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Maps, plates, charts, etc., may be filmed at different reduction ratios. Those too large to be entirely included in one exposure are filmed beginning in the upper left hand corner, left to right and top to bottom, as many frames as required. The following diagrams illustrate the method: Les cartes, planches, tableaux, etc., peuvent Atre fiimte A des taux de reduction diffArents. Lorsque le document est trop grand pour Atre reproduit en un seul clich6, 11 est filmA A partir de I'angle supArieur gauche, de gauche A droite, et de haut en bas, en prenant le nombre d'images nAcessaire. Les diagrammes suivants iilustrent la mAthode. 1 2 3 1 2 3 4 5 6 I 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 Cc ^lA/^^rfL-^jL^ /. ^ .'T*-^ /^>^ a -^^Har-cH^/fcuv/. IM-jLt^ut^ tk^Ut-r^, «**^^ />\Aje^, 4*.^ ^M^y^ ^ •wzj^ i4L^^(_^ Am-ou,^ f- . / /rr?-. §•'■■ Ti well quai perf( aires then doki from repei tried tive ( orde: of tl edly. othei chief to fin piler an ec thou£ could consi afraic his b( reaso selecl 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 vu mi I m 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. tx 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 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 i 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 4 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. XV 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 ■ ■■ f-5 ;:..;^1 11 Xxii I^tST OF ILL USTRA TIONS. 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 'h<^ ,i'a . m ■m 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. '•1 .'M f MEDKlllCTON RBD lOVIfeT Him 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 ^ »^ ^\s H 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 ■ ' ■ ' it' J ■fVJ^ '■1 ^m jt]^ i ■111 ill ill .1 ■f r m if If i ill 6 MARK TWAIN'S LIBRARY OF HUMOR. 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. ■M M t il n^ 'i! f f A * r h < If F MARK TWAIN'S LIBRARY OF HUMOR. 8<:;|| 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. ^m 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 ' A I ' ,1. •i' / lO MARK TWAIN'S LIBRARY OF HUMOR. m !:. 3;^; 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. It 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. " ' lit V4' m 12 MARK TIVAWS LIBRARY OF HUMOR, I i i' 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. IS 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: *wm' \ 111 n ■i,' E-l'.'>^" t 14 MARK TW^ilN'S LIBRARY OF HUMOR, i m 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 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 \ ■ V 1 « Iv-t •iJ'l '4M t$ MARK TWAIN'S LIBRARY OF HUMOR. 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. 19 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. I.: ' ^'^:: \ "41 ■i 'Ml ,5 ^E-' !'-i= •1^ ,fe I ti I'! 20 MARIC TWAIN'S LIBRARY OF HUMOR. 'i i i' 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. \l . '^'m ■J'' ii '^''?, W n^ > lit- 'I ■ \ } 1 ' .1. I' , ' i * 22 MARK TWAIN'S LIBRARY OF HUMOR. ii'fl I II 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. 23 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 I, I "^ \'.. '1 ♦. 24 MAKK TWAIN'S LIBRARY OF HUMOR. S' "III I ■;!'■) 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, 25 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." ' '9 • 'M -'4^ 30 MARK TWAIN'S LIBRARY OF HUMOR. 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. 31 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 S i! I V 4U \ 3^ MARK TWAIN'S LIBRARY OF HUMOR. , ^? P (li 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, 33 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 ' 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 .x \ ■M 'tM 'm K» i ■ ( "m\i 34 MAJ^A' TIVAIN'S LIBRARY OF HUMOR. 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 \ lii THE NEW LIVERY. 35 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 \:i i ' m 36 MAHA^ TWAIN* S LIBRARY OF HUMOR. yMs^w > :i 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. 37 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- \\ 38 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 ,. '3 THE NEW LIVERY. 39 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 \ »l «*£ ' 5 V* iW 1 .-j^i^ ' ^ *< yl ' '■ ^-A ) ( ^ ^1 i> i\>. ^J . .1 i- .V K^M s n ■ f -S % it ., t "A. 40 MARK TWAIN'S LIBRARY OF HUMOR. iv-ij •I' l"l "' : ill' i.:''M 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. 41 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- 4» MARK TWAIN'S LIBRARY OF HUMOR, p. j) w in Si! ?:■ \ 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. 43 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- 1 sM i.t , -V: v. n -f8 {' *h\^ 44 MARK TWAIN'S LIBRARY OF HUMOR. i " 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. 45 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 ? V 'm '% I fei»,'. ■' It ¥ ii MAHA' TWAIN'S LIBRARY OF HUMOR. 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 \\\\,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 ' • ) i {»r| I' ' : ' "'4 ■< "f M 'm ! I '^1 415 MARK TWAIN'S LIBRARY OF HUMOR. 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. ■ :- mm \ ) ■ '^ ^k • '] I ? i If i tin 1 «o CARRIE'S COMEDY. 51 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. T 1 ^ ^k I M 1 1 1 1?*^^ "^ E i m V If 1 f K£D£ttI€'roiX ItBD CKOSB SOCIETY 52 MARK TWAIN'S LIBRARY OF HUMOR. ■■> iWjtii 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. (', m 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. 53 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 ( THE IVORSl MA.V AND THE STUPIDEST MAN. 57 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 W. •> ■', ■■ 6li liLS is. ■/-■ 58 MAA'/iT TWAIN'S LIBRARY OF HUMOR. 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. If THE WORST MAN AND THE STUPIDEST MAN. 59 " 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' '* .s .'ILiiil ? s m ur ■ l- \h 6o MARK TWAIN'S LIBRARY OF HUMOR. ■I 1 . i 1: 1 m ^;^ «« '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. 6i << 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 i 1.1 » '"I. ; m 1 •>! ' ;i I > l:^ m A M ft ' ! I 1 w»»>' /ja.^^.v;\i^ai»arafcSfeyi ^jl MARK TWALVS LIBRARY OF HUMOR. '■■J, 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. 63 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." m .'is \ .r u . I ' ■: "J' lis f*i .■;i'j ■ i'.'. 'mm ■^ m 1 -m '-fvT ^4 MAJ?/ir TWAIN'S LIBRARY OF HUMOR. I ! *V fy ■* I 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, H 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. m ,1 > t I • 'i ' ^\ '^m \ >t "1 ■j;™ ' -fl 1 \ "I il : ft 41 5 if 'I'll t| I i^ Y y''X\ 66 MAjRA' J WAIN'S LIBRARY OF HUMOR. 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. 67 «« 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." I } ■ fr ^ MARK TWAI.V'S LIBRARY OF I/UMOP. 1 el .*'T ** Mi' .' \ m L, " 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. 1 ADELARD AND IIELOISE. 69 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 1 > . •» '• ■■ ^ ) Mi In ^t% m\ :m. > IMAGE EVALUATION TEST TARGET (MT-3) 1.0 I.I 11.25 145 ■ iO Ui 040 1.4 1^ tSi ■"IS 2.0 1.6 5^ ^ <- 6" Photographic Sciences Corporation 23 WEST MAIN STREET WEBSTER, N.Y. 14S80 (716) 872-4503 70 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 \ i :/?! ABELARD AND HELOISE. ;i 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 •X \ \\. V' «, * li' 3-4 ) k m »]' 'I R 72 AfAJiX- TWAIN'S LIBRARY OF HUMOR. 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 ■'':■ 1 ' lil'.-Hljlf a'iii. ABELARD AND IIELOISE. 73 / 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 .<» ^t t, *% ' f 1»1 \p 74 MAH/C TWAIN'S IIBRARY OF HUMOR. 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 n ■* \ " 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 )eliev- jii. A FAMILY HORSE. 75 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, ''•«'. I «' 1^ M'fei 76 AfAH^ TH^AIJV'S LIBFARY OF HUMOR. 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 ^■^K /i'^>'.>^ 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. 77 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 >m V « n f'^ k- 'A 1 t 78 MARK TWAIN'S LIBRARY OF HUMOR. »:.'!; ■! 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 W. A FAMILY HORSE 79 llHy 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?'' I ■ •'f. f f • -',1 fa " 1 ""re** 8o MAKK TWAIN'S LIBRARY OF HUMOR, , 111 'M V1 if 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. 8i 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. «: M :;j. v\ \^-m '•■»»*] 82 MAJ?A' TWAlN'ci LIBRARY OF HUMOR. ,^ I. ■ ■« 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- V ,y| ». ' 1 o t ; ♦ * 1 1 ) ssasBSsai mm 84 MARK TWAIN'S LIBRARY OF HUMOR. M 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. h H " 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 86 MARIC TWAIN* S LIBRARY OF HUMOR. if^" \w \ I I'} ' N k' *, " 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) ^g4#S %.,.» '"' *%i"". 9 f 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- ._, ill p^ ^ -ifl ■ • 45$ ■ . •■r , , ^^} ' '-fsSi ■;...; 't 1« > ■ • r ) I • 1 n ■1^ 88 MAJiJC TWAIN'S LIBRARY OF HUMOR. i ■If. J ■:2 i i '• ■• -.i i 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. o \ i' i. \' ♦'J 90 MAXJ: TWAIN'S LIBRARY OF ilUIfOR. .sV m (:< -f : ^:!'Sr "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. ' ♦ M i .. 'r''l tif] ■i . I . , i > > msbsb S' iMw^ 9« MARK TWAIN'S LIBRARY OF HUMOR. 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 V J I 1 1 « 94 MARK TWAIN'S LIBRARY OF IWAfOR, m •{ 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. 95 "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 f '•1 ;y.' % \ • \ ■m I H,.]' :r' m "j^iif ■'3! v :-u\ ,:^lv ■'■■ ■ ■■: ■} i ■ !.■ I'fj '•}'■ ■ 'M: 1 1 ■ 1 '' t" ;i ■J i I T i 1 'i 1 i « 96 JJ/^iPA" TWAIN'S LIBRARY OF HUMOR 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. ". ' % rt- '♦ ! '1 '1 ■Vi- i^. 1 h iv^i t * 4. 1 '.p k ^1 »!»«^P»»l«»W»l» 9$ MARK TWAIN'S LIBRARY OF HUMOR. rs^?i\»2t ft'T. !'■! \ r *. !*■ 1 ; ' A " 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. 99 " 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?" \\ m '■J ■■ I. ' >"'i' Ni :i'..-i lOO MARK TWAIN'S LIBRARY OF HUMOR. |i'4M.v " 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. n 'I M,, JTUEDliUCTOxN KlilD t|IOS8 SOCltTl^ > I ► ■ tSSR I i i w l> gi i> i 'mu 102 MAJiA' TWAIN'S LIBRARY OF HUMOR. 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. , \* i: » ' f ' (■*f'- .1 : \ i; 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. ~r \ -Vif" I "'k ' >♦. •U m SBShSSSSBBSS* ^ ki 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. WV mym ■frf ■ . ' J'f i 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 V ! ' • ^WiW»» ■Wljtrto : •; ■gm -' '"^ ' ''^! M '■ . 1., I III IT m h I r ,;.|i4 ITM i - : 1 06 /TA4i^A' 7IV,l/y'S LIBRARY OJ- HLMOR. 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: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 ^\\' '\\i'}-m m:m ,. ^ \^s " V I l l ' s il ilK II J ] K .. I II H I ii «» . . i .. !^1: 'iPiJ ft IZ2 MAE A- TWAIN'S LIBRARY OF HUMOR. M' ••I H!! 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 4 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 u FUNNY JOE MUNGOOZLE. !LU_L_L_flSLi.t >-■» i t'. 'iv, 'i y ,,' • ■'■■'\\\ H' Ml .» [ d '-' i * t * • H 1 III [■111 I ii f T na i wa iw ■HHIm '■ml r ti4 MAMJ^ TWAIN'S LIBRARY OF HUMOR. fe,"- !i1 m mi If, I 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. "5 " 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- s'' •} >• }. ' : * . ', • • • Ir ! • rtf| '. W'i. Ii6 MAIiK TWAIN'S LIBRARY OF HUMOR. 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" }:-¥i. ■■f'-\ ■W'',,'' >i .^r1'.r':'!i 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: 1 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. M ■1, • vF\ ''^ lit .{ ' -4 • ;i ' :: iK •1 M i^i Ii8 MARA' TWAIN'S LIBRARY OF IIVMOR. \M 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. !'. ti ■!■! ill '!'' 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 : '■Tm K> -^^n :■•;')■ j,.4Ci;..*; ; M.)-.:",J in? h-f \ ir.. 1 20 iH//f^A' TWAIN'S LIBRARY OF HUMOR. «« 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 I i- iPi' s 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 'I • t. "i. » •!? 1^ ;:■■•• ;,i» '■ ^ v - ek;'.. >' t:k lit r ' III mtm 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 whlained." " Do y suppose i f 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. !l|:!! X .id • < • -1 ' ' ' h I ■.:•]. -■•J/ Im 124 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