powder.
The ball overtook the b'ar and bored a hole in his side. Then the
funniest thing of all happened. A streak o' fire a yard long-
shot out o' the b'ar's side where the bullet had gone in, an' 625
long as that poor bewitched b'ar were in sight — fer o' course 1
thort at the time th't the b'ar were bewitched — I could see that
streak o' fire sailin' along in the sky till it went out at last like
a shootin' star. I never knowed w'at become o' the b'ar, an' the
hull thing were a startlin' myst'ry to me, but I kim home,
'Squire, an' tol' ye the story, jest ez I've tol' it to ye now, an' ye
were so durn polite th't ye said I were a liar. But sence, I've

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MARK TWAIN'S LIBRARY OF HUMOR.

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been a thinkin' an' recollectin'. 'Squire, I don't hold no gredge.
The myst'ry's plain ez day, now. We don't want no better
signs o' gas th'n that, do we, 'Squire ? "
" Than what ? " said the 'Squire.
" Than what: " exclaimed the Old Settler.
" Than that bar, o' course! That's w'at ailed him. It's plain

enough th't thuz nat'ral
gas on the Groner place,
an* th't it leaks outen the
ground in Deep Rock Gul-
ley. Wen that b'ar tum-
bled to the bottom that
day, he fell on his face. He
were hurt so th't he couldn't get
up. O' course the gas didn't
shut itself off, but kep' on a
leakin', an' shot up inter the
b'ar's mouth and down his throat.'
The onfortnit b'ar couldn't help
hisself, an' bimby he were filled
with gas like a balloon, till he
had to float, an' away he sailed,
up an' up an' up. Wen I fired
at the b'ar, ez he was floatin'
to'ards the clouds, the linen on
the bullet carried fire with it,
and w'en the bullet tapped the
b'ar's side the burnin' linen sot
it on fire, showin' th't th* can't
be no doubt 'bout it bein' gas
th't the b'ar swallered in Deep
Rock Gulley. So ye see, 'Squire, I wan't no liar, an' the chances
is all in favor o' your seein' a balloon h'isted from gas right in
yer own bailitvick afore ye turn up yer toes."

The 'Squire gazed at the Old Settler in silent amazement for a
minute or more. Then he threw up his hands and said:
"Wal— I'll— be— durned! "

A LONG SHOT.

t- i]

BOY THE DESTROYER. 40 j

BOY THE DESTROYER.

BY C. D. WARNER.

The power of a boy is, to me, something fearful. Consider
what he ccm do ! You buy and set out A choice pear-tree; yon
enrich the earth for it, you
train and trim it, and van-
quish the borer, and watch
its slow growth. At length
it rewards your care by pro-
ducing two or three pears,
which you cut up and divide
in the family, declaring the
flavor of the bit you eat to
be something extraordmary.
The next year, the little tree
blosaoms full, and sets well ;
and in the autumn has on itt
slender, drooping limbs half
a bushel of fruit, daily grow-
ing more delicious in the
sun. You show it to your
friends, reading to them the
French name, which you can
never remember, on the
label; and you take an hon-
est pride in the successful
fruit of long care. That
night your pears shall be
required of you by a boy!
Along comes an irresponsible

urchin, who has not bee", growing much longer than the tree,
with not twenty-five cents' worth of clothing on him, and in five
minutes takes off every pear, and retires into safe obscurity. In
five minutes the rcnorseless boy has undone your work of years,
and with the easy nofichalafice, I doubt not, of any agent of fate,
in whose path nothing is sacred or safe.

And it is not of much consequence. The boy goes on his way,

BOV THE DESTROYER.

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492

ilZ/f^A- TWAIN'S LIBRARY OF HUMOR.

to Congress, or to State-prison: in either place he will be

accused of stealing, perhaps wrongfully. You learn, in time,
that it is better to have had pears and lost them, than not to
have had pears at all. You come to know that the least (and
rarest) part of the pleasure of raising fruit is the vulgar eating
it. You recall your delight in conv rsing with the nurseryman,
and looking at his illustrated catalogues, where all the pears are
drawn perfect in form, and of extra size, and at that exact
moment between ripeness and decay which it is so impossible to
hit in practice. Fruit cannot be raised on this earth to taste as
you imagine those pears would taste. For years you have this
pleasure, unalloyed by any disenchanting reality. How you
watch the tender twigs in spring, and the freshly forming bark,
hovering about the healthy growing tree wiC your pruning- knife
many a sunny morning! That is happiness. Then, if you know
it, you are drinking the very wine of life; and when the sweet
juices of the earth mount the limbs, and flow down the tender
stem, ripening and reddening the pendent fruit, you feel that you
somehow stand at the source of things, and have no unimportant
share in the processes of Nature. Enter, at this moment, boy
the destroyer, whose office is that of preserver as well; for, though
he removes the fruit from your sight, it remains in your memory
immortally ripe and desirable. The gardener needs all these
consolations of a high philosophy.

Man waz kreated a little lower than the angells, and he haz
been a gitting a little lower ever since.

JoBK Billings.

THE TYPE.WRITER.

493

THE TYPE-WRIl liR.

BY ROBERT J. BURDETTE.

Cardinal—

<' Beneath the sliding rule of men entirely great
The type-writer is greater than tht? sword."
Oldgold —

« Who swored, my lord ? "
Carihnal —

" The man who received the type-writer letter;
The printers who set up the copy;
Whole words spelled in the space of one small ra,
With all the letters piled on top of one another,
Like to a Chinese sentence standing on its head.
What sense is there in this ? — " Rgw ? GHops ffl dww d^"
And yet I know it means " the horse fell dead."
In all the lexicons we use there's no such word
As " kbfitMa)I$nl; " yet full well I know
It stands in this man's note for " information;"
I have so learned the tang' 2d language of the thing.
That all its jargon is writ plain for me;
But solely do I fear that learning it,
I have made a hopeless wreck of temperate speech,
And lost my front-pew standing in the synagogue.
See, all around this line of consonants
Scarred with lost capitals, the proof-reader has drawn
His awtul c'rcle with the pencil blue;
Stand off: while on this correspondent's head
I launch the cuss of our Composing Room.

(The cuss.)
Dog gone the billy be dog goned man of thumbs,
The. d^ddledy dag goned chalky fingered loon
Ygum; 'gaul; od rabbit; jeeminy pelt!
Gad zooks; odd beddikins; by Venus' glove;
By Mars his gauntlet; by the river side;
Sweet by and by, and bo oh, L \by by — "

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(At this point the caitiff slowly withers away.)

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494 yt/.4i?A' TWAIN'S LIBRARY OF HUMOR.

HIGH-HANDED OU TRAGR AT UTICA.

BY ARTEMUS WAliD.

In the Faul of 1856 I showed my show in Utiky, a trooly grate
sitty in the State of New York.

The people gave me a cordyal recepshun. The press was loud
in her prases,

I day, as I was givin' a descripshunof my Beests and Snaiks in
my usual flowry stile, what was my skorn & disgust to see a big
burly feller walk up to the cage containin my wax figgers of the
Lord's Last Su^iper, and cease Judas Iscarrot by the feet and

AN OUTRAGE.

drag him out on the ground. He then commenced fur to pound
him as hard as he cood.

" What under the son are you abowt ? " cried \.

Sez he, "What did you bring this pussylanermus cuss here
fur ? " & he hit the wax figger another tremenjiu blow on the bed.

Sez I, *' You egrejus ass, that air's a wax figger — a representa-
shun of the false 'Postle."

Sez he, "That's all very well fur you to say, but I tell you, old
man, that Judas Iscarrot can't show hisself in Utiky with iiiipu-
nerty by a darn site!" with which observashun he leaved in
Judassis' hed. The young man belonged to i of the first famer-
lies in Utiky. I sood him, and the Joory brawt in a verdick of
Aison in the 3d degree.

T, a trooly grate

; press was loud

,ts and Snaiks in

ust to see a big

X fingers of the

by the feet and

snced fur to pound

:d I.

anermus cuss here

]v^ blow on the hed.
gger— a representa-

y, but I tell you, old

Utiky with impu-

ishun he kaved in

I of the first famcr-

■awt in a verdick of

j47' NIAGARA.

AT NIAGARA.

495

nv w.

IIOWELLS.

Our friends returned by the shore of the Canadian rapids, hav-
ing traversed the isla.id by a path through the heart of the woods,
and now drew slowly near the Falls again. All parts of the pro-
digious pageant have an eternal novelty,, and they beheld the
ever- varying effect of that constant sublimity with the sense of
discoverers, or, rather, of people whose great fortune it is to see

^/,4'k

AT NIAGARA.

the marvel in its beginning, and new from the creating Hand.
The morning hour lent its sunny charm to this illusion, while in
the cavernous precipices of the shores, dark with evergreens, a
mystery as of primeval night seemed to linger. There was a wild
fluttering of their nerves, a rapture with an under-consciousness
of pain,, the exaltation of peril and escape, when they came to the
three little isles thr.t extend from Goat Island, one beyond
another, far into the furious channel. Three pretty suspension-
i;ridges connect them now with the larger island, and under each
of these lloundcr.; a huge rapid, and hurls itself away to mingle
with the ruin of the fall. The Three Sisters are mere fragments
of wilderness, clumps of vine-tangled woods, planted upon masses

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496

AfA/?A' TIVAWS LIBKARY OF HUMOR.

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of rock; but they are part of the fascination of Niagara which no
one resists; nor could Isabel have been persuaded from exploriiig
them. It wants no courage to do this, but merely submission to
the local sorcery; and the adventurer has no other reward than
the consciousness of having been where but a few years before
no human being had perhaps set foot. She crossed from bridge lo
bridge with a quaking heart, and at last stood upon the outer-
most isle, whence, through the screen of vines and boughs, she
gave fearful glances at the heaving and tossing flood beyond,
from every wave of which at every instant she rescued herself
with a desperate struggle. The exertion told heavily upon her
strength unawares, and she suddenly made Basil another revela-
tion of character. Without the slightest warning she sank down
at the root of v tice, and said, with serious composure, that she
could never go back on those bridges; they were not safe. He
stared at her cowering form in blank amaze, and put his hands in
his pockets. Then it occurred to his dull masculine sense that it
must be a joke; and he said, "Well, I'll have you taken off in a
boat."

" O (fo, Basil, (/(} have me taken off in a boat !" implored Isabe!.
"You see yourself the bridges are not safe. £>o get a boat !"

" Or a balloon," he suggested, humoring the pleasantry.

Isabel burst into tears; and now he went on his knees at her
side, and took her hands in his. " Isabel ! Isabel ! Are you
crazy ? " he cried, as if he meant to go mad himself. She moaned
and shuddered in reply; he said, to mend matters, that it was a
jest, about the boat; and he was driven to despair when Isabel
repeated, " I never can go back by the bridges, never !"

" But what do you propose to do ? "

" I don't know; I don't know ! "

He would try sarcasm. " Do you intend to set up a hermit-
age here, and have your meals sent out from the hotel ? It's a
charming spot, and visited pretty constantly; but it's small, even
for a hermitage."

Isabel moaned again, with her hands still on her eyes, and won-
dered tha^ he was not ashamed to make fun of her.

He would try kindness. " Perhaps, darling, you'll let me carry
you ashore ? "

" No; that will bring double the weight on the bridge at once."

" Couldn't you shut your eyes, and let me lead you ? "

-'Mm

i^'^i,ui

AT XriCARA,

497

;ariv which no
:om explorit.g
submission to
• reward then
years before
[rom bridge to
)on the outer-
d \)OUghs, she
(lood btyoncl,
rescued herself

lavily up"" ^^"^
another rcvela-

she sank down
)Osure, that she
: not safe. He

put his hands in
line sense that it
ou taken oif in a

implored Isabel.
)o get a boat I"
pleasantry,
his knees at her
sabell Are you
tself. She moaned
.ers, that it was a
[pair when Isabel
L never I

set up a hermit-
the hotel ? It's a
Ibut it's small, even

her eyes, and won-
her.
you'll let me carry

I the bridge at once."
lead you?"

•• VVhy, it isn't the sig/it of the rapids," she said, looking up
fiercely. '"' 'Jlic bridges arc not safe. I'm not a i-/i//(/. Basil ! O,
what shall we do ? "

»« I don't know," said Basil, gloomily. "It's an exigency for
which I wasn't prepared." Then he silently gave himself to the
Evil One, for having probably overwrought Isabel's nerves by
repealing that poem about Avery, and by the ensuing talk about
Niagara which she had seemed to ^cnjoy so much. He asked
her if that was it; and she answered, '<0 no, it's nothing but the
bridges." He proved to her that the bridges, upon all known
principles, were perfectly safe, and that they could not give way.
She shook her head, but made no answer, and he lost his patience.
" Isabel," he cried, " I'm ashamed of you ! "
*' Don't say anything you'll be sorry for afterwards, Basil," she
reDlicti, v.ith the forbearance of those who have reason and justice
on their side.

The rapids beat and shouted round their little prison-isle, each
billow leaping as if possessed by a separate <lemon. The absurd
horror of the situation overwhelmed him. He dared not attempt
to carry her ashore, lor she might spring from his grasp into the
flood. He could not leave her to call for help; and what if
nobody came till she lost her mind from terror ! Or, what if
somebody sihoiild come and find them in that ridiculous affliction !
Somebody loas comingl

<' Isabel ! " he shouted in her ear, "here come those people we
saw in the parlor last night."

J=abel dashed her veil over her face, clutched Basil's with her icy
hand, rose, drew her arm convulsively through his, and walked
ashore without a word.

In a sheltered nook they sat down, and she quickly " repaired
her drooping head and tricked her beams " again. He could see
her tearfully smiling through her veil. " My dear," he said, " I
don't ask an explanation of your fright, for I don't suppose you
could give it. But should you mind telling me why those people
were so sovereign against it ? "

"Why, dearest! Don't you understand ? That Mrs. Richard
— whoever she is — Is so much like mc!"

She looked at him as if she had made the most satisfying
statement, and he thought he had better not ask further then,
but wait in hope that the meaning would come to him.

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AfA^A' TIVALV'S LIBRARY OF HUMOR.

A NEW SYSTEM OF ENGLISH GRAMMAR.

BY JOHN PIKKNIX,

I HAVE often thought that the adjectives of the English lan-
guage were not sufficiently definite for the purposes of description.
They have but three degrees of comparison — a very insufficient
number, certanily, when we consider that they are to be applied
to a thousand objects, which, though of the same general class or
quality, differ from each other by a thousand different shades or
deg; "cs of the same jieculiarity. Thus, though there are three
hundred and sixty-five days in a year, all of which must, from
the nature of things, differ from each other in the matter of cli-
mate — we have but half a dozen expressions to convey to one
another our ideas of this inequality. We say — "It is a fine
day;" "It is a very fine day;" "It is the finest day we hav<i
seen; " or, " It is an unpleasant day; " " A very unpleasant day;"
" The wwj/ unplf isant day we ever saw." But it is plain that
none of these expressions give an exact idea of the nature of the
day, and the two superlative expressions are generally untrue. I
once heard a gentleman rematK on a rainy, snowy, windy and
(in the ordinary English language) indescribable day, that it was
'* most preposterous weather." He came nearer to giving a cor-
rect idea of it than he could have done by any ordinary mode of
expression; but his description was not sufficiently definite.

Again — we say of a lady— " She is beautiful; " •* She is very
beautiful," or " She is /tv/riV/v beautiful" -descriptions which,
to one who never saw her, are no descriptions at all, for amonj;
thousands of women he has seen, probably no two are equally
beautiful; and as to a perfectly beautiful woman, he knows that
no such being was eve' created — unless by G. P. R. James, for
one of the two b'fsem^n to fall in love with, and marry at the end
of the second volivuni

If I meet Smith -i the street, and ask him — as I am pretty
sure to do — - How !r<«t does ? " he infallibly replies — " Tolerable,
thank you " -whi ^ .fives me no exact idea of Smith's health —
for he has mad-t- tT saime reply to me on a hundred different
occasioi/s — on every one of which there must have been soa*

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A NEW SYSTEM OE ENGLISH GRAMMAR.

499

',: !

! EogUsh lan-
of description,
ery insufficient
i to be applied
jeneral class or
lirent shades or
there are three
ich must, from
e matter of cli-

convey to one

" It is a fine

?j/ day we hav6
mpleasantday,"

it is plain that
he nature of the
lerally untrue. I
lovvy, windy and

day, that it was
r to giving a cor-
ordinary mode of
itly definite.

• " She is very

iscriptions which,

It all, for among

two are equally

in, he knows that

. p. R. James, for
[i marry at the end

—as I am pretty
plies—" Tolerable,
if Smith's health-
hundred differs*
t have been sowe

slight shade of difference in his physical economy^ and, of course,
a corresponding change in his feelings.

To a man of a mathematical turn of mind — to a student and
lover of the «;xact sciences — these inaccuracies of expression, this
inability to understand exactly how things are,must be a constant
source of annoyance; and to one who, like myself, unites this turn

FLATHEADED INDIAN.

of mind to an ardent love of truth, for its own sake, the reflec-
tion that the English language does not enable us to speak the
truth with exactness, is peculiarly painful. For this reason I
have, with some trouble, made myself thoroughly acquainted
with every ancient and modern language, in the hope that I might
find some one of them that would enable me to express precisely
my ideas; but the same insufficiency of adjectives exists in all

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MARK TWAIN'S LIBRARY OF HUMOR.

P^'. J'''1 =

except that of the Flathead Indians of JPuget Sound, which con.
sists of but forty-six words, mostly nouns; but to the constant
use of which exists the objection that nobody but that tribe can
understand it.- Arid as their literary and scientific advancement
is not such as to make a residence among, them, for a man of my
disposition, desirable, I have abandoned the use of their language
in the belief that for me it is hyas. cuitus., or as the Spaniard
hath it, no me vale »a(ia\.V"f

Despairing, therefore, of matiiijg new discoveries in foreign
languages, I have set myself seriously to work to reform our own;
and have, I think, made an important discovery, which, when
developed into a system and universally adopted, will give a pre-
cision of expression, and a consequent clearness of idea, that
will leave little to be desli^d, and will, I modestly hope, immor-
talize my humble name; as the promulgator of the truth and the
benefactor of the human race.

Betore entering upon my system I will give you an account of
its discovery, which, perhaps, I might with more modesty term an
adaptation and enlargement of the idea of another, which will
surprise you by its simplicity, and, like the method of standing
eggs on end, of Colurribus, the inventions of printing, gunpowder
and the mariner's compass, prove another exemplification of the
truth of Hannah More's beautifully expressed sentiment:

" Large streams from little fountains flow.
Large aches from little toe-corns grow."

During the past week my attention was attrixted by a large
placard embellishing the corners of our streets, headed in mighty
capitals, with the word '^ Phrenology," and illustrated by a map
of a man's head, closely shaven, and laid off in lots, duly num-
bered from one to forty-seven. Beneath this edifying illustration
appeared a legend, informing the inhabitants of San Diego and
vicinity that Professor Dodge had arrived, and taken rooms
(which was inaccurate, as he had but one room) at the Gyas-
cutus House, where he would be happy to examine and furnish
them with a chart of their heads, showing the moral and intel-
lectual endowments, at the low price of three dollars each.

Always gratified with an opportunity of spending my money
and making scientific researches, I immediately had my hair cut

A NEW SYSTEM OF ENGLISH GRAMMAR.

501

and carefully combed, and hastened to present myself and my
head to the Professor's notice. I fojnd him a tall and thin Pro-
fessor, in a suit of rusty, not to say seedy, black, with a closely
buttoned vest, and no perceptible shirt-collar or wristbands. His
nose was red, his spectacles were blue, and he wore a brown wig,
beneath which, as I subsequently ascertained, his bald head was
laid off in lots, marked and numbered with Indian ink, after the
manner of the diagram upon his advertisement. Upon a small
table lay many little books with yellow covers, several of the
placards, pen and ink, a pair of iron callipers with brass knobs,
and six dollars in silver. Having explained the object of my
visit, and increased the pile of silver by six half-dollars from my
pocket — whereat he smiled, and I observed he wore false teeth
(scientific men always do; they love to encourage art) — the Pro-
fessor placed me in a chair, and rapidly manipulating my head,after
the manner of a sham pooh (I am not certain as to the orthogra-
phy of this expression), said that my temperament was "lym-
phatic, nervous, bilious," I remai;ked that " I thought myself
dyspeptic," but he made no reply. Then seizing on the callipers,
he embraced with them my head in various places, and made
notes upon a small card that lay near him on the table. He then
stated that my " hair was getting very thin on the top," placed in
my hand one of the yellow-covered books, which I found to be
an almanac containing anecdotes about the virtues of Dodge's
Hair Invigorator, and recommending it to my perusal, he
remarked that he was agent for the sale of this wonderful fluid,
and urged me to purchase a bottle — price two dollars. Stating
my willingness to do so, the Professor produced it from a hair
trunk that stood in a corner of the room, which he stated, by the
way, was originally an ordinary pine box, on which the hair had
grown since ** the Invigorator" had been placed in it — (a singu-
lar fact) and recommended me to be cautious in wearing gloves
while rubbing it upon my head, as unhappy accidents had occur-
red — the hair growing freely from the ends of the fingers, if used
with the bare hand. He then seated himself at the table, and
rapidly filling up what appeared to me a blank certificate, he soon
handed over the following singular document.

i \m

Phrenological Chart of the head of M, John Ph(Enix, by Flat-
DROKE B, Dodge, Professor of Phrenology, and inventor and proprietor of

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AfARJC TWAIN'S LIBRARY OF HUMOR.

Dodge's celebrated Hair Invigorator, Stimulator of the Conscience, and Annuo
of tbe Mental Faeulties :

Temperament — Lymphatic, Ntrvous, Bilious.

Size of Head, il.
Amativeness, iiji.
Caatkm, J.
Gombativeaess, 2}i^
Credulity, I
Causality, 12.
Conscientiousriess, 12.
Destnictiveness, 9.

Hope, 10,

Imitation, il
Self-Estccm, %.
Benevolence, la.
Mirth, I.
Language, 12,
Firmness, 2.
Veneration, 13.
Fhiloprogenitivedess, 0.

Having gazed on this for a few moments in mute astonishment
-^during which the Professor took a glass of brandy and water,

and afterwards a mouthful of
tobacco — I turned to him and
requested an explanation.

•* Why," said he, " it's very
simple ; the number 1 2 is the
maximum, i the minimum;
for instance, you are as benev-
olent as a man can be — there-
fore I mark you. Benevolence,
12. You have little or nc
self-esteem — hence I place
you, Self-esteem, ^. You've
scarcely any credulity — don't
you see ?"

/ did see / This was my

discovery, I saw at a flasl^

how the English language \\-\i

'^^^ ^^ j-J fC ^/ 1 ^HHK susceptible of improvement,

t^St^x ^ mmai ^^^^ f^^^^ ^j^j^ ^^it glorious

idea, I rushed from the room
and the house. Heedless of
the Professor's request that I
would buy more of his Invig-
heedless of his alarmed cry that I would pay for the
bottle I'd got ; heedless that I tripped on the last step of the
Gyascutus House, and smashed there the prectous fluid (the step
has now a growth of four inches of hair on it, and the people use

PHRENOLOGY.

orator

A NEW SYSTEM OF ENGLISH GRAMMAR.

503

jce, and Arouse*

aess, 0.

te astonishment
indy and water,
5 a mouthful of
rned to him and
explanation,
id he, "it's very
lumber 12 is the
the minimum;
you are as benev-
in can be— there-
^ou, Benevolence,
lave little or nt.
-hence I P^ace
teem, /a. You've
J credulity--don't

/ This was my
I saw at a flash
glish language wa^
of improvement,
with the glorious
hed from the room
,use. Heedless of
sor's request that I
more of his Invij;-
would pay lor the
he last step of the
■ctous fluid (the step
, and the people use

it as a door-mat) — I rushed home, and never grew calm till, with
pen, ink and paper before me, I commenced the development of
ray system.

This system — shall I say this great system ? — is exceedingly
simple, and easily explained in a few words. In the first place,
*^ figures wont lie." Let us, then, represent by the number 100
the maximum, the ne plus tiltra, of every human quality : grace,
beauty, courage, strength, wisdorfl, learning — everything. Let
perfection, I say, be represented by 100, and an absolute mini-
mum of all qualities by the number i. Then, by applying the
numbers between, to the adjectives used in conversation, we shall
be able to arrive at a very close approximation to the idea we
wish to convey ; in other words, we shall be enabled to speak the
truth. Glorious, soul-inspiring idea ! For instance, the most
ordinary question asked of you is, " How do you do ?" To this,
instead of replying, " Pretty well," " Very well," " Quite well,"
or the like absurdities — after running through your mind that
perfection of health is 100; no health at all, i — you say, with a
£12 iul bow, "Thank you, I'm 52 to-day;" or, feeling poorly,
•' i - ; ,, I'm obliged to you;" or, " I'm 68," or '' 75," or " 87>^,"
as tnc case may be ! Do you see how very close, in this way, you
may approximate to the truth, and how clearly your questioner
will understand what he so anxiously wishes to arrive at — your
exact state of health ?

Let this system be adopted into our elements of grammar, our
conversation, our literature, and we become at once an exact, pre-
cise, mathematical, truth-telling people. It will apply to every-
thing but politics ; there, truth being of no account, the system
is useless. But in literature, how admirable ! Take an example :
As a 19 young and 76 beautiful lady was 52 gaily tripping
down the sidewalk of our 84 frequented street, she accidentally
came in contact — 100 (this shows that she came in close contact)
with a 73 fat but 87 good-humored-looking gentleman, who was
93 (i. e., intently) gazing into the window of a toy-shop. Grace-
fully 56 extricating herself, she received the excuses of the 96
embarrassed Falstaff with a 68 bland smile, and continued on her
way. But hardly — 7 — had she reached the corner of the block,
ere she was overtaken by a 24 young man, 32 poorly dressed,
but of an 85 expression of countenance ; 91 hastily touching her
^154 beautifully rounded arm, he said, to her 67 surprise:

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Jlf//i?A' TWAIN'S LIBRARY OF HUMOR.

%m.

" Madam, at the window of the toy shop yonder you dropped
this bracelet, which I had the 71 good fortune to observe, and
now have the 94 happiness to hand to you." (Of course, the
expression " 94 happiness " is merely the poor man's polite hyper-
bole.)

Blushin '/ith 76 modesty, the lovely (76, as before, of course)
lady took tne bracelet — which was a 24 magnificent diamond
clasp (24 »/a^«//?^^«/, playfully sarcastic; it was probably fiot one
of Tucker's) — from the young man's hand, and 84 hesitatingly
drew from her beautifully 38 embroidered reticule a 67 port-
monnaie. The young man noticed the action, and 73 proudly
drawing back, added ;

*' Do not thank me ; the pleasure of gazing for an instant at
those 100 eyes (perhaps too exaggerated a compliment) has
already more than compensated me for any trouble that I might
have had."

She thanked him, however, and with n 67 deep blush and a 48
pensive air, turned from him, and pursued with a 33 slow step
her promenade.

Of course, you see that this is but the commencement of a
pretty little tale, which I might throw off, if I had a mind to,
showing, in two volumes, or forty-eight chapters of thrilling inter-
est, how the young man sought the girl's acquaintance, how the
interest first excited deepened into love, how they suffered much
from the opposition of parents (her parents, of course), and how,
after much trouble, annoyance, and many perilous adventures,
they were finally married — their happiness, of course, being repre-
sented by 100. But I trust that I have said enough to recom-
mend my system to the good and truthful of the literary world ;
and besides, just at present I have something of more immediate
importance to attend to.

You would hardly believe it, but that everlasting (100) scamp
of a Professor has brought a suit against me for stealing a bottle
of his disgusting Invigorator; and as the suit comes off before a
Justice of the Peace whose only principle of law is to find guilty
and fine any accused person who he thinks has any money
(because if he doesn't he has to take his costs in County Scrip),
it behooves me to " take time by the fore-lock." So, for the pres-
ent, adieu. Should my system succeed to the extent of my hopes
and expectations, I shall publish my new grammar early in the

IN S/S'S INTEREST.

505

)U dropped

)serve, and

course, the

lolite hyper-

2, of course)
nt diamond
lably not one
^ hesitatingly
e a 67 port-
i 73 proudly

an instant at
ipliment) has
3 that I might

)lush and a 48 .
33 slow step

encement of a

ad a mind to,

thrilling inter-

.tance, how the

suffered much
urse), and how,
3US adventures,
rse, being repre-
)ugh to reconi-

literary world ;
more immediate

mg (100) scamp
stealing a bottle
mes off before a
is to find guilty
las any money
n County Scrip),
So, for the pres-
Ktentofmyhopes

imar early in the

ensuing month, with suitable dedication and preface; ar;d should
you, with your well-known liberality, publish my prospectus, and
give me a handsome literary notice, I shall be pleased to furnish
a presentation copy to each of the little Pioneer children.

P. S.— I regret to ?>dd, that having just read this article to
Mrs. Phoenix, and asked her opinion thereon, she replied, that
" if a first-rate magazine article were represented by 100, she
should judge this to be about 13 ; or<»if the quintessence of stu-
pidity were 100, she should take this to be in the neighborhood
of 96." This, as a criticism, is perhaps a little discouraging, but
as an exemplification of the merits of my system it is exceedingly
flattering. How could she, I should like to know, in ordinary
language, have given so exact and truthful an idea — how expressed
so forcibly her opinion (which, of course, differs from mine) on
the subject ?

As Dr. Samuel Johnson learnedly remarked to James Boswell,
Laird of Auchinleck, on a certain occasion :

"Sir, the proof of the pudding is in the eating thereof."

IN SIS'S INTEREST.

Omaha Man — " You naughty boy, Dick, don't you know better
than to ask people how much money they have ? I hope you
will excuse the child, Mr. Nicefellow" — "Of course> of course!
The little fellow didn't know what he was talking about." Little
Dick — " Yes I did, too. Sis said she wished she knew, and I
wanted to tell her." — Newspaper.

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MARA- TWAIN'S LIBRARY OF HUMOR.

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THE DEACON'S MASTERPIECE ;

OR, THE WONDERFUL ''ONE-HOSS SHAY."

A Logical Storv.

BY DR. O. W. holmes.

Have you heard of the wonderful one-hoss shaj^

That was built in such a logical way

It ran a hundred years to a day,

And then, of a sudden, it — ah, but stay,

I'll tell you what happened without delay,

Scaring the parson into fits,

Frightening people out of their wits —

Have you ever heard of that, I say ?

Seventeen hundred and fifty-five.
Georgius Secundtts v as then alive —
Snuffy old drone from the German hive.
That was the year when Lisbon-town
Saw the earth open and gulp her down.
And Braddock's army was done so brown,
Left without a scalp to its crown.
It was on the terrible Earthquake-day
That the Deacon finished the one-hoss shay.

Now in building of chaises, I tell you what,

There is always soviewhere a weakest spot —

In hub, tire, felloe, in spring or thill.

In panel, or crossbar, or floor, or sill,

In screw, bolt, thoroughbrace — lurking still,

Find it somewhere you must and will —

Above or below, or within or without —

And that's the reason, beyond a doubt.

That a chaise breaks drnvtiy but doesn't 7i<ear out.

But the Deacon swore (as Deacons do.
With an " I dew vum," or an «* I tell jw«")

THE **ONE.HOSS SHAY.'*

507

He would baild one shay to beat the taown,
'n' the keounty, 'n' all the kentry raoun';
It should be so built that it couldn' break daown:
.-" Fur," said the Deacon, " 't's mighty plain
Thut the v/eakes' place mus* stan' the strain*
'n* the way t' fix it, uz I maintain.

Is only jest
T' make that place uz stsong uz the rest."

So the Deacon inquired of the village folk
Where he could find the strongest oak,

That couldn't be split nor bent nor broke

That was for spokes and floor and sills; - ,

He sent for lancewood to make the thills;

The crossbars were ash, from the straightest trees,

The panels of white-wood, that cuts like cheese,

But lasts like iron for things like these;

The hubs of logs from the " Settler's ellum "—

Last of its timber— they couldn't sell 'em,

Never an axe had seen their chips,

And the wedges flew from between their lips,

Their bJunt ends frizzled like celery-tips;

Step and prop- iron, bolt and screw.

Spring, tire, axle, and linchpin too,

Steel of the finest, bright and blue;

Thoroughbrace bison-skin, thick and wide;

Boot, top, dasher, from tough old hide

Found in the pit when the tanner died.

That was the way he " put her through." —

"There ! " said the Deacon, " naow she'll dew ! "

Do ! I tell you, I rather guess
She was a wonder and nothing less !
Colts grew horses, beards turned gray,
Deacon and Deaconess dropped away,
Children and grandchildren — where were they?
But there stood the stout old one-hoss shay
As fresh as on Lisbon-earthquake-day !

Eighteen hundred — it came and found
The Deacon's masterpiece strong and sound.

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MAXA' TlfA/AT'S LIBRAR Y OF HUMOR.

Eighteen hundred increased by ten —
** Hahnsum kerridge " they called it then.
Eighteen hundred and twenty came —
Running as usual; much the same.
Thirty and forty at last arrive,
And then come fifty, and fifty-five. "•

Little of all we value here

Wakes on the morn of its hundredth year

Without both feeling and looking queer.

In fact, there's nothing that keeps its youth.

So far as I know, but a tree and truth.

(This is a moral that runs at large;

Take it.— You 're welcome. — No extra charge.)

First of November — the Earthquake-day —
There are traces of age in the one-hoss shay,
A general flavor of mild decay,
But nothing local, as one may say.
There couldn't be — for the Deacon's art
Had made it so like in every part
That there wasn't a chance for one to start.
For the wheels were just as strong as the thills,
And the floor was just as strong as the sills.
And the panels just as strong as the floor,
And the whipple-tree neither less nor more.
And the back-crossbar as strong as the fore,
And spring and axle and hub encore.
And yet, as a whole, it is past a doubt
In an another hour it will be worn out!

First of November, 'Fifty-five !

This morning the parson takes a drive.

Now, small boys, get out of the way !

Here comes the wonderful oee-hoss shay,

Drawn by a rat-tailed, ewe-necked bay.

" Huddup ! " said the parson. — Off went they.

The parson was working his Sunday's text —

Had got to fift/ily, and stopped perplexed

At what the —Moses — was coming next.

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THE END OF THE SHAY.

All at once the horse stood still,
Close by the mcet'n'-house on the hill.
— First a shiver, and then a thrill,
Then something decidedly like a spill —
And the parson was sitting upon a rock.
At half past nine by the meet'n'-house clock-
Just the hour of the Earthquake shock !

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MAR/C TWAIN'S UBRARV OF HUMOR.

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— What do you think the parson found,
When he got up and stared around ?
The poor old chaise in a heap or mound,
As if it had been to the mill and g;round !
You *ee, of course, if you're not a dunce,
How it went to pieces all at once —
All at once, and nothing first —
Just as bubbles do when they burst.

End of the wonderful one-hoss shay.
Logic is logic. That's all I say.

«NOT LIKE IN LIKE, BUT LIKE IN DIFFERENCE."

BY R. J. BURDETTE.

U -M^ VJ,.

" Darling," he said, lovingly, as no other man in the world
could say it, " I don't like you to destroy your own beautiful
complexion with paint and powder. And if you paint your face,
I will paint mine." " Why ? " she asked, with pouting lips.
" Because," he said, more tenderly than ever, " you are mine.
We belong to each other, and what is good for one, is good for
the other. We love each other, and must be like each other,
and if you put paint on your cheeks this evening, I will paint
mine before we go to the theatre." "My own true love," she
said, kissing him, " yoa are right ; we must be like each other.
I will not paint nor powder my face. And you just sit here by
the fire a couple of minutes, and I will run around to Dutch
Jake's and spice my breath up with a dish of beer and a Chinese
cigarette, and we will be ready to go to the theatre like a pair of
engaged Siamese twins with American breaths." And William
thought it all over, and told her to go and put on all the feminine
fol-de-rols and crmkles she could fiod in the illustrated adver-
tisements.

LOST /.V THE SN01V.

LOST IN THE SNOW.

BY MARK TWAIN.

We mounted and started. The snow lay so deep on the
ground that there was no sign of a road perceptible, and the
snow-fall ras so thick that we could j^iot see more than a hun-
dred yards ahead, else we could have guided our course by the
mountain ranges. The case looked dubious, but Ollendorff said
his instinct was as sensitive as any compass, and that he could
« strike a bee-line " for Carson City and never diverge from it.
He said that if he were to straggle a single point out of the true
line, his instin:t would assail him like an outraged conscience.
Consequently we dropped into his wake happy and content. For
half an hour we poked along warily enough, but at the end of
that time we came upon a fresh trail, and Ollendorff shouted
proudly:

" I knew I was as dead certain as a compass, boys! Here we
are, right in somebody's tracks that will hunt the way for us
without any trouble. Let's hurry up and join company with the
party."

So we put the horses into as much of a trot as the d'^ep snow
would allow, and before long it was evident that we were gaining
on our predecessors, for the tracks grew more distinct. We
hurried along, and at the end of an hour the tracks looked still
newer and fresher — but what surprised us was, that the number
of travelers in advance of us seemed to steadily increase. We
wondered how so large a party came to be traveling at such a
time and in such a solitude. Somebody suggested that it must
be a company of soldiers from the fort, and so we accepted that
solution and jogged along a little faster still, for they could not
be far off now. But the tracks still multiplied, and we began to
think the platoon of soldiers was miraculously expanding into a
regiment — Ballou said they had already increased to five hun-
dred! Presently he stopped his horse and said:

"Boys, these are our own tracks, and we've actually been clr-

russing round and round in a circle for more than two hours, out

here in this blind des.-rt! By George, this is perfectly hydraulic!"

Then the old man waxed wroth and abusive. He called Ollen-

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dorlf all manner of hard names — said he never saw such a lurid
fool as he was, and ended with the peculiarly venomous opinion
that he " did not know as much as a logarythm! "

We certainly had been following our own tracks. Ollendorff
and his " mental compass " were in disgrace from that mcAnent.
After all our hard travel, here we were on the bank of the stream
again, with the inn beyond dimly outlined through the driving
snow-fall. While wc were considering what to do, the young
Swede landed from the canoe and took his pedestrian way Car-
son-wards, singing his same tiresome song about his *♦ sister and
his brother" and "the child in the grave with its mother," and
in a short minute faded and disappeared in the white oblivion.
He was never heard of again. He no doubt got bewildered antl
lost, and Fatigue delivered him over to Sleep, and Sleep betrayed
him to Death. Possibly he followed our treacherous tracks till
he became exhausted and dropped.

Presently the Overland stage forded the now fast recedintj
stream, and started toward Carson on its first trip since the Hood
came. We hesitated no longer, now, but took up our march iu
its wake, and trotted merrily along, for we had good confidence
in the driver's bump of locality. But our horses were no match
for the fresh stage team. We were soon left out of sight; but \i
was no matter, for we had the deep ruts the wheels made for a
guide. By this time it was three in the afternoon, and conse-
quently it was not very long before night came — and not with a
lingering twilight, but with a sudden shutting down like a (.cllar
door, as is its habit in that country. The snow-fall was still as
thick as ever, and of course we could not see fifteen steps befuie
us; but all about us the white glare of the snow-bed enabled iis
to discern the smooth sugar-loaf mounds made by the covered
sage-bushes, and just in front of us the two faint grooves which
we knew were the steadily filling and slowly disappearing wheel-
tracks.

Now those sage-bushes were all about the same height — three
or four feet; they stood just about seven feet apart, all over the
vast desert; each of them was a mere snow-mound, now; in any
direction that you proceeded (the same as in a well-laid-out
orchard) you would find yourself moving down a distinctly
defined avenue, with a row of these snow-mounds on either side
of it — an avenue the customary width of a road, nice and level

LOST /:,' THE s.voir

513

such a Uirid
mous opinion

5. Ollendorff
that moment.
: of the stream
rh the driving
do, the young
iirian way Car-
liis " sister and
I mother," and
white oblivion,
bewildered and
.1 Sleep betrayed
erous tracks till

)W fast receding
p since the Hood
up our march iu
good confidence
es were no match
,t of sight; but ii
vheels made for a
noon, and conse-
;_-and not with a
down like a lellar
,w-fall was still as
ifteen steps before
>w-bed enableil us
de by the covered
aint grooves which
Usappearing wheel-
same height-three
, apart, all over the
nound, now; in any
in a well-laid-out
down a distinctly
Dunds on either side
toad, nice and level

m its breadth, and risinji at the sides in the most natural way, by
reason of the mounds. But we had not thouj(ht of this. Then
imagine the chilly thrill that shot through us when it finally
occurred to ns, far in the night, that since the last faint trace of
the wheel-tracks had long ago been buried from night, we might
now be wandering down a mere sage-brush avenue, miles away
from the road and diverging furiher and further away from it all
the tinje. Having a cake of ice slipp«tl down one's back is placid
comfort compared to it. There was a sudden leap and stir of
blood that had been asleep for an hour, and as sudden a rousing
of all the drowsing activities in our minds and bodies. We were
alive and awake at once — and shaking and quaking with conster-
nation, too. There was an instant halting and (' smounting, a
beniling low and an anxious scanning of the road-bed. Useless,
of course; for if a faint depreasion could not be discerned from
an altitude of four or five feet above it, it certain''/ could not
with one's nose nearly against it. We seemed to be in a road,
but that was no proof. We tested this by walking off in various
directions — the regular snow-mounds and the regular avenues
between them convinced each man that /.r had found the tru( loal,
and that the others had found only false ones. Plainly, the situa-
tion was ilesperate. We were cold and stiff, and the horses were
tiretl. We decided to build a sage-brush fire and camp out till
morning. This was wise, because if we were wandering from the
right road, and the snow-storm continued another day, our case
would be the next thing to hopeless if we kept on.

All agreed that a camp fire was what would come nearest to
saving us, now, and so we set about building it. We could find
no matches, and so we tried to make shift with the pistols. Not
a man in the party had ever tried to do such a thing before, but
not a man in the party doubted that it cou/db^^U' :c, and without
any trouble — because every man in the party had read about it
in books many a time, and had naturally come to believe it, with
trusting simplicity, just as he had long ago accepted and believed
t/uit other ctimmon book-fraud about Indians and lost hunters
maldn^^ u Ihe by rubbing two dry sticks together.

W'c huddled together on our knees in the deep snow, and the
horsey put their noses together and bowed their patient heads
over us; and while the feathery (lakes eddied tlown and turned
us mio a group of white statuary, we proceeded with the moment-

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ous experiment. We broke twigs from a sage-bush and piled
them on a little cleared place in the shelter of our bodies. In
the course of ten or fifteen minutes all was ready, and then, while
conversation ceased and our pulses beat low with anxious sus-
pense, Ollendorff applied his revolver, pulled the trigger, and blew
the pile clear out of the county! It was the flattest failure that
€ver was.

This was distressing, but it paled before a greater horror — the
horses were gone! I had been appointed to hold the bridles, but
in my absorbing anxiety over the pistol experiment I had un-
consciously dropped them, and the released animals had walked

EXPERIMENTING.

off in the storm. It was useless to try to follow them, foj tneir
footfalls could make no sound, and one could pass within two
yards 01 the creatures and never see them. We gave them up
without an effort at recovering them, and cursed the lying books
that said horses would stay by their masters for protection and
companionship in a distressful time like ours.

We were miserable enough, before; we felt slil» more forlorn
now. Patiently, but with blighted hope, we broke more sticks
and piled them, and once more the Prussian bhot them into
annihilation. Plainly, to light a fire with a pistol was an art
requiring practice and experience, and the middle of a desert at

LOST IN THE SNOW.

515

midnight in a snow-storm was not a good place or time for the
acquiring of the accomplishment. We gave it up and tried the
other. Each man took a couple of sticks and fell to chafing
them together. At the end of half an hour we were thoroughly
chilled, and so were the sticks. We bitterly execrated the Indians,
the hunters, and the books that had betrayed us with the silly
device, and wondered dismally what was next to be done. At
this critical moment Mr. Ballou fished^out four matches from the
rubbish of an overlooked pocket. To have found four gold bars
would have seemed poor and cheap good luck compared to this.
One cannot think how good a match looks under such circum-
stances — or how lovable and precious, and sacredly beautiful to
the eye. This time we gathered sticks with high hopes; and
when Mr. Ballou prepared to light the first match, there was aa
amount of interest centred upon him that pages of writing could
not describe. The match burnt hopefully a moment, and then
went out. It could not have carried more regret with it if it had
been a human life. The next match simply flashed and died.
The wind puffed the third one out just as it was on the imminent
verge of success. We gathered together closer than ever, and
developed a solicitude that was rapt and painful, as Mr. Ballou
scratched our last hope on his leg. It lit, burned blue and sickly,
and then budded into a robust flame. Shading it with his hands,
the okl gentleman bent gradually down, and every heart went
with him — everybody, too, for that matter — and blood and breath
stood still. The flame touched the sticks at last, took gradual
hold i.pon them — hesitated — took a stronger hold — hesitated
again — held its breath five heart-breaking seconds, then gave a
sort of human gasp and went out.

Nobody said a word for several minutes. It was a solemn sort
of silence; even the wind put on a stealthy, sinister quiet, and
made no more noise than the falling flakes of snow. Finally a
sad-voiced conversation began, and it was soon apparent that in
each of our hearts lay the conviction that this was our last night
with the living. I had so hoped that I was the only one who felt
so ! When the others calmly acknowledged their conviction, it
sounded like the summons itrelf. Ollendorff said:

" Brothers, let us die together. And let us go without one
hard feeling towards each other. Let us forget and forgive by-
gones. I know that you have felt hard towards me for turning

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over the canoe, and for knowing too much, and leading you round
and round in the snow — but I meant well ; forgive me ! I
acknowledge freely that I have had hard feelings against Mr.
Ballou for abusing me and calling me a logarythm, which is a
thing I do not know what, but no doubt a thing considered dis-
graceful and unbecoming in America, and it has scarcely been
out of my mind, and has hurt me a great deal — but let it go; I
forgive Mr. Ballou with all my heart, and — "

Poor Ollendorff broke down, and the tears came. He was not
alone, for I was crying too, and so was Mr. Ballou. Ollendorff
got his voice again, and forgave me for things I had done
and said. Then he got out his bottle of whisky, and said that
whether he lived or died he would never touch another drop. He
said he had given up all hope of life, and although ill-prepared,
was ready to submit humbly to his fate; that he wished he could
be spared a little longer, not for any selfish reason, but to make
a thorough reform in his character, and by devoting himself to
helping the poor, nursing the sick, and pleading with the people
to guard themselves against the evils of intemperance, make his
life a beneficent example to the young, and lay it down at last
with the precious reflection that it had not been lived in vain.
He ended by saying that his reform should begin at this moment,
even here in the presence of death, since no longer time was to
be vouchsafed wherein to prosecute it to men's help and benefit
— and with that he threw away the bottle of whisky.

Mr. Ballou made remarks of similar purport, and began the
reform he could not live to continue, by throwing away the ancient
pack of cards that had solaced our captivity during the flood
and made it bearaiile. He said he never gambled, but still was
satisfied that the meddling with cards in anyway was immoral
and nijurious, and no man could be wholly pure and blemishless
Avithout eschewing them. " And therefore," continued he, " in
d(jing this act, 1 already feel more in sympathy with that spiritual
saunnalia necessary to entire and obsolete reform." These
rolling syllables touched him as no intelligible eloquence could
have done, and the old man sobbed with a mournfulness not
tnimingled with satisfaction.

My own remarks were of the same tenor as those of my com-
rades, and I know that the feelings that prompted them were
heartfelt and sincere. We were all sincere, and all deeply moved

LOST IN THE SNOW.

517

ig you round
give nie II
against Mr.
[\, which is a
)nsidered dis-
scarcely been
ut let it go; I

He was not
u. Ollendorff
rs I had done
, and said that
ther drop. He
rh ill-prepared,
Wished he could
,1, but to make
Dtuig himself to
with the people
ranee, make his
r it down at last
n lived in vain.
\ at this moment,
iger time was to
help and benefit

sky.

t, and be^an the
away the ancient
during the flood
lied, but still was
vay was immoral
e and blemishless
■ontinued he, " in
with that spiritual
reform." 'I'hese
. eloquence could
mournfulness not

those of my com-
„nptcd them v.ere
■d all deeply moved

and earnest, for we were in the presence of death and without
hope. I threw away my pipe, and in doing it felt that at last I
"/as free of a hated vice, and one that had ridden me like a tyrant
all my days. While I yet talked, the thought of the good I
might have done in the world, and the still greater good I might
fioxv do, with these new incentives and higher and better aims to
guide me, if I could only be spared a few years longer, overcame
me, and the tears came again. \Ve„ put our arms about each
other's necks and awaited the warning drowsiness that precedes
death by freezing.

It came stealing over us presently, a- i then we bade each
other a last farewell. A delicious dreaminess wrought its web
about my yielding senses, while the snow-flakes wove a winding-
sheet about my conq-.ered body. Oblivion came. The battle
of life was dene.

I do not know how long I was in a state of forgetfulness, but
it seemed an age. A vague consciousness grew upon me by-
degrees, and then came a gathering anguish of pain in my limbs
and through all my body. I shuddered. The thought flitted
through my brain, "This is death — this is the hereafter."

Then came a white upheaval at my side, and a voice said with
bitterness:
" Will some gentleman be so good as to kick me behind ?"
It was Ballou — at least it was a towzled snow image in a sit-
ting posture, with Ballou's voice.

I rose up, and there in the gray dawn, not fifteen steps from
us, were the frame buildings of a stage station, and under a shed
stood our still saddled and bridled horses !

An arched snow-drift broke up, now, and Ollendorff emerged
from it, and the three of us sat and stared at the houses without
speaking a word. We really had nothing to say. We were like
the profane man who could not "do the subject justice;" the
whole situation was so painfully ridiculous and humiliating that
words were tame, and we did not know where to commence,
anyhow;

The joy in our hearts at our deliverance was poisoned; well-
nigh dissipated, indeed. We presently began to grow pettish by
degrees, and sullen; and then, angry at each other, angry at our-
selves, angry at everything in general, we moodily dusted the
snow from our clothing and in unsociable single file plowed our

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MA/iA' TWAIN'S LIBRARY OF HUMOR.

way to the horses, unsaddled them, and sought shelter in the
station, ■ '

I have scarcely exaggerated a detail of this curious and absurd
adventure. It occurred almost erictly as I have stated it. We
actually went into camp in a snow-drift in a desert, at mid-
night, in a storm, forlorn and hopeless, within fifteen steps of a
comfortable inn.

For two hours we sa r.part in the station and ruminated in
disgust. The mystery wa? gone now, and it was plain enough why
the horses had deserted us. Without a doubt, they were under
that shed a cjiiarter of a minute after they had left us, and they
must have overheard and enjoyed all our confessions and
lamentations.

After breakfast we felt better, and the zest of life soon came
back. The world looked bright again, and existence was as dear
to us as ever. Presently an uneasiness came over me — grew
upon me — assailed me without ceasing. Alas, my regeneration
was not complete — I wanted to smoke! I resisted with all my
strength, but the flesh was weak. I wandered away alone, and
wrestled with myself an hour. I recalled my promise of reform,
and preached to myself persuasively, upbraidingly, exhaustively.
But it was all la vain. I shortly found myself sneaking among
the snow-drifts hunting for my pipe. I discovered it after a con-
siderable search, and crept away to hide myself and enjoy it. I
remained behind the barn a good while, asking myself how 1
would feel if my braver, stronger, truer comrades should catch
me in my degradation. At last I lit the pipe, and no human
being can feel meaner and baser than I did then. I was ashamed
of being in my own pitiful company. Still dreading discovery, I
felt that perhaps the further side of the barn would be somewhat
safer, and so I turned the corner. As I turned the one corner,
smoking, Ollendorff turned the other with his bottle to his lips,
and between us sat unconscious Ballon deep in a game of '* soli-
taire " with the old greasy cards!

Nkver take the Bull bi the horns, Young Man, but take him

bi the tail, then yu kan let go when yu want to,

Yure warm friend,-

Josh Billings.

ihe-lter in the

bottle to his lips,

UNCLE JOSHUA DOWNING IN BOSTON, ciq

UNCLE JOSHUA DOWNING IN BOSTON.

Letter from Joshua Downing, in Boston, to his Nephew
Jack Downing, in Portland.

BY seba smith.

Dear Nephew— I guess you won^t be a little struck up when
you find out that I'm in Boston— but I had best begin at the
beginning, and then I shall get thro' quicker

After seeing your letter to Ephraim, as I said be.ore, I con-
eluded it wouldn't be a bad scheme to tackle up and take a load
of turkies, some apple-sauce, and other notions that the neigh,
bors wanted to get to market, and as your uncle Nat would be
in Boston with the ax-handles, we all thought best to try our luck
there. Nothing happened worth mentioning on the road, nor till
next morning, after I got here iind put up in Elm Street. I then
got off my watch pretty curiously, as you shall be informed. I
was down in the bar-room, and tho't it well enough to look pretty
considerable smart, and now and then compared my watch with
the clock in the bar, and found it as near right as ever it was—
when a feller stept up to me and ask'd how I'd trade ? and says
I. for what ? and says he, for your watch — and says I, any way
that will be a fair shake — upon that says he, I'll give you my
watch and five dollars. Says I, it's done ! He gave me the five
dollars, and I gave him my watch. Now, says I, give me your
watch — and, says he, wifh a loud laugh, I ha'n't got none — and
that kind a turn'd the laugh on me. Tliinks I, let them laugh
that lose. Soon as the laugh was over, the feiler thought he'd
try the watch to his ear — why, says he, it don't go — no, says I,
not without it's carried — then I began to laugh— he tried to open
it, and couldn't start it a hair, and broke his thumb-nail into the
bargain. Won't she open .•* says he. Not's I know on, says I —
and then the laugh seemed to take another turn.

Don't you think I got off the old Brittania pretty well, consid-
rin' ? And then I thought I'd go and see about my load of tur-
kies and other notions. I expected to have gone all over town
to sell my load, but Mr. Doolittle told me if I'd go down to the
new market, I should find folks enough to buy all 1 had at once.

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So down I goes, and a liktiy kind of a feller, with an eye like a
hawk and quick as a steel-trap for a trade (they called him a 4th
staller), came up to the wagon, and before you could say Jack
Robinson, we struck a bargain for the whole cargo — and come to
weigh and reckon up, I found I should get as much as lo.r, dd.
more than any of uscalciUated before I left home, and haU the
apple-sauce left, besides. So I thought I'd jist see how 'i;is 4th
staller worked his c:-rd, to be able to give us so good .1 piiie for
the turkies, and I went inside the inarket-hoi.se, and a grav.«aer
sight I never expect to see ? But it wa^ the 3d staller ivistead of
the 4th had my turkies all sorted and h'mg up, and looking so
much better that I hardly sliuuki known cm. Pretty soon, a gen-
tleman asked the 3d staller what he asked io?- turkies ? Why,
i>uvs he, if you want something better than you ever saw before,
there's some 'f, was killed last night, purpose for you. You m .^^
take 'em z . qd, V'.'m'g it's you. I'll give you i-^ cents, s/iid the
gentleman, as I've got sorn:^ of the General Court to dine with
me, and musi f -at well. 1 sha'n't stand for half a cent with an
old custdmei, says he. And so they traded; and in about the
space of half an hour or more, all my turkies wetit into baskets
at that rate. The 4th staller gave me dd. a pound, and I began
to think I'd been a little too much in a hurry for trade — but's no
use to cry for spilt milk. Then I went up to the State House,
to see what was going on there; but I thouglit I'd get off my
apple-sauce on my way — and seeing a sign of old clothes bar-
tered, I stepped in and made a trade, and got a whole sulc of
superfine black broadcloth from top to toe, for a firkin of apple-
sauce (which didn't cost much, I guess, at home).

Accordingly, I rigged myself up in the new suit, and you'd
hardly known me. I didn't like the set of the shoulders, they
were so dreadful puckery; but th*^ man said that was all right.
I guess he'll find the apple-sauce full as puckery when he gets
down into it — but that's between ourselves. Well, when I got up
to the State House I found them to work at the rail road — busy
enough, I can tell you — they got a part of it made already. I
found most all the folks kept their hats on, except the man who
was talking out loud and the man he was talking to — all the rest
seemed to be busy about their own consarns. As I didn't see
anybody to talk to, I kept my hat on and took a seat, and look'd
round to see what was going on. I hadn't been setting long

US'CLE JOSHUA DOWXING LV BOSTON

521

before I saw a slick-headed, sharp-eyed little man, vho seemed
t(.) have the principal management of the folks, looking at me
pretty sharp, as much as to say, who are you ? but I said nothing,
and looked t'other way— at last he touched me on the shoulder
—I thought he was feeling of the puckers. Are you a mem-
oer? says he— sartin, says I— how long have you taken your
seat ? says he— about ten minutes, says I. Are you qualified ?
says he— I guess not, says I. And^ then he left me. I didn't
know exactly what this old gentleman was after— but soon
he returned, and said it was proper for me to be qualified before
I took a seat, and I must go before the governor ! By Jing ! I
never felt so before in all my born days. As good luck would
have it, he was beckoned to come to a man at the desk, and as
soon as his back was turned, I give him the slip. Jest as I was
going off, the gentleman who bought myturkies of the 4th staller
took hold of my arm, and I was afraid at first he was going to
carry me to the governor— but he began to talk as sociable as if
we had been old acquaintances. How long have you been in the
house, Mr. Smith, says he. My name is Downing, says I. I beg
your pardon, says he— I mean Downing. It's no offense, says I,
I haven't been here long. Then, says he, in a very pleasant way,
a few of your brother members are to take pot-luck with me
to-dciy, and I should be happy to have you join them. What's pot-
luck ? says I. O, a family dinner, says he— no ceremony. I thought
by this time I was well qualified for that without going to the Gov-
ernor. So, says I, yes, and thank ye, too. How long before
you'll want me ? says I. At 3 o'clock, says he, and gave me a
piece of paste board with his name on it, and the name of the
street, and the number of his house, and said that would show
me the way. Well, says I, I don't know of nothing that will
keep me away. And then we parted. I took a considerable lik-
ing to him.

After strolling round, and seeing a great many things about the
State House and the marble immage of Gin. Washington, stand-
ing on a stump in the Porch, I went out into the street they call
Bacon street ; and my stars ! what swarms of women folks I saw
all drcst un as if they were going to meeting. You can tell Cou-
sin Polly bandburn, who you know is no slimster, that she needn't
take on so about being genteel in her shapes — for the genteelest
ladies here beat her as to size all hollow. I don't believe one of

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'em could get mto our fore dore — and as for their arms — I
shouldn't want better measure for a bushel of meal than one of
their sleeves could hold. I sha'n't shell out the bushel of corn
you say I've lost on Speaker Ruggles at that rate. But this puts

me in mind of the dinner which Mr. wants I should help

the Gineral Court eat. So I took out the piece of paste board

and began to inquire
my way, and got along
completely, and found
the number the first
time — but the door was
locked, and there was
no knocker, and I
thumpt with my whip
handle, but nobody
come. And says I to
a man going by, don't
nobody live here ? and
says he yes. Well, how
do you get in ? Why,
says he, ring; and says
I, ring what ? And
says he, the bell. And
says I, Where's the
rope ? And he says,
pull that little brass
nub; and so I gave it
a twitch, and I'm sure
a bell did ring ; and
who do you think open-
ed the door, with a
white apron afore
him ? You couldn't
guess for a week a Sundays— so I'll tell you. It was Stephen Fur-
long, who kept our district school last winii 1 for 5 dollars a month,
and kept liachelor's hall, and helped tend for Gineral Coombs a
training days, and make out muster rolls. We was considerably
struck up at first, both of us; and when he found I was going to

eat dinner with Mr. and Clineral Court, he thought it

queer kind of doings — but says he, I guess it will be as well for

MEETING AN OLD FRIEND.

Vkii.

UNCLE yOSnUA DOWNING IN BOSTON.

523

both of OS not to know each other a bit more than we can help.
And says I, with a wink, you're half right, and in I went. There

was nobody in the room but Mr. and his wife, and not a

sign of any dinner to be seen any where— though I thought now
and then, when a side door opened, I could smell cupboard, as
they say.
I thought I should be puzzled enough to know what to say, but

I hadn't my thoughts long to myself. Mr. has about as

nimble a tongue as yo'* ever heard, and could say ten words to
my one, and I had nothing to do in the way of making talk.
Just then I heard a ringing,
and Stephen was busy opening
the door and letting in the
Gineral Court, who all had
their hats off, and looking
pretty scrumptious, you may
depend. I didn't see but I
could stand along side of 'em
without disparagement, except
to my boots, which had just
got a lick of beeswax and
tallow — not a mite of dinner
yet, and I began to feel as if
'twas nearer supper-time than
dinner-time — when all at once
two doors flew away from each
other right into the wall, and
what did I see but one of »
the grandest thanksgiving din-
ners you ever laid your eyes

on— and lights on the table, and silver candlesticks and gold
lamps over head — the window shutters closed— I guess more than,
one of us stared at first, but we soon found thev/ay to our mouths
— I made Stephen tend out for me pretty sharp, and he got my
plate filled three or four times with soup, which beat all I ever
tasted. I sha'n't go through the whole dinner again to you — but
I am mistaken if it cost me much for victuals this week, if I pay
by the meal at Mr. Doolittle's, who comes pretty near up to a
tluuiksgiving every day. There was considerable talk about
stock and manufactories and lier bilities and rimidies and a great

GINERAL COOMBS.

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524

JJ///>PA' TWAIX'S LIBRARY OF JIVMOR.

loss on stock. I thought this a good chance for me to put in a
^ord — for I calculated I knew as much about raising stock and

keeping over as any of 'cm. Says I to Mr. , there's one

thing I've always observed in my experience in stock — just as
sure as you try to keep over more stock than you have fodder to
carry them well into April, one half will die on your hands, to a
sartinty— and there's no remedy for it— I've tried it out and out,
and there's no law that can make a tor. of hay keep over ten
cows, unless you have more carrots and iwtatocs that you can
throw a stick at. This made some of the folks stare who didn't
know much about stock— and Steve give me a jog, as much as to
say, keep quiet. He thought I was getting into a quog-mire, and
soon after, giving me a wink, opened the door and got me out of
the room into the entry.

After we had got out of hearing, says I to Steve, how are you
getting on in the world — should you like to come bad: to keep
our school if I could get a vote for you ? — not by two chalks, says
Steve — I know which side my bread is buttered better than all
that — I get 12 dollars a month and found, and now and then
some old clothes, which is better than keeping a school at 5 dol-
lars and find myself and work out my highway tax besides — then
turning up the cape of my neiv coat, says he, I guess I've dusted
that before now — most likely, says I, but not in our district school.

Your respectful uncle,

Joshua Downing.

I AM a poor man, but i hav this consolnshun: i am poor by
acksident, not desighn.

Tosh Billings.

«.;•

UA Downing.

in: i am poor by
[osH Billings.

A.\' A CCOUNT OF JOHN PIKENIX 'S ST£ WARDHHIP.

525

THE

JOHN PHCENIX RENDB:RS THE EDITOR OF
"SAN DIEGO HERALD" AN ACCOUNT OF
HIS STEWARDSHIP.

BY GEORGE H. DERBy.

*« Tc Deum Laudamus."— Judge J\fnes has returned. With
the completion of this article my labors are ended; and wiping
my pen on my coat-tail, and placing it behind my sinister ear,
with a graceful bow and bland smile for my honored admirers,
and a wink of intense meaning for my enemies, I shall abdicate,
with dignity, the ♦' Arm-Chair " in favor of its legitimate proprietor.

By the way, this «' Arm-Chair " is but a pleasant fiction of
"the Judge's"— the only seat in the Ifera/d office being the
empty nail keg, which I have occupied while writing my leaders
upon the inverted sugar box that answers the purposeof a table.
But such is life. Divested of its poetry and romance, the objects
of our highest admiration become mere commonplaces, like the
HcrahVs chair and table. Many ideas which we have learned to
love and reverence, from the poetry of imagination, as tables,
become old sugar boxes on close inspection and more intimate
accjuaintance. ' Sic ' — but I forbear that sickening and hackneyed
quotation.

During the period in which I have had control over the Herala
I have endeavored, to the best of my ability, to amuse and interest
its readers, and I cannot but hope that my good-humored efforts
have proved successful. If I have given offense to any by the
tone of my remarks, I assure them that it has been quite unin-
tentional, and to prove that I bear no malice, I hereby accept
their apologies. Certainly no one can complain of a lack of ver-
satility in the last six numbers. Commencing as an Independent
Journal, I have gradually passed through all the stages of incip-
ient Whiggery, decided Conservatism, dignified Kecantaiion,
budding Democracy, and rampant Radicalism, and I now close
the scries with an entirely literary number, in which I have care-
fully abstained from the mention of Baldo and Wigler — I mean,
Wagler and Bildo ; no, never mind — as Toodlts says, I haven't
mentioned any of 'eni^ but been careful to preserve a perfect
armed neutrality.

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526

il/z/A'AT 7WA/A^'S LIBRARY OF HUMOR.

The paper this week will be found particularly stupi;'. Th»j«
is the result of deep design on my part ; had I attempt ..i a;!y.
thing remarkably brilliant, you would all have detected it, and
said, probably with truth : Ah, this is Phoenix's last appearance;

■^:5fc^-?l^^^

THE EDITORS CHAIR.

he has tried to be very funny, and has made a miserable failure of
it. Hee! hee! hee! Oh, no, my Public, an ancient weasel may
not be detected in the act of slumber, in that manner ! I was
well aware of all this, and have been as dull and prosy as possible,

AAACCOUXT OF yOHN rn(EX/X'S STEWARDSinP. 527

to avoid it. Very little news will be found i« the Herald this
week : the fact is, there never is much news in it, and it is very
well that it is so ; the climate here is so delightful, that residents
in the enjoyment of their dola far nientc, care very little about
what is going on elsewhere, and residents in other places care
very little about what is going o\\ in San Diego, so all parties are
likely to be gratified with the little paper, •• and long may it wave."

In conclusion, I am gratified to be^ible to state that Johnny's
ofticc (the fighting department), for the last six weeks, has been a
sinecure, and with the exception of the atrocious conduct of one
miscreant, who was detected very early one morning in the act
of chalking A S S on our office door, and who was dismissed with
a harmless kick, and a gentle admonition that he should not write
his name on other persons' property, our course has been peace-
ful, and undisturbed by any cxjuession of an unpleasant nature.

So, farewell Public : I hope you will do well; I do, upon my
soul. This leader is ended, and if there be any man among you
who thinks he could write a better one, let him try it, and if he
succeeds, I shall merely remark, that I could have done it myself
if I had tried. Adios !

Respectfully Yours.

INTERVIEW BETWEEN THE EDITOR AND PHCENIX.

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 whiplash, and we said, " the Judge" cometh, and "his
driving; is like 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 j'^estnro proudly ennneiit, stood like a tower :
.... but his face deep scars of thunder had intrenched, and care

i , r J: I

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528

JIfAX/r TWAIN* S LIBRARY OF HUMOR.

jfel'l!?

•ilk
« »

sat on his faded cheek; but under brows of dauntless courage and
considerable 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.

* * * «

* :|c * *

The sixth and last
round is described by
the pressman and com-
positors as having been
fearfully scientific. We
held " the Judge " down
over the Press by our
nose (which we had in-
serted between his teeth
for that purpose), and
while our hair was em-
ployed in holding one of
his hands, we held the
other in our left, and with
the " sheep's-foot " bran-
dished above our head,
shouted to him, "Say
Waldo." "Never!" he
gasped :

"Oh! my Bigler he would
have muttered,
But that lie ♦dried up ' ere
the word was uttered. "

At this moment, we dis-
THE JUDGE. covered that we had been

laboring under a "mis-
understanding," and through the amicable intervention of the
piessman, who thrust a roller between our faces (which gave

ECONOMICAL INDEED.

)urage and

d with an
oice said:
e, how do
Le made no
commenced

coat.

:d ours, also

^ and last
described by
,n and com-
having been
:ientific. We
Judge" down ,
Press by our
h we had in-
veen his teeth
purpose), and
hair was em-
holding one of
we held the
|ur left, and with

fp's-foot" bran-
)Ove our head,
|to him, "Say
«« Never!" he

529

the whole affair a very different complexion), the matter was
finally settled on the most friendly terms — " and without pre-
judice 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 col-
lision, 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 PnoeNix."

ECONOMICAL INDEED.

"Economy is wealth," but the most economical person yet

heard of is a shoe dealer in a small town in M , who stops

his clock when he closes his store at night, in order to save time.
— Newspaper,

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Bigler he would
; muttered,
-be 'dried up' ere
Lord was uttered."

I moment, we dis-
Ithat we had been
under a "m\s-
lervention of the
:ices (which gave

i*ff

530

MARK TWAIN'S LIBRARY OF HUMOR,

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HANS BREITMANN'S PARTY,

BY CHARLES GODFREY LELAND.

Hans Breitmann gife a barty,

Dey had biano-blayin';
I felled in lofe mit a 'Merican frau,

Her name vas Madilda Yane.
She hat haar as prown ash a pretzel,

Her eyes vas himmel-plue,
Und ven dey looket indo mine,

Dey shplit mine heart in two.

HANS breitmann 'S PARTY.

Hans Breitmann gife a barty,

I vent dere, you'll pe pound.
I valtzet mit Madilda Yane

Und vent shpinnen round und round.
De pootiest Fraulein in do House,

She vayed 'pout dwo hoondied pound,
Und efery dime she gife a shoomp

She make de vindows sound.

HANS BREITMANN'S PARTY.

Hans Breitmann gife a barty,

I dells you, it cost hi.-n dear.
Dey rolled in more ash sefen kecks

Of foost-rate Lager Beer.
Und ve.iefer dey knocks de shpicket in

De Deutschers gifes a cheer.
I dinks dat so vine a barty

Nefer coom to a hot dis year.

Hans Breitmann gife a barty;

Dere all vas Souse und Brouse,
Ven de sooper corned in, de gompany

Did make demselfs to house;
Dey ate das Brot und Gensy broost,

De Bratvvurst and Braten fine,
Und vash der Abendessen down

Mit four parrels of Neckar^vein.

Hans Breitman gife a barty

We all cot troonk ash bigs.
I poot mine mout to a parrel of bier

Und emptied it oop mit a schwigs.
Und den I gissed Madilda Yane

Und she shlog me on de kop,
Und de gompany fited mit daple-lecks

Dill de coonshtable made oos shtop,

Hans Breitmann gife a barty —

Where ish dat barty now !
Where ish de lofely golden cloud

Dat float on de monndair'': prow ?
Where ish de himmelstrahlende Stern —

Deshtar of de shpirit's light ?
All goned afay mit de Lager Beer —

Afay in de ewigkeit 1

53*

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A NEW PATENT MEDICINE OPERATION.

BY MORTIMER M. THOMPSON.

(T\ORTIMER M. THOMPSON, once so widely known as Q. K. Philander
^^ Doesticks, was born in Michigan in 1830, and found his way to New
York as a journaUst, where his dashing and extravagant drolleries soon attract-
ed attention. He had long survived their popularity when he died, in 1875.

As I too desired to have a mansion on the Fifth Avenue, like
the Medical Worthy of Sarsaparilla memory, and wished, like him,
to be able to build a patent medicine palace, with a private
chapel under the back-stairs, and a conservatory down cellar, I
cast about me for some means whereby the requisite cash might
be reputably accumulated.

I feared that the Panacea and Cure-Everything trick had been
played too often, but I determined to make one big try, and I
think that at last my lurtune is made.

Congratulate me — I am immortalized, and I've done it myself.
My name will be handed down to posterity as tha. of a univer-
sal benefactor. The hand which hereafter writes on the record of
Fame the names of Ayer, Sands, Townsend, Moffat, Morrison
and lirandrcth must also inscribe, side by side with these distin-
guished appellations, the no less brilliant cognomen of the undy-
ing Do('sticks.

Emulous of the deathly notoriety which has been acquired by
the medicinal worthies just mentioned, /also resolved to achieve
a name and a fortune in the same reputable and honest manner.

liought .1 gallon of tar, a cake of beeswax, and a firkin of lard,
and in twenty-one hours I j)rcsentcd to the world the first batch
of '' J)ijt'sticl<s Paliiil, Sr//- Acting, J''oi/f fforse-Poicjer lialsavi."
designed fo eure all (j/jjcases of mind, body or estate, to give
strength to the weak, money to the poor, bread aiid butter totlio
hungry, boots to the b.irefoot, decency to bl.ickguards, and com-
moi sense to the Know-Nothings. It acts j)hysically, morally,
mentally, pych(jIogically, physi(;!ogic.'illy and ge(;logie.illy, and
it is intended to make our sublunary sphere a blissful paradise,
to which Heaven "tself shall be but a side-sho\y,

I have not yet brought it to absolute perfection, but even now

ION.

;>. K. Philander
his way to New
ries soon attract -
; died, in i875-

1 Avenue, like
ished, like him,
with a private
down cellar, I
iite cash might

trick had been
; big try, and I

; done it myself,
la. of a univcr-
311 the record of
loffut, Morrison
vilh these distin-
nen of the undy-

jccn acquired by
solved to achieve
. honest manner,
id a firkin of lard,
d the first batch
-Power Uttlsauu
or estate, to ijivc
Mn(.i butter to tli^
;i.ruards, and com-
ysically, morally,
jreologi<Mby, aiT^^
blissful paradise,

Lion, but even nuw

A NEW PATENT MEP 'CINE OPERATION.

533

it acts with immense force, as you will perceive by the accom-
panying testimonials and records of my own individual expe-
rience. You will observe that I have not resorted to the usual
manner of preparing certificai-es: which is, to be certain thac all
those intended for Eastern circulation shall seem to come from
some formerly unheard-of place in the West, while those sent to

A PATKNT MEDICINE.

the West shall be dated at some place forty miles east of sun-
rise. But I send to )w/, as representing the western country, a
certificate from an Oregon farmer.

" De.\r Sir: The land composing my farm hao hitherto been so poor that a
Scotchman couldn't get his living off it; and so stony that we had to r.lice our
potatoes and plant them cdjcway.s; but, hearing of your balsam, 1 put some on

■.'Ml

534

AfAJ?X- TWAIN'S LIBRARY OF HUMOR.

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tl e corner of a ten-acre lot surrounded by a rail-fence, and in the morning I
found the rocks had entirely disappeared— a neat stone wall encircled tho
field, and the rails were split into ovenwood and piled up symmetrically in my
back yard.

" Put half an ounce into the middle of a 'mckleberry swamp— in two days it
was cleared off, planted with corn and puLipkins, and had a row of peach>trees
in full bloom through the middle.

" As an evidence of its tremendoviS strength, I would state that it drew a strik-
ing likeness of my eldest daughter — drew my youngest boy out of the mill-pond
— drew a blister all over his stomach — drew a load of potatoes four miles to
market, and eventually drew a prize ofninety-seven dollars in the State Lottery.

"And the effect upon the inhabitants hereabout has been so wonderful that
they have opened their eyes to the good of the country, and are determined to
vote for a Governor who is opposed to frosts in the middle of June, and whc
will make a positive law against freshets, hail-storms and tae seventeen-year
locusts."

There, isn't that sotne?

But I give one more, from a member of the senior class in a
Western college, who, although misguided, neglected and ignor-
ant, is undoubtedly as honest and sincere as his Prussianized
education will admit of.

I have corrected the orthography, and revised some gram-
matical inaccuracies ; but, besides attending to these trifles,
inserting marks of punctuation, and putting the capitals in the
right places, I assure you i have made no alteration.

'♦Sall Harbor, June 31, 1854.

" My Dear Doctor. [You know I attended medical lectures half a winter,
and once assisted in getting a crooked needle out of a baby's leg ; so I uiKler-
stand perfectly well the theory and practice of medicine, and the Doctors per-
fectly legitimate under the Prussian system.] By the incessant study required
in this establishment, I had become worn down so thin that I was obliged to
put on an overcoat to cast a shadow — but accidentally hearing of your Balsam,
I obtained a quantity, and, in obedience to the Homoeopathic principles of this
Institution, took an infinitesimal dose only ; in four days I measured one luin-
dred and eighty-two ' iches und the waist; could chop eleven cords of hickory
wood in two hours and a half ; and, on a l^et, carried a yoke of oxen two miles
and a quarter in my Irft hand, my rij^ht -«.ing tied behind me, and if any one
doubts the fact, the oxen arc still to be seen,

** About two weeks atier this, I had the pleasure of participating in a (^un-
powder explosion, on which occasion my arms and legs were scattered over the
village, and my mangled remains pretty equally distributed throughout the
entire county.

" Under these circumstances my life was despaired of, and my classmates had
bought a pine cofhn, and borrowed whole shirts to attend the funeral in ; when

A NEW PATENT MEDICINE OPERATION.

535

the invincible power of your four horse-power balsam (which I happened to
have in my vest pocket) suddenly brought together the scattered pieces of my
body — collected my limbs from the rural districts — put new life into my shat-
tered frame, and I was restored uninjured to my friends, with a new set of
double teeth.

" I have preserved the label which enveloped the bottle, and have sewed it into
the seat of my pantaloons, and now I bid grim death defiance, for I feel that I
am henceforth unkillable, and in fact I am even now generally designated the
* Great Western Achilles'

•- r ■

"Yours entirely,

Ski Hv."

I feel that, after this, I need give you no more reports of third
persons, but will detail some of my own personal experience of
the article.

I caused some to be applied to the Washtenaw Bank after its
failure, and while the Balsam lasted the Bank redeemed its notes
with specie.

The cork of one of the bottles lopped upon the head of a
childless widow, and in six weeks she hau a young and blooming
husband.

Administered some to a hack-driver in a glass of gin and
sugar, and that day he swindled but seven people, and only gave
two of them bad money in change.

Gave a few drops gratis to a poor woman who was earning a
precarious subsistence by making calico shirts with a one-eyed
needle, and the next day she was discovered to be heir to a large
fortune.

Gave some to an up-town actor, and that night he said
'* damned " only twenty-one times.

One of the daily papers got the next dose, and in the next
edition but one there were but four editorial falsehoods, seven
indecent advertisements, and two columns and a half of home-
made " Foreign Correspondence."

Caused fifteen drops to be given to the low comedian of a
Broadway Theatre, and that night he was positively dressed more
like a man than a monkey, actually spoke some lines of the
author, made only three inane attempts at puerile witticisms —
only twice went out of his way to introduce some grossly indeU-
cate Une into his part, and, for a wonder, lost so much of his
self-conceit that for a full half hour he did not believe himself
the greatest comedian in the world.
Gave some to a newsboy, and he manufactured but three

iVM

536

MA/fA" TWAIN'S LIBRARY OF HUMOR.

fires, a couple of murders, and one horrible railroad accident, in
the next thirty minutes.

Put some on the outside of the Crystal Palace, and the sanae
day the stock went from twenty-two up to forty-four.

Our whole Empire City is entirely changed by the miraculous
power of ** Doesticks' Patent Self-acting Four Horse - Power
Balsam." The gas is lighted on the dark nights, instead of on
the moonlight evenings — there are no more highway robberies in
the streets, or, if there are, the offenders, when arrested, are
instantly discharged by the police magistrate. No more build-
ing materials on the sidewalks ; no more midnight murders ; no
more Sunday rows ; no more dirty streets ; no more duels in
Hoboken ; and no more lies in the newspapers.

Broadway is swept and garnished: the M. P.'s are civil, and the
boys don't steal any more dogs. In fact, so well content are we
now v/ith our City, that we feel, as the Hibernian poet so beauti-
fully says:

" O, if there be an Elysium on earth, I

It i3 this -it is this J"

It \z a wize man who proffits bi hiz own experience — but it iz
a good deal wizer one, who lets the rattlesnaik bite the other
phellow.

Josh Billings.

J accident, in

osH Billings.

THE CENTIPEDE AND THE BARBARIC YAK. 637
THE CENTIPEDE AND THE BARBARIC YAK.

BY G. T. LANIGAN.

While a Centipede was painfully toiling over the Libyan
Desert he was encountered by a barbaric Yak, who scornfully
asked him how were his poor Feet. The humble Creature made
no reply at the time, but some daf s later found the barbaric
Yak taken in the nets of the Hunter and almost devoured by

THE BARBARIC YAK AND THE CENTIPEDE

Insects, which fled at the approach of the Centipede. " Help,
help, my good I'riend !" exclaimed the unfortunate Beast; " I can-
not move a muscle in these cruel I oils, and the ravenous Insects
have devoured my delicate Flesh." *' Say you so ? " responded
the Centipede. " Can you really not defend yourself ? " " Alas!
how can I ? " replied the Yak. " See you not how straitly I am
bound ? " " And is your Flesh then so delicate ? " " It is,
though I say it who should not." " Then," said the Centipede,
" I guess I'll take a bite myself."
Moral. — The other man's Extremity is often our Opportunity.

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MARK TWAIN'S LIBRARY OF HUMOR.

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THE CAYOTE.

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BY MARK TWAIN.

Along about an hour after breakfast we saw the first prairie-
dog villages, the first antelope and the first wolf. If I remember
rightly, this latter was the regular cajo/c (pronounced ky-(;-te) of
the farther deserts. And if it icas, he was not a pretty cre?«;urc,
or respectable either, for I got well acquainted with I ato
afterward, and can speak with confidence. The cayote is '>nv
slim, sick and sorry-looking skeleton, with a gray woH-skui
stretched over it, a tolerably bushy tail that forever sags down
with a despairing expression of forsakenness and misery, a furtive
and evil eye. and a long, sharp face, with slightly lifted lip and
exposed teeth. He has a general slinking expression all over.
The caycte is a living, breathing allegory of Want. He -s
ahuays huntjry. He is always poor, out of luck and friendles';;
The meanest creatures despises him, and even the fleas would
desert him for z velocipede. He is so spiritless and cowardly
that even while his exposed teeth are pretending a threat, the
rest of his fuce is apologizing for it. And he is so homely ! — so
sciawny and V'bby and coarse - haired and pitiful. When he
sees you, be liffs his lip and lets a flash of his teeth out, and then
tuins a littie out of the course he was pursuing, depresses his
head a bit, and strikes a long, soft- footed trot through the sage-
brush, glancuig over his shoulder at you from time to time, till
he is about out of easy pistol range, and then he stops and takes
a deliberate sur^'ey of you; he will trot fifty yards and stop again,
another fifty, and stop again; and finally the gray of his gliding
body blends with the gray of the sage-brush, and he disappears.
All this is when you make no demonstration against him; but if
you do, he develops a livelier interest in his journey, and instantly
electrifies his heels, and puts such a deal of real estate between
himself and your weapon that l)y the time you have raised the
hammer you see that you need a Minie rifle, and by the time
you have got him in line you need a rifled cannon, and by the
time you have '* drawn a bead " on him you see well enough that
nothing but an unusually long-winded streak of lightning could
reach him where he is now. But if you start a swift-footed dog

THE CAYOTE,

539

l)ehincl, and marking

:'" this time the dog

lid to save the

he cannot get

after him, you will enjoy it ever so much— especially if it is a
dog that has a good opinion of himself and has been brought up
to think he knows something about speed. The cayotc will go
swinging gently off on that deceitful trot of his, and every little
-while he will smile a fraudful smile over his shoulder, that will
fill that dog entirely full of encouragement and worldly ambition,
and make him lay his head still lower to the ground, and stretch
his neck further to the front, and pant more fiercely, and stick
his tail out straighter behind, and move his furious legs with a
yet wilder frenzy, and leave a broader -d broader, and higher
and denser cloud of desert sand smol
his long wake across the level plain .'
is only a short twenty feet behind i
soul of him he cannot understand wh)

perceptibly closer; and he begins to gei aggra >ated, and it makes
him madder and madder to see how gently the cayoteg'ides
along and never pants or sweats or ceases to smile; and he
grows .till more and more incensed to see how shamefully he
has been taken in by an entire stranger, and what an ignoble
swindle that long, calm, soft-footed trot is; and next he notices
that he is getting fagged, and that the cayote actually has to
slacken speed a little to keep from running away from him — and
then that town-dog is mad in earnest, and he begins to strain and
weep and swear, and paw the sand higher than ever, and reach
for the cayote with concentrated and desperate energy. This
" spurt " finds him six feet behind the gliding enemy, and two
miles from his friends. And then, in the instant that a wild new
hope is lighting up his face, the cayote turns and smiles blandly
upon him once more, and with a something about it which seems
to say: "Well, I shall have to tear myself away from you, bub
— business is business, and it will not do for me to be fooling
along this way all day" — and forthwith there is a rushing sound,
and the sudden splitting of a long crack through the atmosphere,
and behold, that dog is solidary and alone in the midst of a vast
solitude !

It makes his head swim. He stops, and looks all around;
climbs the nearest sand-mound and gazes into the distance;
shakos his head reflectively, and then, without a word, he turns
and jogs along back to his train, and takes up a humble position
under the hindmost wagon, and feels unspeakably mean, and

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looks ashamed, and hangs his tail at half-mast for a week. And
for as much as a year after that, whenever there is a great hue
and cry after a cayote, that dog will merely glance in that direc-
tion without emotion, and apparently observe to himself, " I
believe I do not wish any of the pie."

The cayote lives chiefly in the most desolate and forbidding
deserts, along with the lizard, the jackass-rabbit and the raven,

and gets an uncer-
tain and precarious
living, and earns it.
He seems to sub-
sist almost wholly
on the carcases of
oxen, mules and
horses that have
dropped out of emi-
' ^ grant trains and
died, and upon'
windfalls o f car-
rion, and occasion-
al legacies of offal bequeathed to
him by white men who have been
opulent enough to have something
better to butcher than condemned
army bacon. He will eat anything
in the world that his first cousins,
the desert-frequenting tribes of In-
dians, will, and they will eat any-
thing they can bite. It is a curious
fact that these latter are the only
creatures known to history who will
er.t nitro-glycerine, and ask for more — if they survive.

The cayote of the deserts beyond the Rocky Mountains has a
peculiarly hard time of it, owing to the fact that his relations, the '
Indians, are just as apt to be the first to detect a seductive scent
on the desert breeze, and follow the fragrance to the late ox it
emanated from, as he is himself; and when this occurs, he has
to content himself with sitting off at a little distance, watching
those people strip off and dig out everything edible, and walk off
with it. Then he and the waiting ravens explore the skeleton

RESPECT TO RELATIVES.

Ills*'"*!!

THE tlODJA 'S HOUSE.

542

and polish the bones. It is considered that the cayote^ and the
obscene bird, and the Indian of the desert, testify their blood
kinship with each other in that they live together in the waste
places of the earth on terms of perfect confidence and friendship,
while hating all other creatures and yearning to assist at their
funerals. He does not mind going a hundred miles to breakfast,
and a hundred and fifty to dinner, because he is sure to have
three or four days between meals, and he can just as well be
traveling and looking at the scenery, as lying around doing noth-
ing and adding to the burdens of his parents.

THE HODJA'S HOUSE.

BY S. S. COX ,

The Hodja having built his house to his own satisfaction and
that of everybody else — offers it for sale. He makes a bargain,
but asks of the purchaser, as a favor, to be allowed to drive a
nail on the wall of one of the rooms ; the nail to be his own
property. This is granted.

The buyer is soon established in the house. Shortly after mid-
night, the owner hears a knock at his outer door. He descends
to inquire :

" Who is there ? "

" It is I," says the Hodja ; " I wish to tie a string on my nail."
Two or three days pass, when again the knock is heard about the
same hour. Again the demand is made :

" What is wanting ? "

The answer comes : " I pray you, good friend, I should like
to untie that string from my property." This performance being
repeated several times, compels the purchaser to abandon his
purchase for a song.

The moral of which is : /^ make sure of the character of the
vender^ when you become the vendee.

542 AfA/mr TWAIN* S LIBRARY OF HUMOR.

THE BOY AND THE TORTOISE.

BY BIERCE.

" Permit me to help you on in the world, sir," said a boy to
a traveling tortoise, placing a glowing coal upon the animal's
back.

"Thank you," replied the itnoonsciooa beast; "I alone am

THE BOY AND THE TORTOISE.

responsi^Dle for the time of my arrival, and I alone will i mine
the degree of celerity required. The gait I am going will enable
me to keep all my present appointments."

A genial warmth began about this time to pervade his upper
crust, and a moment after he was dashing away at a pace com-
paratively tremendous,

" How about those engagements ? ' sneered the grinning
urchin.

"I've recollected another one," was the hasty reply.

l^^:mmm

the grinmng

THE FRIEND OF MY YOUTH. ^»x

THE FRIEND OF MY YOUTH.

BY T. B. ALDRICH.

In one of the episodes in his entertaining volume of "Vagabond
Adventures," Mr. Keeler takes the reader with him on a profes-
sional cruise in Dr. Spaulding's Floating Palace. This Floating
Palace — a sort of Barnum's Museum with a keel — was designed
for navigation on Southern and Western rivers, and carried a
cargo of complex delights that must have much amazed the sim-
ple dwellers on the banks of the Ohio and Mississippi. Here, on
board of this dranratical Noah's Ark, the reader finds himself on
the pleasantest terms conceivable with negro minstrels, danseuses,
apostolic wax-works, moral acrobats, stuffed animals, vocalists,
and a certain Governor Dorr.

It was with a thrill of honest pleasure that I came upon this
picturesque outcast unexpectedly embalmed, like a fly in amber,
in Mr. Keeler's autobiography. There was a time when I was
proud to know this Governor Dorr; when I hung upon the rotund
music of his lips, listenedi to his mar\'elous stories of moving
accidents by flood and field, and was melted to the very heart
at those rare moments when, in a three-cornered room in the rear
of Wall's Drug Store, he would favor me with some of the most
lachrymose and sentimental poems that ever came of a despond-
ent poet. At this epoch of my existence, Governor Dorr, with
his sarcastic winks, his comic melancholy, his quotations from
Shakespeare, and his fearful knowledge of the outside world, was
in my eyes the personification of all that was learned, lyrical,
romantic and daring. A little later, my boyish admiration was
shattered by the discovery that my Admirable Crichton was —
well, it is of no use now to mince words — an adventurer and a
gambler. With a kind of sigh that is at present a lost art to me,
I put him aside with those dethroned idols and collapsed dreams
which accumulate on one's hands as one advances in life, and of
which I already had a promising collection when I was about
twenty. I cast off Governor Dorr, I repeat* but, oddly enough,
Governor Dorr never cast me off, but persisted in turning up at
intervals of four or five years, in the tender and pathetic charac-
ter of " the friend of my youth."

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544

MARK TWAIN'S LIBRARY OF HUMOi:.

As Governor Dorr is the only gentleman in his line of busi>
ness who ever evinced any interest in me, I intend to make the
most of him; and, indeed, among my reputable acquaintances,
there is none who deserves to fare better at my hands. My repu-
table acquaintances have sometimes bored me, and taught me

nothing. Now Governor
Dorr, in t h e ethereal
shape of a reminiscence,
has not only been a
source of great amuse-
ment to me at various
times, but has taught
me by his own funest
example that whatever
gifts a man may possess,
if he have no moral prin-
ciple he is a failure.
Wanting the gift of hon- 1
esty, Governor Dorr was
a gambler and a sharper,
and is dead.

I was a schoolboy at
Rivermouth, when Gov-
ernor Dorr swept like a
brilliant comet into the
narrow arc of my ob-
/^ servation.* One day irx
the summer of i8 — , I
was going home from
school, when I saw,
standing in front of
Wall's Drug Store a
^-.owily dressed person,
who seemed to me well
advanced in years — that is to say, twenty-five or thirty. He was
the centre of a small circle of idle fellows about town, who were

♦ •« Governor Dorr," I should explain, was a sobriquet, but when or how it
attached itself to him, I never knew. His real name I suppress for the sake of
tome that may bear it, if there are any so unfortunate.^

GOVERNOR DORR

THE FRIEND OF MY YOUTH

545

e of busi-

make the
aaintances,

My repu-

taught me
w Governor
,e ethereal
miniscence,
ily been a
:eat amuse-
j at various

has taught

own funest
lat whatever
may possess,
o moral prin-
is a failure,
le gift of hon- 1
rnor Dorr was
and a sharper,
id.

schoolboy at
th, whenGov-
r swept like a
lomet into the
re of my ob-
* One day in
oer of 1 8 — , I
g home from
i^hen I saw,
i n front of
Drug Store a
iressed person,
ned to me well
;hirty. He was
town, who were

ut when, or how it
)res3 for the sake of

drinking in with obvious relish one of those pre-ilaphaelite nana-
tives which I was afterwards destined to swa'low with open-
mouthed wonder. The genial twinkle of the man's blue eyes, the
glow of his half-smoked cigar, and the blaze of the diamond on
his little finger, all seemed the members of one radiant family.
To this day I cannot disassociate a sort of glitter with the mem-
ory of my first glimpse of Governor Dorr. He had finished
speaking as I joined the group; I had caught only the words,
« and that was the last of gallant Jack Martinway," delivered
in a singularly mellow barytone voice, when he turned abruptly
and disappeared behind the orange and purple jars in Dr. Wall's
shop-window.

Who is gallant Jack Martinway, I wondered, and who is this
dazzling person that wears his best clothes on a week-day ? I took
him for some distinguished military hero, and, v;ith a fine feeling
for anachronism, immediately connected him with the portrait of
Sir Walter Raleigh in Mitchell's Geography— a work I was at that
time neglecting with considerable perseverance.

The apparition of so bewildering a figure in our staid, slow-
going little town was likely to cause a sensation. The next dav
in school I learned all about him. He was Governor Dorr; he
had once been a boy in Rivermouth, like us, but had gone off
years ago to seek his fortune, and now he had come back im-
mensely wealthy from somewhere — South America or the Chincha
Islands, where he was governor — and was going to settle down
in his aative town and buy the " Janvrin Place " — an estate which
the heirs were too poor to keep, and nobody else rich enough to
purchase.

This was appetizing, and after school I wandered up to Wall's
Drug Store to take a look at my gilded townsman, of whom I
was not a little proud.

I was so dazed at the time, that I do not recollect how it all
came about; but Governor Dorr was in the shop, holding a glass
of soda-water in one hand and leaning elegantly on the Gothic
fountain; I entered with the weak pretence of buying a slate-
pencil; the Governor spoke to me, and then — I can recall noth-
ing except that, when I recovered from my embarrassment and
confusion, I was drinking soda-water with the Great Mogul,
strangling myself with the lively beverage, and eliciting from him
the laughing advice that I shouldn't drink it while it was boiling.

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546

MARK TWAIN'S LIBRARY OF HUMOR.

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It wai an aggravated case of friendship at first sight. In less
than a week my admiration for Governor Dorr was so pure,
unselfish and unquestioning that it saddens me now to remember
it, knowing that the stock is exhausted. Every Wednesday and
Saturday afternoon — our half-holidays — I hurried to Wall's Drug
Store to meet my friend. Here were his headquarters, and a
most profitable customer he must have been, for when he was not
drinking soda<-water he was smoking the Doctor's cigars.

In the rear of the shop was a email triangular room where Dr.
Wall manufactured a patent eclectic cough syrup, and where he
allowed us to sit rainy afternoons. Nothing about me, as I write,
is so real as a vision of that musty, penny-royal-smelling little
room, with Governor Dorr sitting on a reversed mortar and
accenting the spirited parts of some Homeric story with a cir-
cumflex flourish of the Doctor's iron pestle, on the end of which
was always a thin crust of the prescription last put up. Rows oC
croupy square bottles filled with a dark -colored mixture and
labeled "Cough Syrup" look down on me from their dusty
shelves, and I am listening again as of old.

In pleasant weather we sauntered about town, c strolled off:
into those pretty lanes which make Rivermouth, and rural places
like Rivermouth, a paradise for lovers. In all these hours with
Governor Dorr, I never knew him to let fall a word that a child
should not hear. Perhaps my innocence and my unconcealed
reverence for him touched and drew the better part of his heart
to me, for it had a better part — one uncontaminated little piece
for children.

Our conversations turned chiefly on his travels, literature,
literary men and actors. His talk, I may remark, was very full
on literary men; he knew them well, and was on astonishingly
familiar personal terms with all the American authors quoted in
my Third Reader, especially with Joel Barlow, who, I subse-
quently learned, had quitted this planet about a half a century
previous to the birth of my friend. He called him " Joel," quite
familiarly, and sometimes his " dear old friend Joe Barlow, the
Hasty .pudding Man! "

Shakespeare, however, was the weakness, or the strength, of
Governor Dorr. I am glad he did not have the effrontery to
claim /lis acquaintance /*« propria persona. I am afraid that
would have shaken my faith and spoiled me for enjoying my

TOE FRIEND OF MY YOVTHT,

547

comrade's conMant quotations. I am not sure, th«u|{h, for I
trusted so implicitly in the superior knowledge of Governor Dot*
that on one occasion he convinced ma that Herrick was a con*
temporary American author, and not an old English poet, as 1
had read somewhere. " Why, my dear boy," he exclaimed '♦ I
know him well. He is a fellow of infinite jest, and his father
edits the New York Sunday Atlas !" And the Governor drew
forth a copy of the journal, and showed me the name of AnsoW
Herrick in large capitals at the head of the paper. After that,
1 was entirely adrift on what is called "the sea of English
literature."

To return to the Bard of Avon, «« the immortal Bill," as my
friend apostrophized him in moments of enthusiasm. The daily
talk of the Governor would have come to a dead-lock, if he had
been debarred the privilege of drawing at sight on his favorite
poet. Take Shakespeare from Dorr, and naught remains. It
was remarkable how the plays helped him out ; now it M'as
Othello, and now it was Touchstone, and now it was Prospero, M'ho
flew to his assistance with words and phrases so pat that they
seemed created for the ocqjision. His voice, at that time rich,
strong, and varied as the lines themselves, made it a delight to
hear him repeat a long passage. I was not often able to follow
the sense of the text, but the music bore me on with it. I can
hear him now, saying : ■ ' '

" In such a night
TroQus, methinks, mounted the Trojan walls,
And sighed his soul toward the Grecian tents,
Where Cressid lay that night.

" In such a night,
Stood Dido with a willow in her hand
Upon the wild sea-banks, and waved her love
To come again to Carthage."

I never read the lines but I feel his hand laid suddenly upon my
shoulder, and fancy myself standing on the old Mill-Dam Bridge
at Rivermouth, with the water rushing through the sluices, and
the rest of the pond lying like a sheet of crinkled silver in the
moonlight.

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548

MARK TWAIN'S LIBRARY OF HUMOR.

My intercourse with Governor Dorr was not carried on without
the cognizance of my family. They raised no objections. The
Governor was then in his best style, and, by his good-nature and
free-and-easy ways, more or less won everybody. The leading
men of the town touched their hats to him on the street, and
chatted with him at the post-office. It must be confessed, though,
that the Governor was a sore puzzle to those worthy people. His
fluency of money and language was not a local characteristic. He
had left the place about ten years before, a poor boy, and now he
had dropped down from nobody knew where, like an aerolite,
mysteriously gay and possibly valuable.

The fact is, he must have been merely a gambler at this period,
and had not entered upon that more aggressive career which
afterwards made him well known to the police of Boston, New
York and New Orleans. At all events, his fame had not reached
Rivcrmouth; and though my family wondered what I saw in him
or he in me to build a friendship on — the disparity in our ages
being so great — they by no means objected to the intimacy, anU
it continued.

What impressed me most in Governor Dorr, next to his liter-
ary endowmenti, was his generous nature, his ready and practi-
cal sympathy for all sorts of unfortunate people. I have known
him to go about the town half the morning with a blind man, sell-
ing his brooms for him at extortionate prices. X have seen the
tears spring to his eyes at the recital of some story of suffering
among the factory hands, many of whom were children. His love
for these pale little men and women, as I think of it, is very
touching; and it seems one of the finest things in the world to
me now, and at the time it struck me as an epical exhibition of
human sympathy, that he once purchased an expensive pair of
skates for a little hoy who had been born a cripple.

No doubt these facile sympathies were as superficial as letter-
paper, as short-lived as those midges which are born and become
great-grandfathers and die in the course of a single hour; but
they endeared the Governor to me, and maybe, when the fit^'^l
reckoning comes, all those good impulses will add up to something
handsome; who can tell ? ;

Nearly six months had passed since the beginning of our
acquaintance, when one morning my noble friend and my copy
of Shakespeare — an illegibly printed volume bound in seedy law-

THE FRIEND OF MY YOUTH.

549

calf, but the most precious of my earthly treasures —disap-
peared from the town simultaneously. Governor Dorr had
gone, as he had come, without a word of warning, leaving his
" ancient," as he was pleased to call me, the victim of abject
despair.

What complicated events caused the abrupt departure of my
friend and my calf-skin Shakespeare from Rivermouth never trans-
pired. Perhaps he had spent all his money ; perhaps he was
wanted by a pal in New York, for some fresh piece of deviltry;
or, what is more probable, the pastoral sweetness of life at River-
mouth had begun to cloy on his metropolitan palate.

It may have been five or it may have been ten months after
his exodus that my late companion became known to the town in
his true colors. He had been tripped up in some disreputable
transaction or another, and had played a rather unenviable r6le
in the New York police reports. I had been entertaining, not an
angel, but a gambler unawares. My mortification was unassumed,
and I banished the fascinating Governor Dorr from my affections
forever.

A few years afterwards I left Rivermouth myself. The friend
of my youth had become ^ faded memory. I had neither seen
nor heard of him in the meanwhile ; and the summer when I
planned to pass the whole of a long vacation at my boyhood's
home, the Governor assumed but a subordinate part in the asso-
ciations naturally evoked by the proposed visit.

In my first walk through the town after my arrival, it was with
a sort of comical consternation that I beheld Governor Dorr
standing in front of Wall's Drug Store, smoking the very same
cigar, it seemed, and skillfully catching the sunlight on the facets
of that identical diamond ring.

The same, and not the same. He looked older, and was not
so well groomed as he used to be; hi5 lower jaw had grown heav-
ier and his figure not improved. There was a hard expression
in his face, and that inexplicable something all over him which
says as plainly as a whisper to the ear, " This is a Black
Sheep.''

At the crossing our eyes met. Would he recognize his quon-
dam chum and dupe, after all these years ? The Governor gazed
at me earnestly for ten seconds, then slowly drew back, and lift-
ing his hat with a magnificent, grand air quite his own, made me

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MARX TWALV^S LIBRARY OF ItUMOR.

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an obeisance so involved and elaborate that it would be mere
rashness to attempt to describe it.

The lady at my side gave my arm a convulsive grasp, and
whispered, " Who is that dreadful man ? "

«' O, that ?— that is the friend of my youth ! "

Though I made light of the meeting, I was by no means amused
by it. I saw that if Governor Dorr insisted on presuming pn his
old acquaintance, he might render it very disagreeable for me ;
I might have to snub him, perhaps quarrel with him. His pres-
ence was altogether annoying and depressing.

It appears that the man had been lying about Rivermouth for
the last twelvemonth. When he was there before he had mysti-
fied the town, but now he terrified it. The people were afraid of
him, and Governur Dorr knew it, and was having what he would
have described as " a very soft thing." He touched his hat to
all the pretty girls in the place, talked to everybody, and minis-
tered to the s|)iritual part of his nature, now and then, by walk-
ing down thu street familiarly with an eminent divine, who did
not deem it prudent to resent the impertinence. For it waLs
noticed by careful observers, that when any person repelled
Governor Dorr, that person's wood-house caught on fire mysteri-
ously, or a successful raid was undertaken in the direction of
that person's family plate.

These trifling mishaps could never be traced to the Governor's
agency, but the remarkable precision with which a catastrophe
followed any slight offered to him made the townspeople rather
civil than otherwise to their lively guest.

The authorities, however, were on the alert, and one night, a
week after my arrival, the Governor was caught flagrante delicto,
and lodged by Sheriff Adams in the Stone Jail, to my great relief,
1)e it said; for the dread of meeting the man in my walks to the
post-ofiice and the reading-room had given me the air of a person
seeking to elude the vigilance of justice.

I forget which of the laws the Governor had offended — he was
quite impartial in his transgressions, by the way — but it was one
that insured him a stationary residence for several months, and I
considered myself well rid of the gentleman. But I little knew
of the resources of Governor Dorr.

He had been in the habit of contributing poems and sketches
of a lurid nature to one of the local newspapers, and now, finding

THE FRIEND OF MY YOUTH.

551

the time to hang heavily on his hands in the solitude of his cell
the window of which overlooited the main street of the town!
he began a series of letters to the editor of the journal in ques'
tion.

These letters were dated from the H6tel d' Adams (a graceful
tribute to the sheriff of the county), and consisted of descriptions
of what he saw from his eel' -window, with sharp, shrewd and witty
hits at the peculiarities of certain notable persons of the town,
together with some attempts at fme writing not so successful!
His observations on the tovvnspoople were delicious. He had a
neat, humorous touch, which, with training and under happier
itars, might have won him reputation.

How I enjoyed those letters ! How impatiently I awaited the
■emi-weekly appearance of the squaliu journal containing them;
with what eager fingers I unfolded the damp sheet, until, alas !
one luckless morning there came a letter devoted wholly to myself.
The *• Leaves from the Diary of a Gentleman of Elegant Leis-
ure " no longer seemed witty to me. And in truth, this leaf was
not intended to be witty. It was in the Governor's best senti-
mental vein. He informed me that he had *' from afar" watched
over my budding careemwith the fondness of an elder brother,
and that his heart, otherwise humble and unassuming, owned to
a throb of honest pride and exultation when he remembered that
it was he who had first guided my " nursling feet " over the flow-
ery fields of English poesy, and bathed with me up to the chin in
that •' Pierian flood " which I had since made all my own. And
so on through a column of solid nonpareil type. Altogether, his
panegyric placed me in a more ridiculous light than any amount
of abuse could have done. His sentiment was a thousand times
more deadly than his satire.

Though my vacation was not at an end by several weeks, I
quietly packed my valise that night, and fled from the friend of
my youth.

. I find that I am using the capital letter / rather freely in this
sketch — a reprehensible habit, into which many people who
write autobiography are very apt to fall; but really, my inten-
tion is tq give as little of myself and as much of my friend as
possible.

In the two or three years that followed this ignominious flight

.fn

)•■:

'' '■' m

nil

H ''

1^ H'

■i-:' ^:

^.*^]

'\i::

i<?:

1 'E

552

-Wyi^A' TWAIN'S LIBRARY OF HUMOR.

from my native town, I frequently heard of Governor Dorr indi-
rectly. He had become famous now, in his modest way. I heard
of him in New Orleans and in some of the Western cities. Once,
at least, he reappeared in Rivermouth, where he got into some
difficulty with a number of non-combatant turkeys prepared for
Thanksgiving, the result of which was he spent that day of general
festivity at the Hotel d' Adams. But New York was, I believe,
his favorite field of operations, as well as mine.

I cannot explain why the man so often came uppermost in my
mind in those days; but I thought of him a great deal at inter-
vals; and was thinking of him very particularly one dismal Novem-
ber afternoon in 185-, as I sat alone in the editorial room of the
Saturday Press, where I had remained to write after the depart-
ure of my confreres.

It was a melancholy, small room, up two flights of stairs, in the
rear of a building used as a warehouse by a paper firm doing
business ni the basement. Though bounded on all sides by tur-
bulent streams of traffic, this room was as secluded and remote
as if it had stood in the middle of the Desert of oahara. It
would have made an admirable scenic background for a noiseless
midday murder in a melodrama. But it was an excellent place
in which to write, in spite of the cobwebbed rafters overhead and
the confirmed symptoms of scrofula in the plastering.

I did not settle down to work easily that afternoon; my fancy
busied itself with everything except the matter in hand. I fell
to thinking of old times and Rivermouth, and what comical
things boys are with their hero-worship and their monkey-shines;
and how I used to regard Governor Dorr as a cross between Sir
Philip Sidney and Sir Walter Raleigh; and what a pitiable, flimsy
hero he was in reality — a king of shreds and patches. " Why
were such men born ? " I said to myself. ** Nature in her severe
economy creates nothing useless, unless it be the ruminative moth
or the New Jersey mosquito; the human species alone is full of
failures monstrous and inexplicable."

In the midst of this the door opened, and Governor Dorr stood
before me. I have had pleasanter surprises.

There was a certain deprecating air about him as he raised his
hat in a feeble attempt at his old-time manner, a tacit confession
that he couldn't do u. With his closely cropped hair, he looked
like a prize-fighter retired from business. He was unshaven and

THE FRIEND OF MY YOUTH.

553

Dorr indi-
ay. I heard
[ties. Once,
t into some
jrepared for
ly of general
,s, I believe,

irmost in my
leal at inter-
ismal Novem-
l room of the
t the depart-

f stairs, in the
er firm doing
1 sides by tur-
;d and remote'
of aahara. It
1 for a noiseless
excellent place
s overhead and

ing.

3on; my fancy
a hand. I fell
I what comical
monkey-shines;
)ss between Sir
I pitiable, flimsy
atches. "Why
ire in her severe
ruminative moth
alone is full of

ernor Dorr stood

as he raised his

tacit confession

hair, he looked

ras unshaven and

pathetically shabby. His features were out of drawing, and wore
that peculiar retributive pallor which gin and water in unfair pro-
portions are said to produce. The dye had faded from his heavy
mustache, leaving it of a dark greenish tint not becoming to his
style of beauty. His threadbare coat was buttoned unevenly,
across his chest close up to the throat, and was shiny at the
cuffs and along the seams. His hat had a weed on ii;, which
struck me as being strange, as I did not remember that anybody
had been hanged recently. I afterwards formed a theory touch-
ing that weed, based on the supposition that the hat was some-
body else's property. Altogether, the Governor looked as if he
had fallen upon evil days since our last meeting. There was a
hard, cold look in his eyes which, in spite of his half-apologetic
attitude, was far from reassuring.

Given a voice in the matter, I would not have chosen to have
a private conference with him that dull November afternoon in
that lonely room in the old barracks on Spruce Street.

The space occupied by the editorial tables was shut off from
the rest of the office by a slight wooden rail extending
across the apartment. In the centre of this rail was a gate,
which my visitor, after,* a moment's hesitation, proceeded
to open.

As I noted down all the circumstances of the interview while
it was fresh in my mind, I am able to reproduce the Governor's
words and manner pretty faithfully.

He closed the gate behind him with laborious care, advanced
a few steps, rested one hand upon the back of a chair, and fixed
a pair of fishy eyes upon me. If he intended to fascinate me,
he failed ; if he intended to make me feel extremely nervous,
his success was complete.

" Telemachus," he said, at length, in a voice that had lost its
old music, and may be succinctly described as ropy — " you
know I used to call you Telemachus in those happy days when
I was your * guide, philosopher and friend ' — you see before you
a reformed man."

I suppose I was not entirely successful in concealing my
inward conviction. *

"So help me Bob!" exclaimed the Governor, "I am going
to reform, and get some decent clothes" — casting a look of
unutterable scorn on his coat-sleeve.

:'ifji'

■ I

'%' V

Ml- 1

* /

554

MAUX^ riVALV'S LIBRARY OF HUMOR.

The idea of connecting a reformatory measure with an increase
of wardrobe struck me as neat, and I smiled.

" I am going to be honest," continued Governor Dorr, not heed-
ing my unseemly levity ; " ♦ Honest lago.' I am going to turn
over a new leaf. I don't like the way things have been going.
I wasn't intended to be a low fellow. I ain't adapted to being an
outcast from society. ' We know what we are, but we don't know
what we may be,' as the sublime Shakespeare remarks. Now, I
know what I am, and I know what I'm going to be. I'm going
to be another man. But I must get out of New York first.
The boys wouldn't let me reform. • The little dogs and ali.
Tray, Blanch and Sweetheart, see, they bark at me!' I know
too many people here and too many people know me. I am
going to New Orleans. My old friend Kendall of the Picayune
knows my literary qualifications, and would give me an engage-
ment on his paper at sight ; but I'm not proud, and if worst came
to worst I could get advertisements or solicit subscribers, and
work my way up. In the bright lexicon of a man who means
what he says, 'there's no such word as fail.' He doesn't know
how to spell it."

The Governor paused and looked at me for a reply ; but as I
had nothing to say, I said it.

" I've been down to Rivermouth," he resumed, a trifle less
spiritedly, " to see what my old chums would do towards paying
my way to New Orleans. They gave me a good deal of good
advice, especially Colonel B ; but I am out just twenty dol-
lars, traveling expenses. Advice, however excellent, doesn't pay
a fellow's passage to New Orleans in the present disordered state
of society. I have collected some money, but not enough by a
few dollars ; and presuming on the memory of those days — those
Arcadian days, when we wandered hand in hand through the
green pastures of American poesy — I have come to you for a
temporary loan— however small," he added hastily, "to help me
in becoming on honest citizen and a useful member of so-
ciety."

I listened attentively to the Governor's statement, and believed
not a syllal)le of it, not so much* as a hyphen. It had a fatally
familiar jingle ; I had helped to reform people before. Never-
theless, the man's misery was genuine, and I determined not to
throw him over altogether. But I did not wish him to consider

THE FRIEND OF MY YOUTH.

555

I an increase

)rr, not heed-
oing to turn
; been going,
ed to being an
we don't know
arks. Now, 1
e. I'm going
ewYork first,
dogs and all,
mel' I know
ow me. 1 am
)f the Picayune
me an engage-
id if worst came
iubscribers, and
nan who means
:Ie doesn't know

but as I

ned, a trifle less
o towards paying
>od deal of good
just twenty dol-
ellent, doesn't pay
nt disordered state
not enough by a
those days— those
hand through the
ome to you for a
tstily, "tohelpme

il member of so-

ement, and believed
It had a fatally
,le before. Never-
[ determined not to
fish him to consider

me the victim of his cleverness ; so I frankly told him that I did
not believe a word about ' > reforming, and that if I gave him a
Uttle pecuniary assisKir. it was solely because I used to think
kindly of him when I waa, a boy.

The Governor was so affected by this that he searched in sev-
eral pockets for a handkerchief, but not finding one, he wiped
away what I should call a very dry tear with the cuff of his
sleeve.

« 'Had I but served my God,' " he remarked, " « with half the
zeal' I have fooled away my chances, « he would not have left me
in mine age' to solicit financial succor in this humiliating
fashion."

It was the mendaciousness of Jeremy Diddler toned down by
the remorse of Cardinal Wolsey.

"I am well aware," I said coldly, "that the few dollars I
intend to give you will be staked at the nearest faro-table or
squandered over the bar of some drinking-shop. I want you to
understand distinctly that you are not imposing on me."

Now the journal of which I was part proprietor had a weekly
circulation of less than forty thousand copies, and at the end of
the week, when we had ^aid a sordid printer and an unimagina-
tive paper-maker, we were in a condition that entitled us to rank
as objects of charity rather than as benefactors of the poor. A
five-dollar bill was all my available assets that November after-
noon, and out of this I purposed to reserve two dollars for my
dinner at Mataran's. I stated the case plainly to the Governor,
suggesting that I could get the note changed at the Tribune
office.

He picked up the bill which I "had spread out on the table
between us, remarking that he thought he could change it.
Whereupon he produced a portly pocket-book from the breast of
his coat, and from the pocket-book so fat a roll of bank-notes
that I glowed with indignation to think he had the coolness to
appropriate three-fifths of my slender earnings.

" New Orleans, you know," he remarked, explanatorily.

The Governor was quite another man now, running dexter-
ously over the bills with a moist forefinger in the gayest of
spirits. He handed me my share of the five-dollar bill with the
manner of a benevolent prince dispensing his bounties, accorded
me the privilege of grasping his manly hand, raised his hat with

\ i

' a

!'i^ I ,:

556

MARK TWArN'S LIBRARY OF HUMOR.

a good deal of his old quasi aristocratic flourish, and was
gone.

There is this heavenly quality in a deed of even misplaced
charity : it makes the heart of the doer sit lightly in his bosom.
I treated myself handsomely that afternoon at dinner, regarding
myself, in the abstract, as a person who ought to dine well, and
was worthy of at least half a pint of table claret. I tested the
delicacies of Mataran's cuisine as far as my purse would allow;
but when I stepped to the desk to pay the reckoning, those
two one-dollar bills rather awkwardly turned out to be counter-
feits ! • - ^ -v^^- ■• ■'- •

Well, I suppose I deserved it

The frequency with which Governor Dorr's name figured in
the local police reports during the ensuing twelve months leads
me to infer that he did not depart for New Orleans as soon as
he expected.

Time rolled on, and the Saturday Press, being loved by the
gods, died early, and one morning in 1861 I found myself at
liberty to undertake a long-deferred pilgrimage to Rivermouth.

On arriving at my destination, cramped with a night's ride in
the cars, I resolved to get the kinks out of me by walking from
the station. Turning into one of the less-frequented streets, in
order not to meet too many of my townsfolk, I came abruptly
upon a hearse jogging along very pleasantly, and followed at a
little distance by a single hack. When all one's friends can be
put into a single hack, perhaps it is best that one should be
buried expeditiously.

A malign urchin stood at the corner whistling shrilly through
his fingers, which he removed from his lips with an injured
air long enough to answer my question. " Who's dead ? Why,
Guvnei Dorr's dead. That's 'im," curving a calliopean thumb
in the direction of the hearse. The pity of it ! The forlornness
of the thing touched me, and a feeling of gratitude went out
from my bosom towards the two or three hacks which now
made tMeir appearance around the corner and joined the funeral
train.

Broken down in his prime with careless living, Goverrjor Dorr
a few months previously has straggled back to the old place
to die; and thus had chance — which sometimes displays a

I '

THE FRIEND OF MY YOUTH.

nd was

isplaced
bosom,
jgarding
veil, and
isted the
lid allow;
ng, those
counter-

557

keen appreciation of dramatic effect— once more, and for the
last time, brought me in contact with the friend of my youth.
Obeying the impulse, I turned and followed tiie procession
until it came to the head of that long, unbuilt street which,
stretching in a curve from the yawning gate of the cemetery into
the heart of the town, always seemed to me like a great siphon
draining the life from Rivermouth. Here I halted, and watched
the black carriages as they crawled down the road, growing smal-
ler and smaller, until they appeared to resolve themselves into
one tiny coach, which, lessening in the distance, finally vanished
through a gateway that seemed about a foot high.

figured in
nths leads
as soon as

ved by the
1 myself at
ivermouth.
ght's ride in
alking from
;d streets, in
ime abruptly
jUowed at a
■lends can be
le should be

Tilly through
Ih an ijaju'^e^
^ead? Why,
Lpean thumb
le forlornness
ide went out
js which now
led the funeral

iovernor Dorr

the old place

ts displays a

The gratest bores in the world are those who are eternally
trieing to prove to yu that 2 and 2 allwuss makes 4.

Josh Sillings.

'■■%!

558 MARK TWAm^S LIBRAKV OF HVMOR,

THE CAMEL AND THE ZEBRA.

Wf BIERC£^

" What have you there on your back ? " said a zebra, jeeringly,
to a "ship of the desert " in ballast.
*<Only a bale of gridirons," was the meek reply.

THE CAMEL AND THE ZEBRA.

" And what, pray, may you design doing with them ? " was the
incredulous rejoinder.

'• What am I to do with gridirons ? " repeated the camel, con-
temptuously. *' Nice question for you^ who have evidently just
come off one ! '

People who wish to throw stones should not live in glass
houses; but there ought to be a few in their vicinity.

f'r|f'»i 'f 'ij't-f*

«ringly«

? " was the

camel, con-
dently just

ive in glass

SUCCESS WITH SMALL FRUITS. ec«

"S.UCGESS WLTH SMALL FRUITS."

BY R. J. BURDETTE.

"1 just rolled out her© from the grocery store," said the little
green apple, as it paused on the sidewalk for a moment's chat with
the banana peel; '*Iam waiting here for a boy. Not a small,
weak, delicate boy," added the little green apple, proudly, "bat
a great big boy, a -^

great bulky, strong, ^^||^ y

leather-lunged, noisy ""•

fifteen-year-older, and
little as I am, you will
see me double up
that boy to-night, and
make him wail and
howl and yell. Oh,.
I'm small, but I'm
good for a ten acre
field of boys, and
don't you forget it !
All the boys in Bur-
lington,"" the little
green apple went on,
with just a shade of
pitying contempt in
itsvoice^ "couldn't
fool around me as
any one of th^m fools
around a banana."

" Boys seems to be
your game," drawled
the banana peel,
lazily; "well, I suppose they are just about strong enough to afford
you a little amusement. For my own part, I like to take some-
body of my size. Now, here comes the kind of a man I usually
do business with. He is large and strong, it is true, but — "

And just then a South Hill merchant, who weighs about 231
pounds when he feels right good, came along, and the banana

THE STRENGTH OF A BANANA PEEL.

, \ '

1.7,

56o

MARK TWAIN'S LIBRARY OF HUMOR.

peel just caught him by the foot, lifted him about as high as the
awning post, turned him over, banged him down on a potato
basket, flattening it out until it looked like a splint door-mat, and
the shock jarred everything loose in the show-window. And then,
while the fallen merchant, from various quarters of the globe,
fished his silk hat from the gutter, his spectacles from the cellar,
his handkerchief from the tree-box, his cane from the show-
window, and one of his shoes from the eaves-trough, and a little
boy ran for the doctor, the little green apple blushed red and
shrank a little back out of sight, covered with awe and mortifi-
cation.

"Ah," it thought, '* I wonder if I can ever do that? Alas,
how vain I was, and yet how poor and weak and useless I am in
this world."

But the banana peel comforted it, and bade it look up and take
heart, and do well what it had to do, and labor for the good of
the cause in its own useful sphere. " True," said the banana peel,
" you cannot lift up a two hundred pound man and break a cellar '
door with him, but you can give him the cholera morbus, and if
you do your part, the world will feel your power and the medical
colleges will call you blessed."

And then the little green apple smiled and looked up with
grateful blushes on its face, and thanked the banana peel for its
encouraging counsel. And that very night, an old father who
writes thirteen hours a day, and a patient mother who was almost
ready to sink from weariness, and a nurse and a doctor, sat up
until nearly morning with a thirteen-year-old boy, who was all
twisted up into the shape of a figure 3, while all the neighbors
on that block sat up and listened, and pounded their pillows, and
tried to sleep, and wished that boy would either die or get well.

And the little green apple was pleased, and its last words were,
" At least I have been of some little use in this great wide
world ! "

h\ ■•

gh as the
a potato
mat, and
Knd then,
tie globe,
;he cellar,
he show-
id a little
:d red and
id mortifi-

at? Alas,
ss I am in

p and take
he good of
lanana peel,
eak a cellar '
■bus, and if
the medical

:ed up with
, peel for its

father who
) was almost
jctor, sat up
who was all
le neighbors

pillows, and
or get well.
; words were,
5 great wide

NATRAL AND UNNATRAL ARISTOKRATS. c^i

i.' ■■■,.■.■■ •

NATRAL AND UNNATRAL ARISTOKRATS.

BY JOSH BILLINGS.

Natur furnishes all the nobleman we hav.

She holds the pattent.

Pedigree haz no more to do in making a man aktually grater
than he iz, than a pekok's feather in his hat haz in making him
aktually taller.

Thiz iz a hard phakt for some tew learn.

This mundane earth iz thik with male and femail ones who
think they are grate bekauze their ansesstor waz luckey in the
sope or tobacco trade; and altho the sope haz run out sum time
since, they try tew phool themselves and other folks with the
suds.

Sope suds iz a prekarious bubble.

Thare ain't nothing so thin on the ribs az a sope suds aristok rat.

When the wo.ld stands in need ov an aristokrat, natur pitches
one into it, and furnishes him papers without enny flaw in them.

Aristokrasy kantbe transmitted — natur sez so— in the papers.

Titles are a plan got up bi humans tew assist natur in promul-
gating aristokrasy.

Titles ain't ov enny more real use or nesessity than dog collars
are.

I hav seen-dog collars th?t kost 3 dollars on dogs that want
worth, in enny market, over 87 1-2 cents.

This iz a grate waste ov collar; and a grate damage tew the dog.

Natur don't put but one ingredient into her kind ov aristokrasy,
and that iz virtew.

She wets up the virtew, sumtimes, with a little pepper sass, just
tew make it lively.

She sez that all other kinds are false; and i beleave natur.

I wish every man and woman on ^arth waz a bloated aristok'-at —
biOrated with virtew.

Earthly manufaktured aristokrats are made principally out ov
munny.

Forty years ago it took about 85 thousand dollars tew make a
good-sized aristokrat, and innokulate his family with the same

: '.it:;!

562

UfAXX" TWAIN'S UBRARY OF HUMOR.

diflseaze, but it takes now about doo thousand tew throw the
partys into fits.

Aristolcrasy, like all other bred stuffs, haz riz.

It don't take enny more virtew tew make an aristokrat now,
nor clothes, than it did in the daze ov Abraham.

Virtew don't vary.

Virtew iz the standard ov values.

Clothes ain't.

Titles aint

^^^'^^''^=*^\^

t^'^'^

A NATURAL ARISTOCRAT.

A man kan go barefoot and be virtewous, and be an aristokra*:

Diogoneze waz an aristokrat.

His brown stun front waz a tub, and it want on end, at that.

Moneyed aristokrasy iz very good to liv on in the present hi
kondishun ov kodphis and wearing apparel, provided yu see the
munny, but if the munr.y kind of tires out and don't reach yu,
and you don't git ennything but the aristokrasy, you hav got to
diet, that's a...

NATRAL AND UNNATRAL ARISTOCRATS.

563

irow the

crat now,

I kno ov thousands who are now dieting on aristokrasy.
They say it tastes good.
I presume they lie without knowing it.
Not enny ov this sort ov aristocrasy for Joshua Billings.
I never should think ov mixing munny and aristokrasy together;
i will take mine seperate, if yu pleze.

I don't rever expekt tew be an aristokrat, nor an angel; i dont
kno az i want tew be one.
I certainly should make a miserable angel.
I certainly never shall hav munny enuff tew make an aristo-
krat.

Raizing aristokrats iz a dredful poor bizzness; yu don't never
git your seed back.

One democrat iz worth more tew the world than 60 thousand
manufaktured aristokrats.

An Amerikan aristokrat iz the most ridikilus thing in market
They are generally ashamed ov their ansesstors; and, if they hav
enny, and live long enuff, they generally hav cauze tew be
ashamed ov their posterity.

I kno ov sevral famllys in Amerika who are tricing tew liv on
their aristokrasy. The money and branes giv out sum time ago.
It iz hard skratching for them.

Yu kan warm up kold potatoze and liv on them, but yu kant
warm up aristokratik pride and git even a smell.

Yu might az well undertake ^2w raze a krop ov korn in a
deserted brik yard by manurrug the ground heavy with tan bark.

an aristokrat.

end, at that,
the present hi
ied yu see the
on't reach yu,
>u hav got to

Yung man, set down, and keep still — yu will hav plenty ov
chances yet to make a phool ov yureself before yu die.

Josh Billings.

! S

5^4

MARK TWALW'S UBRARY OF I/LAtOR,

fil

» r

M«

?>•'«*

EXAMPLES OF TURKISH JUSTICE.

UY S. S. COX.

In Egypt, long before the Turkish rule in that region, there
were struggles between the Mamelukes and the Circassians. A
Circassian chief, through the advice of n servant, who, though
ignorant, was naturally astute, happened by accident to discover
the weak points uf the ruling government in Egypt. Upon these
points, as upon the rounds of a ladder, he ascended to the throne.
Formerly, the Circassian had promised the servant that if ever he
obtained that eminence the servant should receive the appoint-
ment of Chief Judge. The servant's name was Caracoush, mean-
ing "blackbird." So, as soon as the chief was enthroned, he
gave Caracoush the promised post. Among the many cases that
came before him was the following petition:

"Being a burglar by profession, and compelled by want to rob
a house, I select that of a tailor. To enter it I must njake my
way through the courtyard. This is surrounded by a high wall!
In jumping from this wall I am caught on the spikes the tailur
had fixed in the wall to suspend ropes for the Wiishing. The
result is, I lose an eye. I now demand that my eye be restored,
and that the fellow who drove the spike shall be punished."

The judge reads the petition, and concludes that justice is due
the petitioner. He summons the tailor, to whom the matter is
explained. The tailor argues that tl^c thief has no business to
jump into his yard in the night, so that if he lost an eye, it is his
own fault. But the judge remarks:

'• The thief is only practicing his profession, and the law only
punishes robbers."

" If," he says to the tailor, ** you had not driven the spikes in
the walls, the thief would not have lost his eye; therefore your
eye must pay the forfeit."

The poor Ilor begs and cries in vain. The veroict \:-, pm-
nounced. It nust be executed. After .i long struggle, the tailor
seizes the knees of the judge, kisses them vigorously, i.. n , ili
tears in his eyes, exclaims:

"Oh! mi ji|:.'ity judge. Your decision is sound, but consider.
Am I not su\)i>or.!pg a large family — my old mother, my wife,
and my seven ji^.sng children ? They all depend on me, and I

EXAMPLES OF TURKISH JUSTICE.

S6$

jioii, there
ssians. A
[10, though
to discover
Upon these
the throne.
It if ever he
he appoint-
oush, mean-
Uhroned, he
ly cases that

' want to rob
ist njake my
J a high wall'.
:es the tailor
ashing. The
e be restored,
nished."
justice is due
the matter is
3 business to
n eye, it is his

the law only

n the spikes in
herefore your

veraict Vi pr'-"-
ggle, the taiUr
)usly, iuifi ^^•'■li

, but consider.
)ther, my wife,
I on me, and 1

myself depend on my two eyes. Am T not a tailor ? Do I not
need my two eyes? If I lose one, how can I pass the thread into
the needl' ' eye ? How can I do my fine sew ing? My reputa-
tion will sutler and all of us starve! "

jjceing some sign of relenting in the judici, ' c untenance, the
tailor is encouraged. He resumes, brii^htening:

" I have a neighbor who is a sportsman. V/hen he aims at tlr
game he shuts one eye. Why, great judge, his two eyes are an
embarrassment to him! Had he but one, it vould save ' m the
trouble of shutting the other. Moreover, what difference i.oes it
make to this rubber? All he wants is an eye tylled out.
Whether it be niire or that of the
spori -man's, what matter ? It is
nil oi.<- t^ i;'m."

The argument sounds plaus-
ible. The judge considers a mo-
ment, an^l then sends for the
sportsman. In spite of protests,
he decrees the loss of the sports-
man's superfluous eye. The ver-
dict is carried into execution, and

judicial logic is vindicated 1
• • • ♦

In the interior of Hungary a
Turkish agent is sent to buy
cavalry horses to recruit for the
then probable war with Bulgaria
and Greece. While there the
agent desires that the proprietor the unfortunate hunter.
of a village, with whom he was

contracting, should show him a specimen of the Hungarian
mode of proceeding.

"Wait a few moments," says the proprietor, who is also a
magistrate "and I wi'. see who is in the town jail."

Calling his constable, he is informed by that officer that a goose
thief had been apprehended during the night, and is in confine-
ment. He sends for the criminal.

'* Are there any iritnesses ? " asks the judge.

" Two," is the answer , *' the man who owns the goose, and a
man who saw the theft."

^ '.y

566

MARK TWAIN'S UBRARY OF HUMOR,

.1/ ..*^' "C

After hearing the evidence, the judge, in his fierce and harsh
Hungarian-Finnish-Tartaric tongue, calls up the culprit and says:
" You have been found guilty, and I fine you ten kreutzers
and ten days' imprisonment for stealing the goose! "
Thereupon the judge summons the owner of the bird:
"I fine you ten kreutzers and ten days' imprisonment for

allowing your goose to be stolen! "
^j^^ ^^^-. Having thus disposed of the
~ '1 parties, the judge, turning to the

witness, says :

"Sirrah! I fine you ten kreut-
zers and ten days' imprisonment
for not minding your own busi-
ness! "

Hilmi Effendi listens with in-
terest to this story of Slavonic
justice, and remarks that almost
as odd a case recently came
before one of the courts of Stam-
boul.

A creditor comes to the judge
to have a note sued. It is for 1,500
piastres, and not due until three
years after the complaint is made.
The judge entertains the suit,
and condemns the creditor to confinement for three years.

" For," said his honor: " How do I know where you will be
three years hence, so as to pay you the piastres, unless I hold
you?"

We agree that this is an improvement on the American custom
of the imprisonment ot witnesses in criminal cases.

STEALING A GOOSE.

A GREAT FIT,

567

■ce and harsh
tlprit and says:
ten kreutzers

e bird:

prisonment for
e to be stolen!"
isposed of the
turning to the

you ten kreut-

s' imprisonment

your own busi-

Ustens with in-
tory of Slavonic
,arks that almost
e recently came
le courts of Stam-

.mes to the 3«dge
ued. It is for 1,500
ot due until three

complaint is made.

itertains the suit,

■ three years.

, ^here you will be

tstres, unless I hold

le American custom
cases.

A GREAT FIT.

BY ROBERT HENRY NEWELL.

TDOBERT HENRY NEWELL, the Orpheus C. Kerr of every one's acquaint.
^ V ance, is a veteran editor and a prolific author. He was bom in New
york,.Deceinber 13, 1836.

" There was a man in Arkansaw
As let his passions rise,
And not unfrequently picked out ■
Some other varmint's eyes.

" His name was Tuscaloosa Sam,

And often he would say,
' There's not a cuss in Arkansaw

I can't whip any day

" One morn, a stranger, passin' by,
Heard Sammy talkin' so,
When down he scrambled from his boss,
And off his coat did go.

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MARK TWAIN'S LIBRARY OF HUMOR.

" He sorter kinder shut one eye
And spit into his hand,
And put his ugly head one side,
And twitched his trowsers' band.

" * My boy,' says he, ' it's my belief,
Whomever you may be,
That I kin make you screech, and smell
Pertikler agony.'

" • I'm thar,' says Tuscaloosa Sam,
And chucked his hat away ;
* I'm thar,' says he, and buttoned up
As far as buttons may.

" He thundered on the stranger's mug,
The stranger pounded he ;
And oh! the way them critters fit
Was beautiful to see.

"They clinched like two rampageous bears,
And then went down a bit ;
They swore a stream of six- inch oaths
And fit, and fit, and fit. -. ;'' ■ ,-■ ■ " '

. ^.,•^'^Ari >?"■•'''" ' ' • <

"When Sam would try to work away.
And on his pegs to git.
The stranger'd pull him back ; and so,
They fit, and fit, and fit!

"Then like a pair of lobsters, both
Upon the ground were knit.
And yet the varmints used their teeth.
And fit, and fit, and fit ! !

"The sun of noon was high above.
And hot enough to split,
But only riled the fellers more.
That fit, and fit, and fit ! ! !

■^:A GREAT FIT. y

569

h j;:..' " The Stranger snapped at Sammy s nose,

And shortened it a bit ;
, • , And then they both swore awful hard,
• And fit, and fit, and fit ! I ! !

"The mud it flew, the sky grew dark,
And all the litenins lit ;
But still them critters rolled about, '
And fit, and fit, and fit ! ! ! 1 !

\ W

THE REMAINS.

"First Sam on top, then t'other chap ;
When one would make a hit,
The other'd smell the grass ; and so,
They fit, and fit, and fit ! ! ! ! ! !

"The night came on, the stars shone out
As bright as wimmen's wit ;
And still them fellers swore and gouged,
Andfit, andfit,andfit!!!!!!!

"The neighbors heard the noise they made,
And thought an earthquake lit ;
Vet all the while 'twas him and Sam
As fit, and fit, and fit !!!!!!! !

!■ V-

■t-.il

f>; /

570 AfA^AT TH'A/JV'S LIBRARY OF HUMOR.

** For miles arounu che noise was heard ; '
Folks couldn't sleep a bit,
Because them two rantankerous chaps
Still fit, and fit, and fit !!!!!!!! !

■" But jist at cock-crow, suddenly^
There came an awful pause, .
And I and my old man run out
To ascertain the cause.

"The sun was rising in the yeast» -

And lit the hull concern ;
But not a sign of either chap
Was found at any turn.

" Yet, in the region where they fit,
We found, to our surprise,
One pint of buttons, two big knives.
Some wLiskers, and four eyes! "

Mill :'

CHRISTMAS IN PINEVILLB,

571

CHRISTMAS IN PINEVILLE.

BY WILLIAM TAPPAN THOMPSON.

r£PlLLUM TAPPAN THOMPSON was bom in Ohio in 1812, and died
^-*^ in 1882. A great part of his life was passed in Georgia, where the
scene of his various humorous sketches, "Major Jones's Courtship," "Major
Jones's Sketches of Travel," and "Major Jones's Characters of Fineville, " is
laid. His books had at one time a vast popularity.

PiNEviLLE, December 20, 1842.
To Mr. Thompson:— i?^ar Sir .—It seems our fokes always is
in a fuss. First it was
movin', then it was hog-
kill in', and now every
thing is topsy - turvy
making ready for Cris-
mus. I do b'lieve the
niggers is skowered
every spot from the
garret to the doresteps, ' y^/ 'l
and every time I come /^ 'j
into the house they's
all hollerin* out, " Thar,
now, Mas* Joe, jest look
at your tracks ! " and
" Don't you step on the
heath, for it's jest red-
dened," and ♦♦ Don't
you spit agin the jam,"
and sich foolery, jest
as if people's houses
wasn't made for 'em to
live in. It really puts
me out of all patience
to see sich nonsensical
doins. And mother,
she's had all the nig-
gers choppin' sassage

meat to make mince-pies, and poundin' spice and ginger, and
makin' marvels and beatin' egs to make pound-cake, and all sorts

••don't you spit agin the jam.

.1 it

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572

^J/zf^A" TWAIN'S LIBRARY OF HUMOR.

of sweet doins for Crismus ; for when she takes any thing into
her head, she ain't a gwine to be outdone by nobody. She ses
Crismus don't come but once a year nowadays, and she's gwine
to treat it hansum when it does cum — she's gwine to show the
Stallinses that she's used to as good livin' as most of fokes.
,, Mother and old Miss Stallins and two or three more old ladies
ii$ in a mighty fidget ^bout it, and old Miss Stallins dreamed it
wasa'faict, and friBther direamedshe se6d two moons t'other night,
and one of 'em was airblazfrt* with fire and flyin' about in the sky
like all wrath.- I don't <'2actly know what to think about it, but
ther's one thing sartin, it's got to begin monstrous early in the
mornin' on the third <lay of April if I aint'up to see it. If any-
body was toSetfhe vvbods a-fire 'bout Pineville," jest at that time,
I wouldn't like to answer for the consequences among the old
wimin. '

But I'm not a gwine to let sich matters interfere with my
marryin' ;specelation. I call it sjiecelation, for, you know, ther's
no tellin' h(l)w these things is gwine to turn out. In the fust place,
it's achanc^ if a body gits the gall he's courtin', and after he's
got* her all to himself, for better or for Worse, it's a chance again
if she don't turn out a monstrou^ site worse nor he tuck her for.
But I think mine's a pretty safe blsihess, for Miss Mary is jest a
leetle the smartest and best and the butifulest gall in Georgia.
I've se^^ her two or three times sense the candy pullin', and I
aint more'n half so 'fraid of her as I used to be. I told her
t'other litght I had a Crismus gift for her, which I hoped she would
take and kee{i.

" Whftt is it, Majer ! " ses she.

" Oh," ses 'I, " it's soniething what I wouldn't give to nobody
else in the world!"

" Well, but what is xfi—do tell me! " '

" Something," ses I, " what you stole from me a long time
ago, and sense you've got it, I want you to keep it, and give me
one like it in return."

" Well do tell me what it is, fust," ses she, and I seed her cut
her eye at Miss Carline, and sort o' smile.

"But, will you give me one in return?" ses I.

"What, Majer?— tell me what?"
' '• I'll tell you Crismus eve," ses I. " But will you give mtyours
in return ? "

CHRISTMAS IN PINEVILLE.

573

" Yours! eh, my—." then her face got as red as a poppy, and
she looked down.

"You know what, Miss Mary," ses I. " Will you ?"

She didn't say nothin', but blushed worse and worse.

" Now, mind," ses I, " I must have a answer Crismus eve."

" Well," ses she— and then she looked up and laughed, and
sed, " Exchange is no robbery, is it, sister Carline ? "

" No, sis," ses she, '« but I reckon Joseph got his pay 'bout the
same time you stole his — "

"Stop, stop, sister, Majer didn't say his heart—"

•'There, there!" ses Miss Carline and Miss Kesiah, clappin'
ther hands, and laughin' as loud as they could— ''there, there
little innocent sister has let the cat out of the bag, at last ! I
told you so, Majer."

I never felt so good afore in all my born days, and Miss Mary,
pore gall, hid her face in her hands and begun to cry, she felt so
about it. That's the way with the galls, you know; they always
cry when they feel the happyest. But I soon got her in a good
humor, and then I went home.

I'm gwine to bring her right up to the scratch Crismus, or I
ain't here.

give to nobody

I I seed her cut

■ou give XR&yours

Crismus is over, and the thing is done did! You know I told
you in my last letter I was gwine to bring Miss Mary up to the
chalk on Crismus. Well, I done it, slick as a whistle, though it
come mighty nigh bein' a serious bisness. But I'll tell you all
about the whole circumstance.

The fact is, I's made my mind up more'n twenty times to jest
go and come right out with the whole business; but whenever I
got whar she was, and whenever she looked at me with her
witchin' eyes, and kind o' blushed at me, I always felt sort o'
skeered and fainty, and all what I made up to tell her was forgot,
so I couldn't think of it to save me. But you's a married man,
Mr. Thompson, so I couldn't tell you nothin' about popin the
question, as they call it. It's a mighty grate favor to ax of a
pretty gall, and to people what ain't used to it, it goes monstrous
hard, don't it ? They say widders don't mind it no more'n nothin'.
But I'm makin' a transgression, as the preacher ses.

Crismus eve I put on my new suit, and shaved my face as slick
as a smoothin' iron, and after tea went over to old Miss Stallinses.

574

»tAJtX TWAIN* S LIBRARY OF HUMOR.

I if '/'■'il

felt: » 'v'

i^V^"

IKid-..

it/' /*! '

Off «

A« soon as I went into the parler, whar they was all settin' round
the fire, Miss Carline and Miss Kesiah both laughed right out.

•'There ! there ! " ses they, *' I told you so ! I know'd it would
be Joseph."

" What's I done. Miss Carline ? " ses I.

" You come under little sister's chicken bone, and I do believe
she know'd you wa? comin' when she put it over the dore."

"No, I didn't — I didn't no such thing, now!" ses Miss Mary;
and her face blushed red all over.

'* Oh, you needn't deny it," sec Miss Kesiah • "you belong to
Joseph now, jest as sure as ther's any charm in chicken bones."

I know'd that was a first-rate chance to say something, but the
dear little creeter looked so sorry and kep' blushin' so, I couldn't
say nothin' zactly to the pint ! so I tuck a chair and reached up
and tuck down the bone and put it in my pocket.

** What are you gwine to do with that old chicken bone now,
Majer?" ses Miss Mary.

*' I'm gwine to keep it as long as I live," ses I, " as a Crismus
present from the handsomest gall in Georgia."

When I sed that, she blushed worse and worse.

"Ain't you 'shamed, Majer?" ses she.

"Now you ought to give /ler a Crismus gift, Joseph, to keep
all /ler life," sed Miss Carline.

"Ah," ses old Miss Stallins, "when I was a gall we used to
hang up our stockins — "

" Why, mother! " ses al! of *em, "to say stockins right be-
fore—"

Then I felt a little streaked, too, 'cause they was all blushin' as
hard as they could.

" Highty-tity! " ses the old lady — "what monstrous 'finement,
to be shore! I'd like to know what harm ther is in stockins.
People nowadays is gittin so mealy-mouthed they can't call
nothin by its right name, and I don't see as they's any better
than the old-time people was. When I was a gall like you, child,
I use to hang up my stockins and git 'em full of presents."

The galls kep laughin' and blushin'.

"Never mind," ses Miss Mary, " Majer's got to give m'j a
Crismus gift — v.'on't yon, Majer ? "

"Oh, yes," scr; T, "you l;now T promised you one."

^♦But I didn't mean f/iaf" ses she. •

Hilll'

:ken bone now,

*< as a Crismus

^ot to give my a

CHRISTMAS IN PINEVILLE.

575

" I've got one for you, what I want you to keep all your life,
but it would take a two-bushel bag to hold it," ses I.

" Oh, that's the kind! " ses she.

" But will you promise to keep it as long as you live ? " ses I.

"Certainly I will, Majer."

—«* Monstrous 'finement nowadays— old people don't know
nothin' about perliteness," said old Miss Stallins, jest gwine to
sleep with her nittin in her lap.

" Now you hear that. Miss Carline," ses I. " She ses she'll
keep it all her life."

«« Yes, I will," ses Miss Mary — " but what is it ? "

" Never mind." ses I, "you hang up a bag big enough to hold
it and you'll fin > what it ic, when you see it in the mornin'."

Miss Carline winked at Miss Kesiah, and then whispered to
her — then they both laughed, and looked at me as mischievous as
they could. They 'spicioned something.

"You'll be shore to give it to me, now, if I hang up a bag!"
ses Miss Mary,

"And promise to keep it," ses I.

•' Well, I will, cause I know that you wouldn't give me nothin*
that wasn't worth keepin'."

They all agreed they would hang up a bag for me to put Miss
Mary's Crismus present in, on the back porch, and about ten
o'clock I told 'em good evenin' and went home.

I sot up till midnight, and when they was all gone to bed I
went softly into the back gate, and went up to the porch, and
thar, shore enough, was a great big meal-bag hangin' to the jice.
It was monstrous unhandy to git to it, but I was 'termined not to
back out. So I sot some chairs on top of a bench and got hold
of the rope, and let myself down into the bag; but jest as I was
gittin in, it swung agin the chairs, and down they went with a
terrible racket; but nobody didn't wake up but Miss Stallinses
old cur dog, and here he come rippin' and tearin' through the
yard like rath, and round and round he went tryin' to find what
was the matter. I scrooch'd down in the bag, and didn't breathe
louder nor a kitten, for fear he'd find me out, and after a while
he quit barkin'.

The wind begun to blow 'bominable cold, and the old bag kcp*
turnin' round and swingin' so it made me seasick as the mischief.
I was afraid to move for fear the rope would break and let me

''•„-af .

■ 5^

V- :

'iirii

»is:

•-I

57<>

JI/W-ffAT TWAIN'S LIBRARY OF HUMOR.

fall, and thar I sot with my teeth rattlin' like I had a ager. It
seemed like it would never come daylight, and I do believe if I
didn't love Miss Mary so powerful I would froze to death ; for
my heart vas the only spot that felt warm, and it didn't beat
more'n two licks a minit, only when I thought how she would be
supprised in the mornin', and then it went in a canter. Bimeby
the cussed old dog come up on the porch and begun to smell
about the bag, and then he barked like he thought he'd treed
something. " Bow! wow! wow! " ses he. Then he'd smell agin,
and try to git up to the bag. "Git out! " ses I, very low, for
fear the galls mought hear me. "Bow! wow!" ses he. "Be
gone! you 'bommable fool," ses I; and I felt all over in spots, for
I 'spected every minit he'd nip me; and what made it worse, I
didn't know whar abouts he'd take hold. "Bow! wow! wow! "
Then I tried coaxin'. " Come here, good feller," ses I, and
whistled a little to him, but it wasn't no use. Thar he stood and
kep up his everlastin' whinin' and barkin', all night. I couldn't
tell when daylight was breakin', only by the chickens crowin'^
and I was monstrous glad to bear 'em, for if I'd had to stay
thar one hour more, I don't believe I'd ever got out of that
bag alive.

Old Miss Stallins come out fust, and as scon as she seed the
bag, ses she:

" What upon yeath has Joseph went and put in that bau ior Mary?
I'll lay its a yearlin' or some live animal, or Bruin wouldn't bark
at it so."

She went in to call the galls, and I sot thar, shiverin' all over
so I couldn't hardly speak if I tried to — but I didn't say nothin'.
Bimeby they all come runnin' out on the porch.

** My goodness ! what is it?" ses Miss Mary.

" Oh, it's alive !" ses Miss Kesiah ; " I seed it move."

" Call Cato, and make him cut the rope," ses Miss Carline,
" and let's see what it is. Come here, Cato, and get this bag
down."

" Don't hurt it, for the world !" ses Miss Mary. v

Cato untied the rope that was round the jice, and let the bag
down easy on the floor, and I tumbled out all covered with corn
meal, from head to foot.

"Goodness gracious !" ses Miss Mary; " if it ain't the Majer
himself!"

lad aager. It
do believe if I
; to death ; for
, it didn't beat
V she would be
anter. Bimeby
begun to smell
ught he'd treed
he'd smell agin,
I, very low, for
" ses he. " Be
over in spots, for
made it worse, I
3w! wow! wow! "
ler," ses I, and
'har he stood and
ight. I couldn't
chickens crowin',
[ I'd had to stay
got out of that

n as she seed the

thatbauiorMary?
ruin wouldn't bark

shiverin' all over
didn't say nothin'.
[h.

J-

it move."
ses Miss Carline,
and get this bag

[ary.

ice, and let the bag

I covered with corn

if it ain't the Majer

CHRISTMAS IN riNEVlLLE.

577

"Yes," ses I, "and you know you promised to keep my Cris-
mus present as long as you lived."

The galls laughed themselves almost lo death, and went to
brushin' off the meal as fast as they could, sayin' they wasgwine
to hang that bag up every Crismus till ihey got husbands too.
Miss Mary— bless her bright eyes !— she blushed as beautiful as
a morning - glory,
and sed she'd stick
to her word. She
was right out of bed,
and her hair wasn't
k o m e d , and her
dress wasn't fix'd at
all, but the way she
looked pretty was
real distractin'. I
do believe ef I was
froze stiff, one look
at her sweet face, as
she stood thar look-
in' down to the floor
with her roguish
eyes, and her bright
curls fallin' all over
her snowy neck,
would have fetched
me too. I tell you
what, it was worth ^''
hangin* in a meal bag ^S
from one Crismus -^
to another to feel as
happy as I have ever
sense.

I went home after we had the laugh out, and sot by the fire till
I got thawed. In the forenoon all the Stallinses come over to
our house, and we had one of the greatest Crismus dinners that
ever was seed in Georgia, and I don't believe a happier company
ever sot down to the same table. Old Miss Stallins and mother
settled the match, and talked over everything that ever happened
in ther families, and laughed at me and Mary, and cried about

THE CHRISTMAS BAG.

'' -M

578

MARK TWAIN'S LIBRARY OF HUMOR.

!■'

ther dead husbands, cause they wasn't alive to see ther children
married.

It's all settled now, 'cept wu hain't sot the weddin' day. I'd
like to have it all over at once, but young galls always like to be
engaged a while, you know, so I s'posc I must wait a month or
so. Mary (she ses I mustn't call her Miss Mary now) has been
a good deal of trouble and botheration to me ; but if you could
see her, you wouldn't think I ought to grudge a little suffcrin' to
git sich a sweet little wife.

You must come to the weddin' if you possibly kin. I'll let you
know when. No more from

Your friend, till death, Jos. Jones.

N. B. — I like to forgot to tell you about cousin Pete. He got
snapt on egnog when he heard of my engagement, and he's been
as meller as hoss-apple ever sense.

Take all the phools out ov this world, and thare wouldn't be
enny phun, nor proffit, living in it.

Josh Billings.

AUTiiMCS WARD AND THE PRINCE OF WALES, rjft

ARTEMUS WARD AND THE PRINCE OF WALES.

UY ARTEMUS WARD.

I WAS drawln' near to the Prince, when a red-faced man in
Millinjrtery close grabd holt of me and axed me whare I was
goni' all so bold ?

'* To see Albert
Edard, the Prhice
of Wales," sez I ;
*' who are you ? "

He sed he was
the Kurnal of the
Seventy Fust Regi-
ment, Her Magis-
ty's troops. I told
him I hoped the
Seventy Onesters
was in good helth,
and was passin' by
when he ceased
hold o^f me agin,
and sed in a tone of
indigent cirprise :

"What? Impos-
sible ! It kannot
be ! B 1 a r s t my
hize, sir, did I un-
derstan' yoa to say '^#|
that you was actoo- ' '"^
ally goin' into the
presents of his
Royal Iniss ? "

"That's what's the matter with me," I replied.

*' But blarst my hize, sir, its onprecedented. It's orful sir.
Nothin' like it ham't happened sins the Gun Power Plot of
Guy Forks. Owdashus man, who air yu?"

"Sir, sez I, drawin' myself up & puttin' on a defiant air, " I'm
a Amerycan sitterzen. My name is Ward. I'm a husband, &

THE PRINCE OF WALES.

^ In:

1|«

', '%

Vltlri

580

MAJiA' TWAIN'S LIBRARY OF HUMOR.

the father of twins, which I'm happy to state thay look like me»
By perfession I'm a exhibitor of wax works & sich,"

"Good God !" yelled the Kurnal; "the idee of a exhibiier of
wax figgers goin' into the presents of Royalty ! The British
Lion may well roar with raje at the thawt !"

Sez I, " Speakin' of the British Lion, Kurnal, I'd like to make
a bargin with you fur that beast fur a few weeks to add to my
Show." I didn't meen nothin' by this. I was only gettin' orf
a goak, but you orter hev seen the Old Kurnal jump up and
howl. He actooally foamed at the mowth.

" This can't be real," he showtid. " No, no. It's a horrid
dream. Sir, you air not a human bein' — you hav no existents
— yu're a INIyth !"

" Wall," sez I, "old boss, yule find me a ruther oncomfort-
able Myth cf you punch my inards in that way agin." I began
to git a little riled, fur when he called me a Myth he puncht me
putty hard. The Kurnal now commenst showtin fur the Seventy
Onestcrs. I at fust thawt I'd stay & becum a Marter to Brit-
ish Outraje, as sich a course mite git my name up & be a good
advertisement fur my Show, but it occurred to me that ef enny
of the Seventy Onesters shood happen to insert a baronet into
my stummick it mite be onplcsunt ; & I was on the pint of run-
nin' orf when the Prince hisself kum up & axed me what the
matter was. Sez I, " Albert Edard, is that you ?" & he smilt &
sed it was. Sez I, " Albert Edard, hears my keerd. I cum to
pay my respccks to the futer King of Ingland. The Kurnal of
the Seventy Onestcrs hear is ruther smawl pertaters, but of course
you ain't to blame fur that. He puts on as many airs as tho he
was the Bully Boy with the glass eye."

" Never mind," sez Albert Edard, " I'm glad to see you. Mister
Ward, at all events," & he tuk my hand so plesunt like, & larfed
so sweet that I fell in love with him to onct. He handid me a
segar, & we sot down on the Pizarro & commenst smokin' rite
cheerful.

" Wall," sez I, " Albert Edard, how's the old folks ?" ■

" Her Majesty & the Prince are well," he sed.

'• Duz the old man take his Lager I)eer rcglar ?" I inquired.

The Prince larfed, & intcrmntid that the old man didn't let
many kegs of that bevridgc spile in the sellar in the coarse of
a year. We sot & tawked there sum time abowt matters &

ARTEMUS WARD AND THE PRINCE OF WALES.

581

ike me.

ibilei' of
British

to make
d to my
ettia' orf
;) up and

a horrid
existents

)ncomfort-
I began
puncht me
he Seventy
,er to Brit- \
be a good
tiat ef enny
laronet into
pii^ of r mi-
ne what the
he smilt &
I cum to

le Kurnal of
DUt of course
irs as tho he

! you,

Mister

;e, & barfed

handid me a

smokin' rite

ks ?"

I inquired,
lan didn't let
the coarse of
wt matters &

things, & bimeby I axed him how he liked bein' Prince, as fur as
he'd got.

" To speak plain, Mister Ward," he sed, ** I don't much like
it. I'm sick of all this bowin' & scrapin' & crawlin' & hurrain
over a boy like me. I would rather go through the country
quietly & enjoy myself in my own way, with the other boys, &
not be made a Show of to be gaped at by everybody. When the
j*^//^ cheer me I feel pleesed, fur I know theymeen it; but if
these one-horse oilfishuls cood know how I see threw all their
moves & undecstan' exactly what they air after, & knowd how I
larft at 'em in private, thayd stop kissin' my hands & fawnin' over
me as thay now do. But you know, Mister Ward, I can't help
bein' a Prince, & I must do all I kin to fit myself for the persi-
shun I must sumtime ockepy."

" That's troo," sez I; " sickness & the docters will carry the
Queen orf one of these dase, sure's yer born."

The time hevin' arove fur me to take my departer, I rose up
& sed: "Albert Edard, I must go, but previs to doin' so, I
will obsarve that you soot me. Yure a good feller, Albert
Edard, & tho I'm agin Princes as a gineral thing, I must say
I like the cut of your Gib. When you git to be King, try
& be as good a man as your muther has bin ! Be just & be
Jenerus, espeshully to showmen, who have allers bin aboosed
sins the dase of Noah, who was the fust man to go into the Menag-
ery bizniss, & ef the daily papers of his time air to be beleeved,
Noah's colleckshun of livin' wild beests beet ennything ever seen
sins, tho I make bold to dowt ef his snaiks was ahead of mine.
Albert Edard, adoo !" I tuk his hand, which he shook warmly,
& givin' him a perpetooal free pars to my show, & also parses
to take hum for the Queen & Old Albert, I put on my hat
and walkt away.

" Mrs. Ward," I solilerquized as I walkt along—" Mrs. Ward,
ef you could see your husband now, just as he prowdly emerjis
from the presunts of the futer King of Ingland, you'd be sorry
you called him a Beest jest becaws he cum home tired i nite
& wantid to go to bed without takin' off his boots. You'd be
sorry for tryin' to deprive yure husband of the priceless Boon
of liberty, Betsy Jane !"

Jest then I met a long perseshun of men with gownds onto
'em. The leader was on horseback, & ridin' up to me, he sed:

^- f '

"•',;.

5S2

MARIC TWAIN'S LIBRARY OF HUMOR.

W ■

" Air you Orange ?"

Sez I, " Which ?"

" Air you a Orangeman ?" he repeated, sternly.

*' I used to peddle lemins," sed I, " but never delt in oranges.
They are apt to spile on yure hands. What particler Loonatic
Asylum hev you & yure friends escaped frum, if I may be so
bold ?" Just then a suddent thawt struck me, & I sed, « Oh,
yure the fellers who air worryin' the Prince so, & givin' the
Juke of Noocastle cold sweats at nite, by yure infernal cata-
walins, air you ? Wall, take the advice of a Amerykin sitterzen,
take orf them gownds & don't try to get up a religious fite, which
is 40 times wuss nor a prize fite, over Albert Edard, who wants
to receive you all on a ekal footin' not keerin' a tinker's cuss what
meetin'-house you sleep in Sundays. Go home & mind yure
bisness, & not make noosenses of yourselves." With which
observashuns I left 'em.

I shall leave British sile 4thwith. 1

m '

'■■Kr; .. ■

.*'

' -t '

BRILLIANT DRUNKARDS,

583

in oranges.
;r Loonatic
may be so

sed, "Oh,
: givin' the
iernal cata-
in sitterzen,
IS fite, which
1, who wants
;r's cuss what
i mind yure

With which

BRILLIANT DRUNKARDS.

BY C. D. WARNER.

It is a temptation to a temperate man to become a sot, to hear
what talent, what versatility, what genius, is almost always attrib-
uted to a moderately bright man who is habitually drunk. Such
a mechanic, such a mathematician, such a poet he would be if
he were only sober; and then he is sure to be the most generous,

A BRILLIANT DRUNKARD.

magnanimous, friendly soul, conscientiously honorable, if he were
not so conscientiously drunk, I suppose it is now notorious that
the most brilliant and promising men have been lost to the world
in this way. It is sometimes almost painful to think what a sur-
plus of talent and genius there would be in the world if the habit
of intoxication should suddenly cease; and what a slim chance
there would be for the plodding people who have always had tol-
erable good habits. The fear is only mitigated by the observa-
tion that the reputation of a person for great talent sometimes
ceases with his reformation.

5S.

MARK TWAIN'S LIBRARY OF HUMOR.

•.V-'- i.l

BIRDOFREDOM SAWIN AS A VOLUNTEER.

\% 'H'

BY JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL.

[The first series of the *' Biglow Papers " appeared during the Mexican War
in the Boston Courier. Each paper was introduced by a letter from the Rev.
Homer Wilbur, of Jaalam Centre, covering a note and poem from his young
parishioner, Hosea Biglow.]

Mister Buckinum, the follerin Billet was writ hum by a Yung
feller of our town that wuz cussed fool enuff to goe a-trottin' inter
Miss Chiff arter a Drum and fife. It ain't Nater for a feller to
let on that he's sick o' any bizness that He went intu off his own
free will and a Cord, but I rather cal'late he's middlin' tired o'
voluntearin By this Time. I b'leeve u may put dependunts
on his statemence. For I never heered nothin' bad on him let
Alone his havin what Parson Wilbur cals a pongshong for cock-1
tales, and he sees it was a soshiashun of idees sot him a-goin'
arter the Crootin Sargient cos he wore a cocktale onto his hat.

his Folks gin the letter to me and i shew it to parson Wilbur
and he ses it oughter Bee printed, send It to mister Buckinum,
ses he, i don't oilers agree with him, ses he, but by Time,* ses he,
I du like a feller that aint a Feared.

I have intuspussed a Few refleckshuns hear and thair. We're
kind o' prest with Hayin.

Ewers respecfly

Hosea Biglow.

This kind o' sogerin' aint a mite like our October trainin'

A chap could clear right out from there ef 't only looked liked rainin',

An' th' Cunnles, tu, could kiver up their shappoes with bandanners,

An' send the insines skootin' to the bar-room with their banners

(Fear o' gittin' on 'em spotted), an' a feller could cry quarter

Ef he fired away his ramrod arter tu much rum an' water.

Recollect wut fun we hed, you 'n I an' Ezry Ilollis,

Up there to Waltham plain last fall, along o' the Cornwallis ? f

* In relation to this expression, I cannot but think that Mr, IJiglow has been too hasty in
attributing it to me. Though Time be a comparatively innocent personage to swear by, and
though Longinus in his discourse Ilcpl "Yi^oft has commended timely oaths as not only a
useful buttublime figure of speech, yet I have always kept my lips free <rom that abomination
Odi f>rofanuM vu.'gus, I hate jour swearing and hectoring fellowf.— H. W.

t i hsut the Site ofa feller with a muskit as I du pizn But there is fun to a cornwallis I aiut
agola' to deny it.— H. B.

BIRDOFREBOM SA Wm AS A VOLUNTEER.

585

This sort o' thing -aSxitjest like thet — I wish thet I wuz furder — *

Nimepunce a day for killin' folks comes kind o' low fer murder,

(Wy, I've worked out to slarterin' some fsr D??.con Cephas Bi!lInS|

An' in the hardest times there wuz I oilers tetched ten shillins),

There's sutthin' gits into my throat thet makes it hard to swaller,

It comes so nateral to think about a hempen collar ;

It's glory — but, in spite o' all my tryin' to git callous,

I feel a kind o' in a cart aridin' to the gallus.

But wen it comes to beiii' killed— I tell ye I felt streaked

'The fust time 't ever I found out wy baggonets wuz peaked ;

Here's how it wuz : I started out to go to a fandango,

The sentinel he ups an' sez, " Thet 's furder an' you can go."

'» None o' your sarse," sez 1; sez he, " Stan' back ! " '* Aint you a buster?"

Sez I, " I'm up to all thet air, I guess I've ben to muster ;

I know wy sentinels air sot ; you ain't agoin' to eat us ;

Caleb hain't no monopoly to court the seenoritas ;

My folks to hum air full cz good as hisn be, by golly ! "

An' so ez I wuz goin' by, not thinkin' wut would folly.

The everlastin' cus he stuck his one-pronged pitchfork in me

An' miid:: a hole right thru my close ez ef I wuz an in'my.

».'

- m

► >.
%■

Wal, it beats all how big I felt hoorawin' in ole Funnel

Wen Mister Bolles he gin the sword to our Leftenant Cunnle,

(It's Mister Secondary Bolles, f thet writ the prize peace essay ;

Thet's why he didn't list himself along o' us, I dessay),

An' Rantoul, tu, talked pooty loud, but don't put his foot in it,

Coz liuman life's so sacred thet he's principled agin it —

Though I myself can't rightly see it's any wus achokin' on 'em.

Than puttin' bullets thru their lights, or with a bagnet pokin' on 'em ;

How dreflle slick he reeled it off (like Blitz at our lyceum

Ahaulin' ribbins from his chops so quick you skeercely see 'em),

About the Anglo-Saxon race (an' saxons would be handy

To du the buryin' down here upon the Rio Grandy),

About our patriotic pas an' our stir-spangled banner.

Our country's bird alookin' on an' singin* out hosanner,

An' how he (Mister B. himself) v/uz happy fer Ameriky —

I felt, cz sister Patience sez, a little mite histericky.

I felt, I swon, ez though it wuz a dreflle kind o' privilege

Atr^mpin' round thru Boston streets among the gutter's drivelage ;

I act'lly thought it wuz a treat to hear a little drummin'.

An' it did bonyfidy seem niiPanyum wuz acomin'

!■ ,1;

* he means Not quite so far I guess.— H. B.

t the i^ner.int ereeter means Sekketary ; but he oilers stuck to his books like cobbler*!
to rtn ilc-stonc. — H. I>.

586

MARIC TWAIN'S LIBRARY OF HUMOR.

Wen all on us got suits (darnsd like them wore in the State prisoo)
An' every feller felt ez though all Mexico was hisn.*

This 'ere 's about the meanest place a skunk could wal diskiver
(Saltillo's Mexican, I b'lieve, fer wut we call Salt river) ;
The sort o' trash a feller gits to eat doos beat all nater,
I'd give a year's pay for a smell o' one good bluu nose tater ;
The country here thet Mister Bolles declared to be so charmin'
Throughout is swarmin' with the most alarmin' kind o' varmin*.

He talked about delishis froots, but then it wuz a wopper all,

The holl on 't 's mud an' prickly pears, with here an' there a chapparal ,

You see a feller peakin' out, an' fust you know, a lariat

Is round your throat an' you a copse, 'fore you can say, •' Wut air ye at ? "f

You never see sech darned gret bugs (it may not be irrelevant

To say I've seen a scarabceus pilulariusX big ez a year old ele, hant)

The rigiment come up one day in time to stop a red bug

From runnin' ofi with Cunnle Wright — 't wuz jest a common cimex lectulariut.

One night I started up on eend an' thought I was to hum agin,

I heer a horn ; thinks I, it's Sol the fisherman hez come agin,

His bellowses is sound enough— ez I'm a livin' creeter,

I felt a thing go thru my leg — 't wuz nothin' more'n a skeeter !

Then there's the yaller fever, tu, they call it here el vomito —

(Come, thet wun't du, you landcrab there, I tell ye to le* go my toe !

My gracious ! it's a scorpion thet's took a shine to play with 't,

I darsn't skeer the tarnal thing fer fear he'd run away with 't).

Afore I come away from hum I hed a strong persuasion

Thet Mexicans worn't human beans,§ an ourang outang nation,

A sort 'o folks a chap could kill an' never dream on 't arter,

No more'n a feller'd dream o' pigs thet he hed hed to slarter ;

I'd an idee thet they were built arter the darkie fashion all,

An' kickin' colored folks about, you know, 's a kind o* national ;

But wen I jined I worn't so wise ez thet ere queen o' Sheby,

Fer come to look at 'em, they aint much difFrent from wut we be.

An' here we air ascrougin' *em out o' thir own dominions,

Ashelterin' 'em, ez Caleb sez, under our eagle's pinions.

* it must be aloud that thare's a streak o' nater in bvin' sho, but it sartiniy is z of the curuscst
things in nater to sec a rispecktable dri goods dealer (deckon oflfa chutch mayby) a riggin' him-
lelf out in the Weigh they du and struttin' round in the Reign aspilin his trowsis and makin' wet
goods of himself. Ef anythin's foolisher and moor dicklusthan militerry gloary, it is milishy
gloary.— H. B.

t these fellers are verry proppilly cal1.;d Rank Heroes, and the more tha kill the ranker and
more Hero wick tha bekum. — H. W.

* it wuz " tumblebug" as he Writ it, but the parson put the Latten instid. i sed t'other man
belter meeter, but he said tha wa; eddykated pcepi to Boston, and tha wouldn't stan' it nohow,
idnow as tha wooJaxiA idnow «f tha wood. — H. B.

I he means human beins, that's what he means, i spose he kinder thought tha wuc human
beans v/arc the Xisle Poles comes from.— H. 13.

.fife

'«

BIRDOFREDOM SAWIN AS A VOLUNTEER.

53r

ux lectularius.

Wich means to take a feller up jest by the slack o' 's trowsis,

An' walk him Spanish clean right out 'o all his hom^s an' houses ;

Wal, it doos seem a curus way, but then hooraw fer Jitckson I

It must be right, fer Caleb sez it'sregUar Anglo-saxon.

The Mex'cans don't fight fair, they say, they piz'n all the water.

An' du amazin' lots o' things thet isn't wut they ouijh' to ;

Bein' they haint no lead, they make their bullets out 'o copper,

An' shoot the darned things at us, tu, wich Caleb i;ez aint proper ;

He sez they'd ough' to stan' right up an' let us pop 'em fairly

(Guess wen he ketches 'em at thet he'll hev to get up airly),

Thet lur nation 's bigger'n theirn an' so its rights air bigger,

An' thet it's all to make 'em free thet we air puUin' trigger,

Thet Anglosaxondom's idee's abreakin' 'em to pieces.

An' thet idee 's thet every man doos jest wut he damn pleases :

Ef I don't make his meanin' clear, perhaps in some respex I can,

I know thet "every man" don't mean a nigger or a Mexican ;

An' there's another thing I know, an' thet is, ef these creeturs,

Thet stick an Anglosaxon mask onto State prison feeturs.

Should come to Jaalam Centre fer to argify an' spout on 't,

The gals 'ould count the silver spoons the minnit they cleared out on 't

kill the ranker and

ight tha wur human

This goin' ware glory wa'ts ye haint one agreeable lv-;tur,
An'ef it worn't fer waki./ snake*;, I'd home agin short meter ;
O, wouldn't I be ofT, quick time, ef 't worn't thet I wuz sartin
They'd let the daylight into me to pay me fer desartin !
I don't approve o' tellin' tales, but jest to yc a I may state
Our ossifers aint wut they wuz afore they left the Bay-State ;
Then it wuz «• Mister Sawin, sir, you're middlin' well now, be ye.
Step up an' take a nipper, sir ; I'm dreiHe glad to see ye ; ''
But now it's "Ware's my eppylet? here, Sawin, step an fetch it !
An' mind your eye, be thund'rin' sp:-y, or damn ye, you shall ketch it ! "
Wal, ez the Doctor sez, some pork will bile so, but by mighty,
Ef I hed some on 'em to hum, I'd give 'em linkum vity,
I'd play the rogue's march on their hides an' other music follerin* —
But I must close my letter here, fer one on 'em's a hollerin'.
These Anglosaxon ossifers — wal, 'tain't no use ajawin',
I'in safe enlisted fer the war.
Youm,

BIRDOFREDOM SAWIH

5^3

MARK TWAIN'S LIBRARY OF HUMOR.

\ii: ' ■

Mm,

TRAIN MANNERS.

BY K. J. HURDETTE.

Genesee. — A woman with three bird-cages and a little girl has
just got on the train. She arranges the three bird-cages on a
seat, and then she and the little girl stand up in the aisle, and she
glares around upon the ungallant men who remain glued to their
seats, and look dreamily out of the window. I bend my face
down to the tablet and write furiously, for I feel her eyes fastened
upon me. Somehow or other, I am always the victim in cases of
this delicate nature. Just as I expected ! She speaks, fastening
her commanding gaze upon me :

*' Sir, would it be asking too much if I begged you to let my-
self and my little girl have that seat ? A genileman can always
find a seat so much more easily than a lady,"

And she smiled. Not the charmingest kind of a smile. It was too
triumphant to be very pleasing. Of course I surrendered. I said:

" Oh, certainly, certainly ! I could find another seat without
any trouble."

She thanked me, and I crawled out of my comfortable seat,
and gathered up my overcoat, my manuscript, my shawl-strap
package, my valise, and my overshoes, and she and the little girl
went into the vacant premises ; the writ of ejectment had been
served, and they looked happy and comfortable.

Then I stepped across the aisle ; I took up those bird-cages
and set them along on top of the coal box, and sat down in the
seat thus vacated. I apologetically remarked to the womnn,
who was gazing at me with an expression that boded trouble, that
" it was much warmer for the canaries up by the stove." She
didn't say anything, but she gave me a look that made it much
warmer for me, for about five minutes, than the stove can make
it for tne canaries.

Belvidere. — A woman has just gone out of the car and left the
door wide, wide open, and the wind is blowing through the coach
a hundred miles a minute. Why is it thr.t a woman never shuts
a car door ? Also, why does a man always leave it open ? And
indeed, why nobody ever shuts it except the brakeman, and he
only closes it for the sake of the noise he can make with it.

Yesterday morning, I saw a man go out of a car, and shut the

TRAIN MANNERS.

589

door after him. I have traveled very constantly for nearly three
years, and this was the first man I ever saw shut the car door
after him as he went out.

And he only shut it because I was ri-' t behind him, trying to
get out, with a big vaiise in each hand. When I set down my
valises to open the door, I made a few remarks on the general
subject of people who would get up in the night to do the wrong
thing at the wrong time,
but the man was out on
the platform, and failed
to catch the drift of my
remark.

I was not sorry for
this, because the other
passengers seemed to
enjoy it quite as well by
themselves, and tho man
whose action ca.led f " "th
this impromptu address
was a forbidding look-
ing man, as big as a hay
wagon, and looked as
though he would have
banged me clear through
the side of a box car if he
had heard what I said.

1 suppose these peo-
ple who invariably do
the wrong things at the
wrong time are necessary, but they are awfully unpleasant.

Cuba. — A woman gets on the train and says a very warm-
hearted good-bye to a great cub of a sixteen-year-old boy who sets
down her bundles, and turns to leave the car with a gruff grunt
that rnay mean good-bye or anything else. There is a little qui
ver on her lip as she calls after him, " Be a good boy, write to me
often, and do as I tell you." He never looks around as he
leaves the car. He looks just like the kind of a boy who will do
just as she tells him, but she must be careful to tell him to do
just as he wants to. I have one bright spark of consolation as
the train moves on, and I see that boy performing a clumsy satire

\^^

THE CLOG.

i ! I

590

MARK TWAIN'S LIDRARY OF HUMOR.

III ,"

l%< I

on a clog dance on the platform. Some of these days he will
treat some man as gruffly and rudely as he treats his mother.
Then the man will climb onto him and lick him ; pound the very
sawdust out of him. Then the world will feel better and happier
for the licking he gets. It may be long deferred, but it will come
at last. I almost wish I had pounded him myself, while he is
young and I felt able to do it. He may grow up into a very dis-
couragingly rugged man, extremely difficult to lick, and the
world may have to wait a very long time for this act of justice
It frequently happens that these bad boys grow up into distress-
ingly " bad " men.

TRAIN MANNERS.

We have got as far as Hinsdale, and here we have ceased to
progress. The experienced passengers sit as patiently as the
train itself. The inexperienced ones fly around and tramp in
and out, and leave the door open, and ply the train men and the
operator with numerous questions. Sometimes the train men
answer their questions, and then sometimes they do not answer
them. When they do reply to the eager conundrums, somehow
or other the passenger always feels as though he knew a little less
than he did before. T«- is a cruel, deceitful old world, in snow time.

A man has gone to the front seat, and is warming his feet by
planting the soles of his boots against the side of the stove. As
he wears India rubber boots, the effect is marked but not pleasant.

As usual, the drinkmg boy is on the car. He has laid rejjular

^■♦:t

TRAIN MANNERS.

50 C

.'■ \

siege to the water tank, and, I think, will empty it before we get
to Salamanca. I wish to call the attention of the temperance
societies to this class of intemperates. There should be a pledge
drawn up and some color of ribbon — a bit of watered silk would
be appropriate, I suppose — for boys of six and seven years, who
are addicted to drinking water at the rate of eighteen tin-cupfuU
a minute. Ten or twelve boys of this class can drink a creek
dry when they are feeling comfortably thirsty.

A friendly passenger wants to talk. I am not feeling particu-
larly sociable this morning, and consequently I do not proprose
to talk to anybody. He asks how I like this kind of weather,
and I say, ** Splendidly."

He laughs feebly, but encouragingly, and says there has been
a little too much snow. I say, " Not for health; it was just what
we needed."

He asks if I heard of the accident on the Central Railroad,
and I say, "Yes."

Then he asks me how it was, and I tell him, " I don't know;
didn't read it."

He wants to k. ow what I think of Hayes, and I say, " I think
he made a very good constable."

" Constable?" he says; "I mean President Hayes."

I say I thought he meant Dennis Hays, of Peoria.

Then he asks if I " am going far ? "

I say, «' No."

•' How far ; " he asks.

" Fourteen hundred miles," I say, unblushingly.

He thinks that is what he would call " far," and I make no
response. Two babies in the car are rehearsing a little, and in
rather faulty time, but with fine expression. And the man, with
one or two " dashes," asks if it doesn't bother me to write with
a lot of *« brats squalling around ? "

I looked up at him very severely, for it always makes me
angry to hear a man call a baby a "brat," and I say to him, in a
slow, impressive manner, that " I would rather listen to a baby
cry than hear a man swear."

This eminently proper and highly moral rebuke has its effect.
The man forsakes me, and he is now wreaking a cheap, miserable
revenge on the smiling passengers by whistling " My Grand-
father's Clock," accomp?.. ying himself by drumming on the
window with his fingers.

I ;

'\"k

■ '■J '.. ■ '

. ^i.

I '

ll»f

iiL'i

Wi '^'

rgi MARK TWAIN'S U6>iAltY OF UUMOR.

THEIR FIRST QUARREL.

BY W. D. HOWELLS.

" We shall have time for the drive round the mountain before
dinner," said Basil, as they got into their carriage again ; and he
was giving the order to the driver, when Isabel asked how far it was.

"Nine miles."

" O, then we can't think of going with one horse. You know,"
she added, " that we always intended to have two horses for
going round the mountain."

" No," saiu Basil, not yet used to having his decisions reached
without his knowledge. " And I don't see why we should.
Everybody goes with one. You don't suppose we're too heavy,
do you ?"

•« I had a party from the States, ma'am, yesterday," interposed
the driver ; " two ladies, real heavy ones, two gentlemen, weighin'
two hundred apiece, and a stout young man on the bo) with me.
You'd 'a' thought the horse was drawin' an empty carriage, the
way she darted along."

'* Then his horse must be perfectly worn out to-day," said Isa-
bel, refusing to admit the poor fellow directly even to the honors
of a defeat. He had proved too much, and was put out of court
with nc hope of repairing his error.

" Why, it seems a pity," whispered Basil, dispassionately, " to
turn this man adrift, when he had a reasonable hope of being with
us all day, and has been so civil and obliging."

"O, yes, Basil, sentimentalize bim; do ! Why don't you senti-
mentalize his helpless, overworked horse? — all in a reek of per-
spiration."

** Perspiration ! Why, my dear, it's the rain !"

"Well, rain or shine, da^liIl;.^ don't want to go round the
mountain with one horse ; .hk! s very unkind of you to insi;
now, when you've tacitly pr(Mi.,c(l mc all along to take two."

'• Now, this is a little too m i':h, Isabel. You know we never
mentioned the matter i. 1 this n- nu nt."

"It's the same as a promise . yo>ur tiot saying you wouldn't.
But I don't ask you to keep our wcrd. / don't want to go
round the mountair. I'd much rather g(- to the hotel. I'm tired."

TimiR FIRST QUARKEL.

593

tain before
in ; and he
w far it was.

Vou know,"
I horses for

ons reached

we should.

e too heavy,

," interposed

lien, weighin"

bo) wilh me.

carriage, the

iy," said Isa-

to the honors

out of court

ionately, «* to
of being with

n't you senti-
a reek of per-

To round the
you to insii ;
take two."
low we never

^ou wouldn't,
ft want to go
ll. I'm tired."

« Very well, then, Isabel, I'll leave you at the hotel."

In a moment it had come, the first serious dispute of their

wedded life. It had come as all such calamities come — from

nothing; and it wan on them in full disaster ere they knew. Such

a very little while ago, there in the convent garden, their lives

had been drawn closer in sympathy than ever before ; and now

that blessed time

seemed ages since,

and they were further

asunder than tl;ose

who have never been

friends. " I thought,"

bitterly mused Isa-
bel, «• that he would

have done anything

for me!" "Who

would have dreamed

that a woman of her

sense would be so

unreasonable !" he

wondered. Both had

tempers, as I know

my dearest reader

has (if a lady), and

neither would yield;

and so, presently,

they could hardly

tell how, for they

were aghast at it all,

Isabel was alone in

her room amidst the

ruins of her life, and

Basil alone ia the one-horse carriage, trying to drive away

from the wreck of his happiness. Ail was over ; the dream was

past ; the charm was broken. The sweetness of their love was

turned to gall ; whatever had pleased them in their loving moods

was loathsome now, and the things they had praised a moment

before were hateful. In that baleful light, which seemed to

^ell upon all they ever said or did in mutual enjoyment, how

poor and stupid and empty looked their wedding-journey ! Basil

THEIR FIRST QUARREL.

■ '■■)

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, .',

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594

MA/?/ir TWAIN'S LIBRARY OF HUMOR.

spent five minutes in arraigning his wife and convicting her of
every folly and fault. Ilis soul was in a whirl:

«• For to be Wfotb 'vith one we love,
' ' Doth work like madness in the brain/'

In the midst of h's "bitter and furious upbraidings he found him-
self suddenly become her ardent advocate, and ready to denounce
her judge as a heartless monster. " On our wedding journey,
/ too ! Good heavens, what an incredible brute I am !" Then he
said, " What an ass I am !" And the pathos of the case having
yielded to its absurdity, he was helpless. In five minutes more
he was at Isabel's side, the one-horse carriage driver dismissed,
with a handsome pour-boire, and a pair of lusty bays with a glit-
tering barouche waitin<? at the door below. He swiftly accounted
for his presence, which she seemed to find the most nat'iral thing
that could be, and she met his surrender with the openness of a
heart that forgives but does not forget, if indeed the most gracious
art is the only one unknown to the sex.

She rose with a smile from the ruins of her life, amidst which
she had heart-brokenly sat down with all her things on. " I
knew you'd come back," she said.

" So did I," he answered. " I am much too good and noble
to sacrifice my preference to my duty."

" I didn't care particularly for the two horses, Basil," she
said, as they descended to the barouche. *' It was your refusing
them that hurt me."

"And I didn't want the one-horse carriage. It was, your
insisting so that provoked me."

" Do you think people eiier quarreled before on a wedding
journey ? " asked Isabel, as they drove gayly out of the city.

"Never! I can't conceive of it! I suppose, if this were writ-
ten down, nobody would belive it."

" No, nobody could," said Isabel, musingly ; and she added,
after a pause, "I wish you would tell me just what you thought
of me, dearest. Did you feel as you did when our little affair
was broken off, long ago ? Did you hate me ? "

** I did, most cordially ; but not half so much as I despised
myself the next moment. As to its being like a lover's quarrel,
it wasn't. It was more bitter ; so much more love than lovers
ever give had to be taken back. Besides, it had no dignity, and

.f^

THEIR FIRST QUARREL.

693

ing her of

found him-
o denounce
ig journey,
" Then he
case having
linutes more
;r dismissed.
5 with a glit-
ly accounted
natural thing
.penness of a
most gracious

amidst which
ings on. "I

od and noble

a lover's quarrel always has. A lover's qua:rel always springs
from a more serious cause, and has an air of romantic tragedy.
This had no grace of the kind. It was a poor, shabby little
squabble."

" Oh, don't call it so, Basil! I should like you to respect even
a quarrel of ours more than that. It was tragical enough with
me, for I didn't see how it could ever be made up. I knew /
couldn't make the advances. I don't think it is quite feminine
to be the first to forgive, is it ? "

*' I'm sure I can't say. Perhaps it would be rather unladylike."

<'Well, you see, dearest, what I am trying to get at is this:
whether we shall love each other the more or the less for it. /
think we shall get on all the better, for a while, on account of it.
But I should have said it was totally out of character. It's
something you might have expected of a very young bridal
couple ; but after what we've been through, it seems too
improbable."

** Very well," said Basil, who, having made all the concessions,
could not enjoy the quarrel as she did, simply because it was
theirs ; " let's behave as if it had never happened."

"Oh no; we can't. To me, it's as if we had just won each
other."

Basil," she
your refusing

It was, your

)n a wedding
)f the city.
I this were writ-
id she added,
It you thought
)ur little affair

as I despised

lover's quarrel,

bve than lovers

lio dignity, and

•JQ^

MARJC TWALV'S LIBRARY OF HUMOR,

if ■■*,4

THE NEAT PERSON.

BY JOSH BILLINGS.

Neatness, in my opinyun iz one ov the virtews. I hav alwus
konsidered it twin sister to chastity. But while I almost worship
neatness in folks, i hav seen them who did understand the bizz-
ness so well az tew acktually make it fearful tew behold. I hav
seen neatness that want satisfied in being a common-sized virtew,
but had bekum an ungovernable pashun, enslaving its possesser,
and making everyboddy un eazy who kum in kontackt with it.

When a person finds it necessary to skour the nail beds in the
cellar stairs evry day, and skrub oph the ducks' feet in hot water,
it iz then that neatness haz bekum the tyrant of its vikrim.

I hav seen individuals who wouldn't let a tired fly light on the
wall paper ov their spare room enny quicker than they would let
a dog mix up the bread for them, and who would hunt a single
cockroach up stairs and down until his leggs were wore oph clear
up to his stummuk but what they would hav him. I kan't blame
them for being a little lively with the cockroach, for i don't like
cockroaches miself — espeshily in mi soup.

Thare iz no persons in the world who work so hard and so
eternally az the vicktims ov extatick neatness; but they don't
seem tew do mutch after all, for they don't get a thing fairly
cleaned to their mind before the other end ov it gits dirty, and
they fall tew skrubbing it awl over agin.

If you should shut one ov these people up in a hogshed, they
would keep bizzy skouring all the time, and would clean a hole
right thru the side ov the hogshed in less than 3 months.

They will keep a whole house dirty the year round cleaning it,
and the only peace the family can hav iz when mother iz eithci
bueing soap or making dip kandics.

They rize before daylight, so az to begin skrubbing early, and
go tew bed before dark for fear things will begin tew git dirty.
These kind ov excessiv neat folks are not alwus very literary,
but they know soft water from hard bi looking at it, and they kan
tell what kind ov soap will fetch oph the dirt best. They are
sum like a kitchin gardin — very regularly laid out, but not
planted yet.

RAIL WA Y VOLAPtyK.

597

I hav alwus
ilmost worship
tand the bizz-
)ehold. I hav
,n-sized virtevv,
y its possesser,
tackt with it.
lail heds in the
iet in hot water,
ts vikiim.
fly light on the
I they would let
Id hunt a single
:e wore oph clear
i. I kan't blame
1, for i don't like

so hard and so
but they don't
ret a thing fairly
it gits dirty, and

a hogshed, they
)uld clean a hole

months,
round cleaning it,

mother iz eithci

■ubbing early, anil
;gin tew git dirty,
wus very literary,
at it, and they kaii
t best. They are
aid out, but not

If mi wife waz one ov these kind ov neatnesses, I would love
her more than ever, for i do luv the different kinds ov neatness •
but i think we would keep house by traveling round awl the
time, and not stay but one night in a place, and i don't think
she would undertake tew skrub u;-/ the whole ov the United States
ov Amerika.

RAILWAY VOLAPUK.

BY R. J. BURDETTE.

To him who, in the love of nature, holds communion with the
railway trains, she speaks in various languages. Sometimes she
speaks through the conductor, and says, briefly : " Tix ! " or,
" Fare ! " ?'^»T^etimes the train butcher interprets for her, and
then she tai- . books that nobody reads ; and fruit that no-
body eats ; . '.^ Uiings that nobody buys. Sometimes, again, the
brakeman interprets, and then she voices her thoughts in a weird,
mysterious patois, that sounds like something you never heard ;
and you learn, when it is miles too late, that '* Kyordltpnnn !
Chair car fp Bdroomfld ! " meant, " Carrollton ! Change cars
for Bradford ! " Again, she employs the hackman at the station,
and he roars : " 'Bus forrup town ! Going ritup ! Hack ? Kaval-
lack ? kavahack ? kavahack ? 'Bus for Thamerica Nouse ! Mer-
chant Sotel ! This sway for the Planter Souse ! " And still
again, the passengers hold converse with you, and one man asks
you " Whyn't you gone to stop off at Enver ? " which you under-
stand to mean, '* Why, are you not going to stop off at Denver ? "
And yet another begins his narrative : " Devtell you 'bout the
time," etc., which, by interpretation is : "Did I ever tell you,"
etc. And so, the way of the traveler is Polyglot.

'b.,'!

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598

M^iH^ TWAIN'S LIBRARY OF HUMOR.

SIMON SUGGS GETS A "SOFT SNAP" ON HIS DADDY.

BY JOHNSON J. HOOPER.

JOHNSON J. OOPER, prominent among the early Southern humorists,
was born in North Carolina in 1815. He early removed I. Alabama,
studied law, became judge, and in 1861 was Secretary of the Provisional Con-
federate Congress. He died in 1863.

The shifty Captain Suggs is a miracle of shrewdness. He
possesses, in an eminent degree, that tact which enables man to
detect the soft spots in his fellow, and to assimilate himself to
whatever company he may fall in with. Besides, he has a quick,
ready wit, which has extricated him from many an unpleasant
predicament;, and which makes him, whenever he chooses to be so
— and that is always — very companionable In short, nature
gave the Captain the precise intellectual outfit most to be desired
by a man of his propensities. She sent him into the world a sort
of he-Pallas, ready to cope with his kind, from his infancy, in all
the arts by which men ^'' get along" in the world ; if she made
him, in respect to his moral conformation, a beast of prey, she
did not refine the cruelty by denying him the fangs and the
claws.

But it is high time we were beginning to record some of those
specimens of the worthy Captain's ingenuity, which entitle him
to the epithet '* Shifty." We shall therefore islate the earliest
characteristic anecdote which we have been able to obtain ; and
we present it to our readers with assurance that it has come to
our knowledge in such a way as to leave upon our mind not " a
shadow of doubt" of its perfect genuineness. It will serve, if
no other purpose, at least to illustrate the precocious develop-
ment of Captain Suggs's peculiar talent.

Until Simon entered his seventeenth year, he lived with his
father, an old " hard-shell " Baptist preacher ; who, though very
pious and remarkably austere, was very avaricious. The old
man reared his boys — or endeavored to do so — according to the
strictist requisitions of the moral law. But he lived, at the time
to which we refer, in middle Georgia, which was then newly
settled ; and Simon, whose wits, from the time he was a " shirt-
tail boy," were always too sharp for his father's, contrived to

SIMON SUGGS' S •' SOFT SNAP.''

599

IS DADDY.

them humorists,
ved t Alabama,
Provisional Con-

ewdness. He
nables man to
late himself to
he has a quick,
' an unpleasant
:hooses to be so
I short, nature
,st to be desired
the world a sort
,s infancy, in all
d ; if she made
ist of prey, she
fangs and the

some of those
lich entitle him
jlate the earliest

to obtain ; and

it has come to
[ur mind not "a

It will serve, if
|:ocious develop-

le lived with his
[ho, though very

cious. The old
laccording to the
lived, at the time
Iwas then newly
jhe wasa "shirt-

er's, contrived to

contract all the coarse vices incident to such a region. He stole
his mother's roosters to fight them at Bob Smith's grocery, and
his father's plough - horses to
enter them in "quarter"
matches at the same place. He
pitched dollars with Bob Smith
himself, and could "beat him
into doll rags" whenever it came
to a measurement. To crown
his accomplishments, Simon
w .s tip-top at the game of " old
si fcc'ge," which was the fashion-
able game of that era; and was
early initiated in the mysteries
of " stocking the papers." The
vicious habits of Simon were, of
course, a sore trouble to his
father, Elder Jedediah. He
reasoned, he counselled, he re-
monstrated, and he lashed — but
Simon was an incorrigible, irre-
claimable devil. One day the
simple-minded old man returned
rather unexpectedly to the field
where he had left Simon, and
Ben, and a negro boy named
Bill, at work. Ben was still fol-
lowing his plough, but Simon
and Bill were in a fence corner
very earnestly engaged at
"seven up." Jf course the
game was instantly suspended
as soon as they spied the old
man sixty or seventy yards off,
striding towards them.

It was evidently a "gone
case " with Simon and Bill; but
our hero determined to make

th^ best of it. Putting the cards into one pocket, he ccoily
picked up the small coins which constituted the stake, and fob-

III

SIMON SUGGS.

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MARIC TWAIN'S LIBRARY OF HUMOR.

LT, :t

bed them in the other, remarking, «' Well, Bill, this game's blocked,
we'd as well quit."

" But, Mass Simon," remarked the boy, "half dat money's
mine. Ain't you gwine to lemme hab 'em ? "

" Oh, never mind the money, Bill ; the old man's going to take
the bark off both of ''s — and besides, with the hand I belt when
we quit, I should 'e' at you and won it all, any way."

" Well, but Masi: ciimon, we nebber finish de game, and de
rule— "

"Go to an orful h — 1 with your rule," said the impatient

.^"'^

^ .

SIMON RACING.

Simon—" don't you see daddy's right down upon us, with an
armful of hickories ? I tell you I belt nothin' but trumps, and
could 'a' beat the horns off of a billygoat. Don't that satisfy

you? Somehow or another you're d d hard to please!"

About this time a thought struck Simon, and in a low tone —
for by this time the Reverend Jedediah was close at hand — he
continued, ** But maybe daddy don't know, right dmtm sure, what
we've been doin'. Let's try him with a lie — 'twon't hurt, no way
— let's tell him we've been playin' mumble-peg."

Bill was perforce compelled to submit to this inequitable adjust-
ment of his claim to a share of the stakes ; and of course

SIMON SUGGS' S "SOFT SNAP:*

6oi

locked,

noney'e

r to take
elt when

, and de

inpatient

Is, with an
lumps, and
lat satisfy
please!"
low tone —
hand— he
sure, what
irt, no way

[bie iidjust-
of course

agreed to swear to the game of mumble-peg. All this was set-
tled and a peg driven into the ground, slyly and hurriedly,
between Simon's legs as he sat on the ground, just as the old
man reached the spot. He carried under his left arm, several
neatly trimmed sprouts of formidable length, while in his left
hand he held one which he was intently engaged in divesting of
its superfluous twigs.

"Soho, youngsters!— ^tf« in the fence corner, and the crap in
the grass ; what saith the Scriptur', Simon ? ' Go to the ant,
thou sluggard,' and so forth and so on. What in the round
creation of the yeath have you and that nigger been a-doin' ? "

Bill shook with fear, but Simon was cool as a cucumber, and
answered his father to the effect that they had been wasting a
little time in the game of mumble-peg.

" Mumble-peg! mumble-peg! " repeated old Mr. Suggs; " what's
that?"

Simon explained the process of rooting for the peg ; how the
operator got upon his knees, keeping his arms stiff by his sides,
leaned forward, and extracted the peg with his teeth.

" So you git upon your knees, do you, to pull up that nasty
little stick? you'd better git upon 'em to ask mercy for your sin-
ful souls and for a dyin' world ! But let's see one o' you git it
up now."

The first impulse of our hero was to volunteer to gratify the
curiosity of his worthy sire; but a glance at the old man's coun-
tenance changed his " notion," and he remarked that " Bill was a
long ways the best hand." Bill, who did not deem Simon's
modesty an omen very favorable to himself, was inclined to recip-
rocate compliments with his young master ; but a gesture of
impatience from the old man sent aim instantly upon his knees ;
and, bending forward, he essayed to lay hold with his teeth of
the peg, which Simon, just at that moment, very wickedly pushed
a half, inch further down. Just as the breeches and hide of the
boy were stretched to the uttermost, old Msr. Suggs brought
down his longest hickory, with both hands, upon the precise spot
where the tension was greatest. With a loud yell, Bill plunged
forward, upsetting Simon, and rolled in the grass ; rubbing the
castigated part with fearful energy. Simon, though overthrown,
was unhurt ; and he was mentally complimenting himself upon
the sagacity which had prevented his illustrating the game of

0O2

MARK TWAIN'S LIBRARY OF HUMOR.

HI' ♦

Is-'.l

mumble-peg for the paternal amusement, when his attention was
arrested by the old man's stooping to pick up something — what
is it ? — a card upon which Simon had been sitting, and which,
therefore, had not gone with the rest of the pack into his pocket.
The simple Mr. Suggs had only a vague idea of the pasteboard
abomination called cards i and though he decidedly inclined to

"what's this, SIMON?"

the opinion that this was one, he was by no means certain of the fact.
Had Simon known this he would certainly have escaped ; but he
did not. His father, assuming the look of extreme sapiency
which is always worn by the interrogator who does not desire or
expect to increase his knowledge by his questions, asked:
" What's this, Simon ? "

SIMOM SUGGS' S '« SOFT SNAP.'*

603

" The Jack-a-diraunts," promptly responded Simon, who gave
up all as lost after \h\^ faux pas.

*« What was it doin' down thar, Simon, my sonny ? " continued
Mr. Suggs, in an ironically affectionate tone of voice.

«' I had it under my leg, thar, to make it on Bill, the first time
it come trumps," was the ready reply.

*' What's trumps ? " asked Mr. Suggs, with a view of arriving
at the import of the word.

<• Nothin' ain't trumps nmv" said Simon, who misapprehended
his father's meaning ; "but clubs was, when you come along and
busted up the game."

A part of this answer was Greek to the Reverend Mr. Suggs,
but a portion of it was full of meaning. They had, then, most
unquestionably, been "throwing" cards, the scoundrels! the
"audacious" little hellions!

To the 'mulberry' with both on ye, in a hurry," said the
old man sternly. But the lads were not disposed to be in a
" hurry," for " the mulberry " was the scene of all formal punish-
ment administered during work hours in the field. Simo.i fol-
lowed his father, however, but made, as he went along, all man-
ner of *' faces " at the old man's back ; gesticulated as it he
were going to strike him between the shoulders with his fists, and
kicking at him so as almost to touch his coat-tail with his shoe.
Inthis style they walked on to the mulberry-tree, in whose shade
Simon's brother Ben was resting.

It must not be supposed that, during the walk to the place of
punishment, Simon's mind was either inactive, or engaged in
suggesting the grimaces and contortions wherewith he was pan-
tomimically expressing his irreverent sentiments toward his
father. Far from it. The movements of his limbs and features
were the mere workings of habit — the self-grinding of the cor-
poreal machine — for which his reasoning half was only remotely
responsible. For while Simon's person was thus, on its own
account, " making game " of old Jed'diah, his wits, in view of
the anticipated flogging, were dashing, springing, bounding, dart-
ing about, in hot chase of some expedient suitable to the neces-
sities of the case ; much after the manner in which puss — when
Betty, armed with the broom, and hotly seeking vengeance for
pantry robbed or bed disturbed, has closed upon her the garret
doors and windows— attempts all sorts of impossible exits, to

»•:?■-:■, a

l-UJ.

■'i^ft

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'II

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604

AtA/f/C TIVA/.V'S LIBRARY OF HUMOR.

come down at last in the corner, with panting side and glaring
eye, exhausted and defenseless. Our unfortunate hero could
devise nothing by which he could reasonably expsct to escape
the heavy blows of his father. Having arrived at this conclusion
and the "mulberry " about the same time, he stood with a dogged
look awaiting the issue.

The old man Suggs made no remark to any one while he was
sei2ing up Bill — a process which, though by no means novel to
Simon, seemed to excite in him a sort of painful interest. He
watched it closely, as if endeavoring to learn the precise fashion
of his father's knot ; and when at last Bill was swung up a-tiptoe
to a limb, and the whipping commenced, Simon's eye followed
every movement of his father's arm; and as each blow descended
upon the bare shoulders of his sable friend, his own body writhed
and " wriggled " in involuntary sympathy.

** It's the devil — it's hell," said Simon to himself, " to take such
a walloppin* as that. Why, the old man looks like he wants to git
to the holler, if he could — rot his old picter! It's wuth, at the
least, fifty cents — je-e-miny how that hurt ! — yes, it's wuth three-
quarters of a dollar to take that 'ere lickin' ! Wonder if I'm
** predestinated," as old Jed'diah says, to git the feller to it ?

Lord, how daddy blows ! I do wish to he'd bust wide open,

the durned old deer-face ! If 'twa'n't for Ben helpin' him, I
b'lieve I'd give the old dog a tussel when it comes to my turn.
It couldn't make the thing no vvuss, if it didn't make it no better.
'D rot it ! what do boys have daddies for, any how ? 'Tain't for
nuthin' but to beat 'em and work 'em. There's some use in
mammies — I kin poke my finge" right in the old 'oman'seye, and
keep it thar, and if I say it aint thar, she'll say so too. I wish
she was here to hold daddy off. If 'twa'n't so fur, I'd holler
for her, any how. How she would cling to the old fellow's
coat-tail ! "

Mr. Jedediah Suggs let down Bill and untied him. Approach-
ing Simon, whose coat was off, "Come, Simon, son," said he,
'• cross them hands ; I'm gwinc to correct you."

" It aint no use, daddj'," said Simon.

" Why so, Simon ?"

*' Jist bekase it ain't. I'm gwinetoplay cards as long as I live.
When I go off to myself. I'm gwine to make my livin' by it. So
what's the use of beatin' me about it?"

SIMON SUGGS' S *' SOFT SXAP."

605

Old Mr. Suggs groaned, as he was wont to do in the pulpit, at
this display of Simon's viciousness.

*« Simon," said he, •« you're a poor ignunt creetur. You don't
know nuthin', and you've never bin no whars. If I was to turn
you off, you'd starve n a week — "

"I wish you'd try me," said Simon, *«and jist see. I'd win
more money in a week than you can make in a year. There ain't
nobody round here kin make seed corn off o' me at cards. I'm
rale smart," he added with great emphasis.

" Simon ! Simon ! you poor unlettered fool. Don't you know
that all card-players, and chicken-fighters and horse-racers go to
hell ? You cracked-brained creetur you ! And don't you know
that them that play^ cards always loses their money, and — "

<«Who win's it all, then, daddy?" asked Simon.

"Shet your mouth, you imperdent, slack-jawed dog. Your
daddy's a-tryin' to give you some good advice, and you a-pickin'
up his words that way. I knowed a young man once, whan I
lived in Ogletharp, as went down to Augusty and sold a hundred
dollars worth of cotton for his daddy, and some o' them gam-
boUers got him to drinkin', and the very first night he was with
'em they got every cent of his money."

"They couldn't get my money in a 7(ieek," said Simon. " -Any
body can git these here green fellers' money ; them's the sort
I'm a-gwine to watch for myself. Here's what kin fix the papers
)ist about as nice as anybody."

"Well, it'T no use to argify about the matter," said old Jed'-
diah; "What saith the Scriptur'! * He that begetteth a fool, doeth
it to his sorrow.' Hence, Simon, you're a poor, misubble fool — so
cross your hands !"

You'd jist as well not, daddy ; I tell you I'm gwine to follow
playin' cards for a livin', and what's the use o' bangin' a feller
abou* t ? I'm as smart us any of 'em, and Bob Smith says them
Augusty fellers can't make rent off o' me."
- The Reverend Mr. Suggs had once in his life gone to Augusta;
an extent of travel which in those days was a little unusual. His
consideration among his neighbors was considerably increased by
the circumstance, as he had all the benefit of the popular infer-
ence, that no man could visi^ the city of Augusta without acquir-
ing a vast superiority over all his untraveled neighbors, in every
department of human knowledge. Mr. Suggs, then, very natu-

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rally felt ineffably indignant that an individual who had never
seen any collection of human habitations larger than a log-house
village — an individual, in short, no other or better than Bob
Smith — should venture to express an opinion concerning the man>
ners, customs, or anything else appertaining to, or in any wise
connected with, the ultima Tlmle of backwoods Georgians.
There were two propositions which witnessed their own truth to
the m'nd of Mr. Suggs — the one was, that a man who had never
been at Augusta could not know any thing about that city, or
any place, or any thing else ; the other, that one who had been
there must, of necessity, not only be well informed as to all
things connected with the city itself, but perfectly an fait upon
all subjects whatsoever. It was, therefore, in a tone of mingled
indignation and contempt that he replied to the last remark of
Simon.

•* Bob Smith says, does he ? And who's Bob Smith? Much
does Bob Smith know about Augusty ! he's Iteen thar, I reckon !
Slipped off yerly some mornin', when nobody warn't noticm',
and got back afore night ! It's only a hundred and fifty mile. Oh,
yes, Bob Smith knows «// about it ! /don't know nothin' about
it ! 7 a'n't never been to Augusty — / couldn't find the road
thar, I reckon— ha ! ha ! Bob—Smi-th ! The eternal stink ! if
he was only to see one o' them fine gentlemen in Augusty, with
his fine broad-cloth, and bell-crown hat, and shoe-boots a-shinin*
like silver, he'd take to the woods and kill himself a-runnin*.
Bob Smith ! that's whar all your devilment comes from,
Simon."

"Bob Smith's as good as anybody else, I judge; and a heap
smarter than some. He showed me how to cut Jack," continued
Simon, "and that's more nor some people can do, if they have
been to Augusty."

" If Bob Smith kin do it," said the old man, " I kin, too. I
don't know it by that name; but if it's book knowledge or plain
sense, and Bob kin do it, it's reasonable to s'pose that old Jed'-
diah Suggs won't be bothered bad. Is it any ways similyar to
the rule of three, Simon ? "

"Pretty much, daddy, but not adzactly," said Simon, drawing:
a pack from his pocket, to explain. " Now daddy," he proceeded.
•' you see these here four cards is what we calls the Jacks. Well,
now the idee is, if you'll take the pack and mix 'em aJl up

S/MO.V Sl/GCS\S •• SOFT SA'MP."

607

together, Til take off a passel from top, and the bottom one of
them I take off will be one of the Jacks."

" Me to mix 'em fust? " said old Jed'diah.

"Yes."

" And you not to see but the back of the top one, when you
go to * cut,' as you call it ? "

«• Jist so, daddy."

" And the backs all jist as like as can be?" said the senior
Suggs, examining the cards.

•♦ More alike nor cow-peas," said Simon.

" It can't be done, Simon," observed the old man, with great
solemnity.

" Bob Smith kin do it, and so kin I."

" It's agin nater, Simon; thar a'n't a man in Augusty, nor on
top of the yeath that kin do it ! "

" Daddy," said our hero, "ef you'll bet me — "

"What!" thundered old Mr. Suggs. " Bef, did you say?"
and he came down with a scorer across Simon's shoulders—" me,
Jed'diah Suggs, that's been in the Lord's sarvice these twenty
years — mc bet, you nasty, sassy, triflin' ugly — "

"I didn't go to say t/iaf, daddy; that warn't what I meant
adzactly. I went to say that ef you'd let me off from this here
maulin' you owe me, and give me * Bunch,' ef I cut Jack, I'd give
yoH all this here silver, ef I didn't— that's all. To be sure, I
allers knowed you wouldn't bet."

Old Mr. Suggs ascertained the exact amount of the silver
which his son handed him, in an old leathern pouch, for inspec-
tion. He also, mentally, compared that sum with an imaginary
one, the supposed value of a certain Indian pony, called " Bunch,"
which he had bought for his " old woman's" Sunday ri.]i'.g, and
which had sent the old lady into a fence corner, the first and only
time she ever mounted him. As he weighed the pouch of silver
in his hand, Mr. Suggs also endeavored to analyze the character
of the transaction proposed by Simon. " It sa.rtinly carit be
nothin' but givin, no way it kin be twisted," he murmured to
himself. " I knoiv he can't do it, so there's no resk. What makes
bettin' ? The resk. It's a one-sided business, and I'll jist let
him give me all his money, and that'll put all his wild sportin'
notions out of his head."

"Will you stand it, daddy?" asked Simon, by way of waking

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the old man up. ** You mought as well, for the whippin' won't
Jo you no good, and as for Bunch, nobody about the plantation
won't ride him but me."

*« Simon," replied the old man, " I agree to it. Your old daddy
»s in a close place about payin' for his land; and this here money
—it's jist eleven dollars, lacking of twenty-five cents — will help
out mightily. But mind, Simon, ef anything's said about this,
herearter, remember, you give me the money."

" Very well, daddy; and ef the thing works up instid o' down;
I s'pose we'll say you give me Bunch — eh?"

" You won't never be troubled to tell how you come by Bunch;
the thing's agin nater, and can't be' done. What old Jed'diah
Sug^s knows, he knows as good as anybody. Give me them fix-
meiits, Simon."

Our hero handed the cards to his father, who, dropping the
plough-line with which he had intended to tie Simon's hands,
turned his back to that individual, in order to prevent his witness-
ing the operation of mixing. He then sat down, and very leis-
urely commenced shuffling the cards, making, however, an
exxeedingly awkward job of it. Restive kings ixnd queens jumped
from his hands, or obstinately refused to slide into the company
of the rest of the pack. Occasionally a sprightly knave would
insist on facing his neighbor; or, pressing his edge against anoth-
er's, half double himself up, and then skip away. But Elder
Jed'diah perseveringiy continued his attempts to subdue the
refractory, while heavy drops burst from his forehead, and ran
down his cheeks. All of a sudden an idea, quick and penetrat-
ing as a rifle-ball, seemed to have entered the cranium of the old
man. He chuckled audibly. The devil had suggested to Mr.
Suggs an impromptu " stock," which would place the chances of
Simon, already sufficiently sll.Ti. in the old man's opinion, without
the range of possibility. Mr. Suggs forthwith proceeded to cull
out all \.\iQ picfer ones, so as to be certain to include the Jacks,
and place them at the bottom, with the evident intention of
keeping Simon's fingers above these when he should cut. Our
hero, who was quietly looking over his father's shoulders all the
time, did not seem alarmed by this dioposition of the cards; on
the contrary, he smiled as if he felt perfectly confident of success,
in spite of it.

"Now, daddy," said Simon, when his father had announced

SIMON SUGGS 'S " SOFT SNAP."

609

ppin' won't
: plantation

ir old daddy
, here money
,s— will help
I about this,

stid o' down;

ne by Bunch;
old Jed'diah
; me them fix-
dropping the
Jimon's hands,
mt his witness-
and very leis-
however, an
queens jumped
) the company
ly knave would
against anoth-
ty. But Elder
to subdue the
;head, and ran
and penetrat-
lium of the old
;gested to Mr.
the chances of
•pinion, without
iceeded to cull
ide the Jacks,
it intention of
uld cut. Our
oulders all the
|f the cards; on
,ent of success,

wd announced

himself ready, " narry one of us ain't got to look at the cards
while I'm a cuttin' ; il we do it'll spile the conjuration."
"Very well."

*» And another thing — you've got to look me right dead in the
eye, daddy — will you ? "

"To be sure — to be sure," said Mr. Suggs; "fire awayl"
Simou walked up close to his father, and placed his hand on
the pack. Old Mr. Suggs looked in Simon's eye, and Simon
returned the look for about three seconds, during which a close
observer might have detected a suspicious working of the wrist
of the hand on the cards, but the elder Suggs did not remark it.

"Wake, snakes ! day's a-breakin' ! Rise, Jack ! " said Simon,
cutting half a dozen cards from the top of the pack, and pre-
senting the face of the bottom one for the inspection of his
father.
It was the Jack of hearts.

Old Mr. Suggs staggered back several steps with uplifted eyes
and hands !

"Marciful master!" he exclaimed, "ef the boy hain't — well,
how in the round creation of the — ! Ben, did you ever ? to be
sure and sartin, Satan has power on this yeath ! " and Mr. Suggs
groaned in very bitterness.

" You never seed nothin' like that in Augusty, did ye, daddy ?"
asked Simon, with a malicious wink at Ben.

" Simon, how dii"^ you do it ? " queried the old man, without
noticing his son's question.

" Do it, daddy? Do it? 'Tain't nothin'. I done it jist as easy
as— shootin'."

Whether this explanation was entirely, or in any degree, satis-
factory to the perplexed mind of Elder Jed'diah Suggs, cannot,
after the lapse of time which has intervened, be sufficiently
ascertained. It is certain, however, that he pressed the investi-
gation no farther, but merely requested his son Benjamin to wit-
ness the fact, that in consideration of his love and affection for
his son Simon, and in order to furnish the donee with the means
of leaving that portion of the State of Georgia, he bestowed upo.i
him the impracticable pony, " Bunch."

"Jist so, daddy; jist so; Dl witness that. But it 'minds me
mightily of the way mammy ^/rv old Trailler the side of bacon,
last week. She a-sweepin' up the hath; the meat on the table —

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old Trailler jumps up, gethers the bacon and darts ! mammy
arter him with the broom-stick, as fur as the door — but seein' the
dog has got the start, she shakes the stick at him and hollers,
*You sassy, aig-sukkin', roguish, gnatty, flop- eared varmint! take
it along ! I only wish 'twas full of a'snic, and ox-vomit, and blue
vitrul, so as 'twould cut your interls into chitlins ! ' That's about
the way you give Bunch to Simon."

" Oh, shuh ! Ben," remarked Simon, "I wouldn't run on that
way; daddy couldn't help it, it ^sls predestinated— * whom he hath,
he will,' you know;" and the rascal pulled down the under lid
of his left eye at his brother. Then addressing his father, he
asked, " Warn't it, daddy ? "

" To be sure — to be sure — all fixed aforehand," was old Mt
Suggs's reply.

'* Didn't I tell you so, Ben ? " said Simon — " I knowed it was
all fixed aforehand;" and he laughed until he was purple in the
face. \

" What's in ye ? What are ye laughin' about ? " asked the old
man wrothily.

" Oh, it's so funny that it could all a' been ^xed aforehand! "
said Simon, and laughed louder than before.

The obtusity of the Reverend Mr. Suggs, however, prevented
his making any discoveries. He fell into a brown study, and no
further allusion was made to the matter.

\i''i

W:mi

FOUND.

BY JOSH BILLINGS.

A MALTEESE sopr no kat, about 12 months old, singing old
hundred on a picket fence, late last thursda nite, whichever per-
son o'.vns sed kat will find him (or her, according to circura-
stansis) in a vakant lot, just bak ov our hous, still butiful in
death.

COLONEL SELLERS AT HOME.

6ll

BY MARK TWAIN.

;• was old Mt

" asked the old
ted aforehand!"

rn study, and no

Washington was greatly pleased with the Sellers mansion. It
was a two-story-and-a-half brick, and much more stylish than
any of its neighbors. He was borne to the family sitting-room
in triumph by the swarm of little Sellerscs, the parents following
with their arms about each other's waists.

The whole family were poorly and cheaply dressed; and the
clothing, although neat and clean, showed many evidences of
having seen long service. The Colonel's ** stovepipe " hat was
napless, and shiny with much polishing, but nevertheless it had
an almost convincing expression about it of having been just
purchased new. The rest of his clothing was napless and shiny,
too; but it had the air of being entirely satisfied with itself, and
blandly sorry for other people's clothes. It was growing rather
dark in the house, and the evening air was chilly, too. Sellers
said :

" Lay off your overcoat, Washington, and draw up to the stove
and make yourself at home — just consider yourself under your
own shingles, my boy — I'll have a fire going in a jiffy. Light
the lamp, Poll)% dear, and let's have things cheerful — just as glad
to see you, Washington, as if you'd been lost a century and we'd
found you again !"

By this time the Colonel was conveying a lighted match into a
poor little stove. Then he propped the stove door to its place
by leaning the poker against it, for the hinges had retired from
business. This door framed a small square of isinglass, which
now warmed up with a faint glow. Mrs. Sellers lit a cheap, showy
lamp, which dissipated a good deal of the gloom, and then every-
body gathered into the light and took the stove into close com-
panionship.

The children climbed all over Sellers, fondled him, petted him,
and were lavishly petted in return. Out from this tugging, laugh-
ing, chattering disguise of legs and arms and little faces, the Col-
onel's voice worked its way, and his tireless tongue ran blithely
on without interruption; and the purring little wife, diligent with
her knitting, sat near at hand, and looked happy and proud and

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grateful; and she listened as one who listens to oracles and gos-
pels, and whose giacerui soul is being refreshed with the bread
of life. By and by the chiluren quieted down to listen: clustered
about their father, and resting their elbows on his legs, they hung
upon his words as if he were uttering the music of the spheres.

A dreary old hair-cloth f' 'fa against the wall; a few damaged
chairs; the small table th^ Inmp stood on; the crippled stove—
these things constituted *he f'^rniture of the room. There was
no carpet on the floor; on the wall were occasionally square-
shaped interruptions of the general tint of the plaster, which
betrayed that there used to be pictures in the house — but there
were none now. There were no mantel ornaments — unless one
might bring himself to regard as an ornament a clock which
never came within fifteen strokes of striking the right time, and
whose hands always hitched together at twenty-two minutes
past anything, and traveled in company the rest of the way home.

" Remarkable clock !" said Sellers, and got up and wound it.
"I've been offered — well, I wouldn't expect you to believe what
I've been offered for that clock. Old Governor Hager never
sees me but he says, ' Come, now. Colonel, name your price —
I must have that clock !' But, my goodness ! I'd as soon think
of selling my wife ! As I was saying to — silence in the court,
now, she's begun to strike ! You can't talk against her — you
have to just be patient and hold up till she's said her say. Ah
— well, as I was saying, when — she's beginning again ! Nine-
teen, tvventy, twenty-one, twenty-two, twen — ah, that'.s all. Yes,
as I was saying to old Judge — , go it, old girl, don't mind
me. Now, how is that ? — isn't that a good, spirited tone ? She
can wake the dead ! Sleep ? Why, you might as well try to
sleep in a thunder factory. Now just listen at that. Sh'^'ll strike
a hundred and fifty now without stopping — you'll see. There
ain't another clock like that in Christendom."

Washington hoped that this might be true, for the din was dis-
tracting — though the family, one and all, seemed filled with joy;
and the more the clock "buckled down to her work," as the
Colonel c.ipressed it, and the more insupportable the clatter
became, the more enchanted they all appeared to be, When
there was silence, Mrs. Sellers lifted upon Washington a face that
beamed with a childlike pride, and said:

" It belonged to his grandmother."

iff

acles and gos-
Arith the bread
sten: clustered
legs, they hung
i the spheres.
I few damaged
rippled stove—
im. There \va:>
iionally square-
: plaster, which
ouse— but there
■nts— unless one
; a clock which
right time, and
nty-two minutes
of the way home,
ip and wound it.
u to believe what
nor Hager never
ime your price—
X'd as soon think
nee in the court,
against her— you
,aid her say. Ah
ig again! Nine-
,''that's all. Yes.
girl, don't mind
rited tone? She
ht as well try to
that. She'll strike
yrou'll see. There

or the din was dis-
led filled with joy;
ler work," as the
trtable the clatter
red to be. When
[hington a face that

COLONEL SELLERS AT HOME.

613

The look and the tone were a plain call for admiring surprise,
and, therefore, Washington said (it was the only thing that offered
itself at the moment) :

<' Indeed !"

"Yes, it did; didn't it, father?" exclaimed one of the twins.
«< She was my great-grandmother— and George's, too; wasn't she,
father ? You never saw her, but Sis has seen her, when Sis was
a baby— didn't you, Sis? Sis has seen her most a hundred
times. She was awful deef — she's dead, now. Ain't she f.-.ther ?"

All the children chimed in now, with one general L!;ii)cl of
information about deceased — nobody offering to read the riot
act, or seeming to discountenance the insurrection, or disapprove
of it in any way — but the head twin drowned all the turmoil, and
held his own against the field.

" It's our clock, now — and it's got wheels inside of it, and a
thing that flutters every time she strikes— don't it, father ! Great-
grandmother died before hardly any of us was born — she was an
Old-School Baptist, and had warts all over her — you ask father
if she didn't. She had an uncle once that v/as bald-headed and
used to have fits; he wasn't our uncle; I don't know what he was
to u? — some kin or another, I reckon — father seen him a thou-
sand times— hain't you, father ! We used to have a calf that et
apples, and just chawed up dish-rags like nothing; and if you stay
here you'll see lots of funerals — won't he, Sis ? Did you ever
see a house afire ? / have ! Once me and Jim Terry — "

But Sellers began to speak now, and the storm ceased. He
began to tell about an enormous speculation he was thinking of
embarking some capital in — a speculation which some London
bankers had been over to consult with him about — and soon he
was building glittering pyramids of coin, and Washington was
presently growing opulent under the magic of his eloquence.
But at the same time Washington was not able to ignore the cold
entirely. He was nearly as close to the stove as he could get,
and yet he could not persuade him>elf that he felt the slightest
heat, notwithstanding the isinglass door was still gently and
serenely glowing. He tried to get a trifle closer to the stove, and
the consequence was, he tripped the supporting poker, and the
stove-door tumbled to the floor. And then there was a revela-
tion — there was nothing in the stove but a lighted tallow candle.

The poor youth blushed, and felt as if he must die with shame.

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614

COLONEL SELLERS AT HOME.

615

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But the Colonel was only disconcerted for a moment — he straight-
way found his voice again:

" A little idea of my own, Washington — one of the greatest
things 'n the world ! You must write and tell your father about
it — don't forget that, now ! I have been reading up some Euro-
rcan Scientific reports — friend of mine, Count Fugier, sent them
to me — sends me all sorts of things from Paris — he thinks the
world of me, Fugier does. Well, I saw that the Academy of
France had been testing the properties of heat, and they came
to the conclusion that it was a non-conductor, or something like
that, and of course its influence must necessarily be deadly in
nervous organizations with excitable temperaments, especially
where there is any tendency toward rheumatic affections. Bless
you, I saw in a moment what was the matter with us, and says I,
out goes your fires ! — no more slow torture and certain death
for me, sir. What you want 's the appearance of heat, not the
heat itself — that's the idea. Well, how to do it was the next
thing. I just put my head to work, pegged away a couple of
days, and here you are ! Rheumatism ? Why, a man can't any
more start a case of rheumatism in this house than he can shake
an opinion out of a mummy ! Stove with a candle in it, and a
transparent door — that's it — it has been the salvation of this fam-
ily. Don't you fail to write your father about it, Washington.
And tell him the idea is mine — I'm no more conceited than most
people, I reckon, but you know it is human nature for a man to
want credit for a thing like that."

Washington said with his blue lips that he would, but he said
in his secret heart that he would promote no such iniquity. He
tried to believe in the healthfulness of the invention, and suc-
ceeded tolerably well ; but, after all, he could not feel that good
health in a frozen body was any real improvement on the rheu-
matism.

The supper at Colonel Sellers's was not sumptuous, in the begin-
ning, but it improved on acquaintance. That is to say, that what
Washington regarded at first sight as mere lowly potatoes, pres-
ently became awf inspiring agricultural productions that had
been reared in some ducal garden be3'ond the sea, under the
sacred eye of the duke himself, who had sent them to Sellers;
the bread was from corn which could be grown in only one
favored locality in the earth, and only a favored few could get it;

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MARK TWAIN'S UBRARY OF HUMOR.

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the Rio coffee, which at first seemed execrable to the taste, took
to itself an improved flavor when Washington was told to drink
it slowly and not hurry what should be a lingering luxury in
order to be fully appreciated — it was from the private stores of a
Brazilian nobleman with an unrememberable name. The Col-
onel's tongue was a magician's wand that turned dried apples
into figs and water into wine as easily as it could change a hovel
into a palace and present poverty into imminent future riches.

Washington slept in a cold bed in acarpetless room, and woke
up in a palace in the morning; at least the palace lingered during
the moment that he was rubbing his eyes and getting his bear-
ings — and then it disappeared, and he recognized that the Col-
onel's inspiring talk had been influencing his dreams. Fatigue
had made him sleep late; when he entered the sitting-room he
noticed that the old hair-cloth sofa was absent; when he sat
down to breakfast the Colonel tossed six or seven dollars in bills
on the table, counted them over, said he was a little short, and
must call upon his banker; then returned the bills to his wallet
with the indifferent air of a man who is used to money. The
breakfast was not an improvement upon the supper, but the
Colonel talked it up and transformed it into an Oriental feast.
Bye and bye, he said:

" I intend to look out for you, Washington, my boy. I hunted
up a place for you yesterday, but I am not referring to that,
now — that is a mere livelihood — mere bread and butter; but
when I say I mean to look out for you, I mean something very
different. I mean to put things in your way that will make a
mere livelihood a trifling thing. I'll put you in a way to make
more money than you'll ever know what to do with. You'll be
right here where I can put my hand on you when anything turns
up. I've got some prodigious operations on foot; but I'm keep-
ing quiet; mum's the word; your old hand don't go around pow-
wowing and letting everybody see his k'yards and find out his
little game. But all in good time, Washington, ali in good time !
You'll see ! Now, there's an operation in corn that looks well.
Some New York men are trying to get me to go into it — buy up
all the growing crops, and just boss the market when they mature
— ah, I tell you it's a great thing. And it only costs a trifle; two
millions or two and a half will do it. I haven't exactly promised
yet — there's no hurry — the more indifferent I seem, you know,

COLONEL SELLERS AT HOME.

617

le taste, took
told to drink
ng luxury in
te stores of a
J. The Col-
dried apples
lange a hovel
;ure riches-
om, and woke
ngered during
ting his bear-
that the Col-
ims. Fatigue
tting-room he
when he sat
dollars in bills
ttle short, and
is to his wallet
> money. The
upper, but the
Oriental feast.

boy. I hunted
srring to that,
id butter; but
something very
at will make a
a way to make
th. You'll be
anything turns
but I'm keep-
;o around pow-
id find out his
n good time !
hat looks well,
nto it— buy up
en they mature
sts a trifle; two
actly promised
;em, you know,

the more anxious those fellows will get. And then there is the
ho^j speculation — that's bigger still. We've got quiet men at
work" [He was very impressive here.] "mousing around, to get
propositions out of all the farmers in the whole West and North-
west for the hog crop, and other agents quietly getting proposi-
tions and terms out of all the manufactories — and don't you sec,
if we can get all the hogs and all the slaughter-houses into our
hands on the dead quiet — whew! it would take three ships to
carry the money. I've looked into the thing — calculated all the
chances for and all the chances against, and though I shake my
head, and hesitate, and keep on thinking, apparently, I've got my
mind made up that if the thing can be done on a capital of six
millions, that's the horse to put up money on! Why, Washington
— but what's the use of talking about it ? any man can see that
there's whole Atlantic oceans of cash in it, gulfs and bays thrown
in. But there's a bigger thing than that, yet — a bigger — "

"Why Colonel, you can't want anything bigger! " said Wash-
ington, his eyes blazing. " Oh, I wish I could go into either of
those speculations — I only wish I had money — I wish I wasn't
cramped and kept down and fettered with poverty, and such
prodigious chances lying right here in sight! Oh, it is a fearful
thing to be poor. But don't throw away those things — they are
so splendid, and I can see how sure they are. Don't throw them
away for something still better, and maybe fail in it! I wouldn't,
Colonel. I would stick to these. I wish father were here, and
were his old self again — Oh, he never in his life had such chances
as these are. Colonel, you can't improve on these — no man can
improve on them!"

A sweet, compassionate smile played about the Colonel's feat-
ures, and he leaned over the table with the air of a man who is
'V<;oing to show you," and do it without the least trouble:

"Why, Washington, my boy, these things are nothing. They
look large — of course they look large to a novice, but to a man
who lias been all his life accustomed to large operations — shaw!
They're well enough to while away an idle hour with, or furnish
a bit of employment that will give a trifle of idle capital a chance
to earn its bread while it is waiting for something to do, but—
now just listen a moment — just let me give you an idea of what we
old veterans of commerce call 'business.' Here's the Rothschilds'
proposition —this is between you and me, you understand — "

I ■ '

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Waihin^ton nodded three or four times impatientlyj ana hi*
glowing eyes s:iid, "Yes, yes — hurry — I understand — "

'* — for 1 wouldn't have it get out for a fortune. They wanL
me to go in with them on the sly — agent was here two weeks ago
about it — go in on the sly " [Voice down to an impressive whisper,
now.] " and buy up a hundred and thirteen wild-cat banks in
Ohio, Indiana, Kentucky, Illinois and Missouri — notes of these
banks are at all sorts of discount now — average discount of the
hundred and thirteen is forty-four per cent — buy them all up,
you see, and then all of a sudden let the cat out of the bag!
Whiz! the stock of every one of those wild-cats would spin up to-
a tremendous premium before you could turn a handspring —
profit on the speculation not a ilollar less than forty miilionsi "
[An eloquent pause, while the marvelous vision settled into W.'s.
focus.] '• Where's your hogs now ! Why, my dear innocent boy,.
we would just sit down on the front door-steps and peddle banks
like lucifer matches! "

Washington finally got his breath and said :

"Oh, it is perfectly wonderful! Why couldn't these things-
have happened in father's day? And I — it's of no use; they
simply lie before my face and mock me. There is nothing for
me but to stand helpless and see other people reap the astonish-
ing harvest."

"Never mind, Washington, don't you worry. I'll fix yon
There s plenty of chances. How much money have you got ?"

In the presence of so many millions, Washington could noL
keep from blushing when he had to confess that he had but eight-
een dollars in the world.

"Well, all right — don't despair. Other people have been
obliged to begin with less, I have a small idea that may develop
into something for us both, all in good time. Keep your money
close and add to it. I'll make it breed. I've been experiment-
ing (to pass away the time) on a little preparation for curing sore
eyes — a kind of decoction nine-tenths water and the other tenth
drugs that don't cost more than a dollar a barrel ; I'm still ex-
perimenting : there's one ingredient wanted yet to perfect the
thing, and somehow I can't just manage to hit upon the thing
that's necessary, and I don't dare talk with a chemist, of course.
But I'm progressing, and before many weeks I wager the coun-
tiy will rin^ with the fame of Beriah Sellers' Infallible Imperial

OR.

COLONEL SKLLERy. AT HOME.

619

:iently, ana his

id—"

le. They wanl

two weeks ago
ircssivc whisper.
Id-cat banks in
-notes of these
discount of the
Liy them all up,
Dut of the bag!
vould spin up to

a handspring-
forty millions'. "
settled into W.'s
:ar innocent boy,,
nd peddle banks

Jn't these things-
of no use ; they
re is nothing for
eap the astonish-

I'll fix yon
lave you got ?"
ington could noL
he had but eight-

eople have been
thai may develop
veep your money
leen experimeiU-
)n for curing sore
d the other tenth
•rel ; I'm still ex-
et to perfect the
upon the thing
lemist, of course,
wager the coun-
nfallible Imperial

Orieutal Optic Liniment and Salvation for Sore Eyes — the Medi>
cal Wonder of the Age ! Small bottles fifty cents, large ones a
dollar. Average cost, five and seven cents for the two sizes.
The first year sell, say, ten thousand bottles in Missouri, seven
thousand in Iowa, three thousand in Arkansas, four thousand in
Xentucky, six thousand in Illinois, and say twent) five thousand
in the rest of the country. Total, fifty-five thousand bottles ;
profit clear of all expenses, twenty thousand dollars at the very
lowest calculation. All the capital needed is to manufacture the
first two thousand bottles — say a hundred and fifty dollars — then
the money would begin to flow in. The second year, sales would
reach 200,000 bottles — clear profit, say, $75,000 — and in tlie
mean time the great factory would be building in St. Louis, to
cost, say, §100,000. The third year we could easily sell 1,000,-
000 bottles in the United States and — "

**0, splendid!" said Washington. "Let's commence right
away — let's — "

*' — 1,000,000 bottles in the United States — profit at least
$350,000 — and then it would begin to be time to turn our atten-
tion toward the ;T<//idea of the business."

•' The real idea of it ! Ain't $350,000 a year a pretty real — "

•' Stuff ! Why, what an infant you are, Washington — what a
guileless, short sighted, easily contented innocent you are, my
poor little country-bred know-nothing ! Would I go to all that
trouble and bother for the poor crumbs a body might pick up in
ihis country ? Now, do I look like a man who — does my history
suggest that I am a man who deals in trifles, contents himself
•with the narrow horizon that hems in the common herd, sees no
further than the end of his nose ? Now you know that that is not
me — couldn't be me. You ought to know that if I throw my time
and abilities into a patent medicine, it's a patent medicine '..hose
field of operations is the solid earth ! its clients the swarming
nations that inhabit it ! Why, what is the Republic of America
for an eye-water country ? Lord bless you, it is nothing but a
barren highway, that you've got to cross to get to the true eye-
water market ! Why, Washington, in the Oriental countries peo-
ple swarm like the sands of the desert ; every square mile oJ
ground upholds its thousands of struggling human creatures—
and every separate and individual devil of them's got the ophthal-
mia ! It's as natural to them as noses are — and sin. It's born

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with them, it stays with them, it's all that some of them have
left when they die. Three years of introductory trade in the
Orient, and what will be the result? Why, our headquarters
would be in Constantinople and our hindquarters in Farther
India ! Factories and warehouses in Cairo, Ispahan, fiagdad,
Damascus, Jerusalem, Yedo, Peking, IJangkok, Delhi, Bombay
and Calcutta ! Annual income — well, God only knows how many
millions and millions apiece ! "

Washington was so dazed, so bewildered — his heart and his
eyes had wandered so far away among the strange lands beyond
the seas, and such avalanches of coin and currency had fluttered
and jiuiilcd confusedly down before him, that he was now as one
who has been whirling round and round for a time, and, stopping
all at once, finds his surroundings still whirling and all objects a
dancing chaos. However, little by little the Sellers family cooled
down and crystallized into shape, and the poor room lost its
glitter and resumed its poverty. Then the youth found his voice,
and begged Sellers to drop everything and hurry up the eye-
water ; and he got his eighteen dollars and tried to force it upon
the Colonel — pleaded with him to take it— implored him to do it.
But the Colonel would not ; said he would not need the capital
(in his native magnificent way he called that eighteen dollars
Capital) till the eye-water was an accomplished fact. He made
Washington easy in his mind, though, by promising that he would
call for it just as soon as the invention was finished ; and he
added the glad tidings that nobody but just they two should be
admitted to a share in the speculation.

When Washington left the breakfast-table he could have wor-
shiped that man. Washington was one of that kind of people
whose hopes are in the very clouds one day and in the gutter the
next. He walked on air now. The Colonel was ready to take
him around and introduce him to the employment he had found
for him, but Washington begged for a few moments in which to
write home : with his kind of people, to ride to-day's new interest
to death and put off yesterday's till another time, is nature itself.
He ran up-stairs and wrote glowingly, enthusiastically, to his
mother about the hogs and the corn, the banks and the eye-water
— and added a few inconsequential millions to each project.
And he said that people little dreamed what a man Colonel Sel-
lers was, and that the world would open its eyes when it found
out. And he closed his letter thus :

•' >k'-

COLONEL SELLERS AT HOME.

621

if them have
trade in the
headquarters
rs in Farther
han, Bagdad,
lelhi, Bombay
jws how many

heart and his

lands beyond
: had fluttered
as now as one
, and, stopping
J all objects a
i family cooled

room lost its
ound his voice, \
■y up the eye-
3 force it upon
;d him to do it.
2ed the capital
ghteen dollars
tct. He made

that he would
ished ; and he

two should be

ould have wor-
ind of people
the gutter the
ready to take
he had found
s in which to
's new interest
s nature itself,
itically, to his
the eye-water
each project,
n Colonel Sel-
when it found

"So make yourself perfectly easy, mother— in a little while you shall have
eveiything you want, and more. I am not likely to stint yoti in anything, I
(oncy. This money will not be for me alone, but for »ll of us. I want all to
■hare alike ; and there is going to be fiir more for each than one person can
spend. Break it to father cautiously— you understand the need of that— break
it to him cautiously, for he has had such cruel hard fortune, and is so stricken
by it, that great good news might prostrate him more surely than even bad, for
he is used to the bad but is grown sadly unaccustomed to the other. Tell Laura
— tell all the children. And write to Clay about it, if he is not with you yet.
You may tell Clay that whatever 1 get he can freely share in— freely. He knows
that that is true— there will be no need that I should swear to that to make him
believe it. Good-bye— and mind what I say : Rest perfectly easy, one and all
of you, for our troubles are nearly at an end."

Poor lad ! he could not know that his mother would cry some
loving, compassionate tears over his letter, and put off the family
with a synopsis of its contents which conveyed a deal of love to
them but not much idea of his prospects or projects. And he
never dreamed that such a joyful letter could sadden her and fill
her night with sighs, and troubled thoughts, and bodings of the
future, instead of filling it with peace and blessing it with restfol
sleep.

When the letter was done, Washington and the Colonel sallied
forth, and as they walked along, Washington learned what he was
to be. He was to be a clerk in a real estate office. Instantly,
the fickle youth's dreams forsook the magic eye-water and flew
back to the Tennessee Land. And the gorgeous possibilities of
that great domain straightway began to occupy his imagination
to such a degree that he could scarcely manage to keep even
enough of his attention upon the Colonel's talk to retain the gen-
eral run of wha*. he was saying. He was glad it was a real estate
office — he was a made man now, sure.

The Colonel said that General Boswell was a rich man, and
had a good and growing business; and that Washington's work
would be light, and he would get forty dollars a month, and be
boarded and lodged in the General's family — which was as good
as ten dollars more; and even better, for he could not live as well
even at the '* City Hotel " as he would there, and yet the hotel
charged fifteen dollars a month where a man had a good room.

General Boswell was in his offirer a comfortable looking place,
with plenty of outline-maps hanging about the walls and in the
windows, and a spectacled man was marking out another one on

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a long table. The office was in the principal street. The Gen-
eral received Washington with a kindly but reserved politeness.
Washington rather liked his looks. He was about fifty years old,
dignified, well preserved and well dressed. After the Colonel
took his leave, the General talked a while with Washington —
his talk consisting chiefly of instructions about the clerical duties
of the place. He seemed satisfied as to Washington's ability to
take care of the books, he was evidently a pretty fair theoretical
book-keeper, and experience would soon harden theory into
practice. By and by dinner-time came, and the two walked to
the General's house; and now Washington noticed an instinct in

himself that moved him to keep not in
the General's rear, exactly, but yet not
at his side — somehow the old gentle-
man's dignity and reserve did not inspire
familiarity. ^

Two months had gone by, and the
Hawkins family were domiciled in Hawk-
eye. Washington was at work in the real
estate office again, and was alternately
in paradise or the other place, just as it
happened that Louise was gracious to
him or seemingly indifferent — because
indifference or preoccupation could mean
nothing else than that she was thinking
of some other young person. Col. Sellers
had asked him, several times, to dine with
him, when he first returned to Hawkeye,
but Washington, for no particular reason, had not accepted. No
particular reason except one which he preferred to keep to him-
self — viz., that he could not bear to be away from Louise. It
occurred to him, now, that the Colonel had not invited him lately
— could he be offended ? He resolved to go that very day, and
give the Colonel a pleasant surprise. It was a good idea; espe-
cially as Louise had absented herself from breakfast that morn-
ing, and torn his heart; he would tear hers, now, and let her see
how it felt.

The Sellers family were just starting to dinner when Washing-
Ion burst upon them with his surprise. For an instant the Col-
onel looked nonplussed, and just a bit uncomforta!ile; and Mrs.

GENERAL BOSVVELL.

COLONEL SELLERS AT HOME.

623

. The Gen-
id politeness,
fty years old,
• the Colonel
Washington —
clerical duties
on's ability to
lir theoretical
n theory into
wo walked to
[ an instinct in
to keep not in
ly, but yet not
le old gentle-
did not inspire

; by, and the
iciled in Hawk-
,vork in the real
was alternately
place, just as it
•as gracious to
erent — because
ion could mean
|he was thinking
,n. Col. Sellers
es, to dine with
:d to Hawkeye,
|t accepted. No
to keep to him-
•om Louise. It
ivited him lately
|at very day, and
;ood idea; espe-
fast that morn-
, and let her see

when Washing-
J instant the Col-
rtable; anO, Mrs.

Sellers looked actually distressed; but the next moment the head
of the house was himself again, and exclaimed:

" All right, my boy, all right— always glad to see you — always
glad to hear your voice and take you by the hand. Don't wait
for special invitations— tiiat's all nonsense among friends. Just
come whenever you can, and come as often as you can — the
oftener the better. You can't please us any better than that,
Washington; the little woman will tell you so herself. We don't
pretend to style. Plain folks, you know — plain folks. Just a
plain family dinner, but such as it is, our friends are always wel-
come; I reckon you know that yourself, Washington. Run along,
children, run along; Lafayette,* stand off the cat's tail, child ;
can't you see what you're doing ! Come, come, come, Roderick
Dhu ! it isn't nice for little boys to hang onto young gentlemen's
coat-tails — but never mind him, Washington, he's full of spirits,
and don't mean any harm. Children will be children, you know.
Take the chair next to Mrs. Sellers, Washington — tut, tut! Marie
Antoinette, let your brother have the fork if he wants it; you are
"bigger than he is."

Washington contemplated the banquet, and wondered if he
were in his right mind. Was this the plain family dinner ? And
was it all present ? It was soon apparent that this was indeed the
■dinner: it was all on the table; it consisted of abundance of clear,
fresh water, and a basin of raw turnips — nothing more.

Washington stole a glance at Mrs. Seller's face, and would have
given the world, the next moment, if he could have spared her-
that. The poor woman's face was crimson, and the tears stood
in her eyes. Washington did not know what to do. He wished
he had never come there and spied out this cruel poverty, and
brought pain to that poor little lauy's heart and shame to her
cheek; but he was there, and there was no escape. Colonel Sel-
lers hitched back his coat-sleeves airily from his wrists, as who

* In those old days the average man called his children after his most revered
literary and historical idols; consequently there was hardly a family, at least in
the West, but had a Washington in it — and also a Lafayette, a Franklin, and
six or eight soundin^j nam '^ from Byron, Scott and the Bible, if the offspring
held out. To visit such a family, was to find one's self confronted l^ a congress
made up of representatives of the imperial myths and the majestic dead of all
the ages. There was something ih rilling about it, to a stranger, not to say awe-
iiwpii-ing.

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1 1

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shouIJ say, ** No7v for solid enjoyment! " seized a fork, flour-
ished it, and began to harpoon turnips and deposit them in the
plates before him.

"Let me help you, Washington — Lafayette, pass this plate to
"Washington — ah, well, my boy, things are looking pretty bright,
now, /tell you. Speculation — my! the whole atmosphere's full of
money. I wouldn't take three fortunes for one little operation I've
got on hand now— have anything from the casters ? No ? Well,
you're right ; you're right. Some people like mustard with tur-
nips, but — now there was Baron Poniatowski — lord! but that man
did know how to live! — true Russian, you know, Russian to
the back bone; I say to my wife, give me a Russian every time; for
a table comrade. The Baron used to say, ' Take mustard, Sel-
lers, try the mustard — a man can't know what turnips are in per-
fection without mustard,' but I always said : ' No, Baron, I'm a
plain man, and I want my food plain — none of your embellishments
for Beriah Sellers — no madedishes for me! And it's the best way
— high living kills more than it cures in this world, you can rest
assured of that. Yes, indeed, Washington, I've got one little opera-
tion on hand that — take some more water — help yourself, won't
you? — help yourself, there's plenty of it — you'll find it pretty
good, I guess. How does that fruit strike you ?"

Wafhington said he did not know that he had ever tasted bet-
ter. He did not add that he detested turnips, even when they
were cooked — loathed them in their natural state. No, he kept
this to himself, and praised the turnips to the peril of his soul.

** I thought you'd like them. Examine them — examine them —
they'll bear it. See how perfectly firm and juicy they are ; they
can't start any like them in thia part of the country, I can tell
you. These are from New Jersey — I imported then", myself.
They cost like sin, too; but lord bless me! I go in for having the
best of a thing, even if it does cost a little more — its the best
economy, in the long run. These are the Early Malcolm — it's
a turnip that can't be produced except in just one orchard, and the
supply never is up to the demand. Take some more water, Wash-
ington — you can't drink tOo much water with fruit — all the doctors
say that. The plague can't come where this article is, my boy!"

" Plague ? What plague ? "

" What plague, indeed ! Why, the Asiatic plague that nearly
depopulated London a couple of centuries ago !"

^^sm.

»■'■

IR.

I a fork, flour-
sit them in the

ss this plate to
y pretty bright,
osphere's full of
e operation I've
s? No? Well,
.ustard with tur-
d! but that man
now, Russian to
n every time; for
.ke mustard, Sel-
irnips are in per-
Sfo, Baron, I'm a
ir embellishments
it's the best way
irld, you can rest
)t one little opera-
p yourself, won't
I'll find it pretty

[ ever tasted bet-
,, even when they
ite. No, he kept
eril of his soul,
-examine them —
y they are ; they
mntry, I can tell
ed thea**. myself,
in for having the
ore— its the best
rly Malcoim— it's
e orchard, and the
nore water, Wash-
lit— all the doctors
tide is, my boy!"

ilague that nearly

COLONEL SELLERS AT HOME.

625

" But how does that concern us ? There is no plague here, I
reckon."

" Sh! I've let it out! Well, never mmd — just keep it to your-
self. Perhaps I oughtn't said anything, but it's bound to come
out sooner or later, so what is the odds ? Old McDowells wouldn't
like me to— to— bother it all, I'll just tell the whole thing and
let it go! You see, I've been down to St. Louis, and I happened
to run across old Dr. McDowells — thinks the world of me,
does the doctor. He's a man that keeps himself to himself,
and well he may, for he knows that he's got a reputation that
covers the whole earth — he won't condescend to open himself
out to many people, but Lord bless you ! he and I are just like
brothers; he won't let me go to a hotel when I'm in the city —
says I'm the only man that's company to him; and I don't know
but there's some truth in it, too, because, although I never like to
glorify myself and make a great to-do over what I am, or what I
can do, or what I know, I don't mind saying, here among friends,
that I am better read up in most sciences, maybe, than the gen-
eral run of professional men in these days. Well, the other day
he let me into a little secret, strictly on the quiet, about this matter
of the plague.

"You see, it's booming right along in our direction — follows
the Gulf Stream, you know, just as all those epidemics do — and
within three months it will be just waltzing through this land
like a whirlwind! And whoever it touches can make hiswih and
contract for the funeral. Well, you can't cure it, you know, but
you can prevent it. How? Turnips! that's it! Turnips and
-.vater ! Nothing like it in the world, old McDowells says ; just
fill yourself up two or three times a day, and you ni snap your
fingers at the plague. Sh! — keep mum, but just you confine
yourself to that diet and you're all right. I wouldn't have old
McDowells know that I told about it for anythuig — he never
would speak to me again. Take some more water, Washington
— the more water you d ink, the better. Here, let me give you
some more of the turnii s. No, no, no, now, I insist. There, now.
Al)sorb those. They're mighty sustaining — l)rim full of nutri-
inent — all the medical books say so. Just eat from four to seven
good-sized turnips at a meal, and drink from a pint and a half to
a quart of water, and then just sit around a couple of hours and
let them ferment. You'll feel like a fighting-cock next day."

Fifteen or twenty minutes later the Colonel's tongue was still

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chattering away — he had piled up several future fortunes out of
several incipient "operations" which he had blundered into within
the past week, and was now soaring along through some bril-
liant expectations born of late promising experiments upon the
lacking ingredient of the eye-water. And at such a time Wash-
ington ought to have been a rapt and enthusiastic listener, but
he was not, for two matters disturbed his mind and distracted his
attention. One was, that he discovered, to his confusion and
shame, that in allowing himself to be helped a second time to the
turnips, he had robbed those hungry children. He had not needed
the dreadful "fruit," and had not wanted it; and when he sawthe
pathetic sorrow in their faces when they asked for more, and there
was no more to give them, he hated himself for his stupidity
and pitied the famishing young things with all his heart. The
other matter that disturbed him was the dire inflation that had
begun in his stomach. It grew and grew, it became more and
more insupportable. Evidently the turnips were " fermenting."
He forced himself to sit still as long as he could, but his anguish
conquered him at last.

He rose in the midst of the Colonel's talk, and exci.:<€d himself
on the plea of a previous engagement. The Colonel followed
him to the door, promising over and over again that he would
use his influence to get some of the Early Malc(,'lms for him, and
insisting that he should not be such a stranger, but come and
take pot-luck with him every chance he got. Washington was
glad enough to get away and feel free again. He immediately bent
his steps toward home.

In bed lie passed an hour that threatened to turn his hair gray,
and then a blessed calm settled down upon him that filled his
heart with gratifi/de. Weak and languid, he made shift to turn
himself about and seek rest and sleep ; and as his soul hovered
upon the brink of uncon»< iousness, he heaved a long, deep sigh,
and said to him»clf that in his heart he had cursed the Colonel's
preventive of rheumatism before, and now /rf the plague come if
it must — he was done with preventives ; if ever any man i)eguiled
him with turnips and water again, let him die the death.

If he dreamed at all that night, no gossiping spirit disturl^ed
his visions to whisjjer in his ear of certain matters just then inlmd
ill the East, more than a inousantl miles away, that after the lapse
of a few years would develo]) influences which would profoundly
cllect tie fate and fortunes of the Hawkins family.

,/r:

OR.

fortunes out of
dered into within
■ough some bril-
iments upon the
,ch a time Wash-
istic listener, but
and distracted his
is confusion and
second time to the

[e had not needed
d when he saw the
[or more, and there
; for his stupidity
11 his heart. The
inflation that had
became more and
^^erc " fermenting."
aid, but his anguish

and excv^^d himself
,e Colonel followed
crain that he would
acolms for him, and
n-^er. but come and
^t? Washington was
He immediately bent

lto turn his hair gray,
L him that filled his
\e made shift to turn
,^, his soul hovered
ivcd a long, deep sigh,
1 cursed the Colonels

/,/ the plague come 1
■ver any man beguiled
llie the death.
siping spirit disturbed
Uter.iustth.ninbud
K-av, that aftx'r the lapse
hich would profoundly
s family-

INTER VIE IV WITH PRESIDENT LINCOLN. 627

INTEx^LVIEW WITH PRESIDENT LINCOLN.

BY ARTEMUS WARD,

I HAV no politics. Nary a one. I'm not in the bisniss. Tf i
was, I spose I should holler versiffrusly in the streets at nite, and
go home to Betsy Jane smellen of coal ile and gin in the mornin'.
I should go to the Poles arly. I should stay thare all day. I
should see to it that my nabers was thare. I should git carriges
to take the kripples, the infirm and the indignant than I should
be on guard agin frauds and sich. I should be on the look-out
for the infamus lise of the enemy, got up jest l)e4 elecshun for
perlitical -effeck. When all was over and my candydate was
elected, I should move heving & erth — so to speak — until I got
orfice, which if I didn't git a orfice I should turn round and
aoooze the Administration with all my mite and maine. But I'm
not in the bisniss. I'm in a far more respectful bisniss nor
what pollertics is. I wouldn't giv two cents to be a Congresser.
The wuss insult I ever received was when sertin citizens of Baldins-
ville axed me to run fur the Legislater. Sez I, " My frends, dostest
think I'd stoop to that there ? " They turned as white as a sheet. 1
spoke in my most orfuUest to'ies, & they knowd 1 wasn't to be
trifled with. They slunked out of site to onct.

There4, havin' no politics, I made bold to visit Old Abe at his
humstid in Springfield. I found the old feller in his parler, sur-
rounded by a perfeck swarm of orfice seekeis. Knowin' he had
been captingof a flat-boat on the roarin' Mississippy, I thought I'd
address him in sailor lingo, so I sez, ** Old Abe, ahoy ! Let out
yer main-suls, reef hum the forecastle & throw yer jib-poop over-
board ! Shiver my timbers, my harty ! " [N. B. — This is ginuine
mariner langwidge. I know, becawz I've seen sailor plays acted
out by them New York theatre fellers.] Old Abe lookt up (jiiite
cross & sez: " Send in yer petition by & by. I can't possibly look
at it now. Indeed, I can't. It's onpossible, sir !"

"Mr. Linkin, who do you s'pect I air?" sed I.

•' A orfice-seekcr, to be sure ! " sed he.

"Wall, sir." sed I, "you's never more mistaken in your life.
You hain't trut a orfiss I'd take under no circumstances. I'm
A. Ward. Wax figgers is my perfeshun. I'm the father of T'.vins,

''A

'fail

i^4 -^ N't

628

^y4^/r 7WA/JV'S LIBRARY OF HUMOR.

and they look like me — both of them. I cum to pay a frendly visit
to the President eleck of the United States. If so be you wants
to see me, say so — if not, say so, & I'm orf like a jug handle."
" Mr. Ward, sit down. I'm glad to see you. Sir."
" Repose in Abraham's Buzzum ! " sed one of the orfiss seek-
ers : his idee bein' to git orf a goak at my expense.

"Wall," sez I, "ef all you fellers repose in that there Buzzum,
there'll be mity floor nussin for some of you ! " whereupon Old

Abe buttoned his weskit clear
up and blusht like a maidin of
sweet 16. Just at chis pint
of the conversation another
swarm of orfice-seekers arove
&: cum pilin' into the parler.
Sum wanted post orfices,, ,;iim
wanted coUectorshins, yum
wantid furrin missions, and all
ffi wanted sumthin. I thought
' Old Abe would go crazy. He
hadn't more than had time to
shake iiands with 'em, before
another tremenjis crowd cum
porein onto his premises. His
house and dooryard was now
perfeckly overflowed with
orfice seekers, all clameruss
for a immegit interview with
Old Abe.

One man from Ohio, who
had about seven inches of
corn whisky into him, mistook
me for Old Abe and ad<V;est •i-.i as "The Prahayrie Flower of
the West ! " Thinks I, jw^ want a ofifi'^- putty bad. Another
man, with a gold heded cane and a red nose, told OUl Abe he was
"a seckind Washington & t'^e Pride of the Boundliss West."

Sez I, " Squire, you wouldn't take a small post-offiss if you
could git it, would you ?"

Sez he, " a patrit is abuv them things, sir ! "
" There's a putty big crop of patrits this season, ain't thero,
Squire?" sez I, when another crowd of ofhss-seekers poured ir

OFFICE SEEKERS.

INTERVIEW WITH PRESIDENT LINCOLN.

OR.

y a f rendly visit
io be you wants
I jug handle."

ir."

the orfiss seek-

ise.

vt there Buzzum,
' whereupon OUl
\ his weskit clear
It like a maidin of
Just at .his pint
;ersation another
fice- seekers arove
i" into the parler.
1 post orfices, nim
loUectorshins, sum
in missions, and all
Bthin. I thought
ouid go crazy. He
re than had time to
ids with 'em, before
■menjis crowd cum
[o his premises. His
dooryard was now
overflowed with
.ers, all clameruss
egit interview with

Ian from Ohio, who
It seven inches of
cy into him, mistook
Irahayrie Flower of
Itty bad. Another
fold Ola Abe he was
)undUss West."
11 post-offiss if you

season, ain't there,
is-seekers poured w

629

The house, dooryard, barn and woodshed was now all full, and
when another crowd cum, I told 'em not to go away for want of
room, as the hog-pen was still empty. One patrit from a small
town in Michygan went up on top the house, got into the chim-
ney, and slid down into the parler, where Old Abe was endeverin
to keep the hungry pack of orfiss-seekers from chawin' him up
alive without benefii of clergy. The minit he reached the fire-
place he jumpt up, brusht the soot out of his eyes, and yelled 3!
" Don't make eny pintment at the Spunkville postofTiss till yoirvc
read my papers. All the respectful men in our town is signers to
that thare dockyment ! "

" Good God ! " cride Old Abe ; "they cum upon me from the
skize — down the chimneys, and from the bowels of the ytrth ! "
He hadn't more'n got them words out of his <.' . ikit mouth before
two fat ofifiss-seekers from Wisconsin, in .iidev .in to crawl
atween his legs for the purpuss of applyin' for the toU-gateship at
Milwawky, upsotthe President eleck, & he would hevgone sprawl-
in' into the fire-place if I hadn't caught him in these arms. But
I hadn't more'n stood him up strate before another man cum
crashin down the chimney, his head strikin' me vilently agin the
inards and prostratin' mv voluptoous form onto the floor. **Mr.
Linkin," shoutid the fatooated being, "my papers is signed b)'
every clergyman in our tow? nd likewise the skoolmaster ! "

Sez I, '* You egrejis ass ; gittin' im & brushin' the dust from
my eyes. " I'll sign your papers with this bunch of bones, if you
don't be a little more keerful how you make my bread-basket a
depot in the futer. How do you like that air perfumery ? " sez
I, shuving my fist under his nose. " Them's the kind of papers
I'll giv you ! Them's the papers j<7« want! "

" But I workt hard for the ticket; I toiled night and day! The
patrit should be rewarded ! "

" Virtoo," sed I, holdin' the infatooated man by the coat-collar,
" virtoo, sir, is its own reward. Look at me ! " He did look at
me, aikl qualed be4 my gase. *' The fact is," I continued,
lookin' round on the hungry crowd, " there is scacely a offiss for
every ile lamp carrid round durin' this campane. I wish thare
was. I wish thare was furrin' missions to be filled on varis
lonely Islands where eppydemics rage incessantly, and if I was
in C»ld Abe's place I'd send every mother's son of you to them.
What air you here for ? " I continncred, warmin' up considerable;
" can't you giv' Abe a minit's [-keace ? Don't you see he's worrid

wmW

I-

[' ''y

1 V);

4 jA' n

-.1

630

JI/z/A'A' TWAIN'S LIBRARY OF HUMOR.

most to death ? Go home, you miserable men ; go home & till
the sile ! Go to peddlin' tinware— go to choppin' wood— go to
bilin' sope — stuff sassengers— black boots — git a clerkship on
sum respectable manure cart— go round as origenal Swiss Bell
Ringers — becum * origenal and only ' Campbell Minstrels— go to
lecturin' at 50 dollars a nite — imbark in the peanut bizniss—
turitefor the Ledger — saw off your legs and go round givin' con-
certs, with tuchin' appeals to a charitable public printed on your
handbills— anything for a honest living, but don't come round here
drivin' Old Abe crazy by your outrajis cuttings up! Go home.
Stand not upon the order of your goin', but go to onct! Ef in
five minits from this time," sez I, puUin' out my new sixteen dol-
lar huntin' cased watch and branishin' it before their eyes, " Ef
in five minits from this time a single sole of you remains on
these here premises, I'll go out to my cage near by, and let my
Boy Constructor loose ! & ef he gits among you, you'll think old
Solferino has cum again, and no mistake ! " You ought to hev
seen them scamper, Mr. Fair. They run orf as tho Satun his-
self was arter them with a red-hot ten-pronged pitchfork. In five
minits the premises was clear.

"How kin I ever repay you, Mr. Ward, for your kindness?"
sed Old Abe,advancin' and shakin' me warmly by the hand. " How
kin I ever repay you, sir ? "

*' By givin' the whole country a good, sound administration. By
poerin' ile upon the troubled waturs, North and South. By pur-
sooin* a patriotic, firm and just course, and then if any State
wants to secede, let 'em Sesesh ! "

" How 'bout my Cabinit, Mister Ward ? " sed Abe.

" Fill it up with Showmen, sir ! Showmen is devoid of politics.
They hain't got any principles. They know how to cater for
the public. They know what the public wants, North & South.
Showmen, sir, is honest men. Ef you doubt their literary ability,
look at their posters, and see small bills ! Ef you want a Cabinit
as is a Cabinit, fill it up with showmen, but don't call on me.
The moral wax figger perfeshun musn't be permitted to go down
■while there's a drop of blood in these vains ! A. Linkin, I wish
you well ! Ef Powers or Walcutt wus to pick out a model for a
beautiful man, I scarcely think they'd sculp you ; but ef you do
the fair thing by your country you'll make as putty an angel :is
any of us ! A. Lmkin, use the talents which Nature has put into
you judishusly and firmly, and all will be well ! A. Linkin, adoo ! "

'OK.

go home & till
in' wood— go to
, a clerkship on
igenal Swiss Bell
Minstrels— go to
peanut bizniss—
•ound gi^^in' con-
; printed on your
t come round here
s up! t}o home,
o to onct! E£ in
y new sixteen dol-
•c their eyes, " Ef
,f you remains on
ar by, and lei my
u, you'll think old
You ought to hev
as tho Satun his-
pitchfork. In five

r your kindness?"
)y the hand. "How

idministration. By
a South. By pur-
then if any State

xl Abe.

Is devoid of politics.
Iv how to cater for
Its, North & South,
their literary ability,
youwantaCabinit
don't call on 'no.
;rmitted to go down
A. Linkin, I wish
k out a model for a
lyou ; but ef you do
as putty an angel :'.s
Nature has put into
A. Linkin, adoo ! "

THE ALARMED SKIPPER.

• •; ■
631

THE ALARMED SKIPPER.

BY J. T. FIELDS..

'•It was an Ancient Mariner."

Many a long, long year ago,

Nantucket skippers had a plan

Of finding out, though " lying low,"

How near New York their schooners ran.

They greased the lead before it fell.

And then, by sounding through the night,

Knowing the soil that stuck, so well.

They always guessed their reckoning right.

A skipper gray, whose eyes were dim,

Could tell, by tasting, just the spot,

And so below he'd "dowse the glim" —

After, of course, his " something hot."

Snug in his berth, at eight o'clock,

This ancient skipper might be found;
No matter how his craft would rock,
He slept — for skippers' naps are sound !

The watch on deck would now and then
Run down and wake him, with the lead;
He'd up, and taste, and tell the men
How man} miles they went ahead.

One night, 't was Jotham Marden's watch,
A curious wag — the peddler's son —
And so he mused (the wanton wretch),
"To-night I'll have a grain of fun.

"We're all a set of stupid fools
To think the skipper knows by tasting
What ground he's on — Nantucket schools
Don't teach such stuff, with all their basting !

rSli 'i^

I'll ^'l'

t. 1*

>-r"^\

63 2 ^/-^ A" A' rffV/ /A^ • i" LIBRA RY OF HUMOR.

And so he took the well-greased lead
And rul)be(l it o'er a box of earth
That stood 0,1 deck — a parsnip-bed —
And then he sought the iikipper's berth.

"Where are we now, sir? Please to taste."
' The skipper yawned, put out his tongue,

TliIC ALARMED SKIPPER.

Then oped his eyes in wondrous haste,
And then upon the floor he sprung !

The skipper stormed, and tore his hair.
Thrust on his boots, and roared to Mar;len,
" Nantucket 's stinky and hoc we are
Right over old Mar ni Hackctt's garden!''

HO IV I KILLED A BEAR.

633

HOW I KILLED A UKAR.

BY CHARLES DUDLEY WARNER.

So many conflicting accounts have appeared about my casual
encounter with an Adirondack bear last summer, that in justice
to the public, tc myself and tu the bear, it is necessary to make
a plain statement of the facts. Besides, it is seldom I have
occasion to kill a bear, that the celebration ? m oit may be

excused.

The encounter was unpremeditated on bi i was not

hunting for a bear, and I have no reason to b ^pose that a bear
was looking for me. The fact is, that we were both out black-
berrying and met by chance — the usual way. There is among
the Adirondack visitors always a great deal of conversation about
bears — a general expression of the wish to see one in the woods,
and much speculation as to how a person would act if he or she
chanced to meet one. But bears are scarce and timid, and appear
only to a favored few.

It was a warm day ir August, just the sort of a day when ani
adventure of any kind seemed impossible. But it occurred to
the housekeepers at our cottage — there were four of them — to
send me to the clearing, on the mountain back of the house, to
pick blackberries. It was, rather, a series of small clearings, run-
ning up into the forest, much overgrown with bushes and briers,
and not unromantic. Cows pastured there, penetrating through
the leafy passages from one opening to another, and browsing
among the bushes. I was kindly furnished with a six-quart pail,
and told not to be gone long.

Not from any predatory instinct, but to save appearances, I
took a gun. It adds to the manly aspect of a person with a tin
pail if he also carries a gun. It was possible I might start up a
partridge; though how I was to hit him, if he started up instead
of standing still, puzzled me. Many people use a shot-gun for
partridges. I prefer the rifle: it makes a clean job of death, and
does not prematurely stuff the bird with globules of lead. The
rifle was a Sharps, carrying a ball cartridge (ten to the pound)
— an excellent weapon belonging to a friend of mine, who had
intended, for a good many years back, to kill a deer with it. He

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23 WEST MAIN STREET

WEBSTER, N.Y. MS80

(716) 872-4503

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634

MARK TWAIN'S LIBRARY OF HUMOR.

could hit a tree with it — if the wind did not blow, and the atmos-
phere was just right, r.nd the tree was not too far off — nearly every
time. Of course, the tree must have some size. Needless to
say that I was at that time no sportsman. Years ago I killed a
robin under the most humiliating circumstances. The bird was
in a low cherry-tree. I loaded a big shot-gun pretty full, crept
up under the tree, rested the gun on the fence, with the muzzle
more than ten feet from the bird, shut both eyes and pulled the
trigger. When I got up to see what had happened, the robin
was scattered about under the tree in more than a thousand
pieces, no one of which was big enough to enable a naturalist
to decide from it to what species it belonged. This disgusted
me with the life of a sportsman. I mention the incident to show,
that although I went blackberrying armed, there was not much
inequality between me and the bear.

In this blackberry-patch bears had been seen. The summer
before, our colored cook, accompanied by a little girl of the
vicinage, was picking berries there one day, when a bear came out
of the woods and walked towards them. The girl took to her
heels, and escaped. Aunt Chloe was paralyzed with terror.
Instead of attempting to run, she sat down on the ground where
she was standing, and began to weep and scream, giving herself
up for lost. The bear was bewildered by this conduct. Ha
approached and looked at her; he walked around and surveyed
her. Probably he had never seen a colored person before, and
did not know whether she would agree with him: at any rate,
after watching her a few moments, he turned about and went into
the forest. This is an authentic instance of the delicate consid-
eration of a bear, and is much more remarkable than the forbear-
ance towards the African slave of the well-known lion, because
the bear had no thorn in his foot.

When I had climbed the hill, I set up my rifle against a tree,
and began picking berries, lured on from bush to bush by the
black gleam of fruit (that always promises more in the distance
than it realizes when you reach it); penetrating farther and
farther, through leaf-shaded cow-paths flecked with sunlight,
into clearing after clearing. I could hear on all sides the tinkle
of bells, the cracking of sticks, and the stamping of cattle that
were taking refuge in the thicket from the flies. Occasionally,
as I broke through a covert, I encountered a meek cow, who

HO IV I KILLED A BEAR.

635

stared at me stupidly for a second, and then shambled off into
the brush. I became accustomed to this dumb society, and
picked on in silence, attribnting all the wood-noises to the cattle,
thinking nothing of any real bear. In point of fact, however, I
was thinking all the time of a nice romantic bear, and, as I
picked, was composing a story about a generous she-bear who had
lost her cub, and who seized a .small girl in this very wood, car-
ried her tenderly off to a cave, and brought her up on bear's
milk and honey. When the girl got big enough to run away,
moved by her inherited instincts, she escaped, and came into the
valley to her father's house (this part of the story was to be
worked out, so that the child would know her father by some
family resemblance, and have some language in which to address
him), and told him where the bear lived. The father took his
gun, and, guided by the unfeeling daughter, went into the woods
and shot the bear, who never made any resistance, and only,
when dying, turned reproachful eyes upon her murderer. The
moral of the tale was to be, kindness to animals.

I was in the midst of this tale, when I happened to look some
rods away to the other edge of the clearing, and there was a
bear! He was standing on his hind-legs, and doing just what I
was doing — picking blackberries. With one paw he bent down the
bush, while with the other he clawed the berries into his mouth
— green ones and all. To say that I was astonished is inside
the mark. I suddenly discovered that I didn't want to see a
bear, after all. At about the same moment the bear saw me,
stopped eating berries, and regarded me with a glad surprise. It
is all very well to imagine what you would do under such circum-
stances. Probably you wouldn't do it : I didn't. The bear
dropped down on his fore -feet, and came slowly towards me. Climb-
ing a tree was of no use, with so good a climber in the rear. If
I started to run, I had no doubt the bear would give chase ; and
although a bear cannot run down hill as fast as he can run uphill,
yet i felt that he could get over this rough, brush-tangled ground
fa&ter that I could.

The bear was approaching. It suddenly occurred to me how
I could divert his mind until I could fall back upon my military
base. My pail was nearly full of excellent berries— much better
than the bear could pick himself. I put the pail on the ground,
and slowly backed away from it, keeping my eye, as beast tamers
do, on the bear. The ruse succeeded.

•'fif

■%i\

tti

ifc

636

MARK TWAIN'S LIBRARY OF HUMOR.

The bear came up to the berries, and stopped. Not accus*
tomed to eat out of a pail, he tipped it over, and nosed about in the
fruit, "gorming" (if there is such a word) it down, mixed with
leaves and dirt, like a pig. The bear is a worse feeder than the
pig. Whenever he disturbs a maple-sugar camp in the spring, he
always upsets the buckets of syrup, and tramples round in the
sticky sweets, wasting more than he eats. The bear's manners are
thoroughly disagreeable.

As soon as my enemy's head was down, I started and ran.
Somewhat out of breath, and shaky, I reached my faithful rifle.

■^m^

GOING FOR THE GUN.

It was not a moment too soon. I heard the bear crashing
through the brush after me. Enraged at my dupixity, he was
now coming on with blood in his eye. I felt that the time of
one of us was probably short. The rapidity of thought at such
moments of peril is well known. I thought an octavo volume,
had it illustrated and published, sold fifty thousand copies, and
went to Europe on the proceeds, while that bear was loping
across the clearing. As I was cocking the gun, I made a hasty
and unsatisfactory review of my whole life. I noted that, even in
such a compulsory review, it is almost impossible to think of any
good thing you have done. The sins come out uncommonly strong

HOW I /BILLED A BEAR.

^37

Not accus-
about in the
mixed with
der than the
he spring, he
round in the
i manners are

ted and ran.
faithful rifle.

bear crashing
pi'city, he was
lot ihe time of
ought at such
)ctavo volume,
id copies, and
Lir was loping
made a hasty
;d that, even in
to think of any
nmonly strong

I recollected a newspaper subscription I had delayed paying
years and years ago, until both editor and newspaper were dead,
and which now never could be paid to all eternity.

The bear was coming on.

I tried to remember what I had read about encounters with
bears. I couldn't recall an instance in which a man had run
away from a bear in the woods and escaped, although I recalled
plenty where the bear had run from the man and got off. I tried
to think what is the best way to kih a bear with a gun, when you
are not near enough to club him with the stock. My first
thought was to fire at his head ; to plant the ball between his
eyes: but this is a dangerous experiment. The bear's brain is
very small ; and, unless you hit that, the bear does not mind a
bullet in his head ; that is, not at the time. I remembered that
the instant death of the bear would follow a bullet planted just
back of his foreleg, and sent into his heart. This spot is also
difficult to reach, unless the bear stands off, side towards you,
like a target. I finally determined to fire at him generally.

The bear was coming on.

The contest seemed to me very different from anything at
Creedmoor. I had carefully read the reports of the shooting
there ; but it was not easy to apply the experience I had thus
acquired. I hesitated whether I had better fire lying on my
stomach ; or lying on my back, and resting the gun on my toes.
But in neither position, I reflected, could I see the bear until he
was upon me. The range was too short ; and the bear v/ouldn't
wait for me to examine the thermometer, and note the direction
of the wind. Trial of the Creedmoor method, therefore, had to
be abandoned; and I bitterly regretted that I had not read more
accounts of off-hand shooting.

For the bear was coming on.

I tried to fix my last thoughts upon my family. As my family
is small, this was not difficult. Dread of displeasing my wife,
or hurting her feelings, was uppermost in my mind. What would
be her anxiety as hour after hour passed on, and I did not
return! What would the rest of the household think as the after-
noon passed, and no blackberries came! What would be my
wife's mortification when the news was brought that her husband
had been eaten by a bear ! I cannot imagine anything more
ignominious than to have a husband eaten by a bear. And this

6-58

MARJC TWAIN'S LIBRARY OF HUMOR.

was not my only anxiety. The mind at such times is not under
control. With the gravest fears the most whimsical ideas will
occur. I looked beyond the mourning friends, and thought what
kind of an epitaph they would be compelled to put upon the
stone. Something like this:

HERE LIE THE REMAINS
OF

lATEN DY A BEAR

Aug. 20, 1877.

It is a very unheroic and even disagreeable epitaph. That
'* eaten by a bear " is intolerable. It is grotesque. And then I
thought what an inadequate language the English is for compact
expression. It would not answer to put upon the stone simply
<' eaten," for that is indefinite, and requires explanation: it
might mean eaten by a cannibal. This difficulty could not occur
in the German, where essen signifies the act of feeding by a man,
and fressen by a beast. How simple the thing would be in
German! —

HIER LIEGT

HOCHWOHLGEBOREN

HERR ,

■ ■ GEFRESSEN

Aug, 20, 1877.

That explains itself. The well-born one was eaten by a beast,
and presumably by a bear — an animal that has a bad reputation
since the days of Elisha.

The bear was coming on ; he had, in fact, come on. I judged
that he could see the whites of my eyes. All my subsequent
reflections were confused. I raised the gun, covered the bear's
breast with the sight, and let drive. Then I turned, and rail
like a deer. I did not hear the bear pursuing. I looked back.
The bear had stopped. He was lying down. I then remem-
bered that the best thing to do after having fired your gun is to
reload it. I slipped in a charge, keeping my eyes on the bear.
He never stirred. I walked back suspiciously. There was a
quiver in the hind-legs, but no other motion. Still, he might be
shamming : bears often sham. To make sure, I approached,
and put a ball into his head. He didn't mind it now; he minded

now I KILLED A BEAR.

639

nothing Death had come to him with a merciful stiddenness.
He was calm in death. In order that he might remain so, I
blew his brains out, and then started tor home. I had killed
a bear!

Notwithstanding my excitement, I managed to saunter into the
house with an unconcerned air. There was a chorus of voices :

«* Where are your blackberries ?"

" Why were you gone so long ?"

♦' Where's your pail ?"

«*I left the pail."

« Left the pail ? What for ?"

" A bear wanted it."

" Oh, nonsense !"

" Well, the last I saw of it a bear had it."

** Oh, come ! You didn't really see a
bear?"

" Yes, but I did really see a real bear."

"Did he run?"

" Yes; he ran after me."

** I don't believe a word of it ! What
did you do ?"

<* Oh ! nothing particular — except kill
the bear."

Cries of " Gammon ! " " Don't believe
it ! " When s the bear ?"

" If you want to see the bear, you must
go up into the woods. I couldn't bring
him down alone."

Having satisfied the household that
something extraordinary had occurred, and
excited the posthumous fear of some of
them for my own safefty,! went down into the valley to get help. The
great bear-hunter, who keeps one of the summer boarding-houses,
received my story with a smile of incredulity; and the incredu-
lity spread to the other inhabitants and to the boarders, as soon
as the story was known. However, as I insisted in all soberness,
and offered to lead them to the bear, a party of forty or fifty peo-
ple at last started off with me to bring the bear in. Nobody
believed there was any bear in the case; but everybody who could
get a gun carried one; and we went into the woods, armed with

THE OLD HUNTER.

640

MARK TWAIN'S LIBRARY OF HUMOR.

guns, pistols, pitchforks and sticks, against all contingencies or
surprises — a crowd made up mostly of scoffers and jeerers.

But when I led the way to the fatal spot, and pointed out the
bear, lying peacefully wrapped in his own skin, something like
terror seized the boarders, and genuine excitement the natives.
It was a no-mistake bear, by George ! and the hero of the fight —
well, I will not insist upon that. But what a procession that was,
carrying the bear home ! and what a congregation was speedily
gathered in the valley to see the bear ! Our best preacher up
there never drew anything like it on Sunday.

And I must say that my particular friends, who were sports-
men, behaved very well on the whole. They didn't deny that it
was a bear, although they said it was small for a bear. Mr.
Deane, who is equally good with a rifle and a rod, admitted that
it was a very fair shot. He is probably the best salmon-fisher in
the United States, and he is an equally good hunter. I suppose
there is no i^erson in America who is more desirous to kill a moose
than he. But he needlessly remarked, after he had examined the
wound in the bear, that he had seen that kind of a shot made by
a cow's horn.

This sort of talk affected me not. When I went to sleep that
night, my last delicious thought was, *< I've killed a bear !"

A MILKMAN was lately seeking the aid of the police to trace
the whereabouts of a family who had left the neighborhood owing
him eighteen dollars. '« Well, I suppose there was nine dollars'
worth of water in that milk account " remarked the policeman.
"That's where it galls me— that's where it hurts," replied the
dealer. " They were new customers, and I hadn't commenced
to water the milk yet ! " — Newspaper.

THE GRASSHOPPER AND THE ANT,

641

rencies or
rers.

d out the
ithing like
le natives,
the fight —
n that was,
IS speedily
reacher up

ere sports-
eny that it
bear. Mr.
tnitted that
lon-fisher in
I suppose
kill a moose
xamined the
tot made by

9 sleep that
)ear !"

ice to trace
rhood owing
line dollars'

policeman.

replied the
commenced

THE GRASSHOPPER AND THE ANT.

BY G. T. LANIGAN.

A FRIVOLOUS Grasshopper, having spent the Summer in Mirth
and Revelry, went, on the Approach of the inclement Winter, to
the Ant, and implored it of its charity to stake him. ** You had
better go to your Uncle," replied the prudent Ant; " had you

THE GRASSHOPPER AND THE ANT.

imitated my Forethought and deposited your Funds in a Savings
Bank, you would not now be compelled to regard your Duster in
the light of an Ul ;ter." Thus saying, the virtuous Ant retired,
and read in the Papers next morning that the Savings Bank where
he had deposited his Funds had suspended.
Moral. — Dum Vivitnus, Vivamus.

642

MARK TIVA/X'S LIBRARY OF HUMOR,

A SLEEPING-CAR EXPERIENCE.

BY BRET HARTE.

It was in a Pullman sleeping-car on a Western road After
that first plunge into unconsciousness which the weary traveler
takes on getting into his berth, I awakened to the dreadful reve-
lation that I had been asleep only two hours. The greater part
of a long winter night was before me to face with staring eyes.

Finding it impossible to sleep, I lay there wondering a number
of things: why, for instance, the Pullman sleeping-car blankets
were unlike other blankets; why they were like squares cut out
of cold buckwheat cakes, and why they clung to you when you
turned over, and lay heavy on you without warmth ; why the
curtains before you could not have been made opaque, without
being so thick and suffocating ; why it would not be as well to
sit up all night half asleep in an ordinary passenger-car as to lie
awake all night in a Pullman. But the snoring of my fellow-
passengers answered this question in the negative.

With the recollection of last night's dinner weighing on me
as heavily and coldly as the blankets, I began wondering why,
over the whole extent of the continent, there was no local dish ;
why the bill of fare at restaurant and hotel was invariably only a
weak reflex of the metropolitan hostelries ; why the entrdcs were
always the same, only more or less badly cooked ; why the tra-
veling American always was supposed to demand turkey and cold
cranberry sauce ; why the pretty waiter-girl apparently shuffled
your plates behind your back, and then dealt them over your
shoulder in a semicircle, as if they were a hand at cards, and not
always a good one. Why, having done this, she instantly retired
to the nearest wall, and gazed at you scornfully, as one who
would say, *• Fair sir, though lowly, I am proud ; if thou dost
imagine that I would permit undue familiarity of speech, beware!"
And then I began to think of and dread the coming breakfast ;
to wonder why the ham was always cut half an inch thick, and
why the fried egg always resembled a glass eye that visibly
winked at you with diabolical dyspeptic suggestions ; to wonder
if the buckwheat cakes, the eating of which requires a certain
degree of artistic preparation and deliberation, would be brougl'.t

.4 SLEEPIXG-CAR EXPERIENCE.

643

in, as usual, one minute before the train started. And then I had
a vivid recollection of a fellow-passenger who, at a certain break-
fast station in Illinois, frantically enwrapped his portion of this
national pastry in his red bandana handkerchief, took it into the
smoking-car, and quietly devoured it en route.

Lying broad awake, I could not help making some observa-
tions which I think are not noticed by the day traveler. First
that the speed of a train is viot equal or continuous. That at
certain times the engine apparently starts up, and says to the
baggage train behind it, " Come, come, this won't do ! Why, it's
nearly half-past two ; how in h-11 shall we get through ! Don't
you talk to inc. Pooh, pooh !" delivered in that rhythmical fash-
ion which all meditation assumes on a railway train. Exempli
gratia: One night, having raised my window-curtain to look over
a moonlit snowy landscape, as I pulled it down the lines of a
popular comic song flashed across me. Fatal error ! The train
instantly took it up, and during the rest of the night I was
haunted by this awful refrain: "Pull down the bel-lind, \a\\\
down the bel-lind ; somebody's klink klink, O don't be shoo-
shoo!" Naturally this differs on the different railways. On the
New York Central, where the road-bed is quite perfect and the
steel rails continuous, I have heard this irreverent train give the
words of a certain popular revival hymn after this fashion :
*' Hold the fort, for I am Sankey ; Moody slingers still. Wave
the swish swash back from klinky, klinky klanky kill." On the
New York and New Haven, where there are many switches, and
the engine whistles at every cross-road, I have often heard,
"Tommy, make room for your whoopy I that's a little clang ;
bumpity, bumpity, booby, clikitty, clikitty clang." Poetry, I
fear, fared little better. One starlit night, coming from Quebec,
as we slipped by a virgin forest, the opening lines of " Evangeline "
flashed upon me. But all I could make of them was this : " This
is the forest primeval-eval ; the groves of the pines and the hem-
locks^locks-locks-locks-loooock ! " The train was only " slow-
ing " or ** braking " up at a station. Hence the jar in the metre.

I had noticed a peculiar .^olian-harp-like cry that ran through
the whole train as we settled to rest at last after a long run — an
almost sigh of infinite relief, a musical sigh that began in C and
ran gradually up to F natural, which I think most observant trav-
elers have noticed day and night. No railway official has ever

\ ^M

644

MARA' TWAIN'S LIBRARY OF HUMOR.

given me a satisfactory explanation of it. As the car, in a rapid
run, is always slightly projected forward of its trucks, a practical
friend once suggested to mo that it was the gradual settling back
of the car body to a state of inertia, which, of course, every
poetical traveler would reject. I'our o'clock — the sound of boot-
blacking by the porter faintly appare:it from the toilet-room.
Why not talk to him ? Hut, fortmiatcly, I remembered that any
attempt ai extended conversittion with conductor or porter was
/ . , always resented by

them as implied dis-
loyalty to the com-
pany they represented.
I recalled that once I
had endeavored to im-
press upon a conduct-
or the absolute folly
of a midnight inspec-
tion of tickets, and
had been treated by
him as an escaped
lunatic. No, there was
no relief from this
suffocating and insup-
portal)le loneliness to
be gained then. I
raised the window-
blind and looked out.
We were passing a
farm-house. A light,
evidently the lantern
of a farm - hand, was
swung beside a barn.
Yes, the faintest tinge of rose in the far horizon. Morning,
surely, at last!

We had stopped at a station. Two men had got into the car,
r.nd had taken seats in the one vacant section, yawning occasion-
ally and conversing in a languid, perfunctory sort of way. They
sat opposite each other, occasionally looking out of the window,
but always giving the strong impression that they were tired of
each other's company. As I looked out of my curtains at them
the One Man said, with a feebly concealed yawn :

AN INTERESTING STORV.

// SLEEPING-CAR EXPERIENCE.

645

•, in a rapid
a practical
ettling back
lurse, every
unci of boot-
toilet-room,
reel that any
r porter was
csentecl by
implied dis-
the corn-
represented.
[ that once I
avored to in>
)n a conduct-
bsolute folly
inight inspec-
tickets, and
n treated by
an escaped
No, there was
;f from this
,ng and insup-
loneliness to
led then. I
the window-
id looked out.
Ire passing a
use. A light,
y the lantern
|rm - hand, was
beside a barn.
,n. Morning,

It into the car,

Ining occasion-

of way. They

)f the window,

were tired of

irtains at them

"Yes, well, I reckon he was at one time as pop'lar un onder.
taker cz I knew."

The Other Man (inventing a question rather than giving an

answer, out of some languid, social impulse): "But was he

this yer ondertaker— a Christian— hed he jined the church }"

The One Man (reflectively): ♦' Well, I don't know cz you might
call him a purfessin' Christian; but he hed— yes, he hed convic-
tion. I think Dr. Wylie hed him under convictitn. Et least, that
was the way I got it from him."

A long, dreary pause. The Other Man (feeling it was incum-
bent upon him to say something): " But why was he pop'lar cz
an ondertaker ? "

The One Man (lazily): "Well, he was kinder pop'lar with wid-
dcrs and widderers— sorter soothen 'em a kinder keerless way;
slung 'em suthin' here and there, sometimes outer the Book, some-
times outer hisself, ez a man of experience as bed hed sorror. Hed,
they say {vcn cautiously), lost three wives hissclf, and five chil-
dren by this yer new disease— dipthery— out in Wisconsin. I
don't know the facts, but that's what's got round."

The Other Man: "But how did he lose his pop'Iarity?"
The One Man: "Well, that's the question. You see, he inter-
duced some things into onderlaking that waz new. He hed, for
instance, a way, as he called it, of manniperlating the features of
the deceased."
The Other Man (quietly): " How manniperlating ? "
The One Man (struck with a bright and aggressive thought):
" Look yer ; did ye ever notiss how, generally speakin', onhand-
some a corpse is ? "
The Other man had noticed this fact.

The One Man (returning to his fact): "Why, there was Mary
Peebles, ez was daughter of my wife's bosom friend— a mighty
pooty girl and a professing Christian — died of scarlet fever.
Well, that gal — I was one of the mourners, being my wife's friend
— well, that gal, though I hedn't, perhaps, oughter say— lying in
that casket, fetched all the way from some Ai establishment in
Chicago, filled with flowers and furbelows — didn't really seem to
be of much account. Well, although my wife's friend, and me a
mourner — well, now, I was— disappointed and discouraged."
The Other Man (in palpably affected sympathy): " Sho, now!"
"Yes, sir! Well, you see, this yer ondertaker, this Wilkins,

646

MARK TWAIN'S LIBRARY OF HUMOR.

I .ji:

hed a way of correctin' all thet. And just by maiiniperlation.
He worked over the face of the deceased ontil he perduced what
the survivin' relatives called a look of resignation — you know, a
sort of smile, like. When he wanted to put in any extrys, he
perduced what he called — hevin' reg'lar charges for this kind of
work — a Christian's hope."

The Other Man: " I want to know! "

"Yes. Well, I admit, at times it was a little startlin'. And
I've allers said (a little confidentially) that I had my doubts of
its being Scriptooral or sacred, we being, ez you know, worms of
the yearth; and I relieved my mind to our pastor, but he didn't
feel like i'lterferin', ez long ez it was confined to church member-
ship. But the other day, when Oy Dunham died — you disre-
member Cy Dunham ?"

A long interval of silence. The Other Man was looking out
of the window, and had apparently forgotten his companion com-
pletely. But as I stretched my head out of the curtain I saw
four other heads as eagerly reached out from other berths to hear
the conclusion of the story. One head, a female one, instantly
disappeared on my looking around, but a certain tremulousness
of her window-curtain showed an unabated interest. The only
two utterly disinterested men were the One Man and the Other
Man,

The Other Man (detaching himself languidly from the win-
dow): "Cy Dunham?"

"Yes; Cy never hed hed either convictions or purfessions.
Uster get drunk and go round with permiscous women. Sorter
like the prodigal son, only a little more so, ez fur ez I kin judge
from the facks ez stated to me. Well, Cy one day petered oat
down at Little Rock, and was sent up ycr for interment. The
fammerly, being proud-like, of course didn't spare no money on
that funeral, and it waz — now between you and me — about ez
shapely and first-class and prime-mess affair ez I ever saw. Wil-
kins hed put in his extrys. He hed put onto that prodigal's face
the A I touch — hed him fixed up with a * Christian's hope.' Well,
it waz about the turning-point, for thar waz some of the members
and the pastor hisself thought that the line oughter be drawn
somewhere, and thar waz some talk at Deacon Tibbett's about a
reg'lar conference meetin' regardin' it. But it wazn't thet which
made him onpop'lar."

nanniperlation.
perduced what
—you know, a
any extrys, he
or this kind of

startlin'. And
[ my doubts of
know, worms ot
r, but he didn't
church member-
:Ued— you disre-

was looking out
companion com-
the curtain I saw
ler berths to hear
le one, instantly
in tremulousnes3
erest. The only
n and the Other

ly from the win-

s or purfessions.
women. Sorter
r ez I kin judge
day petered oat
interment. The

[are no money on
id me — about ez
I ever saw. Wil-
lat prodigal's face
lan'shope.' Well,
le of the members
lughter be drawn
Tibbett's about a
Iwazn't thet which

A iiLEEPING-CAR EXPERIENCE.

647

Another silence; no expression nor reflection from the face of
the Other Man of the least desire to know what ultimately settled
the unpopularity of the undertaker. But from the curtains of
the various berths several eager, and one or two even wrathful,
faces, anxious for the result.

The Other Man (lazily recurring to the fading topic): "Well,
what made him onpop'lar ? "

The One Man (quietly): "Extrys, I think— that is, I sup-
pose, not knowin' (cautiously) all the facts. When Mrs. Widdc-
combe lost her husband, 'bout two months ago, though she'd
been through the valley of the shadder of death twice — this bein'
her third marriage, hevin* been John Barker's widder— "

The Other Man (with an intense expression of interest): "No;
you're foolin' me ! "

The One Man (solemnly): " Ef I was to appear before my
Maker to-morrow, yes ! she was the widder of Barker."

" The Other Man: " Well, I swow ! "

The One Man: "Well, this Widder Widdecombe, she put up a
big funeral for the deceased. She hed Wilkins, and thet onder-
taker just laid hisself out. Just spread hisself. Onfort'nately —
perhaps fort'nately in the ways of Providence — one of Widdc-
combe's old friends, a doctor up thar in Chicago, comes down to
the funeral. He goes up with the friends to look at the deceased,
smilin' a peaceful sort o' heavinly smile, and everybody sayin'
he's gone to meet his reward, and this yer friend turns round,
short and sudden on the widder settin' in her pew, and kinder
enjoyin', as wimen will, all the compliments paid the corpse, and
he says, says he :

" ' What did you say your husband died of, marm ? '

" * Consumption,' she says, wiping her eyes, poor critter, * Con-
sumption — gallopin' consumption.'

" * Consumption be d d,' sez he, bein' a profane kind of

Chicago doctor, and not bein' ever under conviction. * Thet man
died of strychnine. Look at thet face. Look at thet contortion
of them fashal muscles. Thet's strychnine. Thet's risers Sar-
donikus' (thet's what he said; he was always sorter profane).

" *Why, doctor,' says the widder, *thet — thet is his last smile.
It's a Christian's resignation.'

" ' Thet be blowed; don't tell me,' sez he. ' Hell is full of thet
kind of resignation. It's pizon. And I'll' — why, dern my skin,

s«Lt I

648

MARK TWAIN'S LIBRARY OF HUMOR.

jll

»li

■Eh

^11

^ml»

1^^^ H

yes we are; yes, it's Joliet. Wall, now, who'd hev thought we'd
been nigh onto an hour."

Two or three anxious passengers from their berths: " Say; look
yer, stranger ! Old Man ! What became of — "

But the One Man and the Other Man had vanished.

THE SHOPPER.

BY R. J. BURDETTE.

Tramp, tramp, tramp !

With the morning clocks at ten.
She skimmed the street with footsteps fleet,

And hustled the timid men ;
Tramp, tramp, tramp I

She entered the dry goods store,
And with echoing tread the dance she led

All over the crowded floor. i*

She charged the throng where the bargains were,
And everybody made way for her ;
Wherever she saw a painted sign.
She made for that spot a prompt bee-line ;
Whatever was old, or whatever was new.
She had it down and she looked it through ;
Whatever it was that caught her eye.
She'd stop, and price, and pretend to buy.
But 'twas either too bad, too common, or good.
So she did, and she wouldn't, and didn't, and would.
And round the counters and up the stairs.
In attic, and basement, and everywheres.
The salesmen fainted and cash-boys dropped.
But still she shopped, and shopped, and shopped.
And round, and round, and round, and round.
Like a winding toy with a key that's wound,
She'd weave and wriggle and twist about,
One way in and the other way out,
Till men grew giddy to see her go.
And by and by, when the sun was low,
Homeward she dragged her weary way.
And had sent home the spoils of the day :
A spool of silk and a hank of thread —
Eight hours — ten cents — and a dame half dead.

'/.■ \

THE BUMBLE BEE,

649

THE BUMBLE BEE.

BY JOSH BILLINGS.

The bumble bee iz a kind ov big fly who goes muttering and
swareing around the lots, during the summer, looking after little

A FLANK MOVEMENT.

boys to Sting them, and stealing hunny out ov the dandylions
and thissells. He iz mad all the time about sumthing, and don't
seem to kare a kuss what people think ov him. A skool boy will
studdy harder enny time to find a bumble bees nest than he will

ifr

C#'

f »! f-

P ; I '{

:''<>

050

MARK TWAIN'S LIBRARY OF HUMOR.

to get hiz lesson in arithmetik, and when he haz found it, and got
the hunny out ov it, and got badly stung into the bargin, he finds
thare aint mutch margin in it. Next to poor molassis, bumble
bee hunny iz the poorest kind ov sweetmeats in market. Bumble
bees hav allwuss been in fashion, and probably allwuss will be,
but whare the fun or proffit lays in them, i never could cypher
out. The proffit don't seem to be in the hunny, nor in the bumble
bee neither. They bild their nest in the ground, or enny whare
else they take a noshun too, and ain't afrade to fite a whole dis-
trikt skool, if they meddle with them. I don't blame the bumble
bee, nor enny other fellow, for defending hiz sugar: it iz the fust,
and last Law ov natur, and i hope the law won't never run out.
The smartest thing about the bumble bee iz their stinger.

ANOTHER CHANCE FOR SOROSIS.

BY R. J. 13URDETTE.

Mrs. Ewing says in the Wommis Journal that " she believes
50,000 women could earn a living in this country by the manu-
facture and sale of home-made bread." We believe so, too.
There's a fortune in it. A paving material that will be yielding
to the horse's foot, comparatively noiseless, and yet more durable
than Belgian block, is something that has not yet been discov-
ered.

AFTER THE FUNERAL.

65T

^1
I

AFTER THE FUNERAL.

BY J. M. BAILEY.

It was just after Ihe funeral. The bereaved and subdued
widow, enveloped in millinery gloom, was seated in the sitting-
room with a few sympathizing friends. There was that con-
strained look so peculiar to the occasion observable on every
countenance. The widow
sighed.

** How do you feel, my
dear? " observed her sister.

" Oh! I don't know," said
the poor woman, with diffi-
culty restraining her tears.
** But i hope everything
passed off well."

"Indeed it did," said all
the ladies.

"It was as large and re-
spectable a funeral as I
have seen this winter," said
the sistei", looking around
upon the others.

" Yes, it was," said the
lady from next door. " I
was saying to Mrs. Slocum,
only ten minutes ago, that
the attendance couldn't have
been better — the bad going
considered."

" Did you see the Taylors ? " asked the widow faintly, looking
at her sister. " They go so rarely to funerals, that I was surprised
to see them here."

" Oh, yes ! the Taylors were all here," said the sympathizing
sister. "As you say, they go but a little: they are j^ exclusive ! "

" I thought I saw the Curtises also," suggested the bereaved
woman droopingly.

" Oh, yes ! " chimed in several. " They came in their own car-

THE COLONEL.

652

MARK TWAIN'S LIBRARY OK HUMOR.

'%{ > i

Ttage too," said the sister animatedly. " And then there were
the Randalls, and the Van Rensselaers. Mrs. Van Rensselaer
had her cousin from the city with her; and Mrs. Randall wore a
very heavy blacl; silk, which I am sure was quite new. Did you
see Col. Haywood and his daughters, love?"

" I thought I saw them; but I wasn't sure. They were here,
then, were they ? "

"Yes, indeed ! " said they all again; and the lady who lived
across the way observed :

'* The colonel was very sociable, and inquired most kindly
about you, and the sickness of your husband."

The widow smiled faintly. She was gratified by th3 interest
shown by the colonel.

The friends now rose to go, each bidding her good-bye, and
expressing the hope that she would be calm. Her sister bowed
them out. When she returned, she said:

"You can see, my love, what the neighbors think of it. I
wouldn't have had anything unfortunate to happen for a good
deal. But nothing did. The arrangements couldn't have been
,better."

*< i think some of the people in the neighborhood must have
been surprised to see so many of the up-town people here," sug-
gested the afflicted woman, trying to look hopeful.

"You may be quite sure of that," asserted the sister. "I
could see that plain enough by their looks."

" Well, I am glad there is no occasion for talk," said the
widow, smoothing the skirt of her dress.

And after that the boys took the chairs home, and the house
was put in order.

CANNIBALISM IN THE CARS.

«>53

CANNIBALISM IN THE CARS.

1 by th3 interest

BY MARK TWAIN.

I VISITED St. Louis lately, and on my way west, after changing
cars at Terre Haute, Indiana, a mild, benevolent- looking gentle-
man of about forty-five, or maybe fifty, came in at one of the
way-stations and sat down beside me. We talked together pleas-
antly on various subjects for an hour, perhaps, and I found him
exceedingly intelligent and entertaining. When he learned that
I was from Washington, he immediately began to ask questions
about various public men, and about Congressional affairs ; and
I saw very shortly that I was conversing with a man who was
perfectly familiar with the ins and outs of political life at the
Capital, even to the ways and manners and customs of procedure
of Senators and Representatives in the Chambers of the National
Legislature. Presently two men halted near us for a single
moment, and one said to the other:

" Harris, if you'll do that for me, I'll never forget you, my
boy."

My new comrade's eyes lighted pleasantly. The words had
touched upon a happy memory, I thought. Then his face settled
into thoughtfulness — almost into gloom. He turned to me and
said, " Let me tell you a story; let me give you a secret chapter
of my life — a chapter that has never been referred to by me since
its events transpired. Listen patiently, and promise that you will
not interrupt me."

I said I would not, and he related the following strange adven-
ture, speaking sometimes with animation, sometimes with melan-
choly, but always with feeling and earnestness.

THE stranger's NARRATIVE.

" On the 19th of December, 1853, I started from St. Louis on
the evening train bound for Chicago. There were only twenty-
four passengers, all told. There were no ladies and no children.
We were in excellent spirits, and pleasant acquaintanceships were
soon formed. The journey bade fair to be a happy one; and no
individual in the party, I think, had even the vaguest presenti-
ment of the horrors we were soon to undergo.

P >1 vV

654

A/.4^Ar TWAIN'S LIBRARY OF JJUMOR,

III

"At II p. M. it began to snow hard. Shortly after leaving the
small village of Welden, we entered upon that tremendous prairie
solitude that stretches its leagues on leagues of houseless dreari-
ness far away towards the Jubilee Settlements. The winds, un-
obstructed by trees or hills, or even vagrant rocksj whistled
fiercely across the level desert, driving the falling snow before it
like spray from the crested waves of a stormy sea. The snow
was deepening fast; and we knew, by the diminished speed of the
train, that the engine was ploughing through it with steadily
increasing difficulty. Indeed, it almost came to a dead halt
sometimes, in the midst of great drifts that piled themselves like
colossal graves across the track. Conversation began to flag.
Cheerfulness gave place to grave concern. The possibility of
being imprisoned in the snow, on the bleak prairie, fifty miles
from any house, presented itself to every mind, and extended its
depressing influence over every spirit.

*' At two o'clock in the morning I was aroused out of an uneasy
slumber by the ceasing of all motion about me. The appalling
truth flashed upon me instantly — we were captives in a snow-
drift! 'All hands to the rescue!' Every man sprang to obey.
Out into the wild night, the pitchy darkness, the billowy snow,
the driving storm, every soul leaped, with the consciousness that
a moment lost now might bring destruction to us all. Shovels,
hands, boards — anything, everything, that could displace snow,
was brought into instant requisition. It was a weird picture,
that small company of frantic men fighting the banking snows,
half in the blackest shadow and half in the angry light of the
locomotive's reflector.

" One short hour sufficed to prove the utter uselessness of our
efforts. The storm barricaded the track with a dozen drifts while
we dug one away. And, worse than this, it was discovered that
the last grand charge the engine had made upon the enemy had
broken the fore-and-aft shaft of the driving-wheel! With a free
track before us, we should still have been helpless. We entered
the car wearied with labor, and very sorrowful. We gathered
about the stoves, and gravely canvassed our situation. We had
no provisions whatever — in this lay our chief distress. We could
not freeze, for there was a good supply of wood in the tender.
This was our only comfort. The discussion ended at last in
accepting the disheartening decision of the conductor, viz., that

JAIOK.

C^s^.^riBALISM IN THE CARS.

655

f after leaving the
tremendous prairie
F houseless dreari-
. The winds, un-
it rocks, whistled
ing snow before it
\y sea. The snow
iished speed of the
h it with steadily
ne to a dead halt
led themselves like
tion began to flag.
The possibility of
prairie, fifty miles
d, and extended its

led out of an uneasy
me. The appalling
captives in a snow-
nan sprang to obey.
5, the billowy snow,
e consciousness that
to us all. Shovels,
)uld displace snow,
^as a weird picture,
the banking snows,
; angry light of the

uselessness of our

a dozen drifts while

was discovered that

ipon the enemy had

wheel! With a free

pless. We entered

wful. We gathered

situation. We had

distress. We could

wood in the tender.

jii ended at last in

conductor, viz., that

It would be death for any man to attempt to travel fifty miles on
foot through snow like that. We could not send for help; and
even if we could, it could not come. We must submit, and await,
as patiently as we might, succor or starvation! I think the stoutest
heart there felt a momentary chill when those words were uttered.

"Within the hour conversation subsided to a low murmur here
and there about the car, caught fitfully between the rising and
falling of the blast; the lamps grew dim; and the majority of the
castaways settled themselves
among the flickering shadows to
think — to forget the present, if
they could — to sleep, if they
might.

" The eternal night — it surely
seemed eternal to us — wore its
lagging hours away at last, and
the cold gray dawn broke in the
east. As the light grew stronger
the passengers began to stir and
give signs of life; one after an-
other, and each in turn, pushed his
slouched hat up from his fore-
head, stretched his stiffened limbs,
and glanced out at the windows
upon the cheerless prospect. It
was cheerless indeed ! — not a liv-
ing thing visible anywhere, not a
human habitation; nothing but a
vast white desert; uplifted sheets
of snow drifting hither and
thither before the wind — a world
of eddying flakes shutting out the firmament above.

*' All day we moped about the cars, saying little, thinking much.
Another lingering, dreary night — and hunger.

"Another dawning— another day of silence, sadness, Wasting
hunger, hopeless watching for succor that could not come. A
night of restless slumber, filled with dream" of feasting — wakings
distressed with the gnawings of hunger.

"The fourth day came and went — and the fifth! Five days of
dreadful imprisonment! A savage hunger looked out at every

RICHARD H. GASTON.

656

MAR/C TWAIN'S LIBRARY OF HVMOR.

':\\

■ rlT"-?"

eye. There was, in it a sign of awful import — the foreshadowing
of a something that was vaguely shaping itself in every heart — a
something which no tongue dared yet to frame into words.

" The sixth day passed — the seventh dawned upon as gaunt
and haggard and hopeless a company of men as ever stood in the
shadow of death. It must out now! That thing which had been
growing up in every heart was ready to leap from every lip at
last! Nature had been taxed to the utmost — she must yield.
Richard H. Gastox, of Minnesota, tall, cadaverous and pale,
rose up. All knew what was coming. All prepared — every
emotion, every semblance of excitement was smothered — only a
calm, thoughtful seriousness appeared in the eyes that were lately
so wild.

" ' Gentlemen — It cannot be delayed longer! The time is at
hand ! We must determine which of us shall die to furnish food
for the rest!' •

"Mr. JoHX J, Williams, of Illinois, rose and said: 'Gentle-
men — I nominate the Rev. James Sawyer, of Tennessee.'

" Mr. Wm. R. Adams, of Indiana, said: * I nominate Mr. Dan-
iel Slote, of New York.'

"Mr. Charles J. Langdon: *I nominate Mr. Samuel A.
Bowen, of St. Louis.'

"Mr. Slote: 'Gentlemen — I desire to decline in favor of Mr.
John A. Van Nostrand, Jun., of New Jersey.'

"Mr. Gaston: * If there be no objection, the gentleman's
desire will be acceded to.'

"Mr. Van Nostrand objecting, the resignation of Mr. Slote
was rejected. The resignations of Messrs. Sawyer and Bowen
were also offered, and refused upon the same grounds.

" Mr. A. L. Bascom, of Ohio : * I move that the nominations
now close, and that the House proceed to an election by ballot.'

" Mr. Sawyer : < Gentlemen — I protest earnestly against these
proceedings. They are, in every way, irregular and unbecoming.
I must beg to move that they be dropped at once, and that v/e
elect a chairman of the meeting, and proper officers to assist him,
and then we can go on with the business before us understand-
ingly.'

" Mr. Bell, of Iowa : « Gentlemen — I object. This is no time
to stand upon forms and ceremonious observances. For more
than seven days we have been without food. Every moment we

CANNIBALISM IN THE CARS.

657

Dreshadowing
very heart — a
words.

pon as gaunt
;r stood in the
hich had been
I every lip at
e must yield,
ous and pale,
epared— every
:hered— only a
;hat were lately

The time is at
to furnish food

said: 'Gentle-

nessee.'

linate Mr. Dan-

^r. Samuel A.

in favor of Mr.

he gentleman's

,n of Mr. Slote
yer and Bovven
unds.

he nominations
tion by ballot.'
ly against these
nd unbecoming.
;e, and that we
;rs to assist him,
us understand-

Thisisnotime
;es. For move
kry moment we

lose in idle discussion increases our distress. I am satisfied with
the nominations that have been made — every gentleman present
is, I believe — and I, for one, do not see why we should not proceed
at once to elect one or more of them. I wish to offer a resolu-
tion—'

" Mr. Gaston : < It would be objected to, and have to lie over
one day, under the rules, thus bringing about the very dday you
wish to avoid. The gentleman from New Jersey — '

" Mr. Van Nostrand : * Gentlemen — I am a stranger among
you ; I have not sought the distinction that has been conferred
upon me, and I feel a delicacy — '

"Mr. Morgan, of Alabama (interrupting): *I move the pre-
vious question.'

** The motion was carried, and further debate shut off, of
course. The motion to elect officers was passed, and under it
Mr. Gaston was chosen chairman, Mr. Biake secretary, Messrs.
Hoi comb, Dyer and Baldwin a committee on nominations, and
Mr. R. M. Howland purveyor, to assist the committee in mak-
ing selections.

'* A recess of half an hour was then taken, and some little cau-
cussing followed. At the sound of the gavel the meeting reas-
sembled, and the committee reported in favor of Messrs. George
Ferguson, of Kentucky, Lucien Herrman, of Louisiana, and W.
Messick, of Colorado, as candidates. The report was accepted.

** Mr. Rogers, of Missouri : ' Mr. President — The report being
properly before the House now, I move to amend it by substitut-
ing for the name of Mr. Herrman that of Mr. Lucius Harris, of
St. Louis, who is well and honorably known to us all. I do not
wish to be understood as casting the least reflection upon th.»
high character and standing of the gentleman from Louisiana —
far from it. I respect and esteem him as much as any gentle-
man here present possibly can ; but none of us can be blind to
the fact that he has lost more flesh during the week that we have
lain here than any among us — none of us can be blind to the fact
that the committee has been derelict in its duty, either through
negligence or a graver fault, in thus offering for our suffrages a.
gentleman who, however pure his own motives may be, has really
less nutriment in him — '

"The Chair: 'The gentleman from Missouri will take his
seat. The Chair cannot allow the integrity of the Committee

658

MARK TiVAWS LIBRARY OF HUMOR.

to be questioned save by the regular course, under the rules.
What action will the House take upon the gentleman's motion.'

«* Mr. Hallidav, of Virginia : « I move to further amend the re^
port by substituting Mr. Harvey Davis, of Oregon, for Mr. Mes-
sick. It may be urged by some gentlemen that the hardships and
privations of a frontier life have rendered Mr. Davis tough; but,
gentlemen, is this a time to cavil at toughness ? is this a time to
be fastidious concerning trlfies ? is this a time to dispute about
matters of paltry significance ? No, gentlemen : bulk is what we
desire — substance, weight, bulk — these are the supreme requisites
now— not talent, not genius, not education. I insist upon my
motion.'

" Mr. Morgan (excitedly) : ' Mr. Chairman — I do most stren-
uously object to this amendment. The gentleman from Oregon
is old, and, furthermore, is bulky only in bone — not in flesh. I
ask the gentleman from Virginia if it is soup we want instead of
solid sustenance? if he would delude us with shadows? if he
would mock our suffering with an Oregonian spectre ? I ask him
if he can look upon the anxious faces around him, if he can gaze
into our sad eyes, if he can listen to the beating of our expect-
ant hearts, and still thrust this famine-stricken fraud upon us?
I ask him if he can think of our desolate state, of our past sor-
rows, of our dark future, and still unpityinpfly foist upon us this
wreck, this ruin, this tottering swindle, this gnarled and blighted
and sapless vagabond from Oregon's inhospitable shores ? Never!'
[Applause.]

** The amendment was put to vote, after a fiery debate, and
lost. Mr. Harris was substituted on the first amendment. The
balloting then began. Five ballots were heid without a choice.
On the six*'., Mr. Harris was elected, all voting for him but him-
self. It was then moved that his election should be ratified by
acclamation, which was lost, in consequence of his again voting
against himself.

"Mr. Radwav moved that the House now take up the remi' i-
ing candidates, and go into an election for breakfast. This
carried.

** On the Irst Fallot there was a tie, half the members favoring
one candidate Ci; account of his youth, and half favoring the
other on account o' bis superior size. The President gave the
casting vote for the i?.* i-i, Mr. M'>ssick. This decision created

CANNIBALISM IX THE CAfiS.

659

considerable dissatisfaction an?ong the friend i of Mr. Fertjnson,
the defeated ididate, and there was some talk of demanding a
new ballot ; but in the midst of it, a motion l adjourn was car-
ried, and the meeting broke up at once.

"The preparations for supper diverted the attenticm of the
Ferguson faction from the discussion of their grievance for a
long time, and then, when they would have taken it up again, the
happy announcement that Mr. Harris was ready, drove all thoi ht
of it to the winds.

•'We improvised t ibles by propping up the backs of car-seats,
and sat down wlili In irtsfull of gratitude to the finest supper
that h.'id liles'jcd our vision for seven torturing days. How
chap'^ed .ve " - re from what we had been a few short hours before !
Hoik ( ss, sad-eyed misery, hunger, feverish anxiety, desperation,
1ln.1i —thankfulness, serenity, joy too deep for utterance now.
That I know was the cheeriest hour of my eventful life. The
winds howled, and blew the snow wildly about our prison-house,
but they were powerless to distress us any more. I liked Harris.
He might have been better done, perhaps, but I am free to say
I hat no man over agreed with me better than Harris, or afforded me
so large a degree of satisfaction. Messick was very well, though
rather high-flavored, but for genuine nutritiousness and delicacy
of fibre, give me Harris. Messick had his good points — I will
not attempt to deny it, nor do I wish to do it — but he was no
more fitted for breakfast than a mummy would be, sir — not a bit.
Lean ? — why, bless me ! — and tough ? Ah, he was very tough !
You could not imagine it — you could never imagine anything
like it."

" Do you mean to tell me that — "

" Do not interrupt me, please. After breakfast we elected a
man by the name of Walker, from Detroit, for supper. He was
very good. I wrote his wife so afterwards. He was worthy of
all praise. I shall always remember Walker. He was a little
rar , but very good. And then the next morning we had Mor-
gan, of Alabama, for breakfast. He was one of the finest men
I ever sat down to — handsome, educated, refined, spoke several
languages fluently — he vrts a iierfect gentleman, and singularly
juicy. For supper we h:id thai Oregon patriarch, and he 'ioas a
fraud, there is no question about it — old, shaggy, tough — nobody
can picture the reality. I finally said, gentlemen, you can do as

iill;

66o

MARK TWAIN'S LIBRARY OF HUMOR.

you like, but I will wait for another election. And Grimes, of Illi-
nois, said, 'Gentlemen, /will wait also. When you elect a man
that has something to recommend him, I shall be glad to join
you again.' It scon became evident that there was general dis-
satisfaction with Davis, of Oregon, and so, to preserve the good-
will that had prevailed so pleasantly since we had had Harris, an
election was called, and the result of it was that Baker, of Geor-
gia, was chosen. He was splendid ! Well, well — after that we
had Doolittle, and Hawkins, and McElroy (there was some com-
plaint about McElroy, because
he was uncommonly short and
thin), and Penrod, and two
Smiths, and Bailey (Bailey
had a wooden leg, which was
clear loss, but he was other-
wise good), and an Indian boy,
and an organ grinder, and a
gentleman by the name of
Buckminster — a poor stick of
a vagabond that wasn't any
good for company and no ac-
count for breakfast. We were
glad we got him elected before
relief came."

"And so the blessed relief
did come at last?"

" Yes, it came one bright,

sunny morning, just after

election. John Murphy was

the choice, and there never

was a better, I am willing to testify ; but John Murphy came

home with us, in the train that came to succor us, and lived to

marry the widow Harris — "

" Relict of— " ,

" Relict of our first choice. He married her, and is happy and
respected and prosperous yet. Ah, it was like a novel, sir — it
was like a romance. This is my stopping-place, sir ; I must bid
you good-bye. Any time that you can make it convenient to
tarry a day or two with me, I shall be glad to have you. I like you,
sir; I have conceived an affection for you. I could like you as

"GOOD PAY, SIR

CANNIBALISM IN THE CARS.

6t)I

rimes, of IIU-
. elect a man
glad to join
i general dis-
rve the good-
id Harris, an
ker, of Geor-
after that we
as some com-
iiroy, because
)nly short and
rod, and two
Jailey (Bailey
leg, which was
he was other-
an Indian boy,
grinder, and a
the name of
a poor stick of
lat wasn't any
any and no ac-
dast. We were
1 elected before

blessed relief

it?"

me one bright,
just after
n Murphy was
nd there never
n Murphy came
IS, and lived to

wcU as I liked Harris himself, sir. Good day, sir, and a pleasant
journey."

He was gone. I never felt so stunned, so distressed, so be-
wildered in my life. But in my soul I was glad he was gone.
With all his gentleness of manner and his soft voice, I shuddered
whenever he turned his hungry eye upon me ; and when I heard
that I had achieved his perilous affection, and that I stood almost
with the late Harris in his esteem, my heart fairly stood still !

I was bewildered beyond description. I did not doubt his
word ; I could not question a single item in a statement so
stamped with the earnestness of truth as his ; but its dreadful
details overpowered me, and threw my thoughts into hopeless
confusion. I saw the conductor looking at me. I said, " Who is
that man ?" ' >

" He was a member of Congress once, and a good one. But
he got caught in a snowdrift in the cars, and like to been starved
to death. He got so frost-bitten and frozen up generally, and
used up for want of something to eat, that he was sick and out of
his head two or three months afterwards. He is all right now,
only he is a monomaniac, and when he gets on that old subject,
he never stops till he has eat up that whole car-load of people he
talks about. He would have finished the crowd by this time, only
he had to get out here. He has got their names as pat as A. B.
C. When he gets them all eat up but himself, he always says :
' Then the hour for the usual election for breakfast having arriv-
ed, and there being no opposition, I was duly elected, after
which, there being no objections offered, I resigned. Thus I am
here.' "

I felt inexpressibly relieved to know that I had only been listen
ing to the harmless vagaries of a madman instead of the genuine
experiences of a bloodthirsty cannibal.

nd is happy and
a novel, sir— it
sir ; I must bid
t convenient to
you. I like you,
ouldlike you as

I;1 \

66?

MAUK TWAIN'S LIBRARY OF HUMOR.

PIE.

BY C. D. WARNER.

There has come over this country within the last generation,
as everybody knows, a great wave of condemnation of pie. It
has taken the character of a " movement," though we have had
no conventions about it, nor is any one, of any of the several
sexes among us, running for president against it. It is safe
almost anywhere to denounce pie, yet nearly everybody eats it
on occasion. A great many people think it savors of a life
abroad to speak with horror of pie, although they were very likely
the foremost of the Americans in Paris who used to speak with
more enthusiasm of the American pie at Madame Busque's than
of the Venus of Milo. To talk against pie and still eat it is
snobbish, of course; but snobbery, being an aspiring failing, is
sometimes the prophecy of better things. To affect dislike of
pie is something. We have no statistics on the subject, and can-
not tell whether it is gaining or losing in the country at large.
Its disappearance in select circles is no test. The amount of
writing against it is no more test of its desuetude, than the num-
ber of religious tracts distributed in a given district is a criterion
of its piety. We are apt to assume that certain regions are sub
stantially free of it. Herbert and I, traveling north one summer,
fancied that we could draw in New England a sort of diet line,
like the sweeping curves on the isothermal charts, which should
show at least the leading pie sections. Journeying towards the
White Mountains, we concluded that a line passing through Bel-
lows Falls, and bending a little south on either side, would mark,
northward, the region of perpetual pie. In this region pie is to
be found at all hours and seasons, and at every meal. I am not
sure, however, that pie is not a matter of altitude rather than
latitude, as I find that all the hill and country towns of New
England are full of those excellent women, the very salt of the
housekeeping earth, who would feel ready to ?ink in mortification
through their scoured kitchen floors, if visitors should catch
them without a pie in the house. The absence of pie would be
more noticed than a scarcity of Bible even. Without it the

PIE.

663

housekeepers are as ilistracted as the boarding-house keeper who
declared that if it were not for canned tomato she should ha ve
nothing to fly to. Well, in all this great agitation I find Herbert
unmoved, a conservative, even to the under-crust. I dare not
ask him if he eats pie at breakfast. There are some tests that
the dearest friendship may not apply.

Allmost enny phool kan prove that the bible aint true : it
takes a wize man to beleave it.

Josh Billings. .

664

MARK TWAIN'S LIBRARY OF HUMOR.

BUTTERWICK'S LITTLE GAS BILL.

ANONYMOUS.

During one of those few cold snaps which v/e had last winter
the gas meter in Mr. Butterwick's house was frozen. Mr. Butter-
wick attempted to thaw it out by pouring hot water over it, but
after spending an hour upon the effort, he emerged from the
contest with the meter with his feet and trousers wet, his hair full
of dust and cobwebs, and his temper at fever heat. After study»

A LITTLE GAS BILL.

tng how he should get rid of the ice in the meter, he concluded
to use force for the purpose; and so, seizing a hot poker, he
jammed it through a vent hole, and stirred it around inside the
meter with a considerable amount of vigor. He felt the ice give
way, and he heard the wheels buzz around with rather more
vehemence than usual. Then he went up-stairs. >

He noticed for three or four days that .the internal machinery
of that meter seemed to be rattling around in a remarkable man-
ner. It could be heard all over the house. But he was pleased
to find that it was working again in spite of the cold weather, and
he retained his serenity.

About two weeks afterwajds his gas bill came. It accused

SUITER WICK'S LITTLE GAS BILL.

665

ad last winter
Mr. Butter-
er over it, but
ged from the
et, his hair full
After study.

P^'^i

r, he concluded

hot poker, he

3und inside the

felt the ice give

rather more

irnal machinery
jmarkable man-
he was pleased
•Id weather, and

him of burning, during the quarter, 1,500,000 feet of gas, and it
called on him to settle to the extent of nearly $350,000. Before
Mr. Butterwick's hair had time to descend after the first shock,
he put on his hat and went down to the gas office. He addressed
one of the clerks;

" How much gas did you make at the works last quarter ? "

"Dunno; about a million feet, I reckon."

"Well, you've charged me in n-ybill for burning half a million
more than you mace. I want you to correct it."

•* Let's see the bill. Mm-m-m— this is all right. It's taken off
the meter. That's what the meter says."

"S'pose'n it does; I couldn't have burned more'n you made!"

" Can't help that. The meter can't lie."

** Well, but how d' you account for the difference?"

'-* Durino; 'tain't our business to go poking and nosing around
after scientific truth. We depend on the meter. If that says
you burned six million feet, why, you must have burned it, even
if we never made a foot of gas out at the works."

" To tell you the honest truth," said Butterwick, " that meter
was frozen, and I stirred it up with a poker, and set it whizzing
around."

"Price just the same," said the clerk. " We charge for pokers
just like we do for gas."

" You ain't actually going to have the audacity to ask me to
pay $350,000 on account of that poker ? "

" If it was $700,000 I'd take it with a calmness that would
surprise you. Pay up, or we'll turn off your gas."

"Turn it off and be hanged!" exclaimed Butterwick, as he
emerged from the office, tearing his bill to fragments. Then he
went home, and grasping that too lavish poker, he approached
the meter. It had registered another million feet since the bill
was made out. It was running up a score of a hundred feet a
minute. In a month Butterwick would have owed the gas
company more than the United States Government owes its
creditors. So he beat the meter into a shapeless mass, tossed it
into the street, and turned off the gas inside the cellar.

He is now sitting up at nights writing an essay on " Our Grind-
ing Monopolies," by the light of a kerosene lamp.

le.

It accused

666

A/A/HA- TIVAIN'S LIBRARY OF HUMOR.

PISTOL SHOOTING— A COUNTER CHALLENGE.

';,!■
i*

BY JOHN PHCKNIX.

San Diego, Cal., September i, 1854.
I COPY the following paragraph from the Spirit of the Tiines^

for July isth:

PISTOL SHOOTING— A CHALLENGE.

Owing to the frequent and urgent solicitations of many of my friends, I am
induced to make the following propositions :

1. I will fit a dollar to the end of a twig two inches long, and while a second
person will hold the other end in his mouth, so as to bring the coin within an
inch and a half of his face, I engage to strike the dollar, three times out of five,
at the distance of ten paces, or thirty feet. I will add, in explanation, that
there are several persons willing and ready to hold the twig or stick described
above, when required.

2. I will hit a dollar tossed in the air, or any other object of the same size,
three times out of five, on a wheel and fire.

3. At the word, I will split three balls out of five, on a knife blade, placed at
the distance of thirty feet.

4. I will hit three birds out of five, sprung from the trap, standing thirty feet
from the trap when shooting.

5. I will break, at the word, five common clay pipe stems out of seven, at the
distance of thirty feet.

6. I engage to prove, by fair trial, that no pistol-shot can be produced who
will shoot an apple off a man's head, at the distance of thirty feet, oftener than
lean. Moreover, I will produce two persons willing and ready to hold the
apple on their heads for me, when required to do so.

7. I will wager, lastly, that no person in the United States can be produced
who will hit a quarter of a dollar, at the distance of thirty feet, oftener than I
can, on a wheel and fire.

I am willing to bet $5,000 on any of the above propositions, one fourth of
that amount forfeit. So soon as any bet will be closed, the money shall be
deposited in the Bank of the State of Missouri, until paid over by the judges,
or withdrawn, less forfeit. I will give the best and most satisfactory references
that my share will be forthcoming when any of my propositions are taken up.
Any one desiring to take up any of my propositions must address me by letter,
through the St. Louis Post Office, as the advertisements or notices of newspaper:
might not meet my eye. Propositiona will be received until the first of Septem-
ber next.

Edmund W. Paul.

140 Sixth Street, between Franklin Avenue and

Morgan Street, St. L ouis, Missouri.

I am unable to see anything very . extraordinary in the above

PISTOL SHOOTING-A COUNTER CHALLENGE. 667

lALLENGE.

propositions, by Mr. Edmund W. Paul. Any person acquainted
with the merest rudiments of the pistol, could certainly execute
any or all of the proposed feats without the slightest difficulty.

*' Owing" to my entertaining these opinions, ** without solicita-
tion from friends, and unbiased by unworthy motives," / am
induced to make the following propositions:

I. I will suspend two dollars by a ring from a second person's
nose, so as to bring the coins within three-fourths of an inch from
his face, and with a double barrelled shot-gun, at a distance of

FINE SHOOTING.

Edmund W. Paul.

Jinarv in the above

thirty feet, will blow dollars, nose and man at least thirty feet
further, four times out of five. I will add, in explanation, that,
San Diego containing a rather intelligent community, I can find,
at present, no one here willing or ready to have his nose blown
in this manner; but I have no manner of doubt I could obtain suclj
a person from St. Louis, by Adams & Co.'s Express, in due season
2. I will hit a dollar, or anything else that has been tossed in
the air (of the same size), on a wheel, on a pole or axleiree, or on
the groiindy every time out of five.

668

MAHA' TWAIN'S LIBRARY OF HUMOR.

3. At the word, I will place five balls on the blade of a pen-
knife, and split them all !

4. I will hit three men out of five, sprung from obscure parent-
age, and stand within ten feet of a steel trap (properly set) while
shooting !

5. I will break, at th'-* word, a whole box of common clay pipes,
with a single brick, at a distance of thirty feet.

6. I engage to prove, by a fair trial, that no pistol-shot (or
other jierson) can be produced who \n\\ throw mort apples at a
man's head than I can. Moreover, I can produce in this town
more than sixty persons willing and ready to hold an apple on
their heads for me, provided they are allowed to eat the apple
subsequently.

7. I will wager, lastly, that no person in the United States can
be produced, who, with a double barrelled shot-gun, while throw-
ing a back-handed summerset, can hit oftener a dollar and a halfj
on the perimeter of a revolving wheel in rapid motion^ than I can.

Any one desiring to take up any of my propositions, will
address me through the columns of The Pioneer Magazine. Prop-
ositions will be received on the first of April next.

John Phcenix.
1384 Seventeenth Street, Valecitos.
Se compra oro aqui, up-stairs.

P. S.— Satisfactory references given and required. A bet from
a steady, industrious person, who will be apt to pay if he loses,
will meet with prompt atcdntion. J. P.

^:^. 'm"-r

BOSTON.

669

liar and a half,

BOSTON.
A. W. TO His Wife.

BY ARTEMUS WARD.

Dear Betsy: I write you this from Boston, *<the Modern
Atkins," as it is denomyunated, altho' I skurcely know what
those air. I'll giv you a kursoory view of this city. I'll klassify
the paragrafs under seprit headin's, arter the stile of those Em-
blems of Trooth and k ty, the Vv'ashington correspongdents :

COPl'S* HILL. .

The winder of my room commands a exileratin' view of Copps'
Hill, where Cotton Mather, the father of the Reformers and sich,
lies berrid. There is men even now who worship Cotton, and
there is wimin who wear him ne.xt their harts. But I do not weep
for him. He's bin ded too lengthy. I ain't goin' to be absurd,
like old Mr. Skillins, in our naborhood, who is ninety-six years
of age, and gets drunk every 'lection day, and weeps Bitturly
because he hain't got no Parents. He's a nice Orphan, he is.

MR. fanuel.

Old Mr. Fanuel is ded, but his Hall is still into full blarst.
This is the Cradle in which the Goddess of Liberty was rocked,
my Dear. The Goddess hasn't bin very well durin' the past few
years, and the num'ris quack doctors she called in didn't help
her any ; but the old gal's physicians now are men who under-
stand their bisness. Major-generally speakin', and I think the day
is near when =he'll be able to take her three meals a day, and sleep
nights as comf'bly as in the old timet

•THE LEGISLATUR..

The State House is filled with Statesmen, but sum of 'em wear
queer hats. They buy 'em, I take it, of hatters who carry on
hat stores down-stairs in Dock Square, and whose hats is either
ten years ahead of the prevalin' stile, or ten years behind it — jest
as a intellectooal person sees fit to think about it. I had the

5;o

MARK TWAIN'S LIBRARY OF HUMOR.

pleasure of talkin' with sevril members of the legislatur. I told
'em the Eye of i,ooo ages was onto we American pepleof to-day.
They seemed deeply impressed by the remark, and wantid to
know if I had ieen the Grate Orgin.

HARVARD COLLEGE.

4.1

This celebrated institootion of learnin' is pleasantly situated in
the Bar-room of Parker's, in School Street, and has poopils from
all over the country.

I had a letter, yes'd'y, by the way, from our mootual son,
Artemus, Jr., who is at Bowdoin College, in Maine. He writes
that he is a Bowdoin Arab. & is it cum to this? Is this
Boy, as I nurtered with a Parent's care into his childhood's
hour — is he goin' to be a Grate American humorist? Alars ! I
fear it is too troo. Why didn't I bind him out to the Patent
Travelin' Vegetable Pill Man, as was struck with his appearance
at our last County Fair, & wanted him to go with him and be a
Pillist ? Ar, these Boys — they little know how the old folks wor-
rit about 'em. But my father he never had no occasion to worrit
about me. You know, Betsy, that when I fust commenced my
career as a moral exhibitor with a six-legged cat and a Buss drum,
I was only a simple peasant child — skurce 15 Summers had >l'^w'd
over my yoothful hed. But I had sum mind of ray own. My
father understood this. "Go," he said — **go, my son, and hog
the public! " (He ment, ** knock em," but the old man was alius
a little given to slang.) He put his withered han' tremblin'iy
onto my hed, and went sadly into the house. I thought I saw
tears tricklin' down his venerable chin, but it might hav' been
tobacker jooce. He chaw'd.

WHERE THE FUST BLUD WAS SPILl.

I went over to Lexington yes'd'y. My Boosum hove with sol-
ium emotions. " & this," I said to a man who was drivin' a yoke
of oxen, " this is where our Revolootionary forefathers asserted
their independence and spilt their Blud. Classic ground !"

'* Wall," the man said, " it's good for white beans and potatoes,
but as regards raisin' wheat, 't ain'i worth a dam. But hav' you
seen the Grate Orgin ? "

RIC/IMOXD.

671

lumorist ? Alars

THE POOTV GIRL IN SPECTACLF.S.

I returned in the Hoss Cars, part way. A pooty girl In spec-
tacles sot near me, and was tellin' a young man how much he
reminded her of a man she used to know in Waltham. Pooty
soon the young man got out; and, smilin' in a seductiv' manner,
1 said to the girl in spectacles, " Don't /remind you of somebody
you used to know ?"

"Yes," she said, '« you do remind me of one man, but he was
sent to the peniten-
tiary for stealin' a
Bca'l of mackril — he
died there, so I con-
clood you ain't ///;//."
1 didn't pursoo the
conversation. I only
heard her silvery
voice once more
durin' the remainder
ofthejerney. Turnin'
to a respectable
lookin' female of ad-
vanced summers, she
asked her if she had
seen the Grate Orgin.

RICHMOND, MAY 1 8,

1865.

The old man finds

hisself once more in « j^jy father and gin'ral la favette."

a Sunny climb. I cum

here a few days arter the city catterpillertulated.

My naburs seemed surprised & astonisht at this darin' bravery
onto the part of a man at my time of life, but our family was
never know'd to quale in danger's stormy hour.

My father was a sutler in the Revolootion War. My father
once had a intervoo with Gin'ral La Fayette.

He asked La Fayette to lend him five dollars, promisin' to pay
him in the Fall; but Lafy said "he couldn't see it in ibose
lamps." Lafy was French, and his knowledge of our langwidge
was a little shaky. ^

i
!

672

MARA' TIFA/X'S LIBRARY OF HUMOR,

Immejutly on my 'rival here I perceeded to the Spotswood
House, and cnllin' to my assistans a young man from our town
who writes a good runnin* hand, I put my ortograph on the Reg-
ister, and handin' my umbrella to a bald-heded man behind the
counter, who I s'jwsed was Mr. Spotswood, I said, "Spotsy, how
does she run ?"

He called a cullud pursori, and said :

*• Show the gen'l'man to the cowyard, and giv' him cart num-
ber I."

'• Isn't Grant here ?" I said. '* Perhaps Ulyssis wouldn't mind
my turnin' in with him."

" Do you know the Gin'ral ?" inquired Mr. Spotswood.

*' Wal, no, not 'zacky ; but he'll remiimb-^r me. His brother-
in-law's Aunt bought her rye meal of my uncle Levi all one win-
ter. My uncle Levi's rye meal was — "

" Pooh ! pooh ! " said Spotsy, '* don't bother me," and he
shuv'd my umbrella onto the floor. Cbsarvin' to him not to
be so keerless with that wtpin, I accompanid the African to my
lodgin's.

" My brother," I sed, "air you aware that you've been 'manci-
paled ? Do you realize how glorus it is to be free ? Tell me, my
dear brother, does it not seem like some dreams, or do you realize
the great fact in all its livin' and holy magnitood ?"

He sed he would take some gin.

I was show'd to the cowyard, and laid down under a one-mule
cart. The hotel was orful crowded, and I was sorry I hadn't
gone to the Libby Prison. Tho' I should hav' slept comf'ble
enuff if the bed-clothes hadn't bin pulled off me durin' the night,
by a scoundrul who cum and hitched a mule to the cart and druv
it off. I thus lost my cuverin', and my throat feels a little husky
this mornin'.

Gin'ral Hullock offers me the hospitality of the city, givin* mc
my choice of hospitals.

He has also very kindly placed at my disposal a small-pox
amboolance.

There is raly a great deal of Union sentiment in this city. I
see it on ev'ry hand.

I met a man to-day — I am not at liberty to tell his name, but
he is a old and inflooential citizen of Richmond, and sez he,
" Why ! we've bin fightin' agin the Old FUig ! Lc/ bless me,

RICHMOND.

im cart num-

^ouldn't mind

;ity, givin' mc

how sing'lar !" He then borrer*d five doflTam of me and bust into
a flood of teers.

Sed another (a man of standin', and formerly a bitter rebuel),
"Let us at once stop this effooshun of Blud ! The Old Flag is
good enuff for me. Sir," he added, " you air from the North !
Have you a doughnut or a piece wf custard pie about you ? "

I told him no; but I knew a man from Vermont who had just
organized a sort of restaurant, where he could go and make a very
comfortable breakfast on New England rum and cheese. He bor-
rowed fifty cents of me, and askin' me to send him Wm. Lloyd
Garrison's ambrotype as soon as i got home, he walked off.

Said another: «' There's bin a tremendious Union fcelin' here
from the fust. But we was kept down by a rain of terror. Have
you a dagerrctype of Wendell Phillips about your person ? and
will you lend me four dollars for a few days till we air once more
a happy and united people ?"

Robert Lee is regarded as a noble feller.
He was opposed to the war at the fust, and draw'd his sword
very reluctant. In fact, he wouldn't hav' draw'd his sword at all,
only he had a large stock of military clothes on hand, which he
didn't want to waste. He sez the colored man is right, and he
will at once go to New York and open a Sabbath School lor
negro minstrels.

Feelin' a little peckish, I went into a eatin' house to-day, and
encountered a young man with long black hair and slender frame.
He didn't wear much clothes, and them as he did wear looked
onhealthy. He frowned on me, and sed, kinder scornful, '* So,
Sir — you cum here to taunt us in our hour of trouble, do you ?"
" No," sed I, " I cum here for hash !"

" Pish-haw," he sed, sneerin'ly, "I mean, you air in this city
for the purpuss of gloatin' over a fallen peple. Others may basely
succumb, but as for me, I will never yield — never, never /"
" Hav' suthin' to eat ?" I pleasantly suggested.
"Tripe and onions !" he sed furcely; then he added, "I eat
with you, but I hate you. You're a low-lived Yankee !"

To which I pleasantly replied, " How'll you have your tripe ?"
" Fried, mudsill ! with plenty of ham-fat !"
He et very ravenus. Poor feller ! He had lived on odds and
ends for several days, eatin' crackers that had bin turned over by
icvelers in the bread tray at the bar.

: 'it

rii'

v*
f i'

674

MAX/sr TWAIN'S LIBRARY OF HUMOR.

He got full it last, and his hart softened a little to'ards me.
<' After all," he sed, " you hav sum peple at the North who air not
"wholly loathsum beasts !"

"Well, yes," I sed, "we hav' now and then a man among us
■who isn't a cold-bluded scoundril. Young man," I mildly but
gravely sed, **this crooil war is over, and you're lickt ! It's
rather necessary for sumbody to lick in a good, square, lively
fite, and in this 'ere case it happens to be the United States of
America. You fit splendid, but we was too many fo' you. Then
make the best of it, & let us all give in, and put the Republic on
a firmer basis nor ever.

" I don't gloat over your mis'ortins, my young fren'. Fur from
it. I'm a old man now, & my hart is softer nor it once was.
You see my spectacles is misten'd with suthin' very like tears.
I'm thinkin' of the sea of good rich Blud that has bin spilt on
both sides in this dredful war ! I'm thinkin' of our widders and
orfuns North, and of your'n in the South. I kin cry for both.
B'leeve me, my young fren', I kin place my old hands tenderly
on the fair yung hed of the Virginny maid whose lover was laid
low in the battle-dust by a fed'ral bullet, and say, as fervently
and piously as a vener'ble sinner like me kin say anythin', God
be good to you, my poor dear, my poor dear."

I riz up to go, & takin' my yung Southern fren', kindly by the
hand, I sed, " Yung man, adoo ! You Sc-^thern fellers is prob'ly
my brothers, tho' you've occasionally had a cussed queer way of
showin' it ! It's over now. Let us all jine in and make a coun-
try on this continent that shall giv' all Europe the cramp in the
stummuck ev'ry time they look at us ! Adoo, adoo !"

And as I am through, I'll likewise say adoo to you, jentle
reader, merely remarkin' that the Star Spangled Banner is wavin'
round loose agin, and that there don't seem to be anything the
matter with the Goddess of Liberty, beyond a slite cold.

SEWING-MACHINE— FELINE A TTACHMENT.

675

■m

SEWING-MACHINE— FELINE ATTACHMENT.
Circular : To the Public.

BY JOHN PH(ENIX.

Permit me to call your undivided attention to an invention
lately made and patented by myself, which is calculated to pro-
duce the most beneficial results, and prove of inestimable value
to mankind. It is well known that the sewing-machines now so
generally in use, are the most important invention and greatest
blessing of the age. Every lady considers this instrument ijidis-
pensable to her happiness; it has completely usurped the place
of the piano-forte and harp in all well-regulated families ; and
she who once purchased materials for clothing by the yard, now
procures them by the piece or bolt, to enjoy the rational pleasure
of easily making them into garments.

In the humble cabin of the laborer, and in the halls of the rich
and great, now resovjnds from morning until night, the whir of
the sewing-machine. The result of this universal grinding,
although eminently gratifying to the sellers of dry goods, and
the philanthropic fathers and husbands who discharge their bills,
has not been of a favorable nature to our ladies in a physical
point of view. It is found that the constant use of the crank has
brought on rheumatic and neuralgic affections in the shoulder,
and a similar application of the treadle has a tendency to pro-
duce hip diseases and white swelling of the knee-joint, accom-
panied by nervous complaints of a painful character. The under-
signed is acquainted with a most estimable single lady of middle
age, who, having procured one of the fast-running machines, was
so enchanted with it, that she persisted in its use for thirty-six
hours without cessation, and found, on endeavoring to leave off,
that her right leg had acquired the motion of the treadle in such
a painful manner, that it was impossible to keep it still, and her
locomotion therefore assumed a species of polka step exceedingly
ludicrous to witness, and particularly mortifying to herself. I
regret to add that she was compelled, by a vote of the society, to
withdraw from the Methodist Church, on a charge of dancing
down the broad aisle on a Communion Sunday. A more melan-

■m

676

MARK TWAIN'S LIBRARY OF HUMOR.

choly instance was the case of Mrs. Thompson, of Seekonk, a
most amiable lady, beloved and respected by all around her, but
who, by constant use of the crank, lost all control of the flexors
and extensors of her right arm, and inadvertently punched her
husband in the eye, which, he being a man of suspicious and

unforgiving disposition, led
to great unhappiness in the
family, and finally resulted
in the melancholy case of
Thompson vs. Thompson, so
familiar to most of the civil-
ized world. A turn for mech-
anism, and an intense desire
to contribute to the happi-
ness of the female sex, have
ever been distinguished traits
in my character. On learn-
ing these facts, therefore, I
devoted myself to a thorough
investigation of the subject,
and after a month of close
application, have
at last made an
invention which
will at once do
away with every-
thing objection-
able in the use
of the sewing-
machine.

"feline attachment" for sewing-machines,
This beautiful discovery is now named

"Phcenix's Feline Attachment."

Like most great inventions, the Attachment is of great simpli-
city. An upright shaft is connected with the machine by a cog-
wheel and pinion, and supported below by a suitable frame-work.
Two projecting arms are attached to the shaft, to one of which a
large cat is connected by a light harness, and from the other, a
living mouse is suspended by the tail, within a few inches of the
nose of the motor. As the cat springs toward the mouse, the

■SEWWCf-MA CHINE— FELINE A TTA CHMENT.

677

latter is removed, and keeping constantly at the original distance,
the machine revolves with great rapidity. The prodigious velocity
produced by the rapacity of the cat in its futile endeavors to
overtake the mouse, can only be imagined by one who has seen
the Attachment in full operation.

It is thus that man shows his supremacy over the brute crea-
tion, by making even their rapacious instincts subservient to his
use.

Should it be required to arrest the motion of the machine, a
handkerchief is thrown over the mouse, and the cat at once;
pauses, disgusted. \

Remove the handkerchief, and again she springs forward with
renewed ardor. The writer has seen one cat (a tortoise-shell) of
so ardent and unwearying disposition, that she made eighteen
pairs of men's pantaloons, two dozen shirts, and seven stitched
shirts, before she lay down exhausted. It is to be hoped that
the ladies throughout the land will avail themselves of this beau-
tiful discovery, which will entirely supersede the use of the
needle, and make the manufacture of clothing and household
materials a matter of pleasure to themselves, and exciting and
healthy exercise to their domestic animals. I present on page
676 an elevation of the "Feline Attachment" in operation, that
all may understand its powers, and none fail to procure one,
through ignorance of its merits. The Attachment will be fur-
nished, to families having sewing-machines, on the most reason-
able terms and at the shortest notice. Young and docile cats
supplied with the Attachment, by application at 348 Broadway,
Ne^y York — office of the Patent Back- Action Hen Persuader.

Elevation of *«Ph<enix's Feline Attachment."

A. Sewing-Machine, Box-pattern, I75 00

C. Cat, at various prices, say, ..«•.. %2% to 10 co

B. Vertical Shaft, 500

D. H. Projecting arms, ....•*... 50
M. Mouse, .«,,.««... \2\^

Total cost of MacUne and Attachment, .... $90 62>^

678

MARK TWAIN'S UBRARY OF HUMOR,

FABLES.

The Merchant of Venicb.

by g. t. lanigan.

A VENfeTiAN merchant, who was lolling in the lap of Luxury,
was accosted upon the Rialto by a Friend who had not seen him
for many months. " How is this ?" cried the latter; "when I last
saw you your Gaberdine was out at elbows, and ^now you sail
in your own Gondola!" True," replied the Merchant, "but
since then I have met with serious losses, and been obliged to
compound with my Creditors for ten Cents on the Dollar.

Moral — Composition is the Life of Trade.

• \\

The Good Samaritan.

BY G. T. LANIGAN.

A certain Man v/ent from Jerusalem to Jericho, and fell
among Thieves, who beat him and stripped him and left him for
dead. A Good Samaritan, seeing this, clapped Spurs to his Ass
and galloped away, lest he should be sent to the House of Deten-
tion as a Witness, while the Robbers were released on Bail.

Moral. — The Perceiver is worse than the Thief.

W^X

Preaching v. Practice.

BY R. J. BURDETTE.

A Sea Cliff, L. I., audience was dreadfully shocked last Sun-
day night. Just as a local temperance leader was about to begin
his address, he leaned too closely over the candle and his breath
caught fire. He afterwards explained, however, that he had been
using camphor for the toothache. The amendment was accepted,
and the talk went on.

THE SOCIETY UPON THE STANISLAUS,

679

THE SOCIETY UPON THE STANISLAUS,

BY BRET HARTE.

I RESIDE at Table Mountain, and my name is Truthful James;
I am not up to small deceit, or any sinful games;
And I'll tell in simple language what I know about tiie row
That broke up our society upon the Stanislow.

But first I would remark, that it is not a proper plan
For any scientific gent to whale his fellow-man,
And, if a member don't agree with his peculiar whim.
To lay for that same member for to " put a head "on him.

"Now nothing could be finer, or more beautiful to see.
Than the first six months' proceedings of that same society
Till Brown of Calaveras brought a lot of fossil bones
That he found within a tunnel, near the tenement of Jones.

Then Brown he read a paper, and he reconstructed tnere,
From those same bones, an animal that was extremely rare;
And Jones then asked the Chair for a suspension of the rules,
Till he could prove that those same bones was one of his lost
mules.

Then Brown he smiled a bitter smile, and said he was at fault
It seemed he had been trespassing on Jones's family vault:
He was a most sarcastic man, this quiet Mr. Brown,
And on several occasions he had cleaned out the town.

Now I hold it is not decent for a scientific gent
To say another is an ass — at least, to all intent
Nor should the individual who happens to be meant
Reply by heaving rocks at him to c ny great extent.

Then Abner Deal, of Angel's, raisec' a point of order— wheo ,
A chunk of olc? red sandstone took him in the abdomen, '

And he smiled a kind of sickly smile, and curled up on the floor,
And the subsequent proceedings interested him no more. ,

68o

MARK TWAIN'S LIBRARY OF HUMOR.

For, in less time than I write it, every member did engage
In a warfare with the remnants of a palaeozoic age;
And the way they heaved those fossils in their anger was a sin, .
Till the skull of an old mammoth caved the head of Thompson in.

W*= 'k

BROWN.

And thi" is all I have to say of these improper games,
For I live at Table Mountain, and my name is Truthful James,
And I've told, in simple language, what I know about the row
That broke up our society upon the Stainislow.

Wli'AT HE WANTED IT FOR.

681

WHAT HE WANTED IT FOR.

BY J. M. BAILEY.

Those who .ittenoed the sale of animals from Earnum's hippo-
drome in Bridgeport, the other day, report the following occur-
rence. A tiger was being offered. The bid run up to forty-five
hundred dollars. This was made by a man who was a stranger,
and to him it was knocked down. Barnum, who had been eyeing
the stranger uneasily during
the bidding, now went up to
him, and said:

*< Pardon me for asking the
question; but will you tell me
where you are from?"**

"Down South a bit," re-
sponded the man.

"Are you connected with
any show?" .

"No." ■

"And are you buying this
animal for yourself ? "

*'Yes.^' ■ '■

Barnum shifted about un-
easily for a moment, looking
alternately at the man and the
tiger, and evidently trying his
best to reconcile the two
together.

" Now, young man,*' he
finally said, '*you need not take this animal unless you want to;
for there are those here who will take it off your hands."

'♦ I don't want to sell," was the quiet reply.

Then Barnum said, in his desperation:

" What on earth are you going to do with such an ugly beast,
if you have no show of your own, and are not buying for some
one who is a showman ? "

" Well, I'll tell you," said the purchaser. " \i / wife died about
three weeks ago. We had lived together for ten years, and —
and I miss her.' He paused to wipe his eyes, and steady his
voice, and then added: " So I've bought this tiger."

"I understand you," said the great showman in a husky voice.

A WIFELY SUBSTITUTE,

it
i

682

MARK TWAIN'S LIBRARY OF HUMOR.

ANTS, EIC.

BY JOSH BILLINGS.

Ants are older than Adam.

Man (/(?;• very wise reasons) want bilt untill all other things
were finished, and pronounced good.

If man had bin made fust he would hav insisted upon bossing
the rest of the job.

ANTS.

He probably would hav objekted to having enny little hizzy
aunts at all, and various other objekshuns would ha^re bin offered,
equally green.

I am glad that man waz the last thing made.

If man hadn't hav bin made at all, you would never hav heard
me find enny fault about it.

THS ROMANCE OF THE CARPET.

683

THE ROMANCE OF THE C/ "^.PET.

i never hav heard

BY R. J. BURPETTE.

Basking in peace in the wanr spring sun,
South Hill smiled upon Burlington.

The breath of May! and the day was fair,
And the bright motes danced in the balmy air.

And the sunlight gleamed where the restless breeze
•Cissed the fragrant blooms on the apple-trees.

His beardless cheek with a smile was spanned.
As he stood with z. carriage whip in his hand.

And he laughed as he doffed his bobtail coat,
And the echoing folds of the carpet smote.

And she smiled as she leaned on her busy mop.
And said she'd tell him when to stop.

So he pounded away till the dinner-bell
Gave him a little breathing spell.

But he sighed when the kitchen clock struck one,
And she said the carpet wasn't clone.

But he lovingly put in his biggest licks,

And he pounded like mad till the clock struck six.

And she said, in a dubious kind of way,

That she guessed he could finish it up next day.

Then all that day, and the next day, too,
That fuzz from the dirtless carpet flew.

And she'd give it a look at eventide,
And say, " Now beat on the other side."

And the new days came as the old days went,
And the landlord came for his regular rent

684 MARK TWAIN'S LIBRARY OF HUMOR.

And the neighbors laughed at the tireless broona,
And his face was shadowed with clouds of gloom.

Till at last, one cheerless winter day,
He kicked at the carpet and slid away.

Over the fence and down the street,
Speeding away with footsteps fleet.

And never again the morning sun
Smiled on him beating his carpet-drunL

And South Hill often said with a yawn,
"Where's the carpet-martyr gone ?"

Years twice twenty had come and passed
And the carpet swayed in the autumn blast

For never yet, since that bright spring-time,
Had it ever been taken down from the line.

Over the fence a gray-haired man
Cautiously dim, dome, clem, clum, clamb.

He found him a stick in the old woodpile,
And he gathered it up with a sad, grim smile.

A flush passed over his face forlorn

As he gazed at the carpet, tattered and torn.

And he hit it a most resounding thwack,
Till the startled air gave his echoes back.

And out of the wincj,/ a white face leaned,
And a palsied hand the pale face screened.

She knew his face; she gasped, and sighed,
** A little more on the other side."

THE ROMANCE OF THE CARPET,

685

"A LITTLE MORE ON THE OTHER SIDE.

Right down on the ground his stick he throwed,
And he shivered and said, " Well, I am blowed !"

And he turned away, with a heart full sore,
And he never wa§ seen iOt more, not more.

686

MARK TWAIN'S LIBRARY OF HUMOR.

1-.

'.H

MR. SIMPKINS'S DOWNFALL.

BY W. L. ALDEN.

Man is the only animal that wears short socks. This is not
only a more accurate definition than any hitherto devised by
scientific persons, but it shows the inferiority of man to all other
animals, and ought to have even more effect in humbling our
wicked pride than has the famous story of the little girl who was
excessively proud of her silk dress until she was toid that it was
spun, woven, cut out, made up, and trimmed by a loathsome
worm.

The great trouble with the short sock is, that it will not keep
its place. There being nothing whatever to hold it, the force of
gravitation necessarily drags it down about the ankle. This
causes an amount of misery which is appalling. There is no man
who can f'jel any confidence in his socks. Whether he is walk-
ing or sitting, he knows that his stx:ks are slowly but surely slip-
ping down. Garters being out of the question, since the shortness
of the sock does not permit a garter to be placed in a position
where it will i ot slip, there is absolutely no remc^'y for what we
may fairly call the giant evil of the age. Pins and mucilage have
both been tried by desperate men, but they have proved useless,
and have merely added to the misery of the user. In these cir-
cumstances there is nothing left for man to do except to bear the
sock in silence, or to boldly cast it aside and adopt the full-
grown stocking.

The latter alternative was recently chosen by that eloquent but
unfortunate clergyman. Rev. Charles Simpkins, of Westbridge,
Pennsylvania. Previous to the catastrophe which lately overtook
him, the Church did not possess a more 'popular and promising
young clergyman. He could repeat tbr ipening exhortation all
the way from " Dearly beloved " to " ' rgiveness for the same,"
without once pausing for breath; and t has been asserted that he
could monotone the entire Apostles' C 'ec' while breathing only
three times. As he was unmarried, a^ lot yet twenty-seven
years old, he was regarded with ix^rulu! 'cv^rei ce by the unmar-
ried ladies of his parish, and he .received more annual slippers
than any other clergyman iu •^^he United States.

MR. S/MPAT/NS'S DOWNFALL,

687

annual slippers

Neatness was one of the distinguishing characteristics of Mr.
Simpkins, and there are probably few men who have suffered
more keenly from short socks. When walking through the vil-
lage, he was in continual dread lest his socks should descend into
public view, and even while preaching his most eloquent ser-
mons, the perspiration would gather on his brow as he felt that
one of his socks was gradually slipping down. This wore upon
him to that extent that his massive intellect threatened to totter,
and on the morning of the eighty-first Sunday after Trinity, he
deliberately paused, after remarking " here endeth " — and stooped
down to repair damages. That night he resolved that vigorous
measures must be taken, and he accordingly wrote a confiden-
tial letter to his sister's husband, who resided in this city, and
inclosed the necessary measurements. Shortly afterward ha
received, ostensibly from the husband, but really from the affec-
tionate sister, two dozen pair of Balbriggan hose, together with
a pair of scarlet elastics an inch in width, and of precisely the
right size.

As soon as Mr. Simpkins had learned, by repeated experiment,
how to wear the scarlet appliances, his spirits began to rise. He
was no longer a prey to doubt and despair. His stockings firmly
kept their place, and he felt that he could even attend a church
picnic and climb over a fence without fear of consequences.
Accordingly, for the first time durito^ his residence at West-
bridge, he consented to attend the b.unday -school picnic of the
2ist of 0( Inber last, and then' tilled with unutterable delight
the souls of all the unmarried ..nL'a< ners of the church.

Mr. Simpkins, being free M-om care, entered into the sports of
the picnic with great zesi, and the children insisted that he,
together with their teach*, rs, should take part in a game of blind-
man's buff. The request was acceded to, and the usual run-
ning, laughing and shri' king followed. It was while Mr. Simpkins
was fleeing, in company with six excited teachers, from the pur-
suit of a blind foldrd small boy, that he suddenly noticed that
one of his elastics had become unclasped, and had falien to the
ground. At the same moment it was perceived by the prettiest
of the te..a;hers, who made a frantic effort to seize it, but was anti-
cipated by the unhappy clergyman. It was bad enough for him
•o know- that the teacher had discovered his misfortune; but what
^M his horror and amazement when, with every appearance ot

^ '

F;'-^r

J 'I V»S>i

iv"-' ."'Ml

688

MARK TWAIN'S LIBRARY OF HUMOR.

anger, she demanded that he should " hand her that " instantly.
He was so astonished at her evident desire to make sport of him
that he did not deign to answer her, but put the disputed article
in his pocket and walked awa ' Whereupon the teacher burst
into tears, and informed her confidential friends that Mr. Simp-

AN ALARMING DISCOVERY.

kins had had the inconceivable audacity to steal one of her — in
fact, her private property.

The scandal spread rapidly and widely, and grew as rapidly as
it spread. At the end of half an hour every lady at the picnic
had cut the clergyman in the most marked manner. Burning

MR. SIMPKINS'S DOWNFALL.

689

with shame and indignation, he forgot to repair the deficiencies
of his toilet, and went home feeling rather more crestfallen^than
did t'.ie prophet Daniel when he found that the lions would not
recognized his existence. It was not until he was on the point
of seeking a sleepless pillow that he discovered that both his
scarlet elastics were in their proper place, while the one which he
had picked up at the picnic lay on his table. The full horror of
his situation flashed upon him. The teacher had really dropped
a scarlet elastic, and he had seized it under the impression that
it was his own.

The utter hopelessness of ever making any satisfactory explana-
tion of the affair was only too apparent. Early the next morning
Mr. SiMPKiNS fled from Westbridge a ruined man. The fatal
articles which had caused his downfall he left behind him, and
they teach with mute but powerful eloquence the lesson that we
should bear the socks we have, and never dream of flying to
stockings, of which we know nothing except by hearsay.

il one of her— in

o ". 1

if ^ 3S

'1. "I

'Ms

fl >!'

f'i.

^•4 *'

690 ifil^AT TWAIN* S LIBRAE Y OF HUMOR,

MR RABBIT GROSSLY DECEIVES MR FOX.

BY JOEL CHANDLER HARRIS.

One evening when the little boy, whose nights with Uncle
Remus are as entertaining as those Arabian ones of blessed
memory, had finished supper and hurried out to sit with his ven-
erable patron, he tound the old man in great glee. Indeed,
Uncle Remus was talkmg and laugnmg to himself at such a rate
that the little boy was atraid he had company. The truth is,
Uncle Remus had neard the child coming, and, when the rosy-
cheeked chap put his head in at the door, was engaged in a
mcnologue. the burden ot which seemed to be:

" Oie Molly Har\
Wat you aoin' dar, V

Settin' in de cornaer ^ .

Smokin' yo' seegyar?'* —^^

As a matter of course, this vague allusion reminded the little
boy of the fact that the wicked i-ox was still in pursuit of the
Rabbit, and he immediately put his curiosity in the shape of a
question. "

" Uncle Remus, did the Rabbit have to go clean away when
he got loose from the Ta.-Paby ? "

" Bless grashus, honey, dat he didn't ! Who ? Him ? You
dunno nuthin' 'tall 'bout Brer Rabbit ef dat's de way you puttin*
'em down. Wat he gwine 'way fer? He mouter stayed sorter
close twel de pitch rub off'n his ha'r, but twern't menny days 'fo'
he wuz lopin' up en down de naberhood same ez ever, en I dunno
ef he wern't mo' sassier dan befo*.

** Seem like dat de tale 'bout how he got mixt up wid de Tar-
Baby got 'roun' 'mongst de nabers. Leas'ways, Miss Meadows
en de gals got win' un' it, en de nex' time Brer Rabbit paid urn
a visit Miss Meadows tackled 'im 'bout it, en de gals sot up a
monstus gig!;lement. Brer Rabbit, he sot up des ez cool ez a
cowcumber, he did, en let *em run on."

" Who was Miss Meadows, Uncle Remus ?" inquired the little
boy.

*' Don't ax me, honey. She wuz in de tale. Miss Meadows en

^^"■^^

MR. RABBIT GROSSLY DECEIVES MR. FOX. 69 1

MR. FOX.

clean away when

de gals wuz, en de tale I give yoi%like hi't wer' gun ter me. Brer
Rabbit, he sot dar, he did, sorter lam' like, en den bimeby he
cross his legs, he did, and wink his eye slow, en up en say, sezee:

"'Ladies, iirer Fox wuz my daddy's ridin'-hoss fer thirty year;
maybe mo', but thirty year dat I knows un', sezee; en den he
paid um his 'specks, en tip his beaver, en march off, he did, des
ez stiff en ez stuck up ez a fire-stick.

" Nex' day, Brer Fox cum a callin', and w'en he 'gun fer ter
laff 'bout Brer Rabbit, Miss Meadows en de-gals, dey ups en
tells 'im 'bout w'at Brer Rabbit say. Den Brer Fox grit his*
toof sho' nuff, he did, en he look mighty dumpy, but w'en he rizl
fer ter go he up en say, sezee:

"'Ladies, I ain't 'sputin' w'at you say, but I'll make Brer
Rabbit chaw up his words en spit um out right yer whar you kin
see 'im', sezee, en wid dat off Brer Fox marcht.

" En w'en he got in de big road, he shuck de dew off'n his tail,
en made a straight shoot fer Brer Rabbit's house. W'en he got
dar. Brer Rabbit vuz spectin' un 'im, en de do' wuz shet fas'.
Brer Fox knock. 'ody ain't ans'er. Brer Fox knock. No-

body ans'er. Dt • knock agin — blam! blam! Den Brer Rab-
bit holler out mighty weak:

" ' Is dat you. Brer Fox ? I want you ter run en fetch de doc-
tor. Dat bait er pusly w'at I e't dis mawnin' is gittin' 'way wid
me. Do, please, Brer Fox, run quick,' sez Brer Rabbit, sezee.:

" * I come after you. Brer Rabbit,' sez Brer Fox, sezee. * Dere's
gwineter be a party up at Miss Meadows's,' sezee. * All de gals
'11 be dere, en I promus' dat I'd fetch you. D6 gals, dey 'lowed
dat hit wouldn't be no party 'ceppin' I fotch you,' sez Brer Fox,
sezee.

*' Den Brer Rabbit say he wuz too sick, en Brer Fox say he
wuzzent, en dar dey had it up and down, 'sputin' en contendin*.
Brer Rabbit say he can't walk. Brer Fox say he tote 'im. Brer
Rabbit say how ? Brer Fox Fox say in his arms. Brer Rabbit
say he drap 'im. Brer Fox 'low he won't. Bimeby Brer Rabbit
say he go ef Brer Fox tote 'im on his back. Brer Fox say he
would. Brer Rabbit say he can't ride widout a saddle. Brer "
Fox s-'y he git de saddle. Brer Rabbit say he can't set in saddle
less he have bridle fer ter hoi' by. Brer Fox say he git de bridle.
Brer Rabbit say he can't ride widout bline bridle, kaze Brer Fox
be shyin' at stumps 'long de road, en fling 'im off. Brer Fox say

' II

692

MARK TWAIN'S LIBRARY OF HUMOR.

•m .

">!•,

.^n

I i4^^

he git bline bridle. Den Brer Rabbit say he go. Den Brer Fox
say he ride Brer Rabbit mos' up ter Miss Meadows's, en den he
could git down en wallc de balance er de way. Brer Rabbit 'greed,
en den Brer Fox lipt out atter de saddle en de bridle.

" Co'se Brer Rabbit know de game dat Brer Fox wuz fixin' fer
ter play, en he 'terrain' f* ter outdo 'im, en by de time he koara
his ha'r en twis' his mustarsh, en sorter rig up, yer come Brer Fox,
saddle en bridle on, en lookin' ez peart ez a circus pony. He tro*.
up ter de do' en stan' dar pawin' de ground en chompin' de bit
, same like sho 'nuff boss, en Brer Rabbit he mount, he did, en dey

BRER RABBIT S HORSE.

amble off. Brer Fox can't see behime wid de bline bridle on, but
/ bimeby he feel Brer Rabbit raise one er his foots.

** 'Wat you doin* now, Brer Rabbit?' sezee. '

" * Short'nin' de lef stir'p, Brer Fox.' sezee.

" Bimeby Brer Rabbit raise up de udder foot.

" ' Wat you doin' now, Brer Rabbit ? ' sezee.

" * PuUin' down my pants, Brer Fox,' sezee. V

*' All de time, bless grashus, honey, Brer Rabbit wer puttin' on
his spurrers, en w'en dey got close to Miss Meadows's, whar Brer
Rabbit wuz to git off, en Brer Fox made a motion fer ter stan'
still. Brer Rabbit slap de spurrers inter Brer Fox's flanks, en you
better b'leeve he got over de groun'. W'en dey got ter de house,
Miss Meadows' en all de gals wuz settin' on de peazzer, en stid-

MR. RABBIT GROSSLY DECEIVES MR. FOX.

693

ine bridle on, but

der stoppin' at de gate, Brer Rabbit rid on by, he did, en den
come gallopin' down de road en up ter de hoss-rack, w'ich he hitch
Brer Fox at, en den he santer inter de house, he did, en shake
han's vvid de gals, en set dar, smokin' his seeg;, ar same ez a town
man. Bimeby he draw in long puff, en den let hit out in a cloud,
en squar hisse'f back en holler out, he did:

" • Ladies, ain't I done tell you Brer Fox wuz de ridin'-hoss fer
our fambly ? He sorter losin' his gait' now, but I speck I kin
fetch 'im all right in a mont' er so,' sezee.

" En den Brer Rabbit sorter grin, he did, en de gals giggle, en
Miss Me.dows, she praise up de pony, en dar wuz Brer Fox hitch \
fas' ter dc rack, en couldn't he'p hisse'f."

" Is that all, Uncle Remus ? " asked the little boy as the old
man pa'ised.

" DaL ain't all, honey, but 'twon't do fer ter give out too much
cloff fer ter cut one pa' r pants," replied the old man sententiously.

When " Miss Sally's " little boy went to Uncle Remus the next
night to hear the conclusion of the adventure in which the Rabbit
made a riding-horse of the Fox, to the great enjoyment and grati-
fication of Miss Meadows and the girls, he found the old man in
a bad humor.

" I ain't tellin' no tales ter bad chilluns," said Uncle Remus
curtly.

" But, Uncle Remus, I ain't bad," said the little boy plaintively.

" Who dat chunkin' dem chickens dis mawnin' ? Who dat
knockin' out fokes's eyes wid dat Yallerbammer sling des 'fo'
dinner ? Who dat sickin' dat pinter puppy atter my pig ? Who
dat scatterin' my ingun sets ? Who dat flingin' rocks on top er
my house, w'ich a little mo' en one un em would er drap spang
on my head ? "

"Well, now. Uncle Tlemus, I didn't go to do it. I won't do so
any more. Please, Uncle Remus, if you will tell me, I'll run to
the house and bring you some tea-cakes."

" Seein' urn's better'n hearin' tell un um," replied the old man,
the severity of his countenance relaxing somewhat; but the little
boy darted out, and in a few minutes came running back with his
pockets full and his hands full.

** I lay yo' mammy '11 'spishun dat de rats' stummucks is wid-
enin' in dis naberhood w'en she come fer ter count up 'er cakes,"
said Uncle Remus, with a chuckle. " Deze," he continued,

694

MARK TWAIN'S LIBRARY OF HUMOR.

■ Wm

■ ■ III'

1 ?v.

dividing the cakes into two equal parts — " dezc I'll tackle now,
en deze I'll lay by fer Sunday.

" Lemma see. I mos' dis' member wharbouts Brer Fox en Brer
Rabbit wuz."

" The rabbit rode the fox to Miss Meadows's, and hitched him
to the horse-rack," said the Iv boy.

"W'y co'se he did," saic Oncle Remus. "Co'se he did.
Well, Brer Rabbit rid Brer Fox up, he did, en tied 'im to de
rack, en den sot out in de peazzer wid de gals a smokin' er his
seegyar wid mo' proud ness dan w'at you mos' ever see. Dey
talk, en dey sing, en dey play on de peaner, de gals did, twel
bimeby hit come time fer Brer Rabbit fer to be gwine, en he tell
um all good-by, en strut out to de hoss-rack same's ef he wuz de
king er de patter-rollers,* en den he mount Brer Fox en ride off.

** Brer Fox ain't sayin' nuthin' 'tall. He des rack off, he did,
en keep his mouf shet, e.'i Brer Rabbit know'd der waz biznezz
cookin' up fer him, en he feel monstijs skittish. Brer Fox amble
on twel he git in de long lane, outer sight er Miss Meadows's
house, an den he tu'n loose, he did. He rip en he r'ar, en he
cuss en he swar, he snort en he cavort."

" What was he doing that for. Uncle Remus ? " the little boy
inquired.

" He wuz tryin' fer ter fling Brer Rabbit off'n his back, bless
yo' soul ! But he .des might ez well er rastle w'd his own shad-
der. Every time he hump hisse'f Brer Rabbit slapp de spurrers
in 'im, en dar dey had it, up en down. Brer Fox fa'rly to' up de
groun', he did, en he jump so high en he jump so quick dat he
mighty nigh snatch his own tail off. Dey kep' on gwine on dis
way twel bimeby Brer Fox lay down en roll over, he did, en dis
sorter onsettle Brer Rabbit, but by de time Brer Fox got back
on his footses again, Brer Rabbit wuz gwine thro de underbresh
mo' samer dan a race-hoss. Brer Fox he lit out after 'im, he did,
en he push Brer Rabbit so close dat it wuz 'bout all he could
do fer ter git in a holler tree. Hole too little fer Brer Fox fer

* Patrols. In the country districts, order was kept on the plantations at
night by the knowledge that they were liable to be visited at any moment by
the patrols. Hence a song current among the negroes, the choru? o( which
was:

*' Rim, nigger, run ; patter-roller ketch you —
Run, nigger, run ; hit's almos' day."

MRx RABBIT GROSSLY DECEIVES MR. FOX.

695

• the little boy

ter git n, en he hatter lay down en res' en gedder his mine
tergedder.

«' While he wuz layin* dar, Mr. Buzzard come floppin* 'long, en
seein' Prer Fox stretch out on the groun', he lit en view de
premusses. Den Mr. Buzzard sorter shake his wing, en put his
head on one side, en say to hisse'f like, sezee:

«* ' Brer Fox dead, en 1 so sorry,' sezee.

« * No, I ain't dead, nudder,' sez Brer Fox, sezee. *I got ole
man Rabbit pent up in yer,' sezee, « en I'm a gwineter git 'im dis
time ef it take twel Chris'mus', sezee.

« Den, atter some mo' palaver, Brer Fox make a bargain dat Mr.

BRER RABBIT OUTWITS MR. BUZZARD.

Buzzard wuz ter watch de hole, en keep Brer Rabbit dar wiles
Brer Fox went after his axe. Den Brer Fox he lope off, he did,
en Mr. Buzzard he tuck up his stan' at the hole. Bimby, w'en all
git still, Brer Rabbit sorter scramble down close to der hole, he
did, en holler out:

" ' Brer Fox ! Oh, Brer Fox ! *

" Brer Fox done gone, en nobody say nuthin'. Den Brer Rab-
bit squall out like he wuz mad; sezee:

" 'You needn't talk less you wanter,' sezee; 'I knows youer
dar, en I ain't keerin',' sezee. * I des wanter tell you dat I wish
mighty bad Brer Tukkey Buzzard wuz here,' sezee.

'is

H-

696

MARJC TWAIN* S LIBRARY OF HUMOR,

" Den Mr. Buzzard try ter talk like Brer Fox:

" ♦ Wat you want wid Mr. Buzzard ? ' sezee.

" ' Oh, nuthin' in 'tickler, 'cep* dere's de fattes' gray squir*! in
yer dat ever I see,' sezee, * en ef Brer Tukkey Buzzard wuz 'roun',
he'd be mighty glad fer ter git *im,' sezee.

*• ' How Mr. Buzzard gwine ter git 'im ? ' sez de Buzzard, sezee.

" ' Well, dars a little hole roun' on the udder side er de tree,*
sez Brer Rabbit, sezee, * en ef Brer Tukkey Buzzard wuz here, so
he could take up his stan' dar,' sezee, * I'd drive dat squir'l out,'
sezee.

«' ' Drive 'im out, den,' sez Mr. Buzzard, sezee, *en I'll see dat
Brer Tukkey Buzzard gits 'im,' sezee.

•' Den Brer Rabbit kick up a racket, like he wer' drivin' sum-
'in' out, en Mr. Buzzard he rush 'roun' fer ter ketch de squir'l, en
Brer Rabbit he dash out, he did, en he des fly fer home."

At this point Uncle Remus took one of the tea-cakes, held his
head back, opened his mouth, dropped the cake :n with a sudden
motion, looked at the little boy with an expression of astonish-
ment, and then closed his eyes and begun to chew, mumbling, as
an accompaniment, the plaintive tune of " Don't you Grieve atter
Me."

The stance was over; but before the little boy went into the
*• big house," Uncle Remus laid his rough hand tenderly on the
child's shoulder, and remarked, in a confidential tone:

" Honey, you mus* git up soon Chris'mus mawnin' en open de
do'; kase I'm gwineter bounce in on Marse John en Miss Sally
en holler Chris'mus gif des like I useter endurin' de fahmin'
days fo* de war, w'en ole Miss wuz 'live. I boun' dey don't fergit
de ole nigger, nudder. W'en you hear me callin' de pigs, honey,
you des hop up en onfassen de do'. I lay I'll give Marse John
wunner deze yer 'sprize parties."

HOW I EDITED AN A GRICUL TURAL PAPER. 697

HOW I EDITED AN AGRICULTURAL PAPER.

, « en I'll see dat

BY MARK TWAIN.

I DID not take temporary editorship of an agricultural paper
without misgivings. Neither would a landsman take command
of a ship without misgivings. But I was in circumstances that
made the salary an object. The regular editor of the paper was
going off for a holiday, and I accepted the terms he offered, and
took his place.

The sensation of being at work again was luxurious, and I
wrought all the week with unflagging pleasure. We went to press,
and I waited a day with some solicitude to see whether my effort
was going to attract any notice. As I left the office, toward sun-
down, a group of men and boys at the foot of the stairs dispersed
with one impulse, and gave me passage-way, and I heard one or
two of them say, " That's him !" I was naturally pleased by
this incident. The next morning I found a similar group at the
foot of the stairs, and scattering couples and individuals standing
here and there in the street, and over the way, watching me with
interest. The group separated and fell back as I approached,
and I heard a man say, " Look at his eye !" I pretended not to
observe the notice I was attracting, but secretly I was pleased
with it, and was purposing to write an account of it to my aunt.
I went up a short flight of stairs, and heard cheery voices and a
ringing laugh as I drew near the door, which I opened, and caught
a glimpse of t .vo young rural-looking men, whose faces blanched
and lengthened when they saw me, and then they both plunged
through the window with a great crash. I was surpirised.

In about half an hour an old gentlemen, with a flowing beard
and a fine but rather austere face, entered, and sat down at my
invitation. He seemed to have something on his mind. He took
oft" his hat and set it on the floor, and got out of it a red silk hand-
kerchief and a copy of our paper.

He put the paper on his lap, and while he polished his specta-
cles with his handkerchief, he said, "Are you the new editor.'"

I said I was.

** Have you ever tdited an agricultural paper before ?"

"No," I said ; " this is my first attempt."

698

MA HAT TWAIN'S LIBRARY OF HUMOR.

" Very likely. Have you had any experience in agriculture
practically ?"

" No ; I believe 1 have not."

«' Some instinct told me so," said the old gentleman, putting on
his spectacles, and looking over them at ine with asperity, while
he folded his paper into a convenient shape. " I wish to read

AN INTERESTING ARTICLE.

you what must have made me have t'uat instinct. It was this
editorial. Listen, and see if it was you that wrote it :

* ' • Turnips should never be pulled ; it injures them. It is much better to send
a boy up and let him shake the tree.'

" Now, what do you think of that? — for I really suppose you
wrote it ?'*

" Think of it ? Why, I think it is good. I think it is sense.
I have no doubt that every year millions and millions of bushels
of turnips are spoiled in this township alone by being pulled in a
ha!f-ripe condition, when, if they lad sent a boy up to shake the
tree— "

" Shake your grandmother ! Turnips don't grow on trees !"

:e in agriculture

ffOl^^ I EDITED AN AGRICULTURAL PAPER. 699

"Oh, they don't, don't they ? Well, who said they did ? The
language was intended to be figurative— wholly figurative. Any-
body that knows anything will know that I meant that the boy
should shake the vine."

Then this old person got up, and tore his paper all into small
shreds, and stamped on them, and broke several things with his
cane, and said I did not know as much as a cow, and then went out
and banged the door after him; and, in short, acted in such a way
that I fancied he was displeased about something. But not know-
ing what the trouble was, I could not be any help to him.

Pretty soon after this a long, cadaverous creature, with lanky ""
locks hanging down to his shoulders, and a week's stubble bris-
tling from the hills and valleys of his face, darted within the door
and halted, motionless, with finger on lip, and head and body bent
in listening attitude. No sound was heard. Still he listened. No
sound. Then he turned the key in the dtjor, and came elab-
orately tiptoeing toward me till he was within long reaching dis-
tance of me, when he stopped, and after scanning my face with
intense interest for a while, drew a folded copy of our paper from
his bosom, and said :

" There, you wrote that I Read it to me — quick ! Relieve me !
I suffer ! "

I read as follows ; and as the sentences fell from my lips I could
see the relief come ; I could see the drawn muscles relax, and the
anxiety go out of the face, and rest and peace steal over the feat-
ures like the merciful moonlight over a desolate landscape :

is much better to send

;ally suppose you

grow on trees !"

•' The guano 13 a fine bird, but great care is necessary in rearing it It should
not be imported earlier than June or later than September. In the winter it
should be kept in a warm place, where it can hatch out its young.

•' It is evident that we are to have a backward season for grain. Therefore it
will bewell for j farmer to begin setting out his cornstalks and planting h»
buckwheat cakes in July instead of August.

'•Concerning the pumpkin. — This berr\ is a favorite with the natives of the
interior of New England, who prefer it to the gooseberry for the making of
fruit-cake, and who likewise give it the preference over the raspberry for feed-
ing cows, as being more filling and fully as satisfying. The pumpkin is the
only esculent of the orange family that will thrive in the North, except the goiurd
and one or two varieties of the squash. Biit the custom of planting it in the
front yard with the shubbery is fast going out of vogue, for it is now generally
conceded that the pumpkin as a shade tree is a failure.

"Now, as the warm weather approaches, and the ganders begin tospawn— "

:;1>

m '.

700

JlfAXA' TIVAJ./'S LIBRARY OF HUMOR.

The excited listener sprang toward me to shake hands, and
said:

" There, there — that will do ! I know I am all right now, be-
cause you have read it just as I did, word for word. But, stranger,
when I first read it this morning, I said to myself, I never, never
believed it before, notwithstanding my friends kept me under
watch so strict, but now I believe I am crazy ; and with that I
fetched a howl that you might have heard two miles, and started
out to kill somebody — because, you know, I knew it would come
^ to that sooner or later, and so I might as well begin. I read one
of them paragraphs over again, so as to be certain, and then I
burned my house down and started. I have crippled several peo-
ple, and have got one fellow up a tree, where I can get him
if I want him. But I thought I would call in here as I passed
along and make the thing perfectly certain ; and now it is certain,
and I tell you it is lucky for the chap that is in the tree. I should
have killed him, sure, as I went back. Good-bye, sir, good-bye ;
you have taken a great load off my mind. My reason has stood
the strain of one of your agricultural articles, and I know that
nothing can ever unseat it now. Good-hyQ, sir."

I felt a little uncomfortable about the cripplings and arsons this
person had been entertaining himself with, for I could not help
feeling remotely accessory to them. But these thoughts were
quickly banished, for the regular editor wa,lked in ! [I thought
to myself. Now if you had gone to Egypt, as I recommended you
to, I might have had a chance to get my hand in ; but you wouldn't
do it, and here you are. I sort of expected you.]

The editor was looking sad and perplexed and dejected.

He surveyed the wreck which that old rioter and these two young
farmers had made, and then said, " This is a sad business — a very
sad business. There is the mucilage bottle broken, and six panes
of glass, and a spittoon and two candlesticks. But that is not the
worst. The reputation of the paper is injured — and permanently,
. I fear. True, there never was such a call for the paper before,
and it never sold such a large edition or soared to such celebrity,
— but does one want to be famous for lunacy, and prosper upon
the infirmities of his mind ? My friend, as I am an honest man,
the street out here is full of people, and others are roosting on the
fences, waiting to get a glimpse of you, because they think you
are crazy. And well they might, after reading your editorials.

ihukc hands, and

all right now, be-
d. But, stranger,
;lf, I never, never
s kept me under
; and with that I
niles, and started
evv it would come
egin. I read one
irtain, and then I
ppled several peo-
e I can get him

here as I passed
I now it is certain,
be tree. I should
ye, sir, good-bye ;

reason has stood
and I know that

gs and arsons this

I could not help

>e thoughts were

in ! [I thought

commended you

but you wouldn't

1 dejected,
d these two young
business — a very
cen, and six panes
Jut that is not the
and permanently,
the paper before,

such celebrity,
and prosper upon
[1 an honest man,
,re roosting on the
e they think you

1 your editorials.

HO IV I EDITED AN AGRICULTURAL PAPER.

701

They are a disgrace to journalism. Why, what put it into your
head that you could edit a paper of this nature. You do not seem
to know the first rudiments of agriculture. You speak of a fur-
row and a harrow as being the same thing ; you talk of the moult-
ing season for cows ; and you recommend the domestication of
the pole-cat on account of its playfulness and its excellence us a
ratter ? Your remark that clams will lie quiet if music be played
to them was superfluous — entirely superfluous. Nothing disturbs
clams. Clams always lie quiet. Clams care nothing whatever
about music. Ah, heavens and earth, friend ! if you had
made the acquiring of ignorance the study of your life, you
could not have graduated with higher honor than you could
to - day. I never saw anything like it. Your observation
that the horse-chestnut as an article of commerce is steadily
gaining in favor, is simply calculated to destroy this journal. I
want you to throw up your situation and go. I want no
more holiday — I could not enjoy it if I had it. Certainly not
with you in my chair. I would always stand in dread of what
you might be going to recommend next. It makes me lose all
patience every time I think of your discussing oyster-beds under
the head of «* Landscape Gardening." I want you to go. Noth-
ing on earth could persuade me to take another holiday. Oh ! why
didn't you tell me you didn't know anything about agriculture?"
" Tell you, you cornstalk, you cabbage, you son of a cauli-
flower ? It's the first time I ever heard such an unfeeling remark.
I tell you I have been in the editorial business going on fourteen
years, and it is the first time I ever heard of a man's having to
know anything in order to edit a newspaper. You turnip ! Who
write the dramatic critiques for the second-rate papers ? Why,
a parcel of promoted shoemakers and apprentice apothecaries, \\-\<i
know just as much about good acting as I do about good farming,
and no more. Who review the books ? People who never wrote
one. Who do up the heavy leaders on finance ? Parties v bo have
had the largest opportunities for knowing nothing abort it. Who
criticise the Indian campaigns ? Gentlemen who do not know a
war-whoop from a wigwam, and who never have had to run a foot-
race with a tomahawk, or pluck arrows out of the several members
of their families to build the evening camp-fire with. Who write
the temperance appeals, and clamor about the flowing bowl?
Folks who will never draw another sober breath till they do it in

702

AfA/lA- TWAIN'S LIBRARY OF HUMOR,

the grave. Who edit the agricultural papers, you — yam ? Men,
as a general thing, who fail in the poetry line, yellow-covered
novel line, sensation- drama line, ci'Ly-editcv line, and finally fall
back on agriculture as a temporary reprieve from the poor-house.
You try to tell me anything about the newspaper business ! Sir,
I have been through it from Alpha to Omaha, and I tell you that
the less a man knows, the bigger the noise he makes and the
higher the salary he commands. Heaven knows if I had but
been ignorant instead of cultivated, and impudent instead of diffi-
dent, I could have made a name for myself in this cold, selfish
world. I take my leave, sir. Since I have been treated as you
have treated me, I am perfectly willing to go. But I have done
my duty. I have fulfilled my contract as far as I was permitted
to do it. I said I could make your paper of interest to all classes
— and I have. I said I could run your circulation up to twenty
thousand copies, and if I had had two more weeks I'd have done
it. And I'd have given you the best class of readers that ever
an agricultural paper had — not a farmer in it, nor a solitary indi-
vidual who could tell a water-melon tree from a peach-vine to save
his life. You are the loser by this rupture, not me, Pie-plant!
Adios."
I then left.

Our acknowledgments are due to the following
authors and publishers for permission granted to
use the material contained in this book :

AMERICAN PUBLISHING CO., HARTFORD, CONN.

Abelard and Heloise.. . . . . . .from Innocents Abroad . . .by Mark Twain.

The Tomb of Adam " " «' " "

Our Italian Guide " " •«

The Jumping Frog " Sketches.

The Experience of the Mc-
wllliamses with mem-
BRANEOUS CrOUP "

The Siamese Twins "

Cannibalism on the Cars "

How I Edited an Agricultu-

RAL Paper "

A Genuine Mexican Plug. ... " .

A Day's Work "

Dick Baker's Cat "

Nevada Nabobs in New York. ' '

Blue-Jays "

Lost in the Snow "

The Cayote "

A Dose of Pain-Killer "

Dog IN Church '*

A Restless Night "A Tramp Abroad. . . .

Colonel Sellers AT Home. . . «• " «« ....

European Diet " .... " "

A Pleasure Exertion " Josiah Allen's Wife, .by Marietta Holley.

D. APPLETON & CO., 5 BOND STREET, NEW YORK CITY.

Tushmaker's Toothpuller. .from Phcenixiana by John Phoenix.

Illustrated Newspapers. ,

Phcenix at Sea

Lectures on Astronomy. . ,

<(
<<

Rouz)

lim It

•<

•>

Tom

Sawyer

•<

<«

((

A New System of Grammar. .

<•

John Ph(Enix Renders an Ac-

count OK HIS Stewardship.

(•

Pistol Shooting

The Sewing-Machine At-

tachment

((
((

<(
It

703

704

CREDITS.

(<
<(

«
«

The Tar Baby from Nights with Uncle Re-
mus ...by Joel Chandler

Harris.
Mr. Fox Victimized " " " " ••

BELFORD, CLARKE & CO., STATE STREET, CHICAGO, ILL.

A Fatal Thirst from Forty Liars, and

Other Lies .-. .by Bill Nye.

THE CENTURY COMPANY, NEW YORK CITY.

Miss MoLONY ON the Chinese

Question from The St. Nicholas Mag-
azine by Mary Mapes

Dodge.
G. W. DILLINGHAM & CO., NEW YORK CITY.

A Great Fit , by O. C. Kerr.

A Visit to Brigham Young by Artemus Ward.

Women's Rights " "

A Business Letter " «'

A High-handed Outrage " «•

Artemus Ward and the Prince of Wales

Interview with Lincoln

Letters to his Wife

On " Forts "

Fourth of July Oration

To Correspondents .by Josh Billings.

The Alligator "

Natral and Unnatral Aristokrats "

The Neat Person "

The Bumble-Bee '*

Ants "

DICK & FITZGERALD, NEW YORK CITY.

Sicily Burns's Wedding . . .from Sut Lovingood''s Yarns, by Geo. W. Harris.

HARPER & BROTHERS, FRANKLIN SQUARE, NEW YORK CITY.

Col. Grice's Expensive TREAT.from Z>«^<?j*<»r<w^A Tales.hy R. M. Johnston.

Rev. Creamcheese and the

New Livery " Potiphar Papers. ... by Geo.Wm. Curtis.

HOUGHTON, MIFFLIN & CO., PARK STREET, BOSTON, MASS.

Capt. Ben's Choice from Atlantic Monthly. ... by Mrs. Francis Lee

Pratt.
The Total Depravity of In-

animate Things " " " by Katherine Kent

Child Walker.
How we Astonished the Riv-

ermouthians '* The Story of a Bad Boy" by Thomas Bailey

Aldrich.
The Friend of My Youth ... ♦' Atlantic Monthly " "

CREDITS.

705

CAGO, ILL.

Nothing to Wear from Nothing to Wear. . .by Wm. Allen Butler

The Owl Critic... " Ballads and Other

Verses by James T. Fields.

The Alarmed Skipper «« •« n <i ..

Little Breeches " Pike County Ballads . .by John Hay.

A Jersey Centenarian by Bret Harta

Plain Language from Truth-

FULJames " Poetical Works «' "

A Sleeping-Car Experience. " Drift from Two Shores " <«

The Society on the Stanis-
laus " Poetical Works " ••

A Visit to the Asylum for
Aged AND Decayed Punsters " Soundings from the

Atlantic by O. W. Holmes.

The Deacon's Masterpiece . " Poetical Works " •«

Trying to Understand a
Woman • • Their Wedding JourHty.hj W. D. Howells.

AtNlagara «' *' " " "

Their First Quarrel •• " " « »«

Custom House Morals " " ««

Love's Young Dream "A Chance Acquaintance.

Kitty Answers n .. << « u

TheCourtin' *^ Biglow Papers byj. R. LowelL

BiRDOFREDOM SaWIN AS A

Volunteer " " «« " <•

BiRDOFREDUM SAWIN AfTER

the War " " «• •« ••

The Diamond Wedding. '• Poetical Works by E. C. Stedman.

The Parson's Horse-Race. .. " Oldtown Fireside

Stories by Mrs. H. B. Stowe.

Darius Green and his Fly-
ing Machine "The Vagabond, and

Other Poems byJ. T. Trowbridge.

A Fight with a Trout '* fnthe Wilderness by C. D. Warner.

Plumbers " My Summer in a Garden " «•

The Garden and its Ene-
mies " " " ** •♦

Boy the Destroyer " " "

Brilliant Drunkards " Backlog Studies " "

How I Killed a Bear *' Inthe Wild<;rness " "

Pie " Backlog Studies '• ••

MR. W. A. PATON AND FRANCES E. LANIGAN.

The Villager and the Snake, from World Fables by Geo. T. Lanlgan.

The Grasshopper and the

Ant " *' " «« «

The Merchant OF Venice.... " " " *• "
The Good Samaritan " " «« _ «« u _

7o6

CREDITS.

8-i

ifSl.S'''

The CENTipEDE AND THE Bar. .. • . rr-r*,;

BARIC Yak from W»rl<t Fables^ , , ., . by Geo. T. Lanigan.

The Kind-hearted She-Ele-
phant " ««'.««,. •• •«

The Fox and THE Crow " •« •• «• •«

The Ostrich and the Hen,. " ....*«...«• •• ■-, n

LEE & SHEPARD, BOSTON, MASS.

The Female Base-BAll Nine, from Z»/i? »« Oanii^'y by J. M. Bailey. '

An Italian's View of a New

England Winter. ..... " " ..•.«..«♦

After the Funeral " " • ■ '* ■ '*^ . -.

What He Wanted "it For.... •• '• • . -. - « -^Aj .

T. B. PETERSON & BROTHERS, 306 .CHESTNUT STREET,. PHILA-
DELPHIA, PA. ,

Christmas IN PiNEViLLE...... from iWa;'<?r Ti^wj' J <r*«r#- •

■ jA»j^ .'..•.. -i.. .•.-.•.. .by W/ Tappan

• Thompson.

A N£w Patent Medicine Op- ' ....';iV.v . -^:\

ERATION 1 . . . . ......-" Do'esiicks's Letters. ... " Q. K. Philander

Doesticks.
Hans Breitmann's P:* sty-. .... "^ /I'aMj .5m/»ia«»'j /Vzr-

ly, and Other' Ballads. \i^ Chas. G. Leland.
Ballad OF the Rh-ine. .;..,.'. " ■^' •«. , •« <«

'Tis Only my Husband •* Charcoal Sketches. . . . .by Joseph- C. Neal.

Simon Suggs gets a "Sotf ' - ...■..'.:.

Snap " on His Daddy. .... . " The Adventures of ■.'.

Capt. Simon Suggs.. hyl. T. Hooper.

G. P. PUTNAM'S SONS, 27 WEST 230 STREET, NEW YORK CITY.

Rip Van Winkle .from The Sketih-Bodk.. . .by Washingtoil Irv-
ing.
The Family Horse ....;. . . ; . " The Sparrowgrass Pa-
pers^ .by Fred'k S. Cozzens

Getting a Glass of Watkr. . '« " . «• •« ««

Carrie's Comedy " Shooting Stars by W. L. Alden,

The Belle of Vallejo ..... . «« «< «« " "

Mr. SrMPKiNs's Downfall •' " ' *.' ... " " .

CHARLES SCRIBiSTER'S SONS, 743 BROADWAY, NEW YORK CITY.

Frowenfeld's Clerk from The Grandissimes . ,.hy G. W. Cable.

The Remarkable Wrec". of

. the Thomas Hyke. *' The Remarkable Wreck v • • • / V. '.

of the Thomas Hyke,

aud Other, Stories. . .hy 'Prank R. Stock-
ton.
A Victim of Hospitality ** Vpthe Rvver by F. W. Shdton.

CREDITS,

707

eo. T. Lanigan.

iEET, PHILA-

Chas. G. Leland.

mat in Turkey.

...by

S. S. Cox

<( <4

« «

(1 (<

<t ((

II (I

(1 <(

(' <•

TICKNOR & COMPANY, 21 1 TREMONT STREET, BOSTON, MASS.
His First Day at Editing. , .from Culture* s Garland. . .by Eugene Field.
OoN Criteek d2 Bernhardt. . " " *' "

The Peterkins Decide to
Learn the Languages «' The Peterkin Papers. hy Lucretia P. Hale

CHARLES L. WEBSTER & CO., 3 EAST 14TH ST., NEW YORK CITY.

The Worst Man and the
Stupidest Man in Turkey... from Diversions of a Diplo-

Fables of the Hodja •'

The Hodja's Donkey on his

The Hodja Marries "

Examples of Turkish Justice "

MISCELLANEOUS CREDITS. ,^

The Robin and the Wood-
pecker .by Ambrose Bierce.

The Dog AND the Bees , " "

The Ant and the Grain of..
Corn

The Nobleman and the Oys-
ter

The Camel and the Zebra. . . .

The Boy and THE Tortoise

The First Piano in a Mining
Camp from Short Stories by Sam Davis.

The Haunted Room by R. J. Burdette.

The Vacation OF MusTAr HA •* ««

Wrecked IN Port "

She had TO Take Her Things Along " '«

The Simple Story OF George ■!
Washington

The Donation Party

The Type Writer

Success with Small Fruits. . . .

Legend of Mimir

Train Manners

The Romance OF THE Carpet «' «

Jack Downing in Portland.. " Letters cf Major Jack

Dofwmng. by Seba Smith.

Uncle Joshua Downing in

Boston " «' " "

Little Charles and the -

Fruit Anonymous.

First-Class Snake Stories •'

A Quick Eye FOR Business "

Butterwick's Little Gas Bill «*

The Old Settler by Ed. Mott.