3 1822 01083 0602 1^%^^^^ l;8Rary UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA - SAN Dieeo 3 1822 01083 0602 THE WIT AND HUMOR of AMERICA t -^.-^.^.^^^^^<.-^>-^^i^.4^^ii^^^^^^>^.g^-^gw ik i -A^- f o 3 C .-^r^^^-^^-^^^^^^-^^-^^-^-^^^^^^^^l^^-^^^-W^^., JAMES WHITCOMB RILEY THEWIT AND HUMOR n FLOt'B " ■» ' K r Bedrqom' \ / " 'I^Oroot* w w bedtooQ. / Sj^t' Btdfoom .* ^■•r *> "Well," said the builder, after a silence,— "well, I've seen worse." "Thank you," said Corona, faintly. "How does she set?" asked the builder. "Who set?" said Corona, a little wildly. She could think of nothing that set but hens. "Why, the house. Where's the points o' compass?" "I hadn't thought of those," said Corona. 63 THE OLD MAID'S HOUSE; IN PLAN "And the chimney," suggested the builder. "Where's your chimneys ?" "I didn't put in any chimneys," said Corona. "Where did you count on your stairs?" pursued the builder. "Stairs ? I — forgot the stairs." "That's natural," said Mr. Timbers. "Had a plan brought me once without an entry pr a window to it. It wasn't a woman did it, neither. It was a widower, in the noospaper line. What's your scale?" "Scale?" asked Corona, without animation. "Scale of feet. Proportions." "Oh ! I didn't have any scales, but I thought about forty feet front would do. I have but five hundred dol- lars. A small house must answer." The builder smiled. He said he would show her some plans. He took a book from his table and opened at a plate representing a small, snug cottage, not uncomely. It stood in a flourishing apple-orchard, and a much larger house appeared dimly in the distance, upon a hill. The The cottage was what is called a "story-and-half" and contained six rooms. The plan was drawn with the beauty of science. "There," said Mr. Timbers, "I know a lady built one of those upon her brother-in-law's land. He give her the land, and she just put up the cottage, and they was all as pleasant as pease about it. That's about what I'd rec- ommend to you, if you don't object to the name of it." "What is the matter with the name?" asked Corona. "Why," said the builder, hesitating, "it is called the Old Maid's House — in the book." "Mr. Timbers," said Corona, with decision, "why should we seek further than the truth ? I will have that house. Pray, draw me the plan at once." 64 DISTICHS BY JOHN HAY Wisely a woman prefers to a lover a man who neglects her. This one may love her some day, some day the lover will not. II There are three species of creatures who when they seem coming are going, When they seem going they come : Diplomates, women, and crabs. Ill Pleasures too hastily tasted grow sweeter in fond recol- lection, As the pomegranate plucked green ripens far over the sea. IV As the meek beasts in the Garden came flocking for Adam to name them, Men for a title to-day crawl to the feet of a king. 65 DISTICHS V What is a first love worth, except to prepare for a second ? What does the second love bring? Only regret for the first. VI Health was wooed by the Romans in groves of the laurel and myrtle. Happy and long are the lives brightened by glory and love. vn Wine is like rain : when it falls on the mire it but makes it the fouler, But when it strikes the good soil wakes it to beauty and bloom. VIII Break not the rose; its fragrance and beauty are surely sufficient : Resting contented with these, never a thorn shall you feel. IX When you break up housekeeping, you learn the extent of your treasures ; Till he begins to reform, no one can number his sins. X Maidens ! why should you worry in choosing whom you shall marry ? Choose whom you may, you will find you have got some- body else. 66 JOHN HAY XI • Unto each man comes a day when his favorite sins all for- sake him, And he complacently thinks he has forsaken his sins. XII Be not too anxious to gain your next-door neighbor's ap- proval : Live your own life, and let him strive your approval to gain. XIII Who would succeed in the world should be wise in the use of his pronouns. Utter the You twenty times, where you once utter the I. XIV The best-loved man or maid in the town would perish with anguish Could they hear all that their friends say in the course of a day. XV True luck consists not in holding the best of the cards at the table : Luckiest he who knows just when to rise and go home. XVI Pleasant enough it is to hear the world speak of your vir- tues; But in your secret heart 'tis of your faults you are proud. 67 DISTICHS XVII Try not to beat back the current, yet be not drowned in its waters ; Speak with the speech of the world, think with the thoughts of the few. XVIII Make all good men your well-wishers, and then, in the years' steady sifting, Some of them turn into friends. Friends are the sunshine of life. THE QUARREL BY S. E. RISER "There are quite as good fish In the sea As any one ever has caught," Said he. "But few of the fish- In the sea Will bite at such bait as you've got," Said she. To-day he is gray, and his line's put away. But he often looks back with regret ; She's still "in the sea," and how happy she'd be If he were a fisherman yet ! 68 A LETTER FROM MR. BIGGS BY E. W. HOWE My Dear Sir — Occasionally a gem occurs to me which I am unable to favor you with because of late we are not much together. Appreciating the keen delight with which you have been kind enough to receive my philoso- phy, I take the liberty of sending herewith a number of ideas which may please and benefit you, and which I have divided into paragraphs with headings. HAPPINESS I have observed that happiness and brains seldom go together. The pin-headed woman who regards her thin- witted husband as the greatest man in the world, is happy, and much good may it do her. In such cases ignorance is a positive blessing, for good sense would cause the woman to realize her distressed condition. A man who can think he is as "good as anybody" is happy. The fact may be notorious that the man is not so "good as any- body" until he is as industrious, as educated, and as re- fined as anybody, but he has not brains enough to know this, and, content with conceit, is happy. A man with a brain large enough to understand mankind is always wretched and ashamed of himself. REPUTATION Reputation is not always desirable. The only thing I 69 A LETTER FROM MR. BIGGS have ever heard said in Twin Mounds concerning Smoky Hill is that good hired girls may be had there. WOMEN 1. Most women seem to love for no other reason than that it is expected of them. 2. I know too much about women to honor them more than they deserve; in fact I know all about them. I visited a place once where doctors are made, and saw them cut up one. 3. A woman loses her power when she allows a man to find out all there is to her ; I mean by this that familiarity breeds contempt. I knew a young man once who worked beside a woman in an office, and he never married. 4. If men would only tell what they actually know about women, instead of what they believe or hear, they would receive more credit for chastity than is now the case, for they deserve more. LACK OF SELF-CONFIDENCE As a people we lack self-confidence. The country is full of men that will readily talk you to death privately, who would run away in alarm if asked to preside at a public meeting. In my Alliance movement I often have trouble in getting out a crowd, every farmer in the neighborhood feeling of so much importance as to fear that if he attends he will be called upon to say something. IN DISPUTE In some communities where I have lived the women were mean to their husbands; in others, the husbands 70 E. W. HOWE were mean to their wives. It is usually tlie case that the friends of a wife believe her husband to be a brute, and the friends of the husband believe the wife to possess no other talent than to make him miserable. You can't tell how it is ; the evidence is divided. MAN There is only one grade of men ; they are all contempti- ble. The judge may seem to be a superior creature so long as he keeps at a distance, for I have never known one who was not constantly trying to look wise and grave; but when you know him, you find there is nothing re- markable about him except a plug hat, a respectable coat, and a great deal of vanity, induced by the servility of those who expect favors. OPPORTUNITY You hear a great many persons regretting lack of op- portunity. If every man had opportunity for his desires, this would be a nation of murderers and disgraced women. EXPECTATION Always be ready for that which you do not expect. Nothing that you expect ever happens. You have per- haps observed that when you are waiting for a visitor at the front door, he comes in at the back, and surprises you. woman's work A woman's work is never done, as the almanacs state, for the reason that she does not go about it in time to finish it. 71 A LETTER FROM MR. BIGGS THE GREATEST OF THESE IS CHARITY If you can not resist the low impulse to talk about peo- ple, say only what you actually know, instead of what you have heard. And, while you are about it, stop and con- sider whether you are not in need of charity yourself. NEIGHBORS Every man overestimates his neighbors, because he does not know them so well as he knows himself. A sen- sible man despises himself because he knows what a con- temptible creature he is. I despise Lytle Biggs, but I happen to know that his neighbors are just as bad. VIRTUE Men are virtuous because the women are ; women are virtuous from necessity. ASHAMED OF THE TRUTH I believe I never knew any one who was not ashamed of the truth. Did you ever notice that a railroad company numbers its cars from i,ooo, instead of from i ? KNOWING ONLY ONE OF THEM We are sometimes unable to understand why a pretty little woman marries a fellow we know to be worthless; but the fellow, who knows the woman better than we do, considers that he has thrown himself away. We know the fellow, but we do not know the woman. AN APOLOGY I detest an apology. The world is full of people who are always making trouble and apologizing for it. If a 72 E. W. HOWE man respects me, he will not give himself occasion for apology. An offense can not be wiped out in that way. If it could, we would substitute apologies for hangings. I hope you will never apologize to me; I should regard it as evidence that you had wronged me. OLDEST INHABITANTS The people of Smoky Hill are only fit for oldest inhabi- tants. In thirty or forty years from now there will be a great demand for reminiscences of the pioneer days. I recommend that they preserve extensive data for the only period in their lives when they can hope to attract atten- tion. Be good enough, sir, to regard me, as of old, your friend. L. Biggs. To Ned Westlock^ Twin Mounds. 7Z !MRS. JOHNSON BY WILLIAM DEAN HOWELLS It was on a morning of the lovely New England May that we left the horse-car, and, spreading our umbrellas, walked down the street to our new home in Charlesbridge, through a storm of snow and rain so finely blent by the influences of this fortunate climate, that no flake knew itself from its sister drop, or could be better identified by the people against whom they beat in unison. A vernal gale from the east fanned our cheeks and pierced pur marrow and chilled our blood, while the raw, cold green of the adventurous grass on the borders of the sopping side-walks gave, as it peered through its veil of melting snow and freezing rain, a peculiar cheerfulness to the landscape. Here and there in the vacant lots abandoned hoop-skirts defied decay; and near the half-finished wooden houses, empty mortar-beds, and bits of lath and slate strewn over the scarred and mutilated ground, added their interest to the scene. . . . This heavenly weather, which the Pilgrim Fathers, with the idea of turning their thoughts effectually from earthly pleasures, came so far to discover, continued with slight amelioration throughout the month of May and far into June; and it was a matter of constant amazement with one who had known less austere climates, to behold how vegetable life struggled with the hostile skies, and, in an atmosphere as chill and damp as that of a cellar, 74 WILLIAM DEAN HOWELLS shot forth the buds and blossoms upon the pear-trees, called out the sour Puritan courage of the currant-bushes, taught a reckless native grape-vine to wander and wanton over the southern side of the fence, and decked the banks with violets as fearless and as fragile as New England girls; so that about the end of June, when the heavens relented and the sun blazed out at last, there was little for him to do but to redden and darken the daring fruits that had attained almost their full growth without his countenance. Then, indeed, Charlesbridge appeared to us a kind of Paradise. The wind blew all day from the southwest, and all day in the grove across the way the orioles sang to their nestlings. . . . The house was almost new and in perfect repair ; and, better than all, the kitchen had as yet given no signs of unrest in those volcanic agencies which are constantly at work there, and which, with sud- den explosions, make Herculaneums and Pompeiis of so many smiling households. Breakfast, dinner, and tea came up with illusive regularity, and were all the most perfect of their kind ; and we laughed and feasted in our vain security. We had out from the city to banquet with us the friends we loved, and we were inexpressibly proud before them of the Help, who first wrought miracles of cookery in our honor, and then appeared in a clean white apron, and the glossiest black hair, to wait upon the table. She was young, and certainly very pretty ; she was as gay as a lark, and was courted by a young man whose clothes would have been a credit, if they had not been a reproach, to our lowly basement. She joyfully assented to the idea of staying with us till she married. In fact, there was much that was extremely pleasant about the little place when the warm weather came, and it was not wonderful to us that Jenny was willing to re- 75 MRS. JOHNSON' main. It was very quiet; we called one another to the window if a large dog went by our door; and whole days passed without the movement of any wheels but the butcher's upon our street, which flourished in ragweed and buttercups and daisies, and in the autumn burned, like the borders of nearly all the streets in Charlesbridge, with the pallid azure flame of the succory. The neighbor- hood was in all things a frontier between city and country. The horse-cars, the type of such civilization — full of im- posture, discomfort, and sublime possibility — as we yet possess, went by the head of our street, and might, per- haps, be available to one skilled in calculating the move- ments of comets ; while two minutes' walk would take us into a wood so wild and thick that no roof was visible through the trees. We learned, like innocent pastoral people of the golden age, to know the several voices of the cows pastured in the vacant lots, and, like engine- (drivers of the iron age, to distinguish the different whis- tles of the locomotives passing on the neighboring rail- road. ... We played a little at gardening, pf course, and planted tomatoes, which the chickens seemed to like, for they ate them up as fast as they ripened; and we watched with pride the growth of our Lawton blackberries, which, after attaining the most stalwart proportions, were still as bit- ter as the scrubbiest of their savage brethren, and which, when by advice left on the vines for a week after they turned black, were silently gorged by secret and glutton- ous flocks of robins and orioles. As for our grapes, the frost cut them off in the hour of their triumph. So, as I have hinted, we were not surprised that Jenny should be willing to remain with us, and were as little prepared for her desertion as for any other change of our mortal state. But one day in September she came to her 1^ WILLIAM DEAN HOWELLS nominal mistress with tears in her beautiful eyes and protestations of unexampled devotion upon her tongue, and said that she was afraid she must leave us. She liked the place, and she never had worked for any one that was more of a lady, but she had made up her mind to go into the city. All this, so far, was quite in the manner of domestics who, in ghost stories, give warning to the oc- cupants of haunted houses ; and Jenny's mistress listened in suspense for the motive of her desertion, expecting to hear no less than that it was something which walked up and down the stairs and dragged iron links after it, or something that came and groaned at the front door, like populace dissatisfied with a political candidate. But it was in fact nothing of this kind ; simply, there were no lamps upon our street, and Jenny, after spending Sunday evening with friends in East Charlesbridge, was always alarmed, on her return, in walking from the horse-car to our door. The case was hopeless, and Jenny and our household parted with respect and regret. We had not before this thought it a grave disadvantage that our street was unlighted. Our street was not drained nor graded; no municipal cart ever came to carry away our ashes; there was not a water-butt within half a mile to save us from fire, nor more than the one-thousandth part of a policeman to protect us from theft. Yet, as I paid a heavy tax, I somehow felt that we enjoyed the benefits of city government, and never looked upon Charlesbridge as in any way undesirable for residence. But when it became necessary to find help in Jenny's place, the frosty welcome given to application at the in- telligence offices renewed a painful doubt awakened by her departure. To be sure, the heads of the offices were polite enough; but when the young housekeeper had stated her case at the first to which she applied, and the 77 ]V[RS. JOHNSON Intelligencer had called out to the invisible expectants in the adjoining room, "Anny wan wants to do giner'l housewark in Charlsbrudge ?" there came from the maids invoked so loud, so fierce, so full a "No !" as shook the lady's heart with an indescribable shame and dread. The name that, with an innocent pride in its literary and his- torical associations, she had written at the heads of her letters, was suddenly become a matter of reproach to her ; and she was almost tempted to conceal thereafter that she lived in Charlesbridge, and to pretend that she dwelt upon some wretched little street in Boston. "You see," said the head of the office, "the gairls doesn't like to live so far away from the city. Now, if it was on'y in the Port." ... This pen is not graphic enough to give the remote reader an idea of the affront offered to an inhabitant of Old Charlesbridge in these closing words. Neither am I of sufficiently tragic mood to report here all the suffer- ings undergone by an unhappy family in finding serv- ants, or to tell how the winter was passed with miserable makeshifts. Alas! is it not the history of a thousand ex- periences? Any one who looks upon this page could match it with a tale as full of heartbreak and disaster, while I conceive that, in hastening to speak of Mrs. John- son, I approach a subject of unique interest. . . . I say, our last Irish girl went with the last snow, and on one of those midsummer-like days that sometimes fall in early April to our yet bleak and desolate zone, our hearts sang of Africa and golden joys. A Libyan longing took us, and we would have chosen, if we could, to bear a strand of grotesque beads, or a handful of brazen gauds, and traffic them for some sable maid with crisp locks, whom, uncoffling from the captive train beside the desert, we should make to do our general housework forever, 78 WILLIAM DEAN HOWELLS through the right of lawful purchase. But we knew that this was impossible, and that, if we desired colored help, we must seek it at the intelligence office, which is in one of those streets chiefly inhabited by the orphaned children and grandchildren of slavery. To tell the truth these orphans do not seem to grieve much for their bereave- ment, but lead a life of joyous, and rather indolent ob- livion in their quarter of the city. They are often to be seen sauntering up and down the street by which the Charlesbridge cars arrive, — the young with a harmless swagger, and the old with the generic limp which our Autocrat has already noted as attending advanced years in their race. . . . How gayly are the young ladies of this race attired, as they trip up and down the side- walks, and in and out through the pendent garments at the shop-doors! They are the black pansies and mari- golds and dark-blooded dahlias among womankind. They try to assume something of our colder race's demeanor, but even the passer on the horse-car can see that it is not native with them, and is better pleased when they forget us, and ungenteelly laugh in encountering friends, letting their white teeth glitter through the generous lips that open to their ears. In the streets branching upward from this avenue, very little colored men and maids play with broken or enfeebled toys, or sport on the wooden pave- ments of the entrances to the inner courts. Now and then a colored soldier or sailor — looking strange in his uni- form, even after the custom of several years — emerges from those passages ; or, more rarely, a black gentleman, stricken in years, and cased in shining broadcloth, walks solidly down the brick sidewalk, cane in hand, — a vision of serene self-complacency, and so plainly the expression of virtuous public sentiment that the great colored louts, innocent enough till then in their idleness, are taken with 79 MRS. JOHNSON a sudden sense of depravity, and loaf guiltily up against the house-walls. At the same moment, perhaps, a young damsel, amorously scuffling with an admirer through one of the low open windows, suspends the strife, and bids him, — "Go along now, do!" More rarely yet than the gentleman described, one may see a white girl among the dark neighbors, whose frowsy head is uncovered, and whose sleeves are rolled up to her elbows, and who, though no doubt quite at home, looks as strange there as that pale anomaly which may sometimes be seen among a crew of blackbirds. An air not so much of decay as of unthrift, and yet hardly of unthrift, seems to prevail in the neighborhood, which has none of the aggressive and impudent squalor of an Irish quarter, and none of the surly wickedness of a low American street. A gayety not born of the things that bring its serious joy to the true New England heart — a ragged gayety, which comes of summer in the blood, and not in the pocket or the conscience, and which affects the countenance and the whole demeanor, setting the feet to some inward music, and at times bursting into a line of song or a child-like and irresponsible laugh — gives tone to the visible life, and wakens a very friendly spirit in the passer, who somehow thinks there of a milder cli- mate, and is half persuaded that the orange-peel on the sidewalks came from fruit grown in the soft atmosphere of those back courts. It was in this quarter, then, that we heard of Mrs. John- son ; and it was from a colored boarding-house there that she came out to Charlesbridge to look at us, bringing her daughter of twelve years with her. She was a matron pf mature age and portly figure, with a complexion like coffee soothed with the richest cream; and her manners were so full of a certain tranquillity and grace, that she 80 WILLIAM DEAN HOWELLS charmed away all our will to ask for references. It was only her barbaric laughter and lawless eye that betrayed how slightly her New England birth and breeding cov- ered her ancestral traits, and bridged the gulf of a thou- sand years of civilization that lay between her race and ours. But in fact, she was doubly estranged by descent ; for, as we learned later, a sylvan wildness mixed with that pf the desert in her veins : her grandfather was an Indian, and her ancestors on this side had probably sold their lands for the same value in trinkets that bought the orig- inal African pair on the other side. The first day that Mrs. Johnson descended into our kitchen, she conjured from the malicious disorder in which it had been left by the flitting Irish kobold a dinner that revealed the inspirations of genius, and was quite different from a dinner of mere routine and laborious talent. Something original and authentic mingled with the accustomed flavors ; and, though vague reminiscences of canal-boat travel and woodland camps arose from the relish of certain of the dishes, there was yet the assur- ance of such power in the preparation of the whole, that we knew her to be merely running over the chords of our appetite with preliminary savors, as a musician acquaints his touch with the keys of an unfamiliar piano before breaking into brilliant and triumphant execution. Within a week she had mastered her instrument; and thereafter there was no faltering in her performances, which she varied constantly, through inspiration or from suggestion. . . . But, after all, it was-in puddings that Mrs. John- son chiefly excelled. She was one of those cooks — rare as men of genius in literature — who love their own dishes ; and she had, in her personally child-like simplicity of taste, and the inherited appetites of her savage fore- fathers, a dominant passion for sweets. So far as we 8i MRS. JOHNSON' could learn, she subsisted principally upon puddings and tea. Through the same primitive instincts, no doubt, she loved praise. She openly exulted in our artless flatteries of her skill ; she waited jealously at the head of the kitchen stairs to hear what was said of her work, especially if there were guests; and she was never too weary to at- tempt emprises of cookery. While engaged in these, she wore a species of sightly handkerchief like a turban upon her head, and about her person those mystical swathings in which old ladies of the African race delight. But she most pleasured our sense of beauty and moral fitness when, after the last pan was washed and the last pot was scraped, she lighted a potent pipe, and, taking her stand at the kitchen door, laded the soft evening air with its pungent odors. If we surprised her at these supreme moments, she took the pipe from her lips, and put it behind her, with a low, mellow chuckle, and a look of half-defiant consciousness; never guessing that none of her merits took us half so much as the cheerful vice which she only feigned to conceal. Some things she could not do so perfectly as cooking because of her failing eyesight, and we persuaded her that spectacles would both become and befriend a lady of her years, and so bought her a pair of steel-bowed glasses. She wore them in some great emergencies at first, but had clearly no pride in them. Before long she laid them aside altogether, and they had passed from our thoughts, when one day we heard her mellow note of laughter and her daughter's harsher cackle outside our door, and, opening it, beheld Mrs. Johnson in gold-bowed spectacles of mas- sive frame. We then learned that their purchase was in fulfilment of a vow made long ago, in the life-time of Mr. Johnson, that, if ever she wore glasses, they should be gold-bowed ; and I hope the manes of the dead were half 82 WILLIAM DEAN HOWELLS as happy in these votive spectacles as the simple soul that offered them. She and her late partner were the parents of eleven children, some of whom were dead, and some of whom were wanderers in unknown parts. During his life-time she had kept a little shop in her native town ; and it was only within a few years that she had gone into service. She cherished a natural haughtiness of spirit, and resented control, although disposed to do all she could of her own notion. Being told to say when she wanted an afternoon, she explained that when she wanted an afternoon she al- ways took it without asking, but always planned so as not to discommode the ladies with whom she lived. These, she said, had numbered twenty-seven within three years, which made us doubt the success of her system in all cases, though she merely held out the fact as an assurance of her faith in the future, and a proof of the ease with which places are to be found. She contended, moreover, that a lady who had for thirty years had a house pf her own, was in nowise bound to ask permission to receive visits from friends where she might be living, but that they ought freely to come and go like other guests. In this spirit she once invited her son-in-law. Professor Jones of Providence, to dine with her ; and her defied mistress, on entering the dining-room, found the Professor at pud- ding and tea there, — an impressively respectable figure in black clothes, with a black face rendered yet more effective by a pair of green goggles. It appeared that this dark professor was a light pf phrenology in Rhode Island, and that he was believed to have uncommon virtue in his sci- ence by reason of being blind as well as black. I am loath to confess that Mrs. Johnson had not a flat- tering opinion of the Caucasian race in all respects. In fact, she had very good philosophical and Scriptural rea- 83 MRS. JOHNSON sons for looking upon us as an upstart people of new blood, who had come into their whiteness by no credit- able or pleasant process. The late Mr. Johnson, who had died in the West Indies, whither he voyaged for his health in quality of cook upon a Down-East schooner, was a man of letters, and had written a book to show the su- periority pf the black over the white branches of the hu- man family. In this he held that, as all islands have been at their discovery found peopled by blacks, we must needs believe that humanity was first created of that color. Mrs. Johnson could not show us her husband's work (a sole copy in the library of an English gentleman at Port au Prince is not to be bought for money), but she often developed its arguments to the lady of the house ; and one day, with a great show of reluctance, and many protests that no personal slight was meant, let fall the fact that Mr. Johnson believed the white race descended from Gehaz, the leper, upon whom the leprosy of Naaman fell when the latter returned by Divine favor to his original, blackness. "And he went out from his presence a leper as white as snow," said Mrs. Johnson, quoting irrefutable Scripture. "Leprosy, leprosy," she added thoughtfully, — "nothing but leprosy bleached you out." It seems to me much in her praise that she did not exult in our taint and degradation, as some white philosophers used to do in the opposite idea that a part of the human family were cursed to lasting blackness and slavery in Ham and his children, but even told us of a remarkable approach to whiteness in many of her own offspring. In a kindred spirit of charity, no doubt, she refused ever to attend church with people of her elder and wholesomer blood. When she went to church, she said, she always went to a white church, though while with us I am bound to say she never went to any. She professed to read her 84 WILLIAM DEAN HOWELLS Sible in her bedroom on Sundays ; but we suspected, from certain sounds and odors which used to steal out of this sanctuary, that her piety more commonly found expres- sion in dozing and smoking. I would not make a wanton jest here of Mrs. Johnson's anxiety to claim honor for the African color, while deny- ing this color in many of her own family. It afforded a glimpse of the pain which all her people must endure, however proudly they hide it or light-heartedly forget it, from the despite and contumely to which they are guilt- lessly born ; and when I thought how irreparable was this disgrace and calamity of a black skin, and how irrepara- ble it must be for ages yet, in this world where every other shame and all manner of wilful guilt and wicked- ness may hope for covert and pardon, I had little heart to laugh. Indeed, it was so pathetic to hear this poor old soul talk of her dead and lost ones, and try, in spite of all Mr. Johnson's theories and her own arrogant generaliza- tions, to establish their whiteness, that we must have been very cruel and silly people to turn her sacred fables even into matter of question. I have no doubt that her An- toinette Anastasia and her Thomas Jefferson Wilberforce — it is impossible to give a full idea of the splendor and scope of the baptismal names in Mrs. Johnson's family — have as light skins and as golden hair in heaven as her reverend maternal fancy painted for them in our world. There, certainly, they would not be subject to tanning, which had ruined the delicate complexion, and had knotted into black woolly tangles the once wavy blonde locks of our little maid-servant Naomi ; and I would fain believe that Toussaint Washington Johnson, who ran away to sea so many years ago, has found some fortunate zone where his hair and skin keep the same sunny and rosy tints they wore to his mother's eyes in infancy. But 85 MRS. JOHNSON I have no means of knowing this, or of telHng whether he was the prodigy of intellect that he was declared to be. Naomi could no more be taken in proof of the one as- sertion than of the other. When she came to us, it was agreed that she should go to school ; but she overruled her mother in this as in everything else, and never went. Ex- cept Sunday-school lessons, she had no other instruction than that her mistress gave her in the evenings, when a heavy day's play and the natural influences of the hour conspired with original causes to render her powerless before words of one syllable. The first week of her services she was obedient and faithful to her duties; but, relaxing in the atmosphere of a house which seems to demoralize all menials, she shortly fell into disorderly ways of lying in wait for call- ers out of doors, and, when people rang, of running up the front steps, and letting them in from the outside. As the season expanded, and the fine weather became con- firmed, she modified even this form of service, and spent her time in the fields, appearing at the house only when nature importunately craved molasses. . . . In her untamable disobedience, Naomi alone betrayed her sylvan blood, for she was in all other respects negro and not Indian. But it was of her aboriginal ancestry that Mrs. Johnson chiefly boasted, — when not engaged in argument to maintain the superiority of the African race. She loved to descant upon it as the cause and explanation of her own arrogant habit of feeling; and she seemed in- deed to have inherited something of the Indian's hauteur along with the Ethiop's supple cunning and abundant amiability. She gave many instances in which her pride had met and overcome the insolence of employers, and the kindly old creature was by no means singular in her pride of being reputed proud. 86 WILLIAM DEAN HOWELLS She could never have been a woman of strong logical faculties, but she had in some things a very surprising and awful astuteness. She seldom introduced any pur- pose directly, but bore all about it, and then suddenly sprung it upon her unprepared antagonist. At other times she obscurely hinted a reason, and left a conclusion to be inferred; as when she warded off reproach for some delinquency by saying in a general way that she had lived with ladies who used to come scolding into the kitchen after they had taken their bitters. "Quality ladies took their bitters regular," she added, to remove any sting of personality from her remark ; for, from many things she had let fall, we knew that she did not regard us as quality. On the contrary, she often tried to overbear us with the gentility of her former places; and would tell the lady over whom she reigned, that she had lived with folks worth their three and four hundred thousand dollars, who never complained as she did of the ironing. Yet she had a sufficient regard for the literary occupations of the fam- ily, Mr. Johnson having been an author. She even pro- fessed to have herself written a book, which was still in manuscript, and preserved somewhere among her best clothes. It was well, on many accounts, to be in contact with a mind so original and suggestive as Mrs. Johnson's. We loved to trace its intricate yet often transparent opera- tions, and were perhaps too fond of explaining its peculi- arities by facts of ancestry, — of finding hints of the Pow- wow or the Grand Custom in each grotesque development. We were conscious of something warmer in this old soul than in ourselves, and something wilder, and we chose to think it the tropic and the untracked forest. She had scarcely any being apart from her affection ; she had no morality, but was good because she neither hated nor 87 MRS. JOHNSON' envied ; and she might have been a saint far more easily than far more civiHzed people. There was that also in her sinuous yet malleable na- ture, so full of guile and so full of goodness, that re- minded us pleasantly of lowly folks in elder lands, where relaxing oppressions have lifted the restraints of fear between master and servant, without disturbing the fa- miliarity of their relation. She advised freely with us upon all household matters, and took a motherly interest in whatever concerned us. She could be flattered or caressed into almost any service, but no threat or com- mand could move her. When she erred she never ac- knowledged her wrong in words, but handsomely ex- pressed her regrets in a pudding, or sent up her apologies in a favorite dish secretly prepared. We grew so well used to this form of exculpation, that, whenever Mrs. Johnson took an afternoon at an inconvenient season, we knew that for a week afterwards we should be feasted like princes. She owned frankly that she loved us, that she never had done half so much for people before, and that she never had been nearly so well suited in any other place; and for a brief and happy time we thought that we never should part. One day, however, our dividing destiny appeared in the basement, and was presented to us as Hippolyto Thucyd- ides, the son of Mrs, Johnson, who had just arrived on a visit to his mother from the State of New Hampshire. He was a heavy and loutish youth, standing upon the borders of boyhood, and looking forward to the future with a vacant and listless eye. I mean this was his figura- tive attitude ; his actual manner, as he lolled upon a chair beside the kitchen window, was so eccentric that we felt a little uncertain how to regard him, and Mrs. Johnson openly described him as peculiar. He was so deeply 88 WILLIAM DEAN HOWELLS tanned ^y the fervid suns of the New Hampshire winter, and his hair had so far suffered from the example of the sheep lately under his charge, that he could not be classed by any stretch of comparison with the blonde and straight- haired members of Mrs. Johnson's family. He remained with us all the first day until late in the afternoon, when his mother took him out to get him a boarding-house. Then he departed in the van of her and Naomi, pausing at the gate to collect his spirits, and, after he had sufficiently animated himself by clapping his palms together, starting off down the street at a hand- gallop, to the manifest terror of the cows in the pasture, and the confusion of the less demonstrative people of our household. Other characteristic traits appeared in Hippo- lyto Thucydides within no very long period of time, and he ran away from his lodgings so often during the sum- mer that he might be said to board round among the put- lying cornfields and turnip-patches of Charlesbridge. As a check upon this habit, Mrs. Johnson seemed to have in- vited him to spend his whole time in our basement; for whenever we went below we found him there, balanced — perhaps in homage to us, and perhaps as a token of ex- treme sensibility in himself — upon the low window-sill, the bottoms of his boots touching the floor inside, and his face buried in the grass without. We could formulate no very tenable objection to all this, and yet the presence of Thucydides in our kitchen unaccountably oppressed our imaginations. We beheld him all over the house, a monstrous eidolon, balanced upon every window-sill; and he certainly attracted un- pleasant notice to our place, no less by his furtive and hangdog manner of arrival than by the bold displays with which he celebrated his departures. We hinted this to Mrs. Johnson, but she could not enter into pur feeling. 89 MRS. JOHNSON Indeed, all the wild poetry of her maternal and primitive nature seemed to cast itself about this hapless boy; and if we had listened to her we should have believed there was no pne so agreeable in society, or so quick-witted in af- fairs, as Hippolyto, when he chose. . . . At last, when we said positively that Thucydides should come to us no more, and then qualified the prohibition by allowing him to come every Sunday, she answered that she never would hurt the child's feelings by telling him not to come where his mother was ; that people who did not love her children did not love her ; and that, if Hippy went, she went. We thought it a masterstroke of firm- ness to rejoin that Hippolyto must go in any event; but I am bound to own that he did not go, and that his mother stayed, and so fed us with every cunning propitiatory dainty, that we must have been Pagans to renew our threat. In fact, w.e begged Mrs. Johnson to go into the country with us, and she, after long reluctation on Hip- py's account, consented, agreeing to send him away to friends during her absence. We made every preparation, and on the eve of our de- parture Mrs, Johnson went into the city to engage her son's passage to Bangor, while we awaited her return in untroubled security. But she did not appear till midnight, and then re- sponded with but a sad "Well, sah!" to the cheerful "Well, Mrs. Johnson !" that greeted her. "All right, Mrs. Johnson ?" Mrs. Johnson made a strange noise, half chuckle and half death-rattle, in her throat. "All wrong, sah. Hip- py's off again ; and I've been all over the city after him." "Then you can't go with us in the morning?" "How can I, sah ?" Mrs. Johnson went sadly out of the room. Then she 90 WILLIAM DEAN HOWELLS came back to the door again, and opening it, uttered, for the first time in our service, words of apology and regret : "I hope I ha'n't put you out any. I zuaiited to go with you, but I ought to knowed I could n't. All is, I loved you top much." PASS BY IRONQUILL A father said unto his hopeful son, "Who was Leonidas, my cherished one ?" The boy replied, with words of ardent nature, "He was a member of the legislature." "How ?" asked the parent ; then the youngster saith : "He got a pass, and held her like grim death." "Whose pass? what pass?" the anxious father cried; " 'T was the'r monopoly," the boy replied. In deference to the public, we must state, That boy has been an orphan since that date. TEACHING BY EXAMPLE BY JOHN G. SAXE **What is the 'Poet's License,' say ?" Asked rose-lipped Anna of a poet. "Now give me an example, pray. That when I see one I may know it." Quick as a flash he plants a kiss Where perfect kisses always fall. "Nay, sir! what liberty is this?" "The Poet's License,— that is all !" 91 WHEN ALBANI SANG* BY WILLIAM HENRY DRUMMOND Was workin' away on de farm dere, wan morning not long ago, Feexin' de fence for winter — 'cos dat's w'ere we got de snow! W'en Jeremie Plouffe, ma neighbor, come over an' spik wit' me, "Antoine, you will come on de city, for hear Ma-dam All-ba-nee?" "Wat you mean?" I was sayin' right off, me, "Some woman was mak' de speech. Or girl on de Hooraw Circus, dpin' high kick an' screech ?" "Non — non," he is spikin' — "Excuse me, dat's be Ma- dam All-ba-nee Was leevin' down here on de contree, two mile 'noder side Chambly. "She's jus' comin' over from Englan', on steamboat ar- rive Kebeck, Singin' on Lunnon an' Paree, an' havin' beeg tam, I ex- pec', But no matter de mpche she enjoy it, for travel all roun' de worl', Somet'ing on de heart bring her back here, for she was de Chambly girl. *From "The Habitant and Other French Canadian Poems," by William Henry Drummond. Copyright 1897 by G. P. Putnam's Sons. 92 WILLIAM HENRY DRUMMOND "She never do not'ing but singin' an' makin' de beeg grande tour An' travel on summer an' winter, so mus' be de firs' class for sure! Ev'ryboddy I'm t'inkin' was know her, an' I also hear 'noder t'ing, She's frien' on La Reine Victoria an' show her de way to sing!" "Wall," I say, "you're sure she is Chambly, w'at you call Ma-dam All-ba-nee ? Don't know me dat nam' on de Canton — I hope you're not fool wit' me?" An he say, "Lajeunesse, dey was call her, before she is come mariee. But she's takin' de nam' of her husban' — I s'pose dat's de only way." "C'est bon, mon ami," I was say me, "If I get t'roo de fence nex' day An' she don't want too moche on de monee, den mebbe I see her play." So I finish dat job on to-morrow, Jeremie he was helpin' me too, An' I say, "Len' me t'ree dollar quickly for mak' de voy- age wit' you." Correc' — so we're startin' nex' morning, an' arrive Mon- treal all right. Buy dollar tiquette on de bureau, an' pass on de hall dat night. Beeg crowd, wall ! I bet you was dere too, all dress on some fancy dress, De lady, I don't say not'ing, but man's all w'ite shirt an' np ves'. 93 WHEN ALBANI SANG Don't matter, w'en ban' dey be ready, de foreman strek out wit' hees steek. An' fiddle an' ev'ryt'ing else too, begin for play up de musique. It's fenny t'ing too dey was playin' don't lak it mese'f at all, I rader be lissen some jeeg, me, or w'at you call "Affer de ball." An' I'm not feelin' very surprise den, w'en de crowd holler out, ''Encore," For mak' all dem feller commencin' an' try leetle piece some more, 'Twas better wan' too, I be t'inkin', but slow lak you're goin' to die, All de sam', noboddy say not'ing, dat mean dey was satisfy. Affer dat come de Grande piano, lak we got on Chambly Hotel, She's nice lookin' girl was play dat, so of course she's go off purty well. Den feller he's ronne out an' sing some, it's all about very fine moon, Dat shine on Canal, ev'ry night too, I'm sorry I don't know de tune. Nex' t'ing I commence get excite, me, for I don't see no great Ma-dam yet. Too bad I was los all dat monee, an' too late for de raffle tiquette ! W'en jus' as I feel very sorry, for come all de way from Chambly, Jeremie he was w'isper, "Tiens, tiens, prenez garde, she's comin' Ma-dam All-ba-nee!" 94 WILLIAM HENRY DRUMMOND Ev'ryboddy seem glad w'en dey see her, come walkin* right down de platform, An' way dey mak' noise on de han' den, w'y! it's jus' lak de beeg tonder storm ! I'll never see not'ing lak dat, me, no matter I travel de worl', An' Ma-dam, you t'ink it was scare her ? Non, she laugh lak de Chambly girl ! Dere was young feller coniin' behin' her, walk nice, comme un Cavalier, An' before All-ba-nee she is ready an' piano get startin' for play, De feller commence wit' hees singin', more stronger dan all de res', I t'ink he's got very bad manner, know not'ing at all politesse. Ma-dam, I s'pose she get mad den, an' before anyboddy can spik, She settle right down for mak' sing too, an' purty soon ketch heem up quick, Den she's kip it on gainin' an' gainin', till de song it is tout finis. An' w'en she is beatin' dat feller, Bagosh! I am proud Chambly ! I'm not very sorry at all, me, w'en de feller was ronnin' away, An' man he's come out wit' de piccolo, an' start heem right off for play. For it's kin' de musique I be fancy, Jeremie he is lak it also, An' wan de bes' t'ing on dat ev'ning is man wit' de pic- colo ! 95 WHEN ALBANI SANG Den mebbe ten minute is passin', Ma-dam she is comin' encore, Dis tam all alone on de platform, dat feller don't show up no more, An' w'en she start off on de singin' Jeremie say, "Antoine, dat's Frangais," Dis give us more pleasure, I tole you, 'cos w'y ? We're de pure Canayen ! Dat song I will never forget me, 't was song of de leetle bird, W'en he's fly from it's nes' on de tree top, 'fore res' of de worl' get stirred, Ma-dam she was tole us about it, den start off so quiet an' low, An' sing lak de bird on de morning, de poor leetle small oiseau. I 'member wan tam I be sleepin' jus' onder some beeg pine tree An song of de robin wak' me, but robin he don't see me, Dere's not'ing for scarin' dat bird dere, he's feel all alone on de worl', Wall ! Ma-dam she mus' lissen lak dat too, w'en she was de Chambly girl ! Cos how' could she sing dat nice chanson, de sam' as de bird I was hear. Till I see it de maple an' pine tree an' Richelieu ronnin' near. Again I'm de leetle feller, lak young colt upon de spring Dat's jus' on de way I was feel, me, w'en Ma-dam All-ba- nee is sing ! 96 .WILLIAM HENRY DRUMMOND An' affer de song it is finish, an' crowd is mak' noise wit' its han', I s'pose dey be t'inkin' I'm crazy, dat mebbe I don't on- derstan', Cos I'm set on de chair very quiet, mese'f an' poor Jere- mie, An' I see dat hees eye it was cry too, jus' sam' way it go wit' me. Dere's rosebush outside on our garden, ev'ry spring it has got new nes', But only wan bkiebird is buil' dere, I know her from all de res', An' no matter de far she be flyin' away on de winter tam, Back to her own leetle rosebush she's comin' dere jus' de sam'. We're not de beeg place on our Canton, mebbe cole on de winter, too. But de heart's "Canayen" on pur body an' dat's warm enough for true ! An' w'en All-ba-nee was got lonesome for travel all roun' de worl' I hope she'll come home, lak de bluebird, an' again be de Chambly girl ! 97 COLONEL STERETT'S PANTHER HUNT BY ALFRED HENRY LEWIS "Panthers, what we-all calls 'mountain lions/ " ob- served the Old Cattleman, wearing meanwhile the sapient air of him who feels equipped of his subject, "is plenty- furtive, not to say mighty sedyoolous to skulk. That's why a gent don't meet up with more of 'em while piroot- in' about in the hills. Them cats hears him, or they sees him, an' him still ignorant tharof ; an' with that they bash- fully withdraws. Which it's to be urged in favor of mountain lions that they never forces themse'fs on no gent; they're shore considerate, that a-way, an' speshul of themse'fs. If one's ever hurt, you can bet it won't be a accident. However, it ain't for me to go 'round im- pugnin' the motives of no mountain lion ; partic'lar when the entire tribe is strangers to me complete. But still a love of trooth compels me to concede that if mountain lions ain't cowardly, they're shore cautious a lot. Cattle an' calves they passes up as too bellicose, an' none of 'em ever faces any anamile more warlike than a baby colt or mebby a half-grown deer. I'm ridin' along the Caliente once when I hears a crashin' in the bushes on the bluff above — two hundred foot high, she is, an' as sheer as the walls of this yere tavern. As I lifts my eyes, a fear- frenzied mare an' colt comes chargin' up an' projects themse'fs over the precipice an' lands in the valley below. They're dead as Joolius Caesar when I rides onto 'em, 98 ALFRED HENRY LEWIS while a brace of mountain lions is skirtin' up an' down the aige of the bluff they leaps from, mewin' an' lashin' their long- tails in hot enthoosiasm. Shore, the cats has been chasin' the mare an' foal, an' tliey locoes 'em to that extent they don't know where they're headin' an' makes the death jump I relates. I bangs away with my six-shooter, but beyond givin' the mountain lions a con- vulsive start I can't say I does any execootion. They turns an' goes streakin' it through the pine woods like a drunkard to a barn raisin'. "Timid? Shore! They're that timid, seminary girls compared to 'em is as sternly courageous as a passel of buccaneers. Out in Mitchell's canyon a couple of the Lee-Scott riders cuts the trail of a mountain lion and her two kittens. Now whatever do you-all reckon this old tabby does? Basely deserts her offsprings without even barin' a tooth, an' the cow-punchers takes 'em gently by their tails an' beats out their joovenile brains. That's straight; that mother lion goes swarmin' up the canyon like she ain't got a minute to live. An' you can gamble the limit that where a anamile sees its children perish without frontin' up for war, it don't possess the common- est roodiments of sand. Sech, son, is mountain lions. "It's one evenin' in the Red Light when Colonel Sterett, who's got through his day's toil on that Coyote paper he's editor of, onfolds concernin' a panther round-up which he pulls off in his yooth. " 'This panther hunt,' says Colonel Sterett, as he fills his third tumbler, 'occurs when mighty likely I'm goin' on seventeen winters. I'm a leader among my young companions at the time ; in fact, I allers is. An' I'm proud to say that my soopremacy that a-way is doo to the dom'- nant character of my intellects. I'm ever bright an* sparklin' as a child, an' I recalls how my aptitoode for 99 COLONEL STERETT'S PANTHER HUNT, learnin' promotes me to be regyarded as the smartest lad in my set. If thar's visitors to the school, or if the selectman invades that academy to sort o' size us up, the teacher allers plays me on 'em. I'd go to the front for the outfit. Which I'm wont on sech harrowin' o'casions to recite a ode — the teacher's done wrote it himse'f — an' which is entitled Napoleon's Mad Career. Thar's twenty- four stanzas to it; an' while these interlopin' selectmen sets thar lookin' owley an' sagacious, I'd wallop loose with the twenty-four verses, stampin' up and down, an' accompanyin' said recitations with sech a multitood of reckless gestures, it comes plenty clost to backin' every- body plumb outen the room. Yere's the first verse : I'd drink an' sw'ar an' r'ar an' t'ar An' fall down in the mud, [While the y'earth for forty miles about Is kivered with my blood. " *You-all can see from that speciment that our school- master ain't simply flirtin' with the muses when he origi- nates that epic ; no, sir, he means business ; an' whenever I throws it into the selectmen, I does it jestice. The trus- tees used to silently line out for home when I finishes, an' never a yeep. It stuns 'em ; it shore fills 'em to the brim ! " 'As I gazes r'arward,' goes on the Colonel, as by one rapt impulse he uplifts both his eyes an' his nosepaint, *as I gazes r'arward, I says, on them sun-filled days, an' speshul if ever I gets betrayed into talkin' about 'em, I can hardly t'ar myse'f from the subject. I explains yere- tofore, that not only by inclination but by birth, I'm a shore-enough 'ristocrat. This captaincy of local fashion I assoomes at a tender age. I wears the record as the fv'st child to don shoes throughout the entire summer in that neighborhood ; an' many a time an' oft does my yoothful I GO ALFRED HENRY LEWIS but envy-eaten compeers lambaste me for the insultin' in- novation. But I sticks to my moccasins ; an' to-day shoes in the Bloo Grass is almost as yooniversal as the licker habit. " 'Thar dawns a hour, however, when my p'sition in the van of Kaintucky ton comes within a ace of bein' ser'ously shook. It's on my way to school one dewy mornin' when I gets involved all inadvertent in a onhappy rupture with a polecat. I never does know how the misonderstandin' starts. After all, the seeds of said dispoote is by no means important ; it's enough to say that polecat finally has me thoroughly convinced. " 'Followin' the difference an' my defeat, I'm witless enough to keep goin' on to school, whereas I should have returned homeward an' cast myse'f upon my parents r.s a sacred trust. Of course, when I'm in school I don't go impartin' my troubles to the other chil'en; I emyoolates the heroism of the Spartan boy who stands to be eat by a fox, an' keeps 'em to myself. But the views of my late enemy is not to be smothered ; they appeals to my young companions; who tharupon puts up a most onneedful riot of coughin's an' sneezin's. But nobody knows me as the party who's so pungent. " 'It's a tryin' moment. I can see that, once I'm lo- cated, I'm goin' to be as onpop'lar as a b'ar in a hawg pen ; I'll come tumblin' from my pinnacle in that proud com- moonity as the glass of fashion an' the mold of form. You can go your bottom peso, the thought causes me to feel plenty perturbed. " *At this peril I has a inspiration ; as good, too, as I ever entertains without the aid of rum. I determines to cast the opprobrium on some other boy an' send the hunt of gen'ral indignation sweepin' along his trail. " 'Thar's a innocent infant who's a stoodent at this lOI COLONEL STERETT'S PANTHER HUNT temple of childish learnin' an' his name is Riley Bark. This Riley is one of them giant children who's only twelve an' weighs three hundred pounds. An' in propor- tions as Riley is a son of Anak, physical, he's dwarfed mental ; he ain't half as well upholstered with brains as a shepherd dog. That's right; Riley's intellects, is like a fly in a saucer of syrup, they struggles 'round plumb slow. I decides to uplift Riley to the public eye as the felon who's disturbin' that seminary's sereenity. Comin' to this decision, I p'ints at him where he's planted four seats ahead, all tangled up In a spellin' book, an' says in a loud whisper to a child who's sittin' next : "'"Throw him out!" " That's enough. No gent will ever realize how easy it is to direct a people's sentiment ontil he take a whirl at the game. In two minutes by the teacher's bull's-eye copper watch, every soul knows it's pore Riley; an' in three, the teacher's done drug Riley out doors by the ha'r of his head an' chased him home. Gents, I look back on that yoothful feat as a triumph of diplomacy; it shore saved my standin' as the Beau Brummel of the Bloo Grass " 'Good old days, them !' observes the Colonel mourn- fully, *an' ones never to come ag'in ! My sternest studies is romances, an' the peroosals of old tales as I tells you-all prior fills me full pf moss an' mockin' birds in equal parts. I reads deep of Walter Scott an' waxes to be a sharp on Moslems speshul. I dreams of the Siege of Acre, an' Richard the Lion Heart; an' I simply can't sleep nights for honin' to hold a tournament an' joust a whole lot for some fair lady's love. " 'Once I commits the error of my career by joustin' with my brother Jeff. This yere Jeff is settin' on the bank of the Branch fishin' for bullpouts at the time, an' Jeff don't know I'm hoverin' near at all. Jeff's reedic'lous fond 102 ALFRED HENRY LEWIS of fishin' ; which he'd sooner fish than read Paradise Lost. I'm romancin' along, sim'larly bent, when I notes Jeff perched on the bank. To my boyish imagination Jeff at once turns to be a Paynim. I drops my bait box, couches my fishpole, an' emittin' a impromptoo warcry, charges him. It's the work of a moment ; Jeff's onhossed an' falls into the Branch. *' 'But thar's bitterness to follow vict'ry. Jeff emerges like Diana from the bath an' frales the wamus off me with a club. Talk of puttin' a crimp in folks! Gents, when Jeff's wrath is assuaged I'm all on one side like the lean- in' tower of Pisa. Jeff actooally confers a skew-gee to my spinal column. " 'A week later my folks takes me to a doctor. That practitioner puts on his specs an' looks me over with jealous care. " ' "Whatever's wrong with him, Doc ?" says my father. " ' "Nothin'," says the physician, "only your son Willyum's five inches out o' plumb." " 'Then he rigs a contraption made up of guy-ropes an' stay-laths, an' I has to wear it ; an' mebby in three or four weeks or so he's got me warped back into the per- pendic'lar.' "'But how about this cat hunt?' asks Dan Boggs. 'Which I don't aim to be introosive none, but I'm camped yere through the second drink waitin' for it, an' these pro- crastinations is makn' me kind o' batty.' " 'That panther hunt is like this,' says the Colonel, turnin' to Dan. 'At the age of seventeen, me an' eight or nine of my intimate brave comrades founds what we-all denom'nates as the "Chevy Chase Huntin' Club." Each of us maintains a passel of odds an' ends of dogs, an' at stated intervals we convenes on bosses, an' with these 103 COLONEL STERETT'S PANTHER HUNT fourscore curs at our tails goes yellin' an' skally-hootin' up an' down the countryside allowin' we're shore a band of Nimrods. " 'The Chevy Chasers ain't been in bein' as a institoo- tion over long when chance opens a gate to ser'ous work. The deep snows in the Eastern mountains it looks like has done drove a panther into our neighborhood. You could hear of him on all sides. Folks glimpses him now an' then. They allows he's about the size of a yearlin' calf; an' the way he pulls down sech feeble people as sheep or lays desolate some he'pless henroost don't bother him a bit. This panther spreads a horror over the county. Dances, pra'er meetin's, an' even poker parties is broken up, an' the social life of that region begins to bog down. Even a weddin' suffers ; the bridesmaids stayin' away lest this ferocious monster should show up in the road an' chaw one of 'em while she's en route for the scene of trouble. That's gospel trooth! the pore deserted bride has to heel an' handle herse'f an' never a friend to yoonite her sobs with hers doorin' that weddin' ordeal. The old ladies present shakes their heads a heap solemn. " ' "It's a worse augoory," says one, "than the hoots of a score of squinch owls." " 'When this reign of terror is at its height, the local eye is rolled appealin'ly towards us Chevy Chasers. We rises to the opportoonity. Day after day we're ridin' the hills an' vales, readin' the milk white snow for tracks. An' we has success. One mornin' I comes up on two of the Brackenridge boys an' five more of the Chevy Chasers settin' on their bosses at the Skinner cross roads. Bob Crittenden's gone to turn me out, they says. Then they p'ints down to a handful of close-wove bresh an' stunted timber an' allows that this maraudin' cat-o-mount is hid- In' thar ; they sees him go skulkin' in. 104 ALFRED HENRY LEWIS " 'Gents, I ain't above admittin' that the news puts my heart to a canter. I'm brave; but conflicts with wild an' savage beasts is to me a novehy an' while I faces my fate without a flutter, I'm yere to say I'd sooner been in pur- soot of minks or raccoons or some varmint whose griev- ous cap'bilities I can more ackerately stack up an' in whose merry ways I'm better versed. However, the dauntless blood of my grandsire mounts in my cheek ; an' as if the shade of that old Trojan is thar personal to su'gest it, I searches forth a flask an' renoos my sperit ; thus qualified for perils, come in what form they may, I resolootely stands my hand. " 'Thar's forty dogs if thar's one in our company as we pauses at the Skinner cross-roads. An' when the Crit- tenden yooth returns, he brings with him the Rickett boys an' forty added dogs. Which it's worth a ten-mile ride to get a glimpse of that outfit of canines ! Thar's every sort onder the canopy: thar's the stolid hound, the alert fice, the sapient collie; that is thar's individyool beasts wherein the hound, or fice, or collie seems to preedominate as a strain. The trooth is thar's not that dog a-whinin' about our bosses' fetlocks who ain't proudly descended from fifteen different tribes, an' they shorely makes a motley mass meetin'. Still, they're good, zealous dogs; an' as they're going to go for'ard an' take most of the resks of that panther, it seems invidious to criticize 'em. " 'One of the Twitty boys rides down an' puts the eighty or more dogs into the bresh. The rest of us lays back an' strains our eyes. Thar he is! A shout goes up as we descries the panther stealin' off by a far corner. He's headin' along a hollow that's full of bresh an' baby timber an' runs parallel with the pike. Big an' yaller he is ; we can tell from the slight flash we gets of him as he darts into a second clump of bushes. With a cry — what 105 COLONEL STERETT'S PANTHER HUNT young Crittenden calls a "view halloo," — we goes stam- peedin' down the pike in pursoot. " 'Our dogs is sta'nch ; they shore does themse'fs proud. Singin' in twenty keys, reachin' from growls to yelps an* from yelps to shrillest screams, they pushes dauntlessly on the fresh trail of their terrified quarry. Now an' then we gets a squint of the panther as he skulks from one copse to another jest ahead. Which he's goin' like a arrow ; no mistake ! As for us Chevy Chasers, we paral- lels the hunt, an' continyoos poundin' the Skinner turn- pike abreast of the pack, ever an' anon givin' a encour- agin' shout as we briefly sights our game. " 'Gents,' says Colonel Sterett, as he ag'in refreshes hims'ef, 'it's needless to go over that hunt in detail. We hustles the fly in' demon full eighteen miles, our faithful dogs crowdin' close an' breathless at his coward heels. Still, they don't catch up with him ; he streaks it like some saffron meteor. " 'Only once does we approach within strikin' distance ; that's when he crosses at old Stafford's whisky still. As he glides into view, Crittenden shouts : ""'Thar he goes!" " 'For myse'f I'm prepared. I've got one of these mis- guided cap-an'-ball six-shooters that's built doorin' the war ; an' I cuts that hardware loose ! This weapon seems a born profligate of lead, for the six chambers goes off together. Which you should have seen the Chevy Chasers dodge! An' well they may; that broadside ain't in vain! My aim is so troo that one of the r'armost dogs evolves a howl an' rolls over ; then he sets up gnawin' an' lickin' his off hind laig in frantic alternations. That hunt is done for him. We leaves him doctorin' himse'f an' picks him up two hours later on our triumphant return. " 'As I states, we harries that foogitive panther for 1 06 ALFRED HENRY LEWIS eighteen miles an' in our hot ardor founders two hosses. Fatigue an' weariness begins to overpower us; also our prey weakens along with the rest. In the half glimpses we now an' ag'in gets of him it's plain that both pace an' distance is tellin' fast. Still, he presses on; an' as thar's no spur like fear, that panther holds his distance. " 'But the end comes. We've done run him into a rough, wild stretch of country where settlements is few an' cabins roode. Of a sudden, the panther emerges onto the road an' goes rackin' along the trail. We pushes our spent steeds to the utmost. " 'Thar's a log house ahead ; out in the stump-filled lot in front is a frowsy woman an' five small children. The panther leaps the rickety worm-fence an' heads straight as a bullet for the cl'arin ! Horrors ! the sight freezes our marrows ! Mad an' savage, he's doo to bite a hunk outen that devoted household ! Mutooally callin' to each other, we goads our horses to the utmost. We gain on the panther ! He may wound but he won't have time to slay that fam'ly. " 'Gents, it's a soopreme moment ! The panther makes for the female squatter an' her litter, we pantin' an' press- in' clost behind. The panther is among 'em ; the woman an' the children seems transfixed by the awful spectacle an' stands rooted with open eyes an' mouths. Our emo- tions shore beggars deescriptions. " 'Now ensooes a scene to smite the hardiest of us with dismay. No sooner does the panther find himse'f in the midst of that he'pless bevy of little ones, than he stops, turns round abrupt, an' sets down on his tail; an' then upliftin' his muzzle he busts into shrieks an' yells an' howls an' cries, a complete case of dog hysterics ! That's what he is, a great yeller dog ; his reason is now a wrack because we harasses him the eighteen miles. 107 COLONEL STERETT'S PANTHER HUNT " 'Thar's a ugly outcast of a squatter, mattock in hand, comes tumblin' down the hillside from some'ers out back of the shanty where he's been grubbin' : " ' "What be you-all eediots chasin' my dog for ?" de- mands this onkempt party. Then he menaces us with the implement. " *We makes no retort but stands passive. The great orange brute whose nerves has been torn to rags creeps to the squatter an' with mournful howls explains what we've made him suffer. " *No, thar's nothin' further to do an' less to be said. That cavalcade, erstwhile so gala an' buoyant, drags it- self wearily homeward, the exhausted dogs in the r'ar walkin' stiff an' sore like their laigs is wood. For more'n a mile the complainin' howls of the hysterical yeller dog is wafted to our years. Then they ceases ; an' we figgers his sympathizin' master has done took him into the shanty an' shet the door. " *No one comments on this adventure, not a word is heard. Each is silent ontil we mounts the Big Murray hill. As we collects ourse'fs on this eminence one of the Brackenridge boys holds up his hand for a halt. "Gents," he says, as — bosses, hunters an' dogs — we-all gathers 'round, "gents, I moves you the Chevy Chase Huntin' Club yereby stands adjourned sine die." Thar's a mo- ment's pause, an' then as by one impulse every gent, boss an' dog, says "Ay!" It's yoonanimous, an' from that hour till now the Chevy Chase Huntin' Club ain't been nothin' save tradition. But that panther shore disappears; it's the end of his vandalage ; an' ag'in does quadrilles, pra'rs, an poker resoom their wonted sway. That's the end ; an' now, gents, if Black Jack will caper to his dooties we'll uplift pur drooped energies with the usual forty drops.' " io8 WOUTER VAN TWILLER BY WASHINGTON IRVING It was in the year of our Lord 1629 that Mynheer Wouter Van Twiller was appointed governor of the prov- ince of Nieuw Nederlandts, under the commission and control of their High Mightinesses the Lords States Gen- eral of the United Netherlands, and the privileged West India Company. This renowned old gentleman arrived at New Amster- dam in the merry month of June, the sweetest month in all the year; when dan Apollo seems to dance up the transparent firmament, — when the robin, the thrush, and a thousand other wanton songsters make the woods to re- sound with amorous ditties, and the luxurious little bob- lincoln revels among the clover-blossoms of the meadows, — all which happy coincidence persuaded the old dames of New Amsterdam, who were skilled in the art of foretell- ing events, that this was to be a happy and prosperous administration. The renowned Wouter (or Walter) Van Twiller was descended from a long line of Dutch burgomasters, who had successively dozed away their lives and grown fat upon the bench of magistracy in Rotterdam ; and who had comported themselves with such singular wisdom and propriety, that they were never either heard or talked of — which, next to being universally applauded, should be the object of ambition of all magistrates and rulers. 109 WOUTER VAN TWILLER There are two opposite ways by which some men make a figure in the world ; one, by talking faster than they think, and the other, by holding their tongues and not thinking at all. By the first, many a smatterer acquires the repu- tation of a man of quick parts; by the other, many a dunderpate, like the owl, the stupidest of birds, comes to be considered the very type of wisdom. This, by the way, is a casual remark, which I would not, for the universe, have it thought I apply to Governor Van Twiller. It is true he was a man shut up within himself, like an oyster, and rarely spoke, except in monosyllables ; but then it was allowed he seldom said a foolish thing. So invincible was his gravity that he was never known to laugh or even to smile through the whole course of a long and prosperous life. Nay, if a joke were uttered in his presence, that set light-minded hearers in a roar, it was observed to throw him into a state of perplexity. Sometimes he would deign to inquire into the matter, and when, after much explana- tion, the joke was made as plain as a pike-staff, he would continue to smoke his pipe in silence, and at length, knock- ing out the ashes, would exclaim, "Well, I see nothing in all that to laugh about." With all his reflective habits, he never made up his mind on a subject. His adherents accounted for this by the astonishing magnitude of his ideas. He conceived every subject on so grand a scale that he had not room in his head to turn it over and examine both sides of it. Certain it is, that if any matter Were propounded to him on which ordinary mortals would rashly determine at first glance, he would put on a vague, mysterious look, shake his capacious head, smoke some time in profound silence, and at length observe, that "he had his doubts about the matter" ; which gained him the reputation of a man slow of belief and not easily imposed upon. What is more, it no WASHINGTON IRVING gained him a lasting name ; for to this habit of the mind has been attributed his surname of Twiller ; which is said to be a corruption of the .original Twijfler, or, in plain English, Doubter. The person of this illustrious old gentleman was formed and proportioned as though it had been moulded by the hands of some cunning Dutch statuary, as a model of majesty and lordly grandeur. He was exactly five feet six inches in height, and six feet five inches in cir- cumference. His head was a perfect sphere, and of such stupendous dimensions, that Dame Nature, with all her sex's ingenuity, would have been puzzled to construct a neck capable of supporting it; wherefore she wisely de- clined the attempt, and settled it firmly on the top of his backbone, just between the shoulders. His body was ob- long, and particularly capacious at bottom; which was wisely ordered by Providence, seeing that he was a man of sedentary habits, and very averse to the idle labor of walking. His legs were short, but sturdy in proportion to the weight they had to sustain ; so that when erect he had not a little the appearance of a beer barrel on skids. His face, that infallible index of the mind, presented a vast expanse, unfurrowed by those lines and angles which disfigure the human countenance with what is termed ex- pression. Two small gray eyes twinkled feebly in the midst, like two stars of lesser magnitude in a hazy firma- ment, and his full-fed cheeks, which seemed to have taken toll of everything that went into his mouth, were curiously mottled and streaked with dusty red, like a spitzenberg apple. His habits were as regular as his person. He daily took his four stated meals, appropriating exactly an hour to each ; he smoked and doubted eight hours, and he slept the remaining twelve of the four-and-twenty. Such was III WOUTER VAN TWILLER the renowned Wouter Van Twiller, — a true philosopher, for his mind was either elevated above, or tranquilly set- tled below, the cares and perplexities of this world. He had lived in it for years, without feeling the least curios- ity to know whether the sun revolved round it, or it round the sun ; and he had watched, for at least half a century, the smoke curling from his pipe to the ceiling, without once troubling his head with any of those numerous theories by which a philosopher would have perplexed his brain, in accounting for its rising above the surrounding atmosphere. In his council he presided with great state and solem- nity. He sat in a huge chair of solid oak, hewn in the celebrated forest of the Hague, fabricated by an experi- enced timmerman of Amsterdam, and curiously carved about the arms and feet into exact imitations of gigantic eagle's claws. Instead of a scepter, he swayed a long Turkish pipe, wrought with jasmin and amber, which had been presented to a stadtholder of Holland at the conclusion of a treaty with one of the petty Barbary pow- ers. In this stately chair would he sit, and this magnifi- cent pipe would he smoke, shaking his right knee with a constant motion, and fixing his eye for hours together upon a little print of Amsterdam, which hung in a black frame against the opposite wall of the council-chamber. Nay, it has even been said, that when any deliberation of extraordinary length and intricacy was on the carpet, the renowned Wouter would shut his eyes for full two hours at a time, that he might not be disturbed by external ob- jects; and at such times the internal commotion of his mind was evinced by certain regular guttural sounds, which his admirers declared were merely the noise of con- flict, made by his contending doubts and opinions. It is with infinite difficulty I have been enabled to col- 112 WASHINGTON IRVING lect these biographical anecdotes of the great man under consideration. The facts respecting him were so scat- tered and vague, and divers of them so questionable in point of authenticity, that I have had to give up the search after many, and decline the admission of still more, which would have tended to heighten the coloring of his por- trait. I have been the more anxious to delineate fully the per- son and habits of Wouter Van Twiller, from the consider- ation that he was not only the first, but also the best gov- ernor that ever presided over this ancient and respectable province; and so tranquil and benevolent was his reign, that I do not find throughout the whole of it a single in- stance of any offender being brought to punishment, — a most indubitable sign of a merciful governor, and a case unparalleled, excepting in the reign of the illustrious King Log, from whom, it is hinted, the renowned Van Twiller was a lineal descendant. The very outset of the career of this excellent magis-^ trate was distinguished by an example of legal acumen, that gave flattering presage of a wise and equitable ad- ministration. The morning after he had been installed in ofiice, and at the moment that he was making his break- fast from a prodigious earthen dish, filled with milk and Indian pudding, he was interrupted by the appearance of Wandle Schoonhoven, a very important old burgher of New Amsterdam, who complained bitterly of one Barent Bleecker, inasmuch as he refused to come to a settlement of accounts, seeing that there was a heavy balance in favor of the said Wandle. Governor Van Twiller, as I have al- ready observed, was a man of few words; he was like- wise a mortal enemy to multiplying writings — or being disturbed at his breakfast. Having listened attentively to the statement of Wandle Schoonhoven, giving an ocea- ns ,WOUTER VAN TWILLER sional grunt, as he shoveled a spoonful of Indian pudding into his mouth, — either as a sign that he relished the dish, or comprehended the story, — he called unto him his con- stable, and pulling out of his breeches-pocket a huge jack- knife, dispatched it after the defendant as a summons, accompanied by his tobacco-box as a warrant. This summary process was as effectual in those simple days as was the seal-ring of the great Haroun Alraschid among the true believers. The two parties being con- fronted before him, each produced a book of accounts, written in a language and character that would have puz- zled any but a High-Dutch commentator, or a learned de- cipherer of Egyptian obelisks. The sage Wouter took them one after the other, and having poised them in his hands, and attentively counted over the number of leaves, fell straightway into a very great doubt, and smoked for half an hour without saying a word ; at length, laying his finger beside his nose, and shutting his eyes for a moment, with the air of a man who has just caught a subtle idea by the tail, he slowly took his pipe from his mouth, puffed forth a column of tobacco-smoke, and with marvelous gravity and solemnity pronounced, that, having carefully counted over the leaves and weighed the books, it was found, that one was just as thick and as heavy as the other: therefore, it was the final opinion of the court that the accounts were equally balanced: therefore, Wandle should give Barent a receipt, and Barent should give Wandle a receipt, and the constable should pay the costs. This decision, being straightway made known, diffused general joy throughout New Amsterdam, for the people immediately perceived that they had a very wise and equitable magistrate to rule over them. But its happiest effect was, that not another lawsuit took place throughout the whole of his administration ; and the office of constable 114 WASHINGTON IRVING fell into such decay, that there was not one of those losel scouts known in the province for many years. I am the more particular in dwelling on this transaction, not only because I deem it one of the most sage and righteous judgments on record, and well worthy the attention of modern magistrates, but because it was a miraculous event in the history of the renowned Wouter — being the only time he was ever known to come to a decision in the whole course of his life. it^ THE EXPERIENCES OF THE A. C BY BAYARD TAYLOR "Bridgeport! Change cars for the Naugatuck Rail- road !" shouted the conductor of the New York and Bos- ton Express Train, on the evening of May 27, 1858. . . . Mr. Johnson, carpet-bag in hand, jumped upon the plat- form, entered the office, purchased a ticket for Water- bury, and was soon whirling in the Naugatuck train towards his destination. On reaching Waterbury, in the soft spring twilight, Mr. Johnson walked up and down in front of the station, curiously scanning the faces of the assembled crowd. Presently he noticed a gentleman who was performing the same operation upon the faces of the alighting pas- sengers. Throwing himself directly in the way of the latter, the two exchanged a steady gaze. 1 "Is your name Billings?" "Is your name Johnson?" were simultaneous questions, followed by the simultane- ous exclamations, — "Ned!" "Enos!" Then there was a crushing grasp of hands, repeated after a pause, in testimony of ancient friendship, and Mr. Billings, returning to practical life, asked : "Is that all your baggage? Come, I have a buggy here: Eunice has heard the whistle, and she '11 be impa- tient to welcome you." The impatience of Eunice (Mrs. Billings, of course) was not of long duration; for in five minutes thereafter she stood at the door of her husband's chocolate-colored villa, receiving his friend. . . . 116 BAYARD TAYLOR J. Edward Johnson was a tall, thin gentleman of forty- five. ... A year before, some letters, signed "Foster, Kirkup & Co., per Enos Billings," had accidently re- vealed to him the whereabouts of the old friend of his youth, with whom we now find him domiciled. . . . "Enos," said he, as he stretched out his hand for the third cup of tea (which he had taken only for the pur- pose of prolonging the pleasant table-chat), "I wonder which of us is most changed." "You, of course," said Mr. Billings, "with your brown face and big moustache. Your own brother would n't have known you, if he had seen you last, as I did, with smooth cheeks and hair of unmerciful length. Why, not even your voice is the same !" "That is easily accounted for," replied Mr. Johnson. "But in your case, Enos, I am puzzled to find where the difference lies. Your features seem to be but little changed, now that I can examine them at leisure; yet it is not the same face. But really, I never looked at you for so long a time, in those days. I beg pardon; you used to be so — so remarkably shy." i Mr. Billings blushed slightly, and seemed at a loss what to answer. His wife, however, burst into a merry laugh, exclaiming : "Oh, that was before the days of the A. C !" He, catching the infection, laughed also ; in fact, Mr. Johnson laughed, but without knowing why. "The 'A. C!" said Mr. Billings. "Bless me, Eunice! how long it is since we have talked of that summer! I had almost forgotten that there ever was an A. C. . . . Well, the A. C. culminated in '45. You remember some- thing of the society of Norridgeport, the last winter you were there? Abel Mallory, for instance?" "Let me think a moment," said Mr. Johnson, reflec- 117 THE EXPERIENCES OF THE A. C tively. "Really, It seems like looking back a hundred years. Mallory, — was n't that the sentimental young man, with wispy hair, a tallowy skin, and big, sweaty hands, who used to be spouting Carlyle on the 'reading evenings' at Shelldrake's ? Yes, to be sure ; and there was Hollins, with his clerical face and infidel talk, — and Pauline Ringtop, who used to say, 'The Beautiful is the Good.' I can still hear her shrill voice singing, 'Would that / were beautiful, would that / were fair !' " There was a hearty chorus of laughter at poor Miss RIngtop's expense. It harmed no one, however; for the tar-weed was already becoming thick over her Californlan grave. "Oh, I see," said Mr. Billings, "you still remember the absurdities of those days. In fact, I think you par- tially saw through them then. But I was younger, and far from being so clear-headed, and I looked upon those evenings at Shelldrake's as being equal, at least, to the symposia of Plato. Something In Mallory always re- pelled me. I detested the sight of his thick nose, with the flaring nostrils, and his coarse, half-formed lips, of the bluish color of raw corned-beef. But I looked upon these feelings as unreasonable prejudices, and strove to con- quer them, seeing the admiration which he received from others. He was an oracle on the subject of 'Nature.' Having eaten nothing for two years, except Graham bread, vegetables without salt, and fruits, fresh or dried, he considered himself to have attained an antediluvian purity of health, — or that he would attain It, so soon as two pimples on his left temple should have healed. These pimples he looked upon as the last feeble stand made by the pernicious juices left from the meat he had formerly eaten and the coffee he had drunk. His theory was, that through a body so purged and purified none but true and ii8 BAYARD TAYLOR natural impulses could find access to the soul. Such, in- deed, was the theory we all held. . . . "Shelldrake was a man of more pretense than real culti- vation, as I afterwards discovered. He was in good cir- cumstances, and always glad to receive us at his house, as this made him virtually the chief of our tribe, and the outlay for refreshments involved only the apples from his own orchard, and water from his well. . . . "Well, 't was in the early part of '45, — I think in April, — when we were all gathered together, discussing, as usual, the possibility of leading a life in accordance with Nature. Abel Mallory was there, and Hollins, and Miss Ringtop, and Faith Levis, with her knitting, — and also Eunice Hazleton, a lady whom you have never seen, but you may take my wife as her representative. . . . "I wish I could recollect some of the speeches made on that occasion. Abel had but one pimple on his temple (there was a purple spot where the other had been), and was estimating that in two or three months more he would be a true, unspoiled man. His complexion, never- theless, was more clammy and whey-like than ever. " *Yes,' said he, *I also am an Arcadian ! This false dual existence which I have been leading will soon be merged in the unity of Nature. Our lives must conform to her sacred law. Why can't we strip off these hollow Shams' (he made great use of that word), 'and be our true selves, pure, perfect, and divine ?' . . . "Shelldrake, however, turning to his wife, said, — " 'Elviry, how many up-stairs rooms is there in that house down on the Sound ?' " 'Four, — besides three small ones under the roof. Why, what made you think of that, Jesse?' said she. " 'I've got an idea, while Abel's been talking,' he an- swered. *We 've taken a house for the summer, down 119 THE EXPERIENCES OF THE A. C. the other side of Bridgeport, right on the water, where there 's good fishing and a fine view of the Sound. Now, there 's room enough for all of us, — at least, all that can make it suit to go. Abel, you and Enos, and Pauline and Eunice might fix matters so that we could all take the place in partnership, and pass the summer together, living a true and beautiful life in the bosom of Nature. There we shall be perfectly free and untrammelled by the chains which still hang around us in Norridgeport. You know how often we have wanted to be set on some island in the Pacific Ocean, where we could build up a true society, right from the start. Now, here 's a chance to try the experiment for a few months, anyhow.' ''Eunice clapped her hands (yes, you did!) and cried out, — " 'Splendid ! Arcadian ! I'll give up my school for the summer.' . . . "Abel Mallory, of course, did not need to have the proposal repeated. He was ready for anything which promised indolence and the indulgence of his sentimental tastes. I will do the fellow the justice to say that he was not a hypocrite. He firmly believed both in himself and his ideas, — especially the former. He pushed both hands through the long wisps of his drab-colored hair, and threw his head back until his wide nostrils resembled a double door to his brain. " 'O Nature !' he said, 'you have found your lost chil- dren ! We shall obey your neglected laws I we shall hearken to your divine whispers ! we shall bring you back from your ignominious exile, and place you on your an- cestral throne !' . . . "The company was finally arranged to consist of the Shelldrakes, Hollins, Mallory, Eunice, Miss Ringtop, and myself. We did not give much thought, either to the I20 BAYARD TAYLOR preparations in advance, or to our mode of life when set- tled there. We were to live near to Nature : that was the main thing. " 'What shall we call the place ?' asked Eunice. " 'Arcadia !' said Abel Mallory, rolling up his large green eyes. " 'Then,' said Hollins, 'let us constitute ourselves the Arcadian Club !' " — "Aha!" interrupted Mr. Johnson, "I see! The A. C !" "Yes, you see the A. C. now, but to understand it fully you should have had a share in those Arcadian expe- riences. ... It was a lovely afternoon in June when we first approached Arcadia. . . . Perkins Brown, Shelldrake's boy-of-all-work, awaited us at the door. He had been sent on two or three days in advance, to take charge of the house, and seemed to have had enough of hermit-life, for he hailed us with a wild whoop, throwing his straw hat half-way up one of the poplars. Perkins was a boy of fifteen, the child of poor parents, who were satisfied to get him off their hands, regardless as to what humanitarian theories might be tested upon him. As the Arcadian Club recognized no such thing as caste, he was always admitted to our meetings, and understood just enough of our conversation to excite a silly ambition in his slow mind. . . . "Our board, that evening, was really tempting. The absence of meat was compensated to us by the crisp and racy onions, and I craved only a little salt, which had been interdicted, as a most pernicious substance. I sat at one corner of the table, beside Perkins Brown, who took an opportunity, while the others were engaged in conversa- tion, to jog my elbow gently. As I turned towards him, he said nothing, but dropped his eyes significantly. The 121 THE EXPERIENCES OF THE Av C. little rascal had the lid of a blacking-box, filled with salt, upon his knee, and was privately seasoning his onions and radishes. I blushed at the thought qi my hypocrisy, but the onions were so much better that I could n't help dipping into the lid with him. ** *Oh,' said Eunice, 'we must send for some oil and vinegar ! This lettuce is very nice.' " 'Oil and vinegar ?' exclaimed Abel. " 'Why, yes,' said she, innocently : 'they are both vege- table substances.' "Abel at first looked rather foolish, but quickly re- covering himself, said, — " 'All vegetable substances are not proper for food : you would not taste the poison-oak, or sit under the upas- tree of Java.' " 'Well, Abel,' Eunice rejoined, 'how are we to distin- guish what is best for us? How are we to know what vegetables to choose, or what animal and mineral sub- stances to avoid ?' " 'I will tell you,' he answered, with a lofty air. *See here !' pointing to his temple, where the second pimple — either from the change of air, or because, in the excite- ment of the last few days, he had forgotten it — was actu- ally healed. 'My blood is at last pure. The struggle be- tween the natural and the unnatural is over, and I am beyond the depraved influences of my former taste. My instincts are now, therefore, entirely pure also. What is good for man to eat, that I shall have a natural desire to eat : what is bad will be naturally repelled. How does the cow distinguish between the wholesome and the poison- ous herbs of the meadow ? And is man less than a cow, that he can not cultivate his instincts to an equal point? Let me walk through the woods and I can tell you every berry and root which God designed for food, though I 122 BAYARD TAYLOR know not its name, and have never seen it before. I shall make use of my time, during our sojourn here, to test, by my purified instinct, every substance, animal, mineral, and vegetable, upon which the human race subsists, and to create a catalogue of the True Food of Man!' . . . "Our lazy life during the hot weather had become a little monotonous. The Arcadian plan had worked tolera- bly well, on the whole, for there was very little for any one to do, — Mrs. Shelldrake and Perkins Brown except- ed. Our conversation, however, lacked spirit and variety. We were, perhaps unconsciously, a little tired of hearing and assenting to the same sentiments. But, one evening, about this time, Hollins struck upon a variation, the con- sequences of which he little foresaw. We had been read- ing one of Bulwer's works (the weather was too hot for Psychology), and came upon this paragraph, or some- thing like it : " 'Ah, Behind the Veil ! We see the summer smile of the Earth, — enamelled meadow and limpid stream, — but what hides she in her sunless heart ? Caverns of serpents, pr grottoes of priceless gems? Youth, whose soul, sits on thy countenance, thyself wearing no mask, strive not to lift the masks of others ! Be content with what thou seest; and wait until Time and Experience shall teach thee to find jealousy behind the sweet smile, and hatred under the honeyed word !' "This seemed to us a dark and bitter reflection; but one or another of us recalled some illustration of human hypocrisy, and the evidences, by the simple fact of repe- tition, gradually led to a division of opinion, — Hollins, Shelldrake, and Miss Ringtop on the dark side, and the rest of us on the bright. The last, however, contented herself with quoting from her favorite poet Gamaliel J. Gawthrop : 123 THE EXPERIENCES OF THE A. C. " *I look beyond thy brow's concealment ! I see thy spirit's dark revealment! Thy inner self betrayed I see : Thy coward, craven, shivering Me.* " *We think we know one another,' exclaimed Hollins; 'but do we? We see the faults of others, their weak- nesses, their disagreeable qualities, and we keep silent. How much we should gain, were candor as universal as concealment ! Then each one, seeing himself as others see him, would truly know himself. How much misunder- standing might be avoided, how much hidden shame be removed, hopeless because unspoken love made glad, honest admiration cheer its object, uttered sympathy mitigate misfortune, — in short, how much brighter and happier the world would become, if each one expressed, everywhere and at all times, his true and entire feeling ! Why, even Evil would lose half its power !' "There seemed to be so much practical wisdom in these views that we were all dazzled and half-convinced at the start. So, when Hollins, turning towards me, as he con- tinued, exclaimed, — 'Come, why should not this candor be adopted in our Arcadia? Will any one — will you, Enos — commence at once by telling me now — to my face — my principal faults?' I answered, after a moment's reflection, — 'You have a great deal of intellectual arro- gance, and you are, physically, very indolent.' "He did not flinch from the self-invited test, though he looked a little surprised. " 'Well put,' said he, 'though I do not say that you are entirely correct. Now, what are my merits ?' " 'You are clear-sighted,' I answered, 'an earnest seeker after truth, and courageous in the avowal of your thoughts.' "This restored the balance, and we soon began to con- 124 BAYARD TAYLOR fess our own private faults and weaknesses. Though the confessions did not go very deep, — no one betraying any thing we did not all know already, — yet they were suf- ficient to strengthen Hollins in his new idea, and it was unanimously resolved that Candor should thenceforth be the main charm of our Arcadian life. . . . "The next day, Abel, who had resumed his researches after the True Food, came home to supper with a health- ier color than I had before seen on his face. " *Do you know,' said he, looking shyly at Hollins, *that I begin to think Beer must be a natural beverage? There was an auction in the village to-day, as I passed through, and I stopped at a cake-stand to get a glass of water, as it was very hot. There was no water, — only beer : so I thought I would try a glass, simply as an ex- periment. Really, the flavor was very agreeable. And it occurred to me, on the way home, that all the elements contained in beer are vegetable. Besides, fermentation is a natural process. I think the question has never been properly tested before.' " 'But the alcohol !' exclaimed Hollins. " *I could not distinguish any, either by taste or smell. I know that chemical analysis is said to show it ; but may not the alcohol be created, somehow, during the analysis ?' " 'Abel,' said Hollins, in a fresh burst of candor, 'you will never be a Reformer, until you possess some of the commonest elements of knowledge.' "The rest of us were much diverted : it was a pleasant relief to our monotonous amiability. "Abel, however, had a stubborn streak in his character. The next day he sent Perkins Brown to Bridgeport for a dozen bottles of 'Beer.' Perkins, either intentionally or by mistake, (I always suspected the former,) brought pint-bottles of Scotch ale, which he placed in the coolest 125 THE EXPERIENCES OF THE A. C. part of the cellar. The evening happened to be exceed- ingly hot and sultry; and, as we were all fanning our- selves and talking languidly, Abel bethought him of his beer. In his thirst, he drank the contents of the first bottle, almost at a single draught. " 'The effect of beer,' said he, 'depends, I think, on the commixture of the nourishing principle of the grain with the cooling properties of the water. Perhaps, hereafter, a liquid food of the same character may be invented, which shall save us from mastication and all the diseases of the teeth.* "Hollins and Shelldrake, at his invitation, divided a bottle between them, and he took a second. The potent beverage was not long in acting on a brain so unaccus- tomed to its influence. He grew unusually talkative and sentimental, in a few minutes. " 'Oh, sing, somebody !' he sighed in hoarse rapture : 'the night was made for Song.' "Miss Ringtop, nothing loath, immediately com- menced, 'When stars are in the quiet skies' ; but scarcely had she finished the first verse before Abel interrupted her. *' 'Candor's the order of the day, isn't it?' he asked. " 'Yes !' 'Yes !' two or three answered. " 'Well, then,' said he, 'candidly, Pauline, you've got the darn'dest squeaky voice' — "Miss Ringtop gave a faint little scream of horror. " 'Oh, never mind !' he continued. 'We act according to impulse, don't we? And I've the impulse to swear; and it's right. Let Nature have her way. Listen ! Damn, damn, damn, damn ! I never knew it was so easy. Why, there's a pleasure in it ! Try it, Pauline ! try it on me !' " 'Oh-ooh !' was all Miss Ringtop could utter. " 'Abel ! Abel !' exclaimed Hollins, 'the beer has got into your head.' 126 BAYARD TAYLOR "*No, it Isn't Beer,— it's Candor!' said Abel. "It's your own proposal, Hollins. Suppose it's evil to swear: isn't it better I should express it, and be done with it, than keep it bottled up, to ferment in my mind? Oh, you're a precious, consistent old humbug, you are !' "And therewith he jumped off the stoop, and went dancing awkwardly down toward the water, singing in a most unmelodious voice, * 'T is home where'er the heart is.' . . . "We had an unusually silent breakfast the next morn- ing. Abel scarcely spoke, which the others attributed to a natural feeling of shame, after his display of the previ- ous evening. Hollins and Shelldrake discussed Temper- ance, with a special view to his edification, and Miss Ringtop favored us with several quotations about 'the maddening bowl,' — but he paid no attention to them. . . . "The forenoon was overcast, with frequent showers. Each one occupied his or her room until dinner-time, when we met again with something of the old geniality. There was an evident effort to restore our former flow pf good feeling. Abel's experience with the beer was freely discussed. He insisted strongly that he had not been laboring under its effects, and proposed a mutual test. He, Shelldrake, and Hollins were to drink it in equal measures, and compare observations as to their physical sensations. The others agreed, — quite willingly, I thought, — but I refused. . . . "There was a sound of loud voices, as we approached the stoop. Hollins, Shelldrake and his wife, and Abel Mallory were sitting together near the door. Perkins Brown, as usual, was crouched on the lowest step, with one leg over the other, and rubbing the top of his boot with a vigor which betrayed to me some secret mirth. He looked up at me from under his straw hat with the 127 THE EXPERIENCES OF THE A. C. grin of a malicious Puck, glanced toward the group, and made a curious gesture with his thumb. There were sev- eral empty pint bottles on the stoop. " 'Now, are you sure you can bear the test?' we heard Hollins ask, as we approached. " 'Bear it ? Why, to be sure !' replied Shelldrake ; 'if I couldn't bear it, or if you couldn't, your theory's done for. Try ! I can stand it as long as you can.' " 'Well, then,' said Hollins, 'I think you are a very or- dinary man. I derive no intellectual benefit from my in- tercourse with you, but your house is convenient to me. I'm under no obligations for your hospitality, however, because my company is an advantage to you. Indeed, if I were treated according to my deserts, you couldn't do enough for me.' "Mrs. Shelldrake was up in arms. " 'Indeed,' she exclaimed, 'I think you get as good as you deserve, and more, too.' " 'Elvira,' said he, with a benevolent condescension, *I have no doubt you think so, for your mind belongs to the lowest and most material sphere. You have your place in Nature, and you fill it; but it is not for you to judge of intelligences which move only on the upper planes.' " 'Hollins,' said Shelldrake, 'Elviry's a good wife and a sensible woman, and I won't allow you to turn up your nose at her.' " 'I am not surprised,' he answered, 'that you should fail to stand the test. I didn't expect it.' " 'Let me try it on you!' cried Shelldrake. 'You, now, have some intellect, — I don't deny that, — but not so much, by a long shot, as you think you have. Besides that, you're awfully selfish in your opinions. You won't admit that anybody can be right who differs from you. You've sponged on me for a long time ; but I suppose I've learned 128 BAYARD TAYLOR something- from you, so we'll call it even. I think, how- ever, that what you call acting according to impulse is simply an excuse to cover your own laziness.' "'Gosh! that's it!' interrupted Perkins, jumping up; then, recollecting himself, he sank down on the steps again, and shook with a suppressed 'Ho ! ho ! ho !' "Hollins, however, drew himself up with an exasper- ated air. *' 'Shelldrake,' said he, 'I pity you. I always knew your ignorance, but I thought you honest in your human char- acter. I never suspected you of envy and malice. How- ever, the true Reformer must expect to be misunderstood and misrepresented by meaner minds. That love which I bear to all creatures teaches me to forgive you. With- out such love, all plans of progress must fail. Is it not so, Abel?'" "Shelldrake could only ejaculate the words, 'Pity!' 'Forgive!' in his most contemptuous tone; while Mrs. Shelldrake, rocking violently in her chair, gave utterance to the peculiar clucking 'ts, fs, ts, ts' whereby certain women express emotions too deep for words, "Abel, roused by Rollins' question, answered, with a sudden energy : " 'Love ! there is no love in the world. Where will you find it? Tell me, and I'll go there. Love! I'd like to see it! If all human hearts were like mine, we might have an Arcadia; but most men have no hearts. The world is a miserable, hollow, deceitful shell of vanity and hypocrisy. No : let us give up. We were born before our time : this age is not worthy of us.' "Hollins stared at the speaker in utter amazement. Shelldrake gave a long whistle, and finally gasped out : "'Well, what next?' "None of us were prepared for such a sudden and com- 129 THE EXPERIENCES OF THE A. C. plete wreck of our Arcadian scheme. The foundations had been sapped before, it is true; but we had not per- ceived it; and now, in two short days, the whole edifice tumbled about our ears. Though it was inevitable, we felt a shock of sorrow, and a silence fell upon us. Only that scamp of a Perkins Brown, chuckling and rubbing his boot, really rejoiced. I could have kicked him. "We all went to bed, feeling that the charm of our Ar- cadian life was over. ... In the first revulsion of feeling, I was perhaps unjust to my associates. I see now, more clearly, the causes of those vagaries, which origi- nated in a genuine aspiration, and failed from an ignor- ance of the true nature of Man, quite as much as from the egotism of the individuals. Other attempts at reorganiz- ing Society were made about the same time by men of culture and experience, but in the A. C. we had neither. Our leaders had caught a few half-truths, which, in their minds, were speedily warped into errors." . . . 130 WHAT MR. ROBINSON THINKS BY JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL Guvener B. is a sensible man ; He stays to his home an' looks arter his folks ; He draws his furrer ez straight ez he can, An' into nobody's tater-patch pokes ; But John P. Robinson he Sez he wunt vote fer Guvener B. My !■ ain't it terrible ? Wut shall we du ? We can't never choose him, o' course, — thet's flat ; Guess we shall hev to come round (don't you?) An' go in fer thunder an' guns, an' all that ; Fer John P. Robinson he Sez he wunt vote fer Guvener B. Gineral C. is a dreffle smart man : He's ben on all sides thet give places or pelf; But consistency still was a part of his plan, — He's ben true tO' one party, — an' thet is himself ; — So John P. Robinson he Sez he shall vote fer Gineral C. 131 WHAT MR. ROBINSON THINKS Gineral C. he goes in fer the war ; He don't vally principle more'n an old cud ; Wut did God make us raytional creeturs fer, But glory an' gunpowder, plunder an' blood ? So John P. Robinson he Sez he shall vote for Gineral C. We were gettin' on nicely up here to our village, With good old idees o' wut's right an' wut ain't, We kind o' thought Christ went agin war an' pillage. An' thet eppyletts worn't the best mark of a saint ; But John P. Robinson he Sez this kind o' thing's an exploded idee. The side of our country must oilers be took, An' Presidunt Polk, you know, he is pur country, An' the angel thet writes all our sins in a book Puts the debit to him, an' to us the per contry; An' John P. Robinson he Sez this is his view o' the thing to a T. Parson Wilbur he calls all these argimunts lies ; Sez they're nothin' on airth but jest fee, fazv, fum; An' thet all this big talk of our destinies Is half on it ign'ance, an' t' other half rum; But John P. Robinson he Sez it ain't no sech thing ; an', of course, so must we. 132 JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL Parson Wilbur sez he never heerd in his life Thet th' Apostles rigged out in their swaller-tail coats, An' marched round in front of a drum an' a fife, To git some on 'em office, an' some on 'em votes; But John P. Robinson he Sez they didn't know everythin' down in Judee. f Wall, it's a marcy we've gut folks to tell us The rights an' the wrongs o' these matters, I vow, — God sends country lawyers, an' other wise fellers. To start the world's team wen it gits in a slough ; Fer John P. Robinson he Sez the world'll go right, ef he hollers out Gee ! ^33 THE DAY WE DO NOT CELEBRATE BY ROBERT J. BURDETTE One famous day in great July- John Adams said, long years gone by, "This day that makes a people free Shall be the people's jubilee, "With games, guns, sports, and shows displayed, With bells, pomp, bonfires, and parade, "Throughout this land, from shore to shore, From this time forth, forevermore." The years passed on, and by and by, Men's hearts grew cold in hot July. And Mayor Hawarden Cholmondely said "Hof rockets Hi ham sore hafraid ; "Hand hif you send one hup hablaze, Hi'll send you hup for sixty days." Then said the Mayor O'Shay McQuade, "Thayre uz no nade fur no perade." And Mayor Hans Von Schwartzenmeyer Proclaimed, "I'll haf me no bonfier !" Said Mayor Baptiste Raphael "No make-a ring-a dat-a bell !" 134 ROBERT J. BURDETTE "By gar !" cried Mayor Jean Crapaud, "Zis July games vill has to go !" And Mayor Knud Christofferrssonn Said, "Djeath to hjjim who fjjres a gjjunn!' At last, cried Mayor Wun Lung Lee — "Too muchee hoop-la boberee!" And so the Yankee holiday, Of proclamations passed away. 135 THE YANKEE DUDE'LL DO BY S. E. KISER When Cholly swung his golf-stick on the links, Or knocked the tennis-ball across the net, With his bangs done up in cunning little kinks — When he wore the tallest collar he could get, Oh, it was the fashion then To impale him on the pen — To regard him as a being made of putty through and through ; But his racquet's laid away, He is roughing it to-day, And heroically proving that the Yankee dude'll do. When Algy, as some knight of old arrayed, Was the leading figure at the "fawncy ball," We loathed him for the silly part he played. He was set down as a monkey — that was all ! Oh, we looked upon him then As unfit to class with men. As one whose heart was putty, and whose brains were made of glue ; But he 's thrown his cane away, And he grasps a gun to-day, While the world beholds him, knowing that the Yankee dude'll do. 136 S. E. KISER When Clarence cruised about upon his yacht, Or drove out with his footman through the park, His mamma, it was generally thought. Ought to have him in her keeping after dark ! Oh, we ridiculed him then, We impaled him on the pen, We thought he was effeminate, we dubbed him "Sissy," too; But he nobly marched away, He is eating pork to-day, And heroically proving that the Yankee dude'll do. How they hurled themselves against the angry foe, In the jungle and the trenches on the hill ! When the word to charge was given, every dude was on the go — He was there to die, to capture, or to kill ! Oh, he struck his level when Men were called upon again To preserve the ancient glory of the old red, white, and blue! He has thrown his spats away, He is wearing spurs to-day, And the world will please take notice that the Yankee dude'll do! ^Z7 SPELLING DOWN THE MASTER BY EDWARD EGGLESTON "I 'low," said Mrs. Means, as she stuffed the tobacco into her cob pipe after supper on that eventful Wednes- day evening : "1 'low they'll app'int the Squire to gin out the words to-night. They mos' always do, you see, kase he's the peartest ole man in this deestrick; and I 'low some of the young fellers would have to git up and dust ef they would keep up to him. And he uses sech remark- able smart words. He speaks so polite, too. But laws! don't I remember when he was poarer nor Job's turkey? Twenty year ago, when he come to these 'ere diggin's, that air Squire Hawkins was a poar Yankee school-mas- ter, that said 'pail' instid of bucket, and that called a cow a *caow,' and that couldn't tell to save his gizzard what we meant by 'low and by right smart. But he's larnt our ways now, an' he's jest as civilized as the rest of us. You would-n know he'd ever been a Yankee. He didn't stay poar long. Not he. He jest married a right rich girl! He ! he !" And the old woman grinned at Ralph, and then at Mirandy, and then at the rest, until Ralph shuddered. Nothing was so frightful to him as to be fawned on by this grinning ogre, whose few lonesome, blackish teeth seemed ready to devour him. "He didn't stay poar, you bet a hoss !" and with this the coal was deposited on the pipe, and the lips began to crack like parchment as each puff of smoke escaped. "He married rich, you see," and 138 EDWARD EGGLESTON here another significant look at the young master, and an- other fond look at Mirandy, as she puffed away reflect- ively. "His wife hadn't no book-larnin'. She'd been through the spellin'-book wunst, and had got as fur as 'asperity' on it a second time. But she couldn't read a word when she was married, and never could. She warn't overly smart. She hadn't hardly got the sense the law allows. But schools was skase in them air days, and, be- sides, book-larnin' don't do no good to a woman. Makes her stuck up, I never knowed but one gal in my life as had ciphered into fractions, and she was so dog-on stuck up that she turned up her nose one night at a apple-peelin' bekase I tuck a sheet off the bed to splice out the table- cloth, which was ruther short. And the sheet was mos' clean too, Had-n been slep on more'n wunst or twicet. But I was goin' fer to say that when Squire Hawkins married Virginny Gray he got a heap o' money, or, what's the same thing mostly, a heap o' good land. And that's better'n book-larnin', says I. Ef a gal had gone clean through all eddication, and got to the rule of three itself, that would-n buy a feather-bed. Squire Hawkins jest put eddication agin the gal's farm, and traded even, an' ef ary one of 'em got swindled, I never heerd no complaints." And here she looked at Ralph in triumph, her hard face splintering into the hideous semblance of a smile. And Mirandy cast a blushing, gushing, all-imploring, and all- confiding look on the young master, "I say, ole woman," broke in old Jack, "I say, wot is all this 'ere spoutin' about the Square fer ?" and old Jack, having bit off an ounce of "pigtail," returned the plug to his pocket. As for Ralph, he fell into a sort of terror. He had a guilty feeling that this speech of the old lady's had some- how committed him beyond recall to Mirandy. He did 139 SPELLING DOWN THE MASTER not see visions of breach-of-promise suits. But he trem- bled at the thought of an avenging big brother. "Hanner, you kin come along, too, ef you're a mind, when you git the dishes washed," said Mrs. Means to the bound girl, as she shut and latched the back door. The Means family had built a new house in front of the old pne, as a sort of advertisement of bettered circumstances, an eruption of shoddy feeling ; but when the new building was completed, they found themselves unable to occupy it for anything else than a lumber room, and so, except a parlor which Mirandy had made an effort to furnish a little (in hope of the blissful time when somebody should "set up" with her of evenings), the new building was al- most unoccupied, and the family went in and out through the back door, which, indeed, was the front door also, for, according to a curious custom, the "front" of the house was placed toward the south, though the "big road" (Hoosier for highway) ran along the northwest side, or, rather, past the northwest corner of it. When the old woman had spoken thus to Hannah and had latched the door, she muttered, "That gal don't never show no gratitude fer favors ;" to which Bud rejoined that he didn't think she had no great sight to be pertickler thankful fer. To which Mrs. Means made no reply, thinking it best, perhaps, not to wake up her dutiful son on so interesting a theme as her treatment of Hannah. Ralph felt glad that he was this evening to go to another boarding place. He should not hear the rest of the con- troversy. Ralph walked to the school-house with Bill. They were friends again. For when Hank Banta's ducking and his dogged obstinacy in sitting in his wet clothes had brought on a serious fever, Ralph had called together the big boys, and had said : "We must take care of one another, boys. 140 EDWARD EGGLESTON Who will volunteer to take turns sitting up with Henry ?" He put his own name down, and all the rest followed. "William Means and myself will sit up to-night," said Ralph. And poor Bill had been from that moment the teacher's friend. He was chosen to be Ralph's companion. He was Puppy Means no longer! Hank could not be conquered by kindness, and the teacher was made to feel the bitterness of his resentment long after. But Bill Means was for the time entirely placated, and he and Ralph went to spelling-school together. Every family furnished a candle. There were yellow dips and white dips, burning, smoking, and flaring. There was laughing, and talking, and giggling, and simpering, and ogling, and flirting, and courting. What a full-dress party is to Fifth Avenue, a spelling-school is to Hoopole County. It is an occasion which is metaphor- ically inscribed with this legend : "Choose your partners." Spelling is only a blind in Hoopole County, as is dancing on Fifth Avenue. But as there are some in society who love dancing for its own sake, so in Flat Creek district there were those who loved spelling for its own sake, and who, smelling the battle from afar, had come to try their skill in this tournament, hoping to freshen the laurels they had won in their school days. "I 'low," said Mr. Means, speaking as the principal school trustee, "I 'low our friend the Square is jest the man to boss this 'ere consarn to-night. Ef nobody ob- jects, I'll app'int him. Come, Square, don't be bashful. Walk up to the trough, fodder or no fodder, as the man said to his donkey." There was a general giggle at this, and many of the young swains took occasion to nudge the girls alongside them, ostensibly for the purpose of making them see the joke, but really for the pure pleasure of nudging. The 141 SPELLING DOWN THE MASTER Greeks figured Cupid as naked, probably because he wears so many disguises that they could not select a cos- tume for him. The Squire came to the front. Ralph made an inven- tory of the agglomeration which bore the name pf Squire Hawkins, as follows : 1. A swallow-tail coat of indefinite age, worn only on state occasions, when its owner was called to figure in his public capacity. Either the Squire had grown too large or the coat too small. 2. A pair of black gloves, the most phenomenal, ab- normal and unexpected apparition conceivable in Flat Creek district, where the preachers wore no coats in the summer, and where a black glove was never seen except on the hands of the Squire. 3. A wig of that dirty, waxen color so common to wigs. This one showed a continual inclination to slip off the owner's smooth, bald pate, and the Squire had fre- quently to adjust it. As his hair had been red, the wig did not accord with his face, and the hair ungrayed was doubly discordant with a countenance shriveled by age. 4. A semicircular row of whiskers hedging the edge of the jaw and chin. These were dyed a frightful dead- black, such a color as belonged to no natural hair or beard that ever existed. At the roots there was a quarter of an inch of white, giving the whiskers the appearance of having been stuck on. 5. A pair of spectacles "with tortoise-shell rim." Wont to slip off. 6. A glass eye, purchased of a peddler, and differing in color from its natural mate, perpetually getting out of focus by turning in or out. 7. A set of false teeth, badly fitted, and given to bob- bing up and down. 142 EDWARD EGGLESTON 8. The Squire proper, to whom these patches were loosely attached. It is an old story that a boy wrote home to his father begging him to come West, because "mighty mean men get into office out here." But Ralph concluded that some Yankees had taught school in Hoopole County who would not have held a high place in the educational in- stitutions of Massachusetts. Hawkins had some New England idioms, but they were well overlaid by a West- ern pronunciation. "Ladies and gentlemen," he began, shoving up his spectacles, and sucking his lips over his white teeth to keep them in place, "ladies and gentlemen, young men and maidens, raley I'm obleeged to Mr. Means fer this honor," and the Squire took both hands and turned the top of his head round half an inch. Then he adjusted his spectacles. Whether he was obliged to Mr. Means for the honor of being compared to a donkey was not clear. "I feel in the inmost compartments of my animal spirits a most happifying sense of the success and futility of all my endeavors to sarve the people of Flat Creek dees- trick, and the people of Tomkins township, in my weak way and manner." This burst of eloquence was delivered with a constrained air and an apparent sense of a danger that he, Squire Hawkins, might fall to pieces in his weak way and manner, and of the success and futility of all attempts at reconstruction. For by this time the ghastly pupil of the left eye, which was black, was looking away round to the left, while the little blue one on the right twinkled cheerfully toward the front. The front teeth would drop down so that the Squire's mouth was kept nearly closed, and his words whistled through. "I feel as if I could be grandiloquent on this interesting occasion," twisting his scalp round, "but raley I must 143 SPELLING DOWN THE MASTER forego any such exertions. It is spelling you want. Spelling is the corner-stone, the grand, underlying sub- terfuge, of a good eddication. I put the spellin'-book prepared by the great Daniel Webster alongside the Bible. I do, raley. I think I may put it ahead of the Bible. Fer if it wurn't fer spellin' -books and sich occa- sions as these, where would the Bible be? I should like to know. The man who got /Up, who compounded this work of inextricable valoo was a benu factor to the whole human race or any other." Here the spectacles fell off. The Squire replaced them in some confusion, gave the top of his head another twist, and felt of his glass eye, while poor Shocky stared in wonder, and Betsey Short rolled from side to side in the effort to suppress her giggle. Mrs. Means and the other old ladies looked the applause they could not speak. *'I app'int Larkin Lanham and Jeems Buchanan fer captings," said the Squire. And the two young men thus named took a stick and tossed it from hand to hand to decide which should have the "first choice." One tossed the stick to the other, who held it fast just where he hap- pened to catch it. Then the first placed his hand above the second, and so the hands were alternately changed to the top. The one who held the stick last without room for the other tp take hold had gained the lot. This was tried three times. As Larkin held the stick twice out of three times, he had the choice. He hesitated a moment. Every- body looked toward tall Jim Phillips. But Larkin was fond of a venture on unknown seas, and so he said, "I take the master," while a buzz of surprise ran round the room, and the captain of the other side, as if afraid his opponent would withdraw the choice, retorted quickly, and with a little smack of exultation and defiance in his voice, "And / take Jeems Phillips." 144 EDWARD EGGLESTON And soon all present, except a few of the old folks, found themselves ranged in opposing hosts, the poor spellers lagging in, with what grace they could, at the foot of the two divisions. The Squire opened his spelling- book and began to give out the words to the two captains, who stood up and spelled against each other. It was not long until Larkin spelled "really" with one /, and had to sit down in confusion, while a 'murmur of satisfaction ran through the ranks of the opposing forces. His own side bit their lips. The slender figure of the young teacher took the place of the fallen leader, and the excitement made the house very quiet. Ralph dreaded the loss of prestige he would suffer if he should be easily spelled down. And at the moment of rising he saw in the darkest corner the figure of a well-dressed young man sitting in the shadow. Why should his evil genius haunt him? But by a strong effort he turned his attention away from Dr. Small, and listened carefully to the words which the Squire did not pronounce very distinctly, spelling them with extreme deliberation. This gave him an air of hesi- tation which disappointed those on his own side. They wanted him to spell with a dashing assurance. But he did not begin a word until he had mentally felt his way through it. After ten minutes of spelling hard words Jeems Buchanan, the captain on the other side, spelled "atrocious" with an ^^ instead of a c, and subsided, his first choice, Jeems Phillips, coming tip against the teacher. This brought the excitement to fever-heat. For though Ralph was chosen first, it was entirely on trust, and most of the company were disappointed. The champion who now stood up against the school-master was a famous speller. Jim Phillips was a tall, lank, stoop-shouldered fellow who had never distinguished himself in any other pursuit 145 ' SPELLING DOWN THE MASTER than spelling. Except in this one art of spelling he was of no account. He could not catch well or bat well in ball. He could not throw well enough to make his mark in that famous Western game of bull-pen. He did not suc- ceed well in any study but that of Webster's Elementary. But in that he was — to use the usual Flat Creek locution • — in that he was "a boss." This genius for spelling is in some people a sixth sense, a matter of intuition. Some spellers are born, and not made, and their facility reminds one of the mathematical prodigies that crop out every now and then to bewilder the world. Bud Means, fore- seeing that Ralph would be pitted against Jim Phillips, had warned his friend that Jim could "spell like thunder and lightning," and that it "took a powerful smart spel- ler" to beat him, for he knew "a heap of spelling-book." To have "spelled down the master" is next thing to hav- ing whipped the biggest bully in Hoopole County, and Jim had "spelled down" the last three masters. He di- vided the hero-worship of the district with Bud Means. For half an hour the Squire gave out hard words. What a blessed thing our crooked orthography is ! With- out it there could be no spelling-schools. As Ralph dis- covered his opponent's metal he became more and more cautious. He was now satisfied that Jim would eventu- ally beat him. The fellow evidently knew more about the spelling-book than old Noah Webster himself. As he stood there, with his dull face and long, sharp nose, his hands behind his back, and his voice spelling infallibly, it seemed to Hartsook that his superiority must lie in his nose. Ralph's cautiousness answered a double purpose; it enabled him to tread surely, and it was mistaken by Jim for weakness. Phillips was now confident that he should carry off the scalp of the fourth school-master be- fore the evening was over. He spelled eagerly, confi- 146 EDWARD EGGLESTON dently, brilliantly. Stoop-shouldered as he was, he began to straighten up. In the minds of all the company the odds were in his favor. He saw this, and became am- bitious to distinguish himself by spelling without giving the matter any thought. Ralph always believed that he would have been speedily defeated by Phillips had it not been for two thoughts which braced him. The sinister shadow of young Dr. Small sitting in the dark corner by the water-bucket nerved him. A victory over Phillips was a defeat to one who wished pnly ill to the young school-master. The other thought that kept his pluck alive was the recollec- tion of Bull. He approached a word as Bull approached the raccoon. He did not take hold until he was sure of his game. When he took hold, it was with a quiet assur- ance of success. As Ralph spelled in this dogged way for half an hour the hardest words the Squire could find, the excitement steadily rose in all parts of the house, and Ralph's friends even ventured to whisper that "maybe Jim had cotched his match, after all !" But Phillips never doubted of his success. "Theodolite," said the Squire. "T-h-e, the, o-d, od, theod, o, theodo, 1-y-t-e, the- odolite," spelled the champion, "Next," said the Squire, nearly losing his teeth in his excitement. Ralph spelled the word slowly and correctly, and the conquered champion sat down in confusion. The excitement was so great for some minutes that the spell- ing was suspended. Everybody in the house had shown sympathy with one or the other of the combatants, ex- cept the silent shadow in the corner. It had not moved during the contest, and did not show any interest now in the result. "Gewhilliky crickets ! Thunder and lightning ! Licked 147 SPELLING DOWN THE MASTER him all to smash!" said Bud, rubbing his hands on his knees. "That beats my time all holler !" And Betsey Short giggled until her tuck-comb fell out, though she was not on the defeated side. Shocky got up and danced with pleasure. But one suffocating look from the aqueous eyes of Mirandy destroyed the last spark of Ralph's pleasure in his triumph, and sent that awful below-zero feeling all through him. "He's powerful smart, is the master," said old Jack to Mr, Pete Jones. "He'll beat the whole kit and tuck of 'em afore he's through. I know'd he was smart. That's the reason I tuck him," proceeded Mr. Means. "Yaas, but he don't lick enough. Not nigh," answered Pete Jones. "No lickin', no larnin'," says L It was now not so hard. The other spellers on the op- posite side went down quickly under the hard words which the Squire gave out. The master had mowed down all but a few, his opponents had given up the battle, and all had lost their keen interest in a contest to which there could be but one conclusion, for there were only the poor spellers left. But Ralph Hartsook ran against a stump where he was least expecting it. It was the Squire's custom, when one of the smaller scholars or poorer spel- lers rose to spell against the master, to give out eight or ten easy words, that they might have some breathing- spell before being slaughtered, and then to give a poser or two which soon settled them. He let them run a little, as a cat does a doomed mouse. There was now but one person left on the opposite side, and, as she rose in her blue calico dress, Ralph recognized Hannah, the bound girl at old Jack Means's. She had not attended school in the district, and had never spelled in spelling-school be- fore, and was chosen last as an uncertain quantity. The 148 EDWARD EGGLESTON Squire began with easy words of two syllables, from tba£ page of Webster, so well known to all who ever thumbed it, as "baker," from the word that stands at the top of the page. She spelled these words in an absent and uninter-' ested manner. As everybody knew that she would have to go down as soon as this preliminary skirmishing was over, everybody began to get ready to go home, and al- ready there was the buzz of preparation. Young men were timidly asking girls if "they could see them safe home," which was the approved formula, and were trem- bling in mortal fear of "the mitten." Presently the Squire, thinking it time to close the contest, pulled his scalp forward, adjusted his glass eye, which had been examining his nose long enough, and turned over the leaves of the book to the great words at the place known to spellers as "incomprehensibility," and began to give out those "words of eight syllables with the accent on the sixth." Listless scholars now turned round, and ceased to whisper, in order to be in at the master's final triumph. But tO' their surprise "ole Miss Meanses' white nigger," as some of them called her in allusion to her slavish life, spelled these great words with as perfect ease as the mas- ter. Still not doubting the result, the Squire turned from place to place and selected all the hard words he could find. The school became utterly quiet, the excitement was too great for the ordinary buzz. Would "Meanses' Han- ner" beat the master? beat the master that had laid out Jim Phillips? Everybody's sympathy was now turned to Hannah, Ralph noticed that even Shocky had deserted him, and that his face grew brilliant every time Hannah spelled a word. In fact, Ralph deserted himself. As he saw the fine, timid face of the girl so long oppressed flush and shine with interest; as he looked at the rather low but broad and intelligent brow and the fresh, white 149 SPELLING DOWN THE MASTER complexion and saw the rich, womanly nature coming to the surface under the influence of applause and sym- pathy — he did not want to beat. If he had not felt that a victory given would insult her, he would have missed in- tentionally. The bulldog, the stern, relentless setting of the will, had gone, he knew not whither. And there had come in its place, as he looked in that face, a something which he did not understand. You did not, gentle reader, the first time it came to you. The Squire was puzzled. He had given out all the hard words in the book. He again pulled the top of his head forward. Then he wiped his spectacles and put them on. Then out of the depths of his pocket he fished up a list of words just coming into use in those days — words not in the spelling-book. He regarded the paper attentively with his blue right eye. His black left eye meanwhile fixed itself in such a stare on Mirandy Means that she shud- dered and hid her eyes in her red silk handkerchief. "Daguerreotype," sniffed the Squire. It was Ralph's turn. "D-a-u, dau— " "Next." And Hannah spelled it right. Such a buzz followed that Betsey Short's giggle could not be heard, but Shocky shouted: "Hanner beat! my Hanner spelled down the master !" And Ralph went over and congratulated her. And Dr. Small sat perfectly still in the corner. And then the Squire called them to order, and said : "As our friend Hanner Thomson is the only one left on her side, she will have to spell against nearly all on t'other side. I shall therefore take the liberty of procrastinating the completion of this interesting and exacting contest until to-morrow evening, I hope our friend Hanner may 150 EDWARD EGGLESTON again carry off the cypress crown of glory. There is nothing better for us than healthful and kindly simula- tion." Dr. Small, who knew the road to practice, escorted Mirandy, and Bud went home with somebody else. The others of the Means family hurried on, while Hannah, the champion, stayed behind a minute to speak to Shocky. Perhaps it was because Ralph saw that Hannah must go alone that he suddenly remembered having left something which was of no consequence, and resolved to go round by Mr. Means's and get it. MYOPIA' BY WALLACE RICE As down the street he took his stroll, He cursed, for all he is a saint. He saw a sign atop a pole, As down the street he took a stroll. And climbed it up (near-sighted soul), So he could read — and read "FRESH PAINT," . . . As down the street he took a stroll, He cursed, for all he is a saint. 151 ANATOLE DUBOIS AT DE HORSE SHOW BY WALLACE BRUCE AMSBARY My vife an' me ve read so moch In papier here of late, About Chicago^ Horse Show, ve Remember day an' date. Ve mak' it op togedder dat Ve go an' see dat show, Dere's som't'ing dere ve fin' it out Maybe ve vant to know. Ve leave de leddle farm avile, Dat's near to Bourbonnais; Ve're soon op to Chicago town For spen' de night an' day; I nevere lak' dat busy place, It's mos' too swif for me, — Ve vaste no tam', but gat to place Dat ve Is com' for see. Ve pay de price for tak' us In, Dey geeve me deux ticquette ; Charlotte an' me ve com' for see De Horse Show now, you bet. Ve soon gat in it veree moch, "De push," I t'ink you call. To inside on de beeg building, Ve're going to see it all. 152 WALLACE BRUCE AMSBARY De Coliseum is de place, Dey mak' de Horse Show dere, Five tarn's so beeg- dan any barn At Boiirbonnais, by gar ! I'm look aroiin' for place dey haf For dem to- pitch de hay. "I guess it's 'out of sight,' I t'ink," Dey's von man to me say. Som' horses for to see; Dere's pretty vomans, lots of dem, But, for de life of me, I can not see de trotter nag. Or vat's called t'oroughbred, I vonder if ve mak' mistake. Gat in wrong place instead. But Charlotte is not disappoint', Her eyes dey shine so bright. It's ven she sees dem vimmens folks, Dey dance vit moch delight ; I den vos tak' a look myself On ladies vit fin' drass, Dere's nodding else in dat whol' place Dat is so interes'. I say, "Charlotte," say I to her, "Dat ladee in box seat — Across de vay vos von beeg swell. Her beauty's hard to beat ; De von dat's gat fon^^ eyeglass Opon a leddle stek, I'm t'ink she is most' fin' \ookin' Wen she bow an' spe'k. 153 ANATOLE DUBOIS AT DE HORSE SHOW, "It's pretty drass dat she's got on, I lak' de polonaise, Vere bodice it is all meex op Vit jabot all de vays. Dat's hang in front vit pleats all roun' — It is von fin' tableau." An' den Charlotte she turn tO' me An' ask me how I know So moch about de Beeg Horse Show, W'ich we are com' for see ; An' den I op an' tol' her dere Dat I had com' to be Expert on informatione, Read papier, I fin' out Vat all is in de Horse's Show, An' vat's it all about. I point to ladee in nex' box, She's feex op mighty veil, I vish I could haf vords enough! Vat she had on to tell ; De firs' part it vas nodding moch', From cloth it vas quite free, Lak' fleur-de-lis at Easter tarn', Mos' beautiful to see. An' den dere is commence a line Of fluffy cream souffle, My vife it mak' her very diz', She's not a vord to say. An' den com' yard of crepe de chine, Vit omelette stripe beneadt'. All fill it op vit fine guimpe jew'ls An' concertina pleat. 154 WALLACE BRUCE AMSBARY Mon Dieu ! an' who voiild evere t'ink Dat Horse Show vas lak' dese ! A Horse Show dere vidout no horse, I t'ink dat's strange he&znesse. But I suppose affer de man De dry-goods bill dey pay, Dere's nodding lef to spen' on horse Ontil som' odder day. I tell you every hour you leeve, You fin' out som't'ing new ; An' now I haf som' vords to tell, Som' good it might do you ; It's mighty fonny, de advise I'm geeve tO' you, of course, But never go to Horses Show Expecting to see horse. 155 THE CHAMPION CHECKER-PLAYER OF AMERIKY BY JAMES WHITCOMB RILEY Of course as fur as Checker-playin's concerned, you can't jest adzackly claim 'at lots makes fortunes and lots gits bu'sted at it — but still, it's on'y simple jestice to ac- knowledge 'at there're absolute p'ints in the game 'at takes scientific principles to figger out, and a mighty level- headed feller to dimonstrsLte, don't you understand ! Checkers is a' old enough game, ef age is any rickom- mendation ; and it's a' evident fact, too, 'at "the tooth of time," as the feller says, which fer the last six thousand years has gained some reputation fer a-eatin' up things in giner'l, don't 'pear to 'a' gnawed much of a hole in Checkers — jedgin' from the checker-board of to-day and the ones 'at they're uccasionally shovellin' out at Pomp'y-ij er whatever its name is. Turned up a checker-board there not long ago, I wuz readin' 'bout, 'at still had the spots on — as plain and fresh as the modern white-pine board o' our'n, squared off with pencil-marks and pokeberry- juice. These is facts 'at history herself has dug out, and of course it ain't fer me ner you to turn our nose up at Checkers, whuther we ever tamper with the fool-game er not. Fur's that's concerned, I don't p'tend to be no checker-player myse'f, — ^but I know'd a feller onc't 'at could play, and sorto' made a business of it ; and that man, in my opinion, was a geenyus ! Name wuz Wesley Cot- terl — John Wesley Cotterl — jest plain Wes, as us fellers round the Shoe-Shop ust to call him; ust to alius make 156 JAMES WHITCOMB RILEY the Shoe-Shop his headquarters-hke ; and, rain er shine, wet er dry, yoiv d alkis find IVcs on hands, ready to banter some feller fer a game, er jest a-settin' humped up there over the checker-board all alone, a-cipher'n' out some new move er 'nuther, and whistlin' low and solem' to hisse'f- like and a-payin' no attention to nobody. And I'll tell you, Wes Cotterl wuz no man's fool, as sly as you keep it ! He wuz a deep thinker, Wes wuz ; and ef he'd 'a' jest turned that mind o' his loose on preachin', fer instunce, and the 'terpertation o' the Bible, don't you know, Wes 'ud 'a' worked p'ints out o' there 'at no livin' expounderers ever got in gunshot of! But Wes he didn't 'pear to be cut out fer nothin' much but jest Checker-playin'. Oh, of course, he could knock round his own woodpile some, and garden a little, more er less; and the neighbers ust to find Wes purty handy 'bout trimmin' fruit-trees, you understand, and workin' in among the worms and cattapillers in the vines and shrubbery, and the like. And handlin' bees ! — They wuzn't no man under the heavens 'at knowed more 'bout handlin' bees'n Wes Cotterl ! — "Settlin' " the blame' things when they wuz a-swarmin'; and a-robbin' hives, and all sich fool-resks. W'y, I've saw Wes Cotterl, 'fore now, when a swarm of bees 'ud settle in a' orchard, — like they will sometimes, you know, — I've saw Wes Cotterl jest roll up his shirt-sleeves and bend down a' apple tree limb 'at wuz jest kivvered with the pesky things, and scrape 'em back into the hive with his naked hands, by the quart and gal- lon, and never git a scratch ! You couldn't hire a bee to sting Wes Cotterl! But lazy? — I think that man had railly ort to 'a' been a' Injun ! He wuz the fust and on'y man 'at ever I laid eyes on 'at wuz too lazy to drap a checker-man to p'int out the right road fer a feller 'at ast him onc't the way to Burke's Mill ; and Wes, 'ithout 157 CHAMPION CHECKER-PLAYER OF AMERIKY ever a-liftin' eye er finger, jest sorto' crooked out that mouth o' his'n in the direction the feller wanted, and says : "H-yonder!" and went on with his whistlin'. But all this hain't Checkers, and that's what I started out to tell ye. Wes had a way o' jest natchurly a-cleanin' out any- body and ever'body 'at 'ud he'p hold up a checker-board ! Wes wuzn't what you'd call a lively player at all, ner a competiter 'at talked much 'crost the board er made much furse over a game whilse he zvui: a-playin'. He had his faults, o' course, and zvoiild take back moves 'casion'ly, er inch up on you ef you didn't watch him, mebby. But, as a rule, Wes had the insight to grasp the idy of who- ever wuz a-playin' ag'in' him, and his style o' game, you understand, and wuz on the lookout continual' ; and under sich circumstances coidd play as honest a game o' Check- ers as the babe unborn. One thing in Wes's favor alius wuz the feller's temper. — Nothin' 'peared to aggervate Wes, and nothin' on earth could break his slow and lazy way o' takin' his own time fer ever'thing. You jest coiddnt crozvd Wes er git him rattled anyway. — Jest 'peared to have one fixed principle, and that wuz to take plenty o' time, and never make no move 'ithout a-ciphern'n' ahead on the prob'ble conse- quences, don't you understand ! *'Be shore you're right," Wes 'ud say, a-lettin' up fer a second on that low and sorry-like little wind-through-the-keyhole whistle o' his, and a-nosin' out a place whur he could swap one man fer two. — "Be shore you're right" — and somep'n' after this style wuz Wes's way: "Be shore you'r^right" — (whis- tling a long, lonesome bar of "Barbara Allen") — "and then" — (another long, retarded bar) — "go ahead!" — and by the time the feller 'ud git through with his whistlin', and a-stoppin' and a-startin' in ag'in, he'd be about three 158 JAMES WHITCOMB RILEY men ahead to your one. And then he'd jest go on with his whistHn' 'sef nothin' had happened, and mebby you a-jest a-rearin' and a-calHn' him all the mean, outlandish, ornry names 'at you could lay tongue to. But Wes's good nature, I reckon, was the thing 'at he'ped him out as much as any other p'ints the feller had. And Wes 'ud alius win, in the long run! — I don't keer who played ag'inst him! It was on'y a question o' time with Wes o' waxin' it to the best of 'em. Lots o' players has tackled Wes, and right at the start 'ud mebby give him trouble, — but in the long run, now mind ye — itv the long run, no mortal man, I reckon, had any business o' rubbin' knees with Wes Cotterl under no airthly checker- board in all this vale o' tears ! I mind onc't th' come along a high-toned feller from in around In'i'nop'lus somers. — Wuz a lazuyer, er some p'fes- sional kind o' man. Had a big yaller, luther-kivvered book under his arm, and a bunch o' these-'ere big en- velo^'s and a lot o' suppeenies stickin' out o' his breast- pocket. Mighty slick-lookin' feller he wuz ; wore a stove- pipe hat, sorto' set 'way back on his head — so's to show off his Giner'l Jackson forr'ed, don't you know ! Well-sir, this feller struck the place, on some business er other, and then missed the hack 'at ort to 'a' tuk him out o' here sooner'n it did take him out ! — And whilse he wuz a-loaf- in' round, sorto' lonesome — like a feller alius is in a strange place, you know — he kindo' drapped in on our crowd at the Shoe-Shop, ostenchably to git a boot-strop stitched on, but / knowed, the minute he set foot in the door, 'at tJiat feller wanted comp'ny wuss'n cobblin'. Well, as good luck would have it, there set Wes, as usual, with the checker-board in his lap, a-playin' all by hisse'f, and a-whistlin' so low and solem'-like and sad it railly made the crowd seem like a religious getherun' o' 159 CHAMPION CHECKER-PLAYER OF AMERIKY some kind er other, we wuz all so quiet and still-like, as the man come in. Well, the stranger stated his business, set down, tuk off his boot, and set there nussin' his foot and talkin' weather fer ten minutes, I reckon, 'fore he ever 'peared to notice Wes at all. We wuz all back'ard, anyhow, 'bout talkin' much ; besides, we knowed, long afore he come in, all about how hot the weather wuz, and the pore chance there wuz o' rain, and all that; and so the subject had purty well died out, when jest then the feller's eyes struck Wes and the checker-board, — and Til never fergit the warm, salvation smile 'at flashed over him at the prom- isin' discovery. "What!" says he, a-grinnin' like a' angel and a-edgin' his cheer to'rds Wes, "have we a checker- board and checkers here ?" "We hev," says I, knowin' 'at Wes wouldn't let go o' that whistle long enough to answer — more'n to mebby nod his head. "And who is your best player?" says the feller, kindo' pitiful-like, with another inquirin' look at Wes. "Him," says I, a-pokin' Wes with a peg-float. But Wes on'y spit kindo' absent-like, and went on with his whistlin'. "Much of a player, is he?" says the feller, with a sorto* doubtful smile at Wes ag'in. "Plays a purty good hick'ry," says I, a-pokin' Wes ag'in. "Wes," says I, "here's a gentleman 'at 'ud mebby like to take a hand with you there, and give you a few idys," says I. "Yes," says the stranger, eager-like, a-settin' his plug- hat keerful' up in the empty shelvin', and a-rubbin' his hands and smilin' as confident-like as old Hoyle hisse'f, — "Yes, indeed, I'd be glad to give the gentleman" (meanin' Wes) "a' idy er two about Checkers — ef he'd jest as lief, i6o JAMES WHITCOMB RILEY — 'cause I reckon ef there're any one thing 'at I do know more about 'an another, it's Checkers," says he; "and there're no game 'at dehghts me more — pcrvidin', o' course, I find a competiter 'at kin make it anyways in- ter^^^in'." "Got much of a rickord on Checkers?" says I. "Well," says the feller, "I don't like to brag, but I've never hen beat — in any legitimut contest," says he, "and I've played more'n one o' them," he says, "here and there round the country. Of course, your friend here," he went on, smilin' sociable at Wes, "Jie'll take it all in good part ef I should happen to lead him a little — jest as I'd do," he says, "ef it wuz possible fer him to lead me." "Wes," says I, "has warmed the wax in the yeers of some mighty good checker-players," says I, as he squared the board around, still a-whistlin' to hisse'f-like, as the stranger tuk his place, a-smilin'-like and roachin' back his hair. "Move," says Wes. "No," says the feller, with a polite flourish of his hand ; "the first move shall be your'n." And, by jucks! fer all he wouldn't take even the advantage of a starter, he flaxed it to Wes the fust game in less'n fifteen minutes. "Right shore you've give' me your best player?" he says, smilin' round at the crowd, as Wes set squarin' the board fer another game and whistlin' as onconcerned-like as ef nothin' had happened more'n ordinary. " 'S your move," says Wes, a-squintin' out into the game 'bout forty foot from shore, and a-whistlin' purt' nigh in a whisper. Well-sir, it 'peared-like the feller railly didn't try to play ; and you could see, too, 'at Wes knowed he'd about met his match, and played accordin'. He didn't make no move at all 'at he didn't give keerful thought to ; whilse i6i CHAMPION CHECKER-PLAYER OF AMERIKY the feller — ! well, as I wuz sayin', it jest 'peared-like Checkers wuz child's-play fer him ! Putt in most o' the time 'long through the game a-sayin' things calkilated to kindo' bore a' ordinary man. But Wes helt hisse'f purty level, and didn't show no signs, and kep' up his whistling mighty well — considerin'. "Reckon you play the Mdle, too, as well as Checkers f" says the feller, laughin', as Wes come a-whistlin' out of the little end of the second game and went on a-fixin' fer the next round. " 'S my move!" says Wes, 'thout seemin' to notice the feller's tantalizin' words whatsomever. "'L! this time," thinks I, "Mr. Smarty from the w^trolopin deestricts, you're liable to git waxed — shore!" But the feller didn't 'pear to think so at all, and played right ahead as glib-like and keerless as ever — 'casion'ly a-throwin' in them sircastic remarks o' his'n, — 'bout be- in' "slow and shore" 'bout things in gineral — "Liked to see that," he said : — "Liked to see fellers do things with plenty o' deliberation, and even ef a feller zvusn't much of a checker-player, liked to see him die slow anyhow! — and then 'tend his own funeral," he says, — "and march in the p'session — to his own music," says he. — And jest then his remarks wuz brung to a close by Wes a-jumpin' two men, and a-lightin' square in the king-row. . . . "Crown that," says Wes, a-droppin' back into his old tune. And fer the rest o' that game Wes helt the feller purty level, but had to finally knock under — but by jest the clos'test kind o' shave o' winnin'. "They ain't much use," says the feller, "o' keepin' this thing tip — 'less I could manage, some way er other, to git beat onc't 'it a zvhile!" "Move," says Wes, a-drappin'^ back into the same old whistle and di-scttlin' there. 162 JAMES WHITCOMB RILEY " 'Music has charms,' as the Good Book tells us," says the feller, kindo' nervous-like, and a-roachin' his hair back as ef some sort o' p'tracted headache wuz a-settin' in. ''Never wuz 'skunked,' wuz ye?" says Wes, kindo' sud- dent-like, with a fur-off look in them big white eyes o' his — and then a-whistlin' right on 'sef he hadn't said nothin'. "Not much!" says the feller, sorto' s'prised-like, as ef such a' idy as that had never struck him afore. — "Never was 'skunked' myse'f: but I've saw fellers in my time 'at wus!" says he. But from that time on I noticed the feller 'peared to play more keerful, and railly la'nched into the game with somepin' like inter'st. Wes he seemed to be jest a-limber- in'-up-like; and-sir, blame me! ef he didn't walk the fel- ler's log fer him that time, 'thout no 'pearent trouble at all! "And, nozv," says Wes, all quiet-like, a-squarin' the board fer another'n, — "we're kindo' gittin' at things right. Move." And away went that little unconcerned whistle o' his ag'in, and Mr. Cityman jest gittin' white and sweaty too — he wuz so nervous. Ner he didn't 'pear to find much to laugh at in the next game — ner the next tzuo games nuther! Things wuz a-gettin' mighty inter^.?^in' 'bout them times, and I guess the feller wuz ser'ous-like a-wakin' up to the solem' fact 'at it tuk 'bout all his spare time to keep up his end o' the row, and even that state o' pore satisfaction wuz a-creepin' furder and furder away from him ever' new turn he undertook. Whilse Wes jest 'peared to git more deliber't' and certain ever' game ; and that unendin' se'f-satisfied and comfortin' little whistle o' his never drapped a stitch, but toed out ever' game alike, — to'rds the last, and, fer the most part, disasterss to the feller 'at had started in with sich confidence and actchul promise, don't you know. 163 CHAMPION CHECKER-PLAYER OF AMERIKY, Well-sir, the feller stuck the whole forenoon out, and then the afternoon; and then knuckled down to it 'way into the night — yes, and plum midnight! — And he buckled into the thing bright and airly next morning! And-sir, fer tzvo long days and nights, a-hardly a-stoppin' long enough to eat, the feller stuck it out, — and Wes a- jest a-warpin' it to him hand-over-fist, and leavin' him furder behind, ever' game ! — till finally, to'rds the last, the feller got so blamedon worked up and excited-like, he jes' ■'peared actchully purt' nigh plum crazy and histurical as a woman ! It was a-gittin' late into the shank of the second day, and the boys hed jest lit a candle fer 'em to finish out one of the clost'est games the feller'd played Wes fer some time. But Wes wuz jest as cool and ca'm as ever, and still a-whistlin' consolin' to hisse'f-like, whilse the feller jest 'peared wore out and ready to drap right in his tracks any minute. "Durn yon!" he snarled out at Wes, "hain't you never goern to move?" And there set Wes, a-balancin' a check- er-man above the board, a-studyin' whur to set it, and a-fillin' in the time with that-air whistle. "Flames and flashes!" says the feller ag'in, "will you ever stop that death-seducin' tune o' your'n long enough to move?" — And as Wes deliber't'ly set his man down whur the feller see he'd haf to jump it and lose two men and a king, Wes wuz a-singin', low and sad-like, as ef all to hisse'f : "O we'll move that man, and leave him there. — Fer the love of B-a-r-b — ^bry Al-len!" Well-sir! the feller jest jumped to his feet, upset the board, and tore out o' the shop stark-starin' crazy — blame ef he wuzn't ! — 'cause some of us putt out after him and overtook him 'way beyent the 'pike-bridge, and hollered 164 JAMES WHITCOMB RILEY. to him ; — and he shiik his fist at us and hollered back and says, says he: "Ef you fellers over here," says he, "'11 agree to muscle that durn checker-player o' your'n, I'll bet fifteen hunderd dollars to fifteen cents 'at I kin beat him 'leven games out of ever' dozent!- — But there' re no money/' he says, " 'at kin hire me to play him ag'in, on this aboundin' airth, on'y on them conditions — 'cause that durn, eternal, infernal, dad-blasted whistle o' his 'ud beat the oldest man in Ameriky !" 165 DARBY AND JOAN BY ST. JOHN HONEYWOOD When Darby saw the setting sun, He swung his scythe, and home he run. Sat down, drank off his quart, and said, "My work is done, I'll go to bed." "My work is done !" retorted Joan, "My work is done ! your constant tone ; But hapless woman ne'er can say, *My work is done,' till judgment day. You men can sleep all night, but we Must toil."— "Whose fault is that?" quoth he. "I know your meaning," Joan replied, "But, Sir, my tongue shall not be tied; I will go on, and let you know What work poor women have to do : First, in the morning, though we feel As sick as drunkards when they reel ; Yes, feel such pains in back and head As would confine you men to bed. We ply the brush, we wield the broom, We air the beds, and right the room ; The cows must next be milked — and then We get the breakfast for the men. Ere this is done, with whimpering cries, And bristly hair, the children rise ; i66 ST. JOHN HONEYWOOD These must be dressed, and dosed with rue, And fed — and all because of you : We next" — Here Darby scratched his head, And stole off grumbling to his bed ; And only said, as on she run, "Zounds ! woman's clack is never done." II At early dawn, ere Phoebus rose, Old Joan resumed her tale of woes ; When Darby thus — "I'll end the strife. Be you the man and I the wife : Take you the scythe and mow, while I Will all your boasted cares supply." "Content," quoth Joan, "give me my stint.' This Darby did, and out she went. Old Darby rose and seized the broom, And whirled the dirt about the room : Which having done, he scarce knew how, He hied to milk the brindled cow. The brindled cow whisked round her tail In Darby's eyes, and kicked the pail. The clown, perplexed with grief and pain. Swore he'd ne'er try to milk again : When turning round, in sad amaze. He saw his cottage in a blaze : For as he chanced to brush the room, In careless haste, he fired the broom. The fire at last subdued, he swore The broom and he would meet no more. Pressed by misfortune, and perplexed, Darby prepared for breakfast next ; 167 DARBY AND JOAN But what to get he scarcely knew — The bread was spent, the butter too. His hands bedaubed with paste and flour, Old Darby labored full an hour : But, luckless wight ! thou couldst not make The bread take form of loaf or cake. As every door wide open stood. In pushed the sow in quest of food ; And, stumbling onward, with her snout O'erset the churn — the cream ran out. As Darby turned, the sow to beat, The slippery cream betrayed his feet ; He caught the bread trough in his fall. And down came Darby, trough, and all. The children, wakened by the clatter. Start up, and cry, "Oh ! what's the matter?" Old Jowler barked, and Tabby mewed, And hapless Darby bawled aloud, *'Return, my Joan, as heretofore, I'll play the housewife's part no more: Since now, by sad experience taught, Compared to thine my work is naught ; Henceforth, as business calls, I'll take. Content, the plough, the scythe, the rake, And never more transgress the line Our fates have marked, while thou art mine. Then, Joan, return, as heretofore, I'll vex thy honest soul no more ; Let's each our proper task attend — Forgive the past, and strive to mend." i68 WHEN THE FROST IS ON THE PUNKIN BY JAMES WHITCOMB RILEY When the frost is on the punkin and the fodder's in the shock, And you hear the kyouck and gobble of the struttin' turkey-cock, And the clackin' of the guineys, and the cluckin' of the hens, And the rooster's hallelooyer as he tiptoes on the fence, Oh, it's then's the time a feller is a feelin' at his best. With the risin' sun to greet him from a night of gracious rest, As he leaves the house bareheaded and goes out to feed the stock, When the frost is on the punkin and the fodder's in the shock. There's sompin kind o' hearty-like about the atmosphere When the heat of summer's over and the coolin' fall is here. Of course we miss the flowers, and the blossoms on the trees. And the mumble of the hummin'-birds and the buzzin' of the bees ; But the air's so appetizin', and the landscape through the haze Of a crisp and sunny morning of the early autumn days Is a picture that no painter has the colorin' to mock. When the frost is on the punkin and the fodder's in the shock. 169 WHEN THE FROST IS ON THE PUNKIN The husky, rusty rustle of the tassels of the corn, And the raspin' of the tangled leaves as golden as the morn; The stubble in the furries — kind o' lonesome like, but still A preachin' sermons to us of the barns they growed to fill ; The straw-stack in the medder, and the reaper in the shed, The bosses in their stalls below, the clover overhead, — Oh, it sets my heart a clickin' like the tickin' of a clock, When the frost is on the punkin and the fodder's in the shock. 170 LAFFING BY JOSH BILLINGS Anatomikally konsidered, laffing iz the sensation ov pheeling good all pver, and showing it principally in one spot. Morally konsidered, it iz the next best thing tew the lo commandments. . . . Theoretikally konsidered, it kan out-argy all the logik in existence. ... Pyroteknikally konsidered, it is the iire-works of the soul. . .- . But i don't intend this essa for laffing in the lump, but for laffing on the half-shell. Laffing iz just az natral tew cum tew the surface az a rat iz tew cum out pv hiz hole when he wants tew. Yu kant keep it back by swallowing enny more than yu kan the heekups. If a man kan't laff there iz sum mistake made in putting him together, and if he won't laff he wants az mutch keep- ing away from az a bear-trap when it iz sot. I have seen people who laffed altogether too mutch for their own good or for ennyboddy else's ; they laft like a barrell ov nu sider with the tap pulled out, a perfekt stream. This is a grate waste ov natral juice. I have seen other people who didn't laff enuff tew giv themselfs vent; they waz like a barrell ov nu sider too, that waz bunged up tite, apt tew start a hoop and leak all away on the sly. 171 LAFFING Thare ain't neither ov theze 2 ways right, and they never ought tew be pattented. . . . Genuine laffing iz the vent ov the soul, the nostrils of the heart, and iz just az necessary for health and happi- ness az spring water iz for a trout. Thare iz one kind ov a laff that i always did rekom- mend ; it looks out ov the eye fust with a merry twinkle, then it kreeps down on its hands and kneze and plays around the mouth like a pretty moth around the blaze ov a kandle, then it steals over into the dimples ov the cheeks and rides around into thoze little whirlpools for a while, then it lites up the whole face like the mello bloom on a damask rpze, then it swims oph on the air with a peal az klear and az happy az a dinner-bell, then it goes bak agin on golden tiptoze like an angel out for an airing, and laze down on its little bed ov violets in the heart where it cum from. Thare iz another laff that nobody kan withstand ; it iz just az honest and noisy az a distrikt skool let out tew play, it shakes a man up from hiz toze tew hiz temples, it dubbles and twists him like a whiskee phit, it lifts him oph from his cheer, like feathers, and lets him bak agin like melted led, it goes all thru him like a pikpocket, and finally leaves him az weak and az krazy az tho he had bin soaking all day in a Rushing bath and forgot to be took out. This kind ov a laff belongs tew jolly good phellows who are az healthy az quakers, and who are az eazy tew pleaze az a gall who iz going tew be married to-morrow. In konclushion i say laff every good chance yu kan git, but don't laff unless yu feal like it, for there ain't nothing in this world more harty than a good honest laff, nor nothing more hollow than a hartless one. .When yu dp laff open yure mouth wide enuff for the 172 JOSH BILLINGS noize tew git out without squealing, thro yure hed bak az tho yu waz going tew be shaved, hold on tew yure false hair with both hands and then laff till yure soul gets thoroly rested. But i shall tell yu more about theze things at sum fewter time. 173 GRIZZLY-GRU BY IRONQUILL Thoughts of the past and present, O whither, and whence, and where, Demanded my soul, as I scaled the height Of the pine-clad peak in the somber night, In the terebinthine air. While pondering on the frailty Of happiness, hope, and mirth, The ascending sun with derisive scoff Hurled its golden lances and smote me pff From the bulge of the restless earth. Through the yellowish dawn of velvet Where stars were so thickly strewn. That quietly chuckled as I passed through', 1 fell in the gardens of Grizzly-Gru, On the mad, mysterious moon. I fell on the turquoise ether. Low down in the wondrous west, And thence to the moon in whose yielding blue Were hidden the gardens of Grizzly-Gru, In the Monarchy of Unrest. And there were the fairy gardens. Where beautiful cherubs grew In daintiest way and on separate stalks, In the listed rows by the jasper walks. Near the palace of Grizzly-Gru. 174 IRONQUILL While strolling around the garden; I noticed the rows were full Of every conceivable size and type — Some that were buds, and some nearly ripe, 'And some that were ready to pull. In gauzy and white corolla, Was one who had eyes of blue, A little excuse of a baby nose, Little pink ears, and ten little toes, And a mouth that kept saying ah-goo. Ah-gooing as I came near her, She raised up her arms in glee — Her little fat arms — and she seemed to say, *l'm ready to go with you right away ; Don't hunt any more — take me." I picked her off quick and kissed her,. And, hugging her to my breast, I heard a loud yelling that pierced me thrpugh, 'Twas His Terrible Eminence, Grizzly-Gru, Of the Monarchy of Unrest. He had on a blood-red turban, A picturesque lot of clothes, With big moustaches both fierce and black. And a ghastly saber to cut and hack. And shoes that turned up at the toes. Out of the gate of the garden The cherub and I took flight. And closely behind us the saber flew, And back of the saber came Grizzly-Gru, And he chased us all day till night. i7S GRIZZLY-GRU I ran down the lunar crescent, And out on the silver horn ; I kissed the baby and held her tight, And jumped down into the starry night, And — I lit on the earth at morn. He fitfully threw his saber, It missed and went round the sun ; He followed no further, he was not rash, But the baby held on to my coarse moustache. And seemed to enjoy the fun. In saving that blue-eyed baby From the gardens of Grizzly-Gru, I suffered a terrible shock and fright ; But the doctor believes it will be all right, And he thinks he can pull me through. 176 JOHN HENRY IN A STREET CAR BY HUGH McHUGH Throw me in the cellar and batten down the hatches. I'm a wreck in the key of G flat. I side-stepped in among a bunch of language-heavers yesterday and ever since I've been sitting on the ragged edge with my feet hanging over. I was on my way down to Wall Street to help J. Pier- pont Morgan buy a couple of railroads and all the world seemed as blithe and gay as a love clinch from Laura Jean Libbey's latest. When I climbed into the cable-car I felt like a man who had mailed money to himself the night before. I was aces. And then somebody blew out my gas. At the next corner two society flash-lights flopped in and sat next to me. They had a lot of words they wanted to use and they started in. The car stopped and two more of the 400's leading ladies jumped the hurdles and came down the aisle. They sat on the other side of me. In a minute they began to bite the dictionary. Their efforts aroused the energies of three women who sat opposite me, and they proceeded to beat the English language black and blue. In a minute the air was so full of talk that the grip germs had to pull out on the platform and chew the con- ductor. 177 JOHN HENRY IN A STREET CAR The next one to me on my left started in : "Oh, yes ; we discharged our cook day before yesterday, but there's another coming this evening, and so — " Her friend broke away and was up and back to the center with this : "I was coming down Broadway this morning and I saw JuHa Marlowe's leading man. I'm sure it was him, because I saw the show once in Chicago and he has the loveliest eyes I ever looked at !" I knew that that was my cue to walk out, kick the motorman in the knuckles, upset the car and send in a fire call, but I passed it up. I just sat there and bit my nails like the heavy villain in one of Corse Payton's ten, twen, thir dramas. That "loveliest eyes" speech had me groggy. Whenever I hear a woman turn on that "loveliest eyes" gag about an actor I always feel that a swift slap from a wet dish-rag would look well on her back hair. Then the bunch across the aisle got the flag. "Well, you know," says the broad lady who paid for one seat and was compelled by Nature to use three, "you know there's only five in our family, and so I take just five slices of stale bread and have a bowl of water ready in which I've dropped a pinch of salt. Then I take a piece of butter about the size of a walnut, and thoroughly grease the bottom of a frying-pan ; then beat five eggs to a froth, and — " I'm hoping the conductor will come in and give us all a tip to take to the timber because the cops are going to pinch the room, but there's nothing doing. One of the dames on my right finds her voice and passes it around : — "Oh, I think it's a perfect fright! I always did detest electric blue, anyway. It is so unbecoming, and then — " 178 HUGH McHUGH I've just decided that this lady ought to make up as a Swede servant girl and play the part, when her friend hooks in : "Oh, yes ; I think it will look perfectly sweet ! It is a foulard in one of those new heliotrope tints, made with a crepe de chine chemisette, with a second vest peeping out on either side of the front over an embroidered satin vest and cut in scallops on the edge, finished with a full ruche of white chiffon, and the sleeves are just too tight for any use, and the skirt is too long for any good, and I declare the lining is too sweet ! and I just hate to wear it out on the street and get it soiled, and I was going to have it made with a tunic, and Mrs. Wigwag — that's my brother- in-law's first cousin — she had her's made to wear with guimpes — and they are so economical ! and — " Think of a guy having to ride four miles and get his forehead fanned all the while with talk about foulard and crepe de chine and guimpes ! Wouldn't it lead you to a padded cell ? Say ! I was down and out — no kidding ! I wanted to get up and fight the door-tender, but I couldn't. One of the conversationalists was sitting on my over- coat. I felt that if I got up and called my coat back to Papa she might lose the thread of her story, and the jar would be something frightful. So I sat still and saved her life. The one on my right must have been the La'dy Presi- dent of The Hammer Club. She was talking about some other girl and she didn't do a thing to the absent one. She said she was svelte. I suppose that's Dago for a shine. 179 JOHN HENRY IN A STREET CAR That's the way with some women. They can't come right out and call another woman a polish. They have to beat around the bush and chase their friends to the swamps by throwing things like "svelte" at them. Tush! I tried to duck the foreign tattle on my right and by so doing I'm next to this on my left : "Oh, yes; I think politics is just too lovely! I don't know whether I'd rather be a Democrat or a Republican, but I think — oh ! just look at the hat that woman has on ! Isn't that a fright ? Wonder if she trimmed it herself. Of course she did ; you can tell by — " I'm gasping for breath when the broad lady across the aisle gets the floor : "No, indeed! I didn't have Eliza vaccinated. Why, she's too small yet, and don't you know my sister's hus- band's brother's child was vaccinated, and she is younger than our Eliza, but I don't just care, I don't want — " Then the sweet girlish thing on my left gave me the corkscrew jab. It was the finish : "Isn't that lovely ? Well, as I was telling you, Charlie came last night and brought Mr. Storeclose with him. Mr. Storeclose is awfully nice. He plays the mandolin just too sweet for anything, and — " Me ! — to the oyster beds ! No male Impersonators gar- roting a mandolin — not any in mine ! When I want to take a course in music I'll climb into a public library and read how Baldy Sloane wrote the Tiger Lily with one hand tied behind him and his feet on the piano. So I fell off the car and crawled home to mother. 1 80 THE MUSKEETER BY JOSH BILLINGS Muskeeters are a game bug, but they won't bite at a hook. Thare iz millyuns ov them kaught every year, but not with a hook, this makes the market for them unstiddy, the supply allways exceeding the demand. The muskeeto iz born on the sly, and cums to maturity quicker than enny other ov the domestik animiles, A muskeeter at 3 hours old iz just az reddy and anxious to go into bizz- ness for himself, az ever he iz, and bites the fust time az sharp, and natral, as red pepper duz. The muskeeter haz a good ear for musik, and sings without notes. The song pv the muskeeto iz monotonous to sum folks, but in me it stirs up the memorys ov other days. I hav lade awake, all nite long, menny a time and listened to the sweet anthems ov the muskeeter. I am satisfied that thare want nothing made in vain, but i kant help thinking how mighty kluss the musketoze kum to it. The muskeeter haz inhabited this world since its kreashun, and will prob- ably hang around here until bizzness closes. Whare the muskeeter goes to in the winter iz a standing konumdrum, which all the naturalists hav giv up, but we kno he dont go far, for he iz on hand early each year with hiz probe fresh ground, and polished. Muskeeters must be one ov the luxurys ov life, they certainly aint one ov the neces- sarys, not if we kno ourselfs.- fi8i THE TURNINGS OF A BOOKWORM BY CAROLYN WELLS Love levels all plots; Dead men sell no tales. A new boom sweeps clean. Circumstances alter bookcases. The more haste the less read. Too many books spoil the trade. Many hands make light literature. Epigrams cover a multitude of sins. Ye can not serve Art and Mammon. A little sequel is a dangerous thing. It's a long page that has no turning. Don't look a gift-book in the binding. A gilt-edged volume needs no accuser. In a multitude of characters there is safety. Incidents will happen even in the best regulated novels. One touch of Nature makes the whole book sell. Where there's a will there's a detective story. A book in the hand is worth two in the library. An ounce of invention is worth a pound of style. A good name is rather to be chosen than great charac- ters. Where there's so much puff, there must be some buyer. 182 THE FEAST OF THE MONKEYS BY JOHN PHILIP SOUSA In days of old, So I've been told, The monkeys gave a feast. They sent out cards, "With kind regards. To every bird and beast. The guests came dressed, In fashion's best, Unmindful of expense; Except the whale, AVhose swallowtail, ,Was "soaked" for fifty cents. The guests checked wraps, Canes, hats and caps ; And when that task was done, The footman he ."With dignitee, Announced them one by one. In Monkey. Hall, The host met all. And hoped they'd feel at ease, "I scarcely can," Said the Black and Tan, "I'm busy hunting fleas.'* 183 THE FEAST OF THE MONKEYS "While waiting for A score or more Of guests," the hostess said, "We'll have the Poodle Sing Yankee Doodle, A-standing on his head. And when this through, Good Parrot, you, Please show them how you swear." "Oh, dear ; don't cuss," Cried the Octopus, And he walked off on his ear. The Orang-Outang A sea-song sang. About a Chimpanzee Who went abroad, In a drinking gourd, To the coast of Barberee. Where he heard one night. When the moon shone bright, A school of mermaids pick Chromatic scales From off their tails. And did it mighty slick. "All guests are here, To eat the cheer. And dinner's served, my Lord." The butler bowed ; And then the crowd Rushed in with one accord. The fiddler-crab Came in a cab, 184 JOHN PHILIP SOUSA !And played a piece in C; iWhile on his horn, The Unicorn Blew, You'll Remember Me. "To give a touch Of early Dutch To this great feast of feasts, I'll drink ten drops Of Holland's schnapps," Spoke out the King of Beasts. *'That must taste fine," Said the Porcupine, "Did you see him smack his lip ?" "I'd smack mine, too," Cried the Kangaroo, "If I didn't have the pip." The Lion stood, And said : "Be good Enough to look this way ; Court Etiquette Do not forget. And mark well what I say : My royal wish Is ev'ry dish Be tasted first by me." "Here's where I smile," Said the Crocodile, And he climbed an axle-tree. The soup was brought, And quick as thought. The Lion ate it all. 185 THE FEAST OF THE MONKEYS "You can't beat that/' Exclaimed the Cat, "For monumental gall." "The soup," all cried. "Gone," Leo replied, " 'Twas just a bit too thick." "When we get through," Remarked the Gnu, "I'll hit him with a brick." iThe Tiger stepped. Or, rather, crept. Up where the Lion sat* "O, mighty boss I'm at a loss To know where I am at. I came to-night "With appetite To drink and also eat ; As a Tiger grand, I now demand, I get there with both feet." The Lion got All-fired hot And in a passion flew. "Get out," he cried, "And save your hide. You most offensive You/* "I'm not afraid," The Tiger said, "I know what I'm about." But the Lion's paw Reached the Tiger's jaw, And he was good and out. i86 JOHN PHILIP SOUSA The salt-sea smell Of Mackerel, Upon the air arose ; Each hungry guest Great joy expressed, And "sniff !" went every nose. ,With glutton look The Lion took The spiced and sav'ry dish. Without a pause He worked his jaws. And gobbled all the fish. Then ate the roast. The quail on toast. The pork, both fat and lean ; The jam and lamb. The potted ham, And drank the kerosene. He raised his voice : "Come, all rejoice. You've seen your monarch dine." "Never again," Clucked the Hen, And all sang Old Lang Syne. 187 THE BILLVILLE SPIRIT MEETING BY FRANK L. STANTON We had a sperrit meetin' (we'll never have no more!) To call up all the sperrits of them that's "gone before." A feller called a "medium" (he wuz of medium size), Took the contract fer the fetchin' o' them sperrits from the skies. The mayor — the town council — the parson an' his wife, Come to shake han's with them sperrits what had left the other life; The Colonel an' the Major — the coroner, an' all Wuz waitin' an' debatin' in the darkness o' the hall. The medium roared, "Silence! Amanda Jones appears! Is her husband present?" ("No, sir — he's been restin' twenty years!") "Here's the ghost of Sally Spilkins, from the Ian' whar* glories glow : ; Would her husband like to see her?" (An' a feeble voice said, 'Wo/") "Here's the wife of Colonel Buster; she wears a heavenly smile : She wants to see the Colonel, an' she's comin' down the aisle!" Then all wuz wild confusion — it warn't a bit o' fun ! — With "Lord, have mercy on me," the Colonel broke an' run! i88 FRANK L. STANTON Then the coroner got skeery an' scampered fer his life! "Stop — stop him !" said the medium ; "here comes his sec- ond wife !" But thar' warn't a man could stop him in that whole blame settlement, — He turned a double summersault an' out the winder went! Then, the whole town council follered an' hollered all the way; The parson said he had a call 'bout ten miles off, to pray ! He didn't preach nex' Sunday, an' they tell it roun' a bit, Accordin' to the best reports the parson's runnin' yit ! 189 A CRY FROM THE CONSUMER BY WILBUR D. NESBIT Grasshoppers roam the Kansas fields and eat the tender grass — A trivial affair, indeed, but what then comes to pass ? You go to buy a panama, or any other hat ; You learn the price has been advanced a lot because of that. A glacier up in Canada has slipped a mile or two — A little thing like this can boost the selling price of glue. Occurrences so tragic always thrill me to the core ; I hope and pray that nothing ever happens any more. Last week the peaceful Indians went a-searching after scalps, And then there was an avalanche 'way over in the Alps ; These diametric happenings seem nothing much, but look — We had to add a dollar to the wages of the cook. The bean-crop down, at Boston has grown measurably less, And so the dealer charges more for goods to make a dress. Each day there is some incident to make a man feel sore, I'm on my knees to ask that nothing happens any more. It didn't rain in Utah and it did in old Vermont — Result : it costs you fifty more to take a summer's jaunt ; Upon the plains of Tibet some tornadoes took a roll — Therefore the barons have to charge a higher price for coal. 190 WILBUR D. NESBIT A street-car strike In Omaha has cumulative shocks — It boosted huckleberries up to twenty cents a box. No matter what is happening it always finds your door — Give us a rest ! Let nothing ever happen any more. Mosquitoes in New Jersey bite a magnate on the wing — Result: the poor consumer feels that fierce mosquito's sting : The skeeter's song is silenced, but in something like an hour The grocers understand that it requires a raise In flour. A house burns down in Texas and a stove blows up in Maine, Ten minutes later breakfast foods In prices show a gain. Effects must follow causes — which is what I most de- plore ; I hppe and pray that nothing ever happens any more^ A DISAPPOINTMENT BY JOHN BOYLE o'rEILLY Her hair was a waving bronze, and her eyes Deep wells that might cover a brooding soul ; And who, till he weighed it, could ever surmise That her heart was a cinder Instead of a coal I 191: THE BRITISH MATRON BY NATHANIEL HAWTHORNE I have heard a good deal of the tenacity with which Enghsh ladies retain their personal beauty to a late period of life; but (not to suggest that an American eye needs use and cultivation, before it can quite appreciate the charm of English beauty at any age) it strikes me that an English lady of fifty is apt to become a creature less refined and delicate, so far as her physique goes, than any- thing that we Western people class under the name of woman. She has an awful ponderosity of frame, not pulpy, like the looser development of our few fat women, but massive with solid beef and streaky tallow; so that (though struggling manfully against the idea) you in- evitably think of her as made up of steaks and sirloins. When she walks, her advance is elephantine. When she sits down it is on a great round space of her Maker's footstool, where she looks as if nothing could ever move her. She imposes awe and respect by the muchness of her personality, to such a degree that you^ probably credit her with far greater moral and intellectual . force than she can fairly claim. Her visage is usually "grim and stem, seldom positively forbidding, yet calmly ter- rible, not merely by its breadth and weight of feature, but because it seems to express so much well-defined self- reliance, such acquaintance with the world, its toils, troubles, and dangers, and such sturdy capacity for tram- pling down a foe. Without anything positively salient, 192 NATHANIEL HAWTHORNE or actively offensive, or, indeed, unjustly formidable to her neighbors, she has the effect of a seventy-four-gun ship in time of peace; for, while you assure yourself that there is no real danger, you can not help thinking how tremendous would be her onset, if pugnaciously inclined, and how futile the effort to inflict any counter-in juiy. She certainly looks tenfold — nay, a hundredfold — better able to take care of herself than our slender-framed and haggard womankind ; but I have not found reason to sup- pose that the English dowager of fifty has actually greater courage, fortitude, and strength of character than our women of similar age, or even a tougher physical en- durance than they. Morally, she is strong, I suspect, only in society, and in the common routine of social af- fairs, and would be found powerless and timid in any ex- ceptional strait that might call for energy outside of the conventionalities amid which she has grown up. You can meet this figure in the street, and live, and even smile at the recollection. But conceive of her in a ball-room, with the bare, brawny arms that she invariably displays there, and all the other corresponding develop- ment, such as is beautiful in the maiden blossom, but a spectacle to howl at in such an over-blown cabbage-rose as this. Yet, somewhere in this enormous bulk there must be hidden the modest, slender, violet-nature of a girl, whom an alien mass of earthliness has unkindly overgrown ; for an English maiden in her teens, though very seldom so pretty as our own damsels, possesses, to say the truth, a certain charm of half-blossom, and delicately folded leaves, and tender womanhood, shielded by maidenly re- serves, with which, somehow or other, our American girls often fail to adorn themselves during an, appreciable moment. It is a pity that the English violet should grow 193 THE BRITISH MATRON into such an outrageously developed peony as I have at- tempted to describe. I wonder whether a middle-aged husband ought to be considered as legally married to all the accretions that have overgrown the slenderness of his bride, since he led her to the altar, and which make her so much more than he ever bargained for! Is it not a sounder view of the case, that the matrimonial bond can not be held to include the three-fourths of the wife that had no existence when the ceremony was performed? And as a matter of conscience and good morals, ought not an English married pair to insist upon the celebration of a silver wedding at the end of twenty-five years in order to legalize and mutually appropriate that corporeal growth of which both parties have individually come into possession since they were pronounced one flesh ? THE TRAGEDY OF IT BY ALDEN CHARLES NOBLE Alas for him, alas for it, Alas for you and I ! When this I think I raise my mitt To dry my weeping eye. 194 STAGE WHISPERS BY CAROLYN WELLS Deadheads tell no tales. Stars are stubborn things. All's not bold that titters. Contracts make cowards of us all. One good turn deserves an encore. A little actress is a dangerous thing. It's a long skirt that has no turning. Stars rush in where angels fear to tread. Managers never hear any good of themselves. A manager is known by the company he keeps. A plot is not without honor save in comic opera. Take care of the dance and the songs will take care of themselves. 195 THE PETTIBONE LINEAGE BY JAMES T, FIELDS My name is Esek Pettibone, and I wish to affirm in the outset that it is a good thing to be well-born. In thus connecting the mention of my name with a positive state- ment, I am not aware that a catastrophe lies coiled up in the juxtaposition. But I can not help writing plainly that I am still in favor of a distinguished family-tree. Esto perpetua! To have had somebody for a great-grand- father that was somebody is exciting. To be able to look back on long lines of ancestry that were rich, but respectable, seems decorous and all right. The present Earl of Warwick, I think, must have an idea that strict justice has been done liiui in the way of being launched properly into the world. I saw the Duke of Newcastle once, and as the farmer in Conway described Mount Washington, I thought the Duke felt a propensity to "hunch up some." Somehow it is pleasant to dook down on the crowd and have a conscious right to do so. Left an orphan at the tender age of four years, having no brothers or sisters to prop me round with young affec- tions and sympathies, I fell into three pairs of hands, ex- cellent in their way, but peculiar. Patience, Eunice, and Mary Ann Pettibone were my aunts on my father's side. All my mother's relations kept shady when the lonely orphan looked about for protection; but Patience Petti- bone, in her stately way, said, — "The boy belongs to a good family, and he shall never want while his three 196 JAMES T. FIELDS aunts can support him." So I went to live with my plain, but benignant protectors, in the state of New Hampshire. During my boyhood the best-drilled lesson that fell to my keeping was this : "Respect yourself. We come of more than ordinary parentage. Superior blood was prob- ably concerned in getting up the Pettibones. Hold your head erect, and some day you shall have proof of your high lineage." I remember once, on being told that I must not share my juvenile sports with the butcher's three little beings, I begged to know why not. Aunt Eunice looked at Pa- tience, and Mary Ann knew what she meant. "My child," slowly murmured the eldest sister, "our family, no doubt, came of a very old stock; perhaps we belong to the nobility. Our ancestors, it is thought, came over laden with honors, and no doubt were embarrassed with riches, though the latter importation has dwindled in the lapse of years. Respect yourself, and when you grow up you will not regret that your old and careful aunt did not wish you to play with the butcher's off- spring." I felt mortified that I ever had a desire to "knuckle up" with any but kings' sons, or sultans' little boys. I longed to be among my equals in the urchin line, and fly my kite with only high-born youngsters. Thus I lived in a constant scene of self-enchantment on the part of the sisters, who assumed all the port and feeling that properly belonged to ladies of quality. Patri- monial splendor to come danced before their dim eyes; and handsome settlements, gay equipages, and a general grandeur of some sort loomed up in the future for the American branch of the House of Pettibone. It was a life of opulent self-delusion, which my aunts 197 THE PETTIBONE LINEAGE were never tired of nursing; and I was too young to doubt the reality o£ it. All the members of our little household held up their heads, as if each said, in so many words, "There is no original sin in our composition, whatever of that commodity there may be mixed up with the common clay of Snowborough." Aunt Patience was a star, and dwelt apart. Aunt Eunice looked at her through a determined pair of specta- cles, and worshiped while she gazed. The youngest sister lived in a dreamy state of honors to come, and had constant zoological visions of lions, griffins, and tmicorns, drawn and quartered in every possible style known to the Heralds' College. The Reverend Hebrew Bullet, who used to drop in quite often and drink several compulsory glasses of home-made wine, encouraged his three par- ishoners in their aristocratic notions, and extolled them for what he called their "stooping-down to every-day life." He differed with the ladies of our house only on one point. He contended that the unicorn of the Bible and the rhinoceros of to-day were one and the same ani- mal. My aunts held a different opinion. In the sleeping-room of my Aunt Patience reposed a trunk.. Often during my childish years I longed to lift the lid and spy among its contents the treasures my young fancy conjured up as lying there in state. I dared not ask to have the cover raised for my gratification, as I had often been told I was "too little" to estimate aright what that armorial box contained. "When you grow up, you shall see the inside of it," Aunt Mary used to say to me; and so I wondered, and wished, but all in vain. I must have the virtue of years before I could view the treasures of past magnificence so long entombed in that wooden sarcophagus. Once I saw the faded sisters bend- ing over the trunk together, and, as I thought, embalm- 198 JAMES T. FIELDS ing something in camphor. Curiosity impelled me to linger, but, under some pretext, I was nodded out of the room. Although my kinswomen's means were far from ample, they determined that Swiftmouth College should have the distinction of calling me one of her sons, and accord- ingly I was in due time sent for preparation to a neigh- boring academy. Years of study and hard fare in coun- try boarding-houses told upon my self-importance as the descendant of a great Englishman, notwithstanding all my letters from the honored three came with counsel to "respect myself and keep up the dignity of the family." Growing-up man forgets good counsel. The Arcadia of respectability is apt to give place to the levity of foot- ball and other low-toned accomplishments. The book of life, at that period, opens readily at fun and frolic, and the insignia of greatness give the school-boy no en- vious pangs. I was nineteen when I entered the hoary halls of Swift- mouth. I call them hoary, because they had been built more than fifty vears. To me they seemed uncommonly hoary, and I snuffed antiquity in the dusty purlieus. I now began to study, in good earnest, the wisdom of the past. I saw clearly the value of dead men and mouldy precepts, especially if the former had been entombed a thousand years, and if the latter were well done in sound- ing Greek and Latin. I began to reverence royal lines of deceased monarchs, and longed to connect my own name, now growing into college popularity, with some far-off mighty one who had ruled in pomp and luxury his obsequious people. The trunk in Snowborough trou- bled my dreams. In that receptacle still slept the proof of our family distinction. "I will go," quoth I, "to the home of my aunts next vacation and there learn how we 199 THE PETTIBONE LINEAGE became mighty, and discover precisely why we don't practice to-day our inherited claims to glory." I went to Snowborough. Aunt Patience was now anx- ious to lay before her impatient nephew the proof he burned to behold. But first she must explain. All the old family documents and letters were, no doubt, de- stroyed in the great fire of '98, as nothing in the shape of parchment or paper implying nobility had ever been discovered in Snowborough, or elsewhere. But there had been preserved, for many years, a suit of imperial clothes that had been worn by their great-grandfather in Eng- land, and, no doubt, in the New World also. These gar- ments had been carefully watched and guarded, for were they not the proof that their owner belonged to a station in life second, if second at all, to the royal court of King George itself? Precious casket, into which I was soon to have the privilege of gazing ! Through how many long years these fond, foolish virgins had lighted their un- flickering lamps of expectation and hope at this cherished old shrine ! I was now on my way to the family repository of all our greatness. I went up stairs "on the jump." We all knelt down before the well-preserved box; and my proud Aunt Patience, in a somewhat reverent manner, turned the key. My heart, — I am not ashamed to confess it now, although it is forty years since the quartet, in search of family honors, were on their knees that summer afternoon in Snowborough, — my heart beat high. I was about to look on that which might be a duke's or an earl's regalia. And I was descended from the owner in a direct line! I had lately been reading Shakespeare's Titus Androni- cus; and I remembered, there before the trunk, the lines : "O sacred receptacle of my joys, Sweet cell of virtue and nobility !" 200 JAMES T. FIELDS The lid went up, and the sisters began to unroll the pre- cious garments, which seemed all enshrined in aromatic gums and spices. The odor of that interior lives with me to this day; and I grow faint with the memory of that hour. With pious precision the clothes were uncovered, and at last the whole suit was laid before my expectant eyes. Reader! I am an old man now, and have not long to walk this planet. But whatever dreadful shock may be in reserve for my declining years, I am certain I can bear it ; for I went through that scene at Snowborough, and still live! When the garments were fully displayed, all the aunts looked at me. I had been to college; I had studied Burke's Peerage; I had been once to New York. Per- haps I could immediately name the exact station in noble British life to which that suit of clothes belonged. I could ; I saw it all at a glance. I grew flustered and pale. I dared not look my poor deluded female relatives in the face. "What rank in the peerage do these gold-laced gar- ments and big buttons betoken ?" cried all three. "It is a suit of servant's livery!" gasped I, and fell back with a shudder. That evening, after the sun had gone down, we buried those hateful garments in a ditch at the bottom of the garden. Rest there perturbed body-coat, yellow trousers, brown gaiters, and all ! "Vain pomp and glory of this world, I hate ye !" 201 WHY MOLES HAVE HANDS BY ANNE VIRGINIA CULBERTSON One 'day the children came running to Aunt Nancy with a mole which one of the dogs had just killed. They had never seen one before and were very curious as to what it might be. "Well, befo' de king!" said Nancy, "whar y'all bin livin' dat you nuver seed a mole befo' ? Whar you come fum mus' be a mighty cur'ous spot ef dey ain' have no moleses dar; mus' be sump'n wrong wid dat place. I bin mos' all over dish yer Sussex kyounty endurin' er my time, an' I ain' nuver come 'cross no place yit whar dey ain' have moleses. "Moleses is sut'n'y cur'ous li'l creeturs," she contin- ued. "I bin teckin' tickler notuss un 'em dis long time, an' dey knows mo'n you'd think fer, jes' ter look at 'em. Dough dey lives down un'need de groun', yit dey is fus'- class swimmers; I done seed one, wid my own eyes, crossin' de branch, an' dey kin root 'long un'need de yearf mos' ez fas' ez a boss kin trot on top uv hit. Y'all neenter look dat-a-way, 'kase hit's de trufe; dey's jes' built fer gittin' 'long fas' unner groun'. Der ban's is bofe pickaxes an' shovels fer 'em; dey digs an' scoops wid der front ones an' kicks de dirt out de way wid der behime ones. Der strong snouts he'ps 'em, too, ter push der way thu de dirt." "Their fur is just as soft and shiny as silk,'* said Janey. "Yas," said Aunt Nancy, "hit's dat sof an' shiny dat, 202 [ANNE VIRGINIA CULBERTSON dough dey live all time in de dirt, not a speck er dirt sticks to 'em. You ses 'sof an' shiny ez silk,' but I tell you hit is silk ; silk clo'es, dat 'zackly w'at 'tis." Ned laughed. "Who ever heard of an animal dressed in silk clothes ?" he said. "Nemmine," she answered, "you talks mighty peart, but I knows w'at I knows, an' dish yer I bin tellin' you is de sho'-'nuff trufe." "Just see its paws," Janey went on, "why, they look exactly like hands." "Look lak han's! look lak ban's ! umph ! dey is ban's, all thumbered an' fingered jes lak yo'n; an', w'at's mo', dey wuz onct human han's ; human, dey wuz sp !" "How could they ever have been human hands and then been put on a mole's body?" asked Ned. "I believe most things you say. Aunt Nancy, but I can't swallow that." "Bar's a li'l boy roun' dese diggin's whar talkin' mighty sassy an' rambunkshus, seem ter me. I ain' ax you ter swoller nuttin' 't all, but 'pears ter me y'all bin swollerin' dem 'ar ol' tales right an' lef, faster'n' I kin call 'em ter min', an' I ain' seed none er you choke pn 'em yit, ner cry, 'nuff said. I'se 'tickler saw'y 'bout dis, 'kase I done had hit in min' ter tell you a tale 'bout huccome moleses have han'ses, whar I larn f'um a ooman dat come f'um Fauquier kyounty, but now dat Mars' Ned 'pear ter be so jubous 'bout hit, I ain' gwine was'e my time on folks whar ain' gwine b'lieve me, no- hows. Nemmine, de chillen over on de Thompson place gwine baig me fer dat tale w'en I goes dar ag'in, an', w'at's mo', dey gwine git hit ; fer dey b'lieves ev'y wu'd dat draps f'um my mouf, lak 'twuz de law an' de gospil." Of course, the children protested that they were as ready to hang upon her words as the Thompson children 203 WHY MOLES HAVE HANDS could possibly be, and presented their prior claim to the tale in such moving fashion that Aunt Nancy was finally prevailed upon to come down from her high horse and tell the story. "I done tol' you," she said, "dat dem 'ar ban's is human, an' I mean jes' w'at I ses, 'kase de m.oleses useter be folks, sho'-'nuff folks, dough dey is all swunk up ter dis size an' der ban's is all dat's lef ter tell de tale. Yas, sub, in de ol' days, so fur back dat you kain't kyount hit, de moleses wuz folks, an' mighty proud an' biggitty folks at dat. Dey wan't gwine be ketched wear- in' any er dish yer kaliker, er linsey-woolsey, er home- spun er sech ez dat, ner even broadclawf, ner bombazine, naw sub! Dey jes' tricked derse'fs out in de fines' an' shinies' er silk, nuttin' mo' ner less, an' den dey went a-traipsin' up an' down an' hether an' yon, fer tu'rr folks ter look at an' mek 'miration over. Mo'n dat, dey 'uz so fine an' fiddlin' dey oon set foot ter de groun' lessen dar wuz a kyarpet spread down fer 'em ter walk on. Dey tells me hit sut'n'y wuz a sight in de worl' ter see dem 'ar folks walkin' up an' down on de kyarpets, trailin' an' rus'lin' der silk clo'es, an' curchyin' an' bobbin' ter one nu'rr w'en dey met up, but nuver speakin' ter de common folks whar walkin' on de groun', ner even so much ez lookin' at 'em. Wats mo', dey wuz so uppish dey thought de yearf wuz too low down fer 'em even ter run der eyes over, so dey went 'long wid der haids r'ared an' der eyes all time lookin' up, stidder down. You kin be sho' dem gwines-on ain' mek 'em pop'lous wid tu'rr folks, 'kase people jes' natchelly kain't stan' hit ter have you th'owin' up to 'em dat you is better'n w'at dey is, w'en all de time dey knows you're nuttin' but folks, same 'z dem. "Dey kep' gwine on so-fashion, an' gittin' mo' an' mo' 204 ANNE VIRGINIA CULBERTSON pompered an' uppish, 'twel las' dey 'tracted de 'tention er de Lawd, an' He say ter Hisse'f, He do, 'Who is dese yer folks, anyhows, whar gittin' so airish, walkin' up an' down an' back an' fo'th on my yearf an' spurnin' hit so's't dey spread kyarpets 'twix' hit an' der footses, treatin' my yearf, w'at I done mek, lak 'twuz de dirt un'need der footses, an' 'spisin' der feller creeturs an' excusin' 'em er bein' common, an' keepin' der eyes turnt up all de time, ez ef dey wuz too good ter look at de things I done mek an' putt on my yearf? I mus' see 'bout dis; I mus' punish dese 'sumptions people an* show 'em dat one'r my creeturs is jez' ez low down ez tu'rr, in my sight.' "So de Lawd He pass jedgment on de moleses. Fus' He tuck an' made 'em lose der human shape an' den He swunk 'em up ontwel dey 'z no bigger'n dey is now, dat 'uz ter show 'em how no-kyount dey wuz in His sight. Den bekase dey thought derse'fs too good ter walk 'pun de bare groun' He sont 'em ter live un'need hit, whar dey hatter dig an' scratch der way 'long. Las' uv all He tuck an' tuck 'way der eyes an' made 'em blin', dat's 'kase dey done 'spise ter look at der feller creeturs. But He feel kind er saw'y fer 'em w'en He git dat fur, an' He ain' wanter punish 'em too haivy, so He lef 'em dese silk clo'es whar I done tol' you 'bout, an' dese ban's whar you kin see fer yo'se'fs is human, an' I reckon bofe dem things putt 'em in min' er w'at dey useter be an' mek 'em 'umble. Uver sence den de moleses bin gwine 'long un'need de groun', 'cordin ter de jedgmen' er de Lawd, an' diggin' an' scratchin' der way thu de worl', in trial an' tribilashun, wid dem po' li'l human han'ses. An' dat orter I'arn you w'at comes er folks 'spisin' der fel- ler creeturs, an' I want y'all ter 'member dat nex' time I year you call dem Thompson chillen 'trash.' " 205 .WHY MOLES HAVE HANDS "I'd like to know what use moles are," said Ned, who was of rather an investigating turn of mind; "they just go round rooting through the ground spoiling people's gardens, and I don't see what they're good for; you can't eat them or use them any way." "Sho', chil' !" said Aunt Nancy, *^you dunno w'at you talkin' 'bout; de Lawd have some use fer ev'y creetur He done mek. Dey tells me dat de moleses eats up lots er bugs an' wu'ms an' sech ez dat, dat mought hurt de craps ef dey wuz let ter live. Sidesen dat, jes' gimme one'r de claws er dat mole, an' lemme hang hit roun' de neck uv a baby whar cuttin' his toofs, an' I boun' you, ev'y toof in his jaws gwine come bustin' thu his goms widout nair' a ache er a pain ter let him know dey's dar. Don't talk ter me 'bout de moleses bein' .wufless ! T done walk de flo' too much wid cryin' babies; not ter know de use er moleses." "You don't really believe that, do you?" asked Ned.- "B'lieve hit!" she answered indignantly; "I ; don' h'lieve hit, I knows hit. I done tol' you all de things a hyar's foot kin do; w'ats de reason a mole's foot ain' good fer sump'n, too? Ef folks on'y knowed mo' about sech kyores ez dat dar neenter be so much sickness an' mis'ry in de worl'-. I done kyored myse'f er de rheuma- tiz in my right arm jes' by tyin' a eel-skin roun' hit, an' ev'yb'dy on dis plantation knows dat ef you'll wrop a chil's hya'r wid eel-skin strings hit's boun' ter mek hit grow. Ef you want de chil' hisse'f ter grow an' ter walk soon you mus' bresh his feet wid de broom. I oon tell you dis ef I hadn't tried 'em myse'f. You mus'n' talk so biggitty 'bout w'at you dunno nuttin' 't all about. You come f'um up Norf yonner, an' mebbe dese things don' wu'k de same dar ez w'at dey does down ycr whar we bin 'pendin' on 'em so long.' 206 A PSALM OF LIFE BY PHCEBE GARY Tell me not, in idle jingle, Marriage is an empty dream, For the girl is dead that's single, And things are not what they seem. Married life is real, earnest, Single blessedness a fib, iTaken from man, to man returnest, Has been spoken of the rib. Not enjoyment, and not sorrow, Is pur destined end or way ; But to act, that each to-morrow Nearer brings the wedding-day. Life is long, and youth is fleeting, And our hearts, if there we search. Still like steady drums are beating Anxious marches to the Church. In the world's broad field of battle, In the bivouac of life, (Be not like dumb, driven cattle ; Be a woman, be a wife ! Trust no Future, howe'er pleasant ! Let the dead Past bury its dead ! Act — act In the living Present. Heart within, and Man ahead ! 207 A PSALM OF LIFE Lives of married folks remind us We can live our lives as well, And, departing, leave behind us ;— Such examples as will tell ; — Such examples, that another. Sailing far from Hymen's port, A forlorn, unmarried brother, Seeing, shall take heart, and court. Let us then be up and doing, With the heart and head begin ; Still achieving, still pursuing, Learn to labor, and to win ! 30g AN ODYSSEY OF K'S BY WILBUR D. NESBIT I've traveled up and down this land And crossed it in a hundred ways, But somehow can not understand These towns with names chock-full of K's. For instance, once it fell to me To pack my grip and quickly go — I thought at first to Kankakee But then remembered Kokomo. "Oh, Kankakee or Kokomo," I sighed, "just which I do not know." Then to the ticket man I went — He was a snappy man, and bald, Behind an iron railing pent — And I confessed that I was stalled. "A much K'd town is booked for me," I said. "I'm due to-morrow, so I wonder if it's Kankakee Or if it can be Kokomo." "There's quite a difference," growled he, Twixt Kokomo and Kankakee." (( > He spun a yard of tickets out — The folded kind that makes a strip And leaves the passenger in doubt When the conductor takes a clip. 209 AN ODYSSEY OF. K'S He flipped the tickets put, I say, And asked : "Now, which one shall It be ? I'll sell you tickets either way — To Kokomo or Kankakee." And still I really did not know — I thought it might be Kokomo. At any rate, I took a chance ; He struck his stamp-machine a blow And I, a toy of circumstance, Was ticketed for Kokomo. Upon the train I wondered still If all was right as it should be. Some mystic warning seemed to fill My mind with thoughts of Kankakee. iThe car-wheels clicked it out : "Now, he Had better be for Kankakee !" Until at last it grew so loud. At some big town I clambered out And elbowed madly through the crowd, Determined on the other route. The ticket-agent saw my haste ; "Where do you wish to go ?" cried he. I yelled : "I have no time to waste — Please fix me up for Kankakee !" Again the wheels, now fast, now slow, Clicked : "Ought to go to Kokomo !" Well, anyhow, I did not heed The message that they sent to me. I went, and landed wrong indeed — Went all the way to Kankakee. 2IO WILBUR D. NESBIT Then, in a rush, I doubled back — Went wrong again, I'd have you know. There was no call for me, alack ! Within the to^vn of Kokomo. And then I learned, confound the luck, I should have gone to Keokuk! 211 THE DEACON'S TROUT BY HENRY WARD BEECHER He was a curious trout. I believe he knew Sunday- just as well as Deacon Marble did. At any rate, the deacon thought the trout meant to aggravate him. The deacon, you know, is a little waggish. He often tells about that trout. Sez he, "One Sunday morning, just as I got along by the willows, I heard an awful splash, and not ten feet from shore I saw the trout, as long as my arm, just curving over like a bow, and going down with something for breakfast. Gracious ! says I, and I almost jumped out pf the wagon. But my wife Polly, says she, *What on airth are you thinkin' of, Deacon? It's Sab- bath day, and you're goin' to meetin' ! It's a pretty busi- ness for a deacon !' That sort o' cooled me off. But I do say that, for about a minute, I wished I wasn't a deacon. But 't wouldn't made any difference, for I came down next day to mill on purpose, and I came down once or twice more, and nothin' was to be seen, tho' I tried him with the most temptin' things. Wal, next Sunday I came along ag'in, and, to save my life I couldn't keep off worldly and wanderin' thoughts. I tried to be sayin' my catechism, but I couldn't keep my eyes off the pond as we came up to the willows. I'd got along in the catechism, as smooth as the road, to the Fourth Commandment, and was sayin* it out loud for Polly, and jist as I was sayin : What is re- quired in the Fourth Commandment?' I heard a splash, and there was the trout, and, afore I could think, I said : 212 HENRY WARD BEECHER 'Gracious, Polly, I must have that trout/ She almost riz right up, 'I knew you wa'n't sayin' your catechism hearty. Is this the way you answer the question about keepin' the Lord's day? I'm ashamed. Deacon Marble,' says she. 'You'd better change your road, and go to meetin' on the road over the hill. If I was a deacon, I wouldn't let a fish's tail whisk the whole catechism out of my head' ; and I had to go iQ meetin' on the hill road all the rest of the summer." ENOUGH* BY TOM MASSON I shot a rocket in the air, It fell to earth, I knew not where Until next day, with rage profound, The man it fell on came around. In less time than it takes to tell, He showed me where that rocket fell ; And now I do not greatly care To shoot more rockets in the air. * By permission of Life Publishing Company. 213' THE FIGHTING RACE BY JOSEPH I. C. CLARKE "Read out the names !" and Burke sat back. And Kelly drooped his head, .While Shea — they call him Scholar Jack — Went down the list of the dead. Officers, seamen, gunners, marines, The crews of the gig and yawl. The bearded man and the lad in his teens, Carpenters, coal-passers — all. Then knocking the ashes from out his pipe, Said Burke, in an off-hand way, ''We're all in that dead man's list, by Cripe! Kelly and Burke and Shea." ''Well, here 's to the Maine, and I'm sorry for Spain !" Said Kelly and Burke and Shea. ''Wherever there 's Kellys there 's trouble," said Burke. "Wherever fighting 's the game, Or a spice of danger in grown man's work,'* Said Kelly, "you'll find my name." 'And do we fall short," said Burke, getting mad, "When it 's touch and go for life?" Said Shea, "It 's thirty-odd years, be dad. Since I charged to drum and fife Up Marye's Heights, and my old canteen Stopped a Rebel ball on its way. 214 JOSEPH I. C. CLARKE There were blossoms of blood on our sprigs of green — Kelly and Burke and Shea — And the dead did n't brag." "Well, here 's to the flag!" Said Kelly and Burke and Shea. "I wish 't was in Ireland, for there's the place," Said Burke, "that we 'd die by right, In the cradle of our soldier race, After one good stand-up fight. My grandfather fell on Vinegar Hill, And fighting was not his trade ; But his rusty pike 's in the cabin still, With Hessian blood on the blade." "Aye, aye," said Kelly, "the pikes were great When the word was 'Clear the way 1' We were thick on the roll in ninety-eight — ■ Kelly and Burke and Shea." "Well, here 's to the pike and the sword and the like!" Said Kelly and Burke and Shea. And Shea, the scholar, with rising joy, Said "We were at Ramillies. We left our bones at Fontenoy, And up in the Pyrenees, Before Dunkirk, on Landen's plain, Cremona, Lille, and Ghent, We 're all over Austria, France, and Spain, Wherever they pitched a tent. We 've died for England from Waterloo To Egypt and Dargai ; 215 THE FIGHTING RACE And still there 's enough for a corps or crew, Kelly and Burke and Shea." "Well, here is to good honest fighting blood !" Said Kelly and Burke and Shea. "Oh, the fighting races don't die out. If they seldom die in bed, For love is first in their hearts, no doubt," Said Burke. Then Kelly said : "When Michael, the Irish Archangel, stands, The angel with the sword. And the battle-dead from a hundred lands Are ranged in one big horde, Our line, that for Gabriel's trumpet waits. Will stretch tree deep that day. From Jehoshaphat to the Golden Gates — Kelly and Burke and Shea." "Well, here 's thank God for the race and the sod!" Said Kelly and Burke and Shea. 216 THE ORGAN BY HENRY WARD BEECHER At one of his week night lectures, Beecher was speak- ing about the building and equipping of new churches. After a few satirical touches about church architects and their work, he went on to ridicule the usual style of pul- pit — the "sacred mahogany tub" — "plastered up against some pillar like a barn-swallow's nest." Then he passed on to the erection of the organ, and to the opening recital. "The organ long expected has arrived, been unpacked, set up', and gloried over. The great players of the region round about, or of distant celebrity, have had the grand organ exhibition; and this magnificent instrument has been put through all its paces in a manner which has sur- prised every one, and, if it had had a conscious existence, must have surprised the organ itself most of all. It has piped, fluted, trumpeted, brayed, thundered. It has played so loud that everybody was deafened, and so soft that no- body could hear. The pedals played for thunder, the flutes languished and coquetted, and the swell died away in delicious suffocation, like one singing a sweet song under the bed-clothes. Now it leads down a stupendous waltz with full brass, sounding very much as if, in sum- mer, a thunderstorm should play, 'Come, Haste to the Wedding,' or 'Moneymusk.' Then come marches, galops, and hornpipes. An organ playing hornpipes ought to have elephants as dancers. "At length a fugue is rendered to show the whole scope 217 THE ORGAN and power of the Instrument. The theme, like a cautious rat, peeps out to see if the coast is clear; and, after a few hesitations, comes forth and begins to frisk a little, and run up and down to see what it can find. It finds just what it did not want, a purring tenor lying in ambush and waiting for a spring ; and as the theme comes incautiously near, the savage cat of a tenor springs at it, misses its hold, and then takes after it with terrible earnestness. But the tenor has miscalculated the agility of the theme. All that it could do, with the most desperate effort, was to keep the theme from running back into its hole again ; and so they ran up and down, around and around, dodg- ing, eluding, whipping in and out of every corner and nook, till the whole organ was aroused, and the bass be- gan to take part, but unluckily slipped and rolled down- stairs, and lay at the bottom raving and growling in the most awful manner, and nothing could appease it. Some- times the theme was caught by one part, and dangled for a moment, then with a snatch, another part took it and ran off exultant, until, unawares, the same trick was played pn it ; and, finally, all the parts, being greatly exer- cised in mind, began to chase each other promiscuously in and out, up and down, now separating and now rushing in full tilt together, until everything in the organ loses patience and all the 'stops' are drawn, and, in spite of all that the brave organist could do — who bobbed up and down, feet, hands, head and all — the tune broke up into a real row, and every part was clubbing every other one, until at length, patience being no longer a virtue, the organist, with two or three terrible crashes, put an end to the riot, and brought the great organ back to silence." 218 MY GRANDMOTHER'S TURKEY-TAIL FAN BY SAMUEL MINTURN PECK It owned not the color that vanity dons Or slender wits choose for display ; Its beautiful tint was a delicate bronze, A brown softly blended with gray. From her waist to her chin, spreading out without break, 'Twas built on a generous plan : The pride of the forest was slaughtered to make My grandmother's turkey-tail fan. For common occasions it never was meant : In a chest between two silken cloths 'Twas kept safely hidden with careful intent In camphor to keep out the moths. 'Twas famed far and wide through the whole countryside, From Beersheba e'en unto Dan ; And often at meeting with envy 'twas eyed. My grandmother's turkey-tail fan. Camp-meetings, indeed, were its chiefest delight. Like a crook unto sheep gone astray It beckoned backsliders to re-seek the right. And exhorted the sinners to pray. It always beat time when the choir went wrong, In psalmody leading the van. Old Hundred, I know, was its favorite song — My grandmother's turkey-tail fan. 219 MY GRANDMOTHER'S TURKEY-TAIL FAN !A fig for the fans that are made nowadays, Suited only to frivolous mirth ! 'A different thing was the fan that I praise, Yet it scorned not the good things of earth. At bees and at quiltings 'twas aye to be seen ; The best of the gossip began (When in at the doorway had entered serene My grandmother's turkey-tail fan. Tradition relates of it wonderful tales. Its handle of leather was buff. Though shorn of its glory, e'en now it exhales An odor of hymn-books and snuff. Its primeval grace, if you like, you can trace : 'Twas limned for the future to scan, Just under a smiling gold-spectacled face, My grandmother's turkey-tail fan. 220 THE TWO NEW HOUSES BY CAROLYN WELLS Once on a Time, there were Two Men, each of whom decided to build for himself a Fine, New House. One Man, being of an Arrogant and Conceited Na- ture, took counsel of Nobody, but declared that he would build his House to suit himself. "For," said he, "since it is My House and I am to Live in It, why should I ask the Advice of my Neighbors as to its Construction?" While the House was Building, the Neighbors came often and Looked at it, and went away, Whispering and Wagging their Heads in Derision. But the Man paid no Heed, and continued to build his House as he Would. The Result was that, when completed, his House was lacking in Symmetry and Utility, and in a Hundred ways it was Unsatisfactory, and for each Defect there was a Neighbor who said, "Had you asked Me, I would have Warned you against that Error." , The Other Man, who was of a Humble and Docile Mind, went to Each of his Neighbors in Turn, and asked Advice about the Building of his House. His Friends willingly and at Great Length gave him the Benefit of their Experiences and Opinions, and the Grateful Man undertook to Follow Out all their Direc- tions. The Result was that his House, when finished, was a 221 THE TWO NEW HOUSES Hodge-Podge of Varying Styles and Contradictory Ef- fects, and Exceedingly Uncomfortable and Inconvenient to Live In. MORALS : This Fable teaches that In a Multitude of Counselors there is Safety, and that Too Many Cooks Spoil the Broth. YES? BY JOHN BOYLE o'rEILLY The words of the lips are double or single. True or false, as we say or sing : But the words of the eyes that mix and mingle Are always saying the same old thing. FASCINATION BY JOHN B. TABB Among your many playmates here, How is it that you all prefer Your little friend, my dear? ''Because, mamma, tho' hard we try, Not one of us can spit so high, And catch it in his ear." 222 BARNEY McGEE BY RICHARD HOVEY Barney McGee, there's no end of good luck in you, Will-o'-the-wisp, with a flicker of Puck in you, Wild as a bull-pup, and all of his pluck in you — Let a man tread on your coat and he'll see ! Eyes like the lakes of Killarney for clarity, Nose that turns up without any vulgarity, Smile like a cherub, and hair that is carroty — Whoop, you're a rarity, Barney McGee ! Mellow as Tarragon, Prouder than Aragon — Hardly a paragon, You will agree — Here's all that's fine to you ! Books and old wine to you ! Girls be divine to you, Barney McGee ! Lucky the day when I met you unwittingly. Dining where vagabonds came and went flittingly. Here's some Barhcra to drink it befittingly, That day at Silvio's, Barney McGee ! Many's the time we have quaffed our Chianti there, Listened to Silvio quoting us Dante there — Once more to drink Nebiolo spumante there, How we'd pitch Pommery into the sea ! There where the gang of us Met ere Rome rang of us, 223 BARNEY McGEE They had the hang of us To a degree. How they would trust to you ! That was but just to you. Here's o'er their dust to you, Barney McGee ! Barney McGee, when you're sober you scintillate, But when you're in drink you're the pride of the intellect; Divil a one of us ever came in till late, Once at the bar where you happened to be — Every eye there like a spoke in you centering, You with your eloquence, blarney, and bantering — All Vagabondia shouts at your entering, King of the Tenderloin, Barney McGee 1 There's no satiety In your society With the variety Of your esprit. Here's a long purse to you, And a great thirst to you ! Fate be no worse to you, Barney McGee ! Och, and the girls whose poor hearts you deracinate, Whirl and bewilder and flutter and fascinate ! Faith, It's so killing you are, you assassinate — Murder's the word for you, Barney McGee ! Bold when they're sunny, and smooth when they're show- ery — Oh, but the style of you, fluent and flowery ! Chesterfield's way, with a touch of the Bowery! How would they silence you, Barney machree? Naught can your gab allay, 224 RICHARD HOVEY Learned as Rabelais (You in his abbey lay- Once on the spree). Here's to the smile of you, (Oh, but the guile of you !) And a long while of you, Barney McGee ! Facile with phrases of length and Latinity, Like honorificabilitudinity, Where is the maid could resist your vicinity, Wiled by the impudent grace of your plea ? Then your vivacity and pertinacity Carry the day with the divil's audacity ; No mere veracity robs your sagacity Of perspicacity, Barney McGee. When all is new to them, What will you do to them? Will you be true to them ? Who shall decree ? Here's a fair strife to you ! Health and long life to you ! And a great wife to you, Barney McGee ! Barney McGee, you're the pick of gentility ; Nothing can phase you, you've such a facility ; Nobody ever yet found your utility — There is the charm of you, Barney McGee ; Under conditions that others would stammer in, Still unperturbed as a cat or a Cameron, Polished as somebody in the Decameron, Putting the glamour on price or Pawnee. In your meanderin', Love and philanderin', 225 BARNEY McGEE Calm as a mandarin Sipping his tea ! Under the art of you, Parcel and part of you, Here's to the heart of you, Barney McGee! You who were ever alert to befriend a man, You who were ever the first to defend a man, You who had always the money to lend a man, Down on his luck and hard up for a V ! Sure, you'll be playing a harp in beatitude (And a quare sight you will be in that attitude )- Some day, where gratitude seems but a platitude, You'll find your latitude, Barney McGee. That's no flim-flam at all, Frivol or sham at all. Just the plain — Damn it all, Have one with me ! Here's one and more to you ! Friends by the score to you, True to the core to you, Barney McGee ! 226 THE OLD DEACON'S VERSION OF THE STORY OF THE RICH MAN AND LAZARUS BY FRANK L. STANTON I s'pose yo' know de story, O my brotherin', er de man Dat wuz rich ez cream, en livin' on de fatness er de Ian' ? How he sot dar eatin' 'possum, en when Laz'rus ax fer some, He tell 'im: "Git erway, dar! fer you'll never git a crumb !" De rich man wuz a feastin' f'um his chiny plate en cup, Kaze he 'fraid his po' relations come en eat his wittles up ; I spec' he had ttvo 'possums on de table long en wide, En a jimmyjohn er cane juice wuz a-settin' by his side. En he say : "Dis heah des suits me, en I gwine ter eat my fill; But I'll sic de dogs on Laz'rus, ef he waitin' roun' heah still." En de dogs commence dey barkin', raise a racket high en low. En when Laz'rus see 'em comin' he decide 'twuz time ter go. So, he limp off on his crutches, en de rich man think it's fun. But I reckon Laz'rus answer: "I'll git even wid you, son!" De rich man so enjoy hisse'f he laugh hisse'f ter bed, En, brotherin', when he wake up he wuz stiff, stone dead ! 227 THE OLD DEACON'S VERSION En den he raise a racket, en he holler out : "What dis ? De place is pnfamiliar, en I wonder whar' I is?" Den Satan, he mek answer : "I'm de man ter tell you dat : You's in de fire department er de place I livin' at!"' Den de rich man say : "Whar' Laz'rus dat wuz beggin' at my gate ?" En Satan tell him : "Yander, wid a silver spoon en plate; En he eatin' fit ter kill hisse'f ! He spendin' er de day Wid good ol' Mister Abra'm, but he mighty fur away !" "Will you please, suh," say de ricii man, "ax him bring a drink ter me, Wid a li'r ice ter cool it? Kaze I hot ez hot kin be!" But Satan fall ter laughin', whilst he stir de fire roun' : — "De ice would melt, my brother, 'fo' it ever hit de groun' !" Den he fill a cup wid brimstone — fill it steamin' ter de top ; But de rich man say he swear off, dat he never tech a drop! But Satan grab his pitchfork whilst de rich man give a squall. En in 'bout a half a second he had swallered cup en all ! Now, dat's erbout de story er de rich man at de feas', What wouldn't pass de 'possum roun' when Laz'rus want a piece. De 'possum means yo' pocketbook, de moral's plain ez day: Shake de dollars in de basket 'fo' you go de rich man's way! 228 THE TWO SUITORS BY CAROLYN WELLS Once on a Time there was a Charming Young Maiden who had Two Suitors. One of These, who was of a Persistent and Persevering Nature, managed to be Continually in the Young Lady's Company. He would pay her a visit in the Morning, Drop In to Tea in the Afternoon, and Call on her Again in the Evening. He took her Driving, and he Escorted her to the The- ater. He would take her to a Party, and then he would Dance, or Sit on the Stairs, or Flit into the Conservatory with her. The Young Lady admired this man but she Wearied of his never-ceasing Presence, and she Said to Herself, "If he were not Always at my Elbow I should Better Ap- preciate his Good Qualities." The Other Suitor, who considered himself a Man of Deep and Penetrating Cleverness, said to himself, "I will Go Away for a Time, and then my Fair One will Realize my Worth and Call Me Back to Her." With a sad Visage he made his Adieus, and he Ex- acted her Pledge to Write to him Occasionally. But after he had Gone she Forgot her Promise, and Soon she For- got his Very Existence. MORALS : This Fable teaches that Absence Makes the Heart Grow Fonder, and that Out of Sight is Out of Mind. 229 THE RECRUIT BY ROBERT W. CHAMBERS Sez Corporal Madden to Private McFadden : "Bedad, yer a bad 'un ! Now turn out yer toes ! Yer belt is unhookit, Yer cap is on crookit. Ye may not be dhrunk, But, be jabers, ye look it ! Wan — two ! Wan — two ! Ye monkey-faced divil, I'll jolly ye through! Wan — two ! Time! Mark! Ye march like the aigle in Cintheral Parrk !" Sez Corporal Madden to Private McFadden : "A saint it ud sadden To dhrill such a mug ! Eyes front ! ye baboon, ye ! Chin up ! ye gossoon, ye ! Ye've jaws like a goat — Halt ! ye leather-lipped loon, ye ! Wan — two ! Wan — two ! Ye whiskered orang-outang, I'll fix you ! Wan — two ! Time! Mark! Ye've eyes like a bat ! can ye see In the dark ?" 230 ROBERT W. CHAMBERS Sez Corporal Madden to Private McFadden : "Yer figger wants padd'n — Sure, man, ye've no shape ! Behind ye yer shoulders Stick out like two bowlders ; Yer shins is as thin As a pair of pen-holders ! Wan — two ! Wan — two ! Yer belly belongs on yer back, ye Jew I Wan — two ! Time! Mark! I'm dhry as a dog— I can't shpake but I bark!" Sez Corporal Madden to Private McFadden : "Me heart it ud gladden To blacken yer eye. Ye' re gettin' too bold, ye Compel me to scold ye — 'T is halt ! that I say- Will ye heed what I told ye? Wan — two Wan — two ! Be jabers, I'm dhryer than Brian Boru! Wan — two ! Time! Mark! What's wur-ruk for chickens is sport for the lark !" Sez Corporal Madden to Private McFadden : "I'll not stay a gadd'n Wid dagoes like you ! I'll travel no farther, I'm dyin' for — wather; Come on, if ye like — 231 THE RECRUIT Can ye loan me a quarther ? Ya-as, you, What— two ? And ye'll pay the potheen ? Ye're a daisy ! Whurroo ! You'll do! Whist! Mark! The Rigiment's flatthered to own ye, me spark !" THE BEECHER BEACHED BY JOHN B, TABB Were Harriet Beecher well aware Of what was done in Delaware, Of that unwholesome smell aware. She'd make all heaven and hell aware, And ask John Brown to tell her where Henceforth she best misrht sell her ware. 232 OUR BEST SOCIETY BY GEORGE WILLIAM CURTIS If gilt were only gold, or sugar-candy common sense, what a fine thing our society would be ! If to lavish money upon oh jets de vcrtu, to wear the most costly dresses, and always to have them cut in the height of the fashion; to build houses thirty feet broad, as if they were palaces; to furnish them with all the luxurious devices of Parisian genius ; to give superb banquets, at which your guests laugh, and which make you miserable; to drive a fine carriage and ape European liveries, and crests, and coats-of-arms ; to resent the friendly advances of your baker's wife, and the lady of your butcher (you being yourself a cobbler's daughter) ; to talk much of the "old families" and of your aristocratic foreign friends ; to de- spise labor; to prate of "good society"; to travesty and parody, in every conceivable way, a society which we know only in books and by the superficial observation of foreign travel, which arises out of a social organization entirely unknown to us, and which is opposed to our fun- damental and essential principles; if all this were fine, what a prodigiously fine society would ours be! This occurred to us upon lately receiving a card of in- vitation to a brilliant ball. We were quietly ruminating over our evening fire, with Disraeli's Wellington speech, "all tears," in our hands, with the account of a great man's burial, and a little man's triumph across the chan- nel. So many great men gone, we mused, and such great 233 OUR BEST SOCIETY crises impending! This democratic movement in Eu- rope; Kossuth and Mazzini waiting for the moment to give the word; the Russian bear watchfully sucking his paws; the Napoleonic empire redivivus; Cuba, and an- nexation, and Slavery; California and Australia, and the consequent considerations of political economy ; dear me ! exclaimed we, putting on a fresh hodful of coal, we must look a little into the state of parties. As we put down the coal-scuttle, there was a knock at the door. We said, "come in," and in came a neat Al- hambra-watered envelope, containing the announcement that the queen of fashion was "at home" that evening week. Later in the evening, came a friend to smoke a cigar. The card was lying upon the table, and he read it with eagerness. "You'll go, of course," said he, "for you will meet all the 'best society.' " Shall we, truly? Shall we really see the "best society of the city," the picked flower of its genius, character and beauty? What makes the "best society" of men and women? The noblest specimens of each, of course. The men who mould the time, who refresh our faith in hero- ism and virtue, who make Plato, and Zeno, and Shake- speare, and all Shakespeare's gentlemen, possible again. The women, whose beauty, and sweetness, and dignity, and high accomplishment, and grace, make us understand the Greek mythology, and weaken our desire to have some glimpse of the most famous women of history. The "best society" is that in which the virtues are most shining, which is the most charitable, forgiving, long-suffering, modest, and innocent. The "best society" is, by its very name, that in which there is the least hypocrisy and in- sincerity of all kinds, which recoils from, and blasts, arti- ficiality, which is anxious to be all that it is possible to be, and which sternly reprobates all shallow pretense, all 234 GEORGE WILLIAM CURTIS coxcombry and foppery, and insists upon simplicity as the infallible characteristic of true worth. That is the "best society," which, comprises the best men and women. Had we recently arrived from the moon, we might, upon hearing that we were to meet the ''best society," have fancied that we were about to enjoy an opportunity not to be overvalued. But unfortunately we were not so freshly arrived. We had received other cards, and had perfected our toilette many times, to meet this same so- ciety, so magnificently described, and had found it the least "best" of all. Who compose it? Whom shall we meet if we go to this ball? We shall meet three classes of persons : first, those who are rich, and who have all that money can buy; second, those who belong to what are technically called "the good old families," because some ancestor was a man of mark in the state or country, or was very rich, and has kept the fortune in the family; and, thirdly, a swarm of youths who can dance dexter- ously, and who are invited for that purpose. Now these are all arbitrary and factitious distinctions upon which to found so profound a social difference as that which ex- ists in American, or, at least in New York, society. First, as a general rule, the rich men of every community, who make their own money, are not the most generally intelli- gent and cultivated. They have a shrewd talent which secures a fortune, and which keeps them closely at the work of amassing from their youngest years until they are old. They are sturdy men, of simple tastes often. Some- times, though rarely, very generous, but necessarily with an altogether false and exaggerated idea of the import- ance of money. They are a rather rough, unsympathetic, and, perhaps, selfish class, who, themselves, despise purple and fine linen, and still prefer a cot-bed and a bare room, although they may be worth millions. But they are mar- 235 OUR BEST SOCIETY ried to scheming, or ambitious, or disappointed women, whose Hfe is a prolonged pageant, and they are dragged hither and thither in it, are bled of their golden blood, and forced into a position they do not covet and which they despise. Then there are the inheritors of wealth. How many of them inherit the valiant genius and hard frugality which built up their fortunes; how many ac- knowledge the stern and heavy responsibility of their op- portunities ; how many refuse to dream their lives away in a Sybarite luxury; how many are smitten with the lofty ambition of achieving an enduring name by works of a permanent value; how many do not dwindle into dainty dilettanti, and dilute their manhood with factitious sentimentality instead of a hearty, human sympathy; how many are not satisfied with having the fastest horses and the "crackest" carriages, and an unlimited wardrobe, and a weak affectation and puerile imitation of foreign life? And who are these of pur secondly, these "old fam- ilies?" The spirit of our time and of our country knows no such thing, but the habitue of "society" hears con- stantly of "a good family." It means simply, the collec- tive mass of children, grand-children, nephews, nieces, and descendants, of some man who deserved well of his country, and whom his country honors. But sad is the heritage of a great name ! The son of Burke will inevi- tably be measured by Burke. The niece of Pope must show some superiority to other women (so to speak), or her equality is inferiority. The feeling of men attributes some magical charm to blood, and we look to see the daughter of Helen as fair as her mother, and the son of Shakespeare musical as his sire. If they are not so, if they are merely names, and common persons — if there is no Burke, nor Shakespeare, nor Washington, nor Bacon, in their words, or actions, or lives, then we must pity 236 GEORGE WILLIAM CURTIS them, and pass gently on, not upbraiding them, but re- gretting that it is one of the laws of greatness that it dwindles all things in its vicinity, which would otherwise show large enough. Nay, in our regard for the great man, we may even admit to a compassionate honor, as pension- ers upon our charity, those who bear and transmit his name. But if these heirs should presume upon that fame, and claim any precedence of living men and women be- cause their dead grandfather was a hero — they must be shown the door directly. We should dread to be born a Percy, or a Colonna, or a Bonaparte. We should not like to be the second Duke of Wellington, nor Charles Dick- ens, Jr. It is a terrible thing, one would say, to a mind of honorable feeling, to be pointed out as somebody's son, pr uncle, or granddaughter, as if the excellence were all derived. It must be a little humiliating to reflect that if your great-uncle had not been somebody, you would be nobody — that, in fact, you are only a name, and that, if you should consent to change it for the sake of a fortune, as is sometimes done, you would cease to be anything but a rich man. "My father was President, or Governor of the State," some pompous man may say. But, by Jupi- ter ! king of gods and men, what are youf is the instinctive response. Do you not see, our pompous friend, that you are only pointing your own unimportance ? If your father was Governor of the State, what right have you to use that fact only to fatten your self-conceit? Take care, good care ; for whether you say it by your lips or by your life, that withering response awaits you — "then what are youf" If your ancestor was great, you are under bonds to greatness. If you are small, make haste to learn it betimes, and, thanking heaven that your name has been made illustrious, retire into a corner and keep it, at least, untarnished. 237 OUR BEST SOCIETY Our thirdly, is a class made by sundry French tailors, bootmakers, dancing-masters, and Mr. Brown. They are a corps-de-ballet, for use of private entertainments. They are fostered by society for the use of young debutantes, and hardier damsels, who have dared two or three years of the "tight" polka. They are cultivated for their heels, not their heads. Their life begins at ten o'clock in the evening, and lasts until four in the morning. They go home and sleep until nine ; then they reel, sleepy, to count- ing-houses and offices, and doze on desks until dinner- time. Or, unable to do that, they are actively at work all day, and their cheeks grow pale, and their lips thin, and their eyes bloodshot and hollow, and they drag them- selves home at evening to catch a nap until the ball begins, or to dine and smoke at their club, and the very manly with punches and coarse stories ; and then to rush into hot and glittering rooms, and seize very decollete girls closely around the waist, and dash with them around an area of stretched linen, saying in the panting pauses, "How very hot it is!" "How very pretty Miss Podge looks!" "What a good redowa!" "Are you going to Mrs. Potiphar's?" Is this the assembled flower of manhood and woman- hood, called "best society," and to see which is so envied a privilege? If such are the elements, can we be long in arriving at the present state, and necessary future con- dition of parties ? Vanity Fair is peculiarly a picture of modern so- ciety. It aims at English follies, but its mark is universal, as the madness is. It is called a satire, but, after much diligent reading, we can not discover the satire. A state of society not at all superior to that of Vanity Fair is not unknown to our experience ; and, unless truth-telling be satire; unless the most tragically real portraiture be 238 GEORGE WILLIAM CURTIS satire ; unless scalding tears of sorrow, and the bitter re- gret of a manly mind over the miserable spectacle of arti- ficiality, wasted powers, misdirected energies, and lost opportunities, be satirical; we do not find satire in that sad story. The reader closes it with a grief beyond tears. It leaves a vague apprehension in the mind, as if we should suspect the air to be poisoned. It suggests the terrible thought of the enfeebling of moral power, and the deterioration of noble character, as a necessary conse- quence of contact with "society." Every man looks sud- denly and sharply around him, and accosts himself and his neighbors, to ascertain if they are all parties to this corruption. Sentimental youths and maidens, upon velvet sofas, or in calf-bound libraries, resolve that it is an in- sult to human nature — are sure that their velvet and calf- bound friends are not like the dramatis personce of Van- ity Fair, and that the drama is therefore hideous and unreal. They should remember, what they uniformly and universally forget, that we are not invited, upon the rising of the curtain, to behold a cosmorama, or picture of the. world, but a representation of that part of it called Vanity Fair. What its just limits are — how far its poi- sonous purlieus reach — how much of the world's air is tainted by it, is a question which every thoughtful man will ask himself, with a shudder, and look sadly around, to answer. If the sentimental objectors rally again to the charge, and declare that, if we wish to improve the world, its virtuous ambition must be piqued and stimulated by making the shining heights of "the ideal" more radiant ; we reply, that none shall surpass us in honoring the men whose creations of beauty inspire and instruct mankind. But if they benefit the world, it is no less true that a vivid apprehension of the depths into which we are sunken or may sink, nerves the soul's courage quite as much as the 239 OUR BEST SOCIETY alluring mirage of the happy heights we may attain. "To hold the mirror up to Nature," is still the most potent method of shaming sin and strengthening virtue. If Vanity Fair be a satire, what novel of society is not? Are Vivian Grey, and Pelham, and the long catalogue pi books illustrating English, or the host of Balzacs, Sands, Sues, and Dumas, that paint French so- ciety, less satires? Nay, if you should catch any dandy in Broadway, or in Pali-Mall, or upon the Boulevards, this very morning, and write a coldly true history of his life and actions, his doings and undoings, would it not be the most scathing and tremendous satire? — if by satire you mean the consuming melancholy of the conviction that the life of that pendant to a mustache is an insult to the possible life of a man. We have read of a hypocrisy so thorough, that it was surprised you should think it hypocritical : and we have bitterly thought of the saying, when hearing one mother say of another mother's child, that she had "made a good match," because the girl was betrothed to a stupid boy whose father was rich. The remark was the key of our social feeling. Let us look at it a little, and, first of all, let the reader consider the criticism, and not the critic. We may like very well, in our individual capacity, to partake of the delicacies prepared by our hostess's chef, we may not be averse to pate and myriad objets de goilt, and if you caught us in a corner at the next ball, putting away a fair share of dinde aux triiifes, we know you would have at us in a tone of great moral indignation, and wish to know why we sneaked into great houses, eating good suppers, and drinking choice wines, and then went away with an indigestion, to write dyspeptic disgusts at society. We might reply that it is necessary to know something 240 GEORGE WILLIAM CURTIS of a subject before writing- about it, and that if a man wished to describe the habits of South Sea Islanders, it is useless to g-o to Greenland ; we might also confess a partiality for pate, and a tenderness for truffes, and ac- knowledge that, considering our single absence would not put down extravagant, pompous parties, we were not strong enough to let the morsels drop into unappreciat- ing mouths ; or we might say, that if a man invited us to see his new house, it would not be ungracious nor insult- ing to his hospitality, to point out whatever weak parts we might detect in it, nor to declare our candid conviction, that it was built upon wrong principles and could not stand. He might believe us, if we had been in the house, but he certainly would not, if we had never seen it. Nor would it be a very wise reply upon his part, that we might build a better if we didn't like that. We are not fond of David's pictures, but we certainly could never paint half so well ; nor of Pope's poetry, but posterity will never hear of our verses. Criticism, is not construction, it is obser- vation. If we could surpass in its own way everything which displeased us, we should make short work of it, and! instead of showing what fatal blemishes deform our presen"^ society, we should present a specimen of perfec- tion, directly. We went to the brilliant ball. There was too much of everything. Too much light, and eating, and drinking, and dancing, and flirting, and dressing, and feigning, and smirking, and much too many people. Good taste insists first upon fitness. But why had Mrs. Potiphar given this ball? We inquired industriously, and learned it was be- cause she did not give one last year. Is it then essential to do this thing biennially? inquired we with some trepida- tion. "Certainly," was the bland reply, "or society will forget you." Everybody was unhappy at Mrs. Potiphar's, 241 • OUR BEST SOCIETY save a few girls and boys, who danced violently all the evening. Those who did not dance walked up and down the rooms as well as they could, squeezing by non-dancing ladies, causing them to swear in their hearts as the brusque broadcloth carried away the light outworks of gauze and gossamer. The dowagers, ranged in solid pha- lanx, occupied all the chairs and sofas against the wall, and fanned themselves until supper-time, looking at each other's diamonds, and criticizing the toilettes of the younger ladies, each narrowly watching her peculiar Polly Jane, that she did not betray too much interest in any man who was not of a certain fortune. — It is the cold, vulgar truth, madam, nor are we in the slightest degree exag- gerating. — Elderly gentlemen, twisting single gloves in a very wretched manner, came up and bowed to the dow- agers, and smirked, and said it Was a pleasant party, and a handsome house, and then clutched their hands behind them, and walked miserably away, looking as affable as possible. And the dowagers made a little fun of the elderly gentlemen, among themselves, as they walked away. Then came the younger non-dancing men — a class of the community who wear black cravats and waistcoats, and thrust their thumbs and forefingers in their waistcoat- pockets, and are called "talking men." Some of them are literary, and affect the philosopher; have, perhaps, writ- ten a book or two, and are a small species of lion to very young ladies. Some are of the blase kind ; men who affect the extremest elegance, and are reputed "so aristocratic," and who care for nothing in particular, but wish they had not been born gentlemen, in which case they might have escaped ennui. These gentlemen stand with hat in hand, and their coats and trousers are unexceptionable. They are the "so gentlemanly" persons of whom one hears a 242 GEORGE WILLIAM CURTIS great deal, but which seems to mean nothing but cleanli- ness. Vivian Grey and Pelham are the models of their ambition, and they succeed in being Pendennis. They en- joy the reputation of being "very clever," and "very tal- ented fellows," and "smart chaps" ; but they refrain from proving what is so generously conceded. They are often men of a certain cultivation. They have traveled, many of them — spending a year or two in Paris, and a month or two in the rest of Europe. Consequently they endure society at home, with a smile, and a shrug, and a graceful superciliousness, which is very engaging. They are per- fectly at home, and they rather despise Young America, which, in the next room, Is diligently earning its invita- tion. They prefer to hover about the ladies who did not come out this season, but are a little used to the world, with whom they are upon most friendly terms, and they criticize together, very freely, all the great events in the great world of fashion. These elegant Pendennises we saw at Mrs. Potiphar's, but not without a sadness which can hardly be expilained. They had been boys once, all of them, fresh and frank- hearted, and full of a noble ambition. They had read and pondered the histories of great men ; how they resolved, and struggled, and achieved. In the pure portraiture of genius, they had loved and honored noble women, and each young heart was sworn to truth and the service of beauty. Those feelings were chivalric and fair. Those boyish instincts clung to whatever was lovely, and re- jected the specious snare, however graceful and elegant. They sailed, new knights, upon that old and endless cru- sade against hypocrisy and the devil, and they were lost in the luxury of Corinth, nor longer seek the difficult shores beyond. A present smile was worth a future laurel. The ease of the moment was worth immortal 243 OUR BEST SOCIETY tranquillity. They renounced the stem worship of the un- known God, and acknowledged the deities of Athens. But the seal of their shame is their own smile at their early dreams, and the high hopes of their boyhood, their sneering infidelity of simplicity, their skepticism of mo- tives and of men. Youths, whose younger years were fervid with the resolution to strike and win, to deserve, at least, a gentle remembrance, if not a dazzling fame, are content to eat, and drink, and sleep well; to go to the opera and all the balls; to be known as "gentlemanly," and "aristocratic," and "dangerous," and "elegant"; to cherish a luxurious and enervating indolence, and to "suc- ceed," upon the cheap reputation of having been "fast" in Paris. The end of such men is evident enough from the beginning. They are snuffed out by a "great match," and become an appendage to a rich woman; or they dwindle off into old roues, men of the world in sad ear- nest, and not with elegant affectation, blase; and as they began Arthur Pendennises, so they end the Major. But, believe it, that old fossil heart is wrung sometimes by a mortal pang, as it remembers those squandered opportu- nities and that lost life. From these groups we passed into the dancing-room. We have seen dancing in other countries, and dressing. We have certainly never seen gentlemen dance so easily, gracefully, and well, as the American. But the style of dancing, in its whirl, its rush, its fury, is only equaled by that of the masked balls at the French opera, and the balls at the Salle Valentino, the Jardin Mahille, the Chateau Rouge, and other favorite resorts of Parisian grisettes and lorettes. We saw a few young men looking upon the dance very soberly, and, upon inquiry, learned that they were engaged to certain ladies of the corps-de-ballet. Nor did we wonder that the spectacle of a young woman 244 GEORGE WILLIAM CURTIS whirling in a decollete state, and in the embrace of a warm youth, around a heated room, induced a Httle so- briety upon her lover's face, if not a sadness in his heart. Amusement, recreation, enjoyment! There are no more beautiful things. But this proceeding falls under another head. We watched the various toilettes of these bounding belles. They were rich and tasteful. But a man at our elbow, of experience and shrewd observation, said, with a sneer, for which we called him to account, *T observe that American ladies are so rich in charms that they are not at all chary of them. It is certainly generous to us miserable black coats. But, do you know, it strikes me as a generosity of display that must necessarily leave the donor poorer in maidenly feeling," We thought our- selves cynical, but this was intolerable; and in a very crisp manner we demanded an apology. "Why," responded our friend with more of sadness than of satire in his tone, "why are you sO' exasperated? Look at this scene! Consider that this is, really, the life of these girls. This is what they 'come out' for. This is the end of their ambition. They think of it, dream of it, long for it. Is it amusement ? Yes, to a few, possibly. But listen and gather, if you can, from their remarks (when they make any), that they have any thought be- yond this, and going to church very rigidly on Sunday. The vigor of polkaing and church-going are propor- tioned ; as is the one so is the other. My young friend, I am no ascetic, and do not suppose a man is damned be- cause he dances. But life is not a ball (more's the pity, truly, for these butterflies), nor is its sole duty and delight dancing. When I consider this spectacle — when I remem- ber what a noble and beautiful woman is, what a manly man, — when I reel, dazzled by this glare, drunken by these perfumes, confused by this alluring music, and reflect 245 OUR BEST SOCIETY upon the enormous sums wasted in a pompous profusion that dehghts no one — when I look around upon all this rampant vulgarity in tinsel and Brussels lace, and think how fortunes go, how men struggle and lose the bloom of their honesty, how women hide in a smiling pretense, and eye with caustic glances their neighbor's newer house, diamonds or porcelain, and observe their daugh- ters, such as these — why, I tremble, and tremble, and this scene to-night, every 'crack' ball this winter, will be, not the pleasant society of men and women, but — even in this young country — an orgie such as rotting Corinth saw, a frenzied festival of Rome in its decadence." There was a sober truth in this bitterness, and we turned away to escape the sombre thought of the moment. Addressing one of the panting houris who stood melting in a window, we spoke (and confess how absurdly) of the Diisseldorf Gallery. It was merely to avoid saying how warm the room was, and how pleasant the party was, facts upon which we had already enlarged. "Yes, they are pretty pictures; but la! how long it must have taken Mr. Diisseldorf to paint them all ;" was the reply. By the Farnesian Hercules! no Roman sylph in her city's decline would ever have called the sun-god, Mr. Apollo. We hope that houri melted entirely away in the window; but we certainly did not stay to see. Passing out toward the supper-room we encountered two young men. "What, Hal," said one, "yoii at Mrs. Potiphar's?" It seems that Hal was a sprig of one of the "old families." "Well, Joe," said Hal, a little confused, "it is a little strange. The fact is I didn't mean to be here, but I concluded to compromise by coming, and not being introduced to the host." Hal could come, eat Potiphar's supper, drink his wines, spoil his carpets, laugh at his fashionable struggles, and affect the puppyism of a for- 246 GEORGE WILLIAM CURTIS eign lord, because he disgraced the name of a man who had done some service somewhere, while Potiphar was only an honest man who made a fortune. The supper-room was a pleasant place. The table was covered with a chaos of supper. Everything sweet and rare, and hot and cold, solid and liquid, was there. It was the very apotheosis of gilt gingerbread. There was a universal rush and struggle. The charge of the guards at Waterloo was nothing to it. Jellies, custard, oyster- soup, ice-cream, w^ine and water, gushed in profuse cas- cades over transparent precipices of tulle, muslin, gauze, silk and satin. Clumsy boys tumbled against costly dresses and smeared them with preserves; when clean plates failed, the contents of plates already used were quietly "chucked" under the table — heel-taps of cham- pagne were poured into the oyster tureens or overflowed upon plates to clear the glasses — wine of all kinds flowed in torrents, particularly down the throats of very young men, who evinced their manhood by becoming noisy, troublesome, and disgusting, and were finally either led, sick, into the hat room, or carried out of the way, drunk. The supper over, the young people, attended by their matrons, descended to the dancing- room for the "Ger- man." This is a dance commencing usually at midnight or a little after, and continuing indefinitely toward day- break. The young people were attended by their ma- trons, who were there tO' supervise the morals and man- ners of their charges. To secure the performance of this duty, the young people took good care to sit where the matrons could not see them, nor did they, by any chance, look toward the quarter in which the matrons sat. In that quarter, through all the varying mazes of the pro- longed dance, to two o'clock, to three, tO' four, sat the bediamonded dowagers, the mothers, the matrons — 247 OUR BEST SOCIETY against nature, against common sense. They babbled with each other, they drowsed, they dozed. Their fans fell listless into their laps. In the adjoining- room, out of the waking sight, even, of the then sleeping mamas, the daughters whirled in the close embrace of partners who had brought down bottles of champagne from the supper-room, and put them by the side of their chairs for occasional refreshment during the dance. The dizzy hours staggered by — "Azalia, you must come now," had been already said a dozen times, but only as by the scribes. Finally it was declared with authority. Azalia went — Amelia — Arabella. The rest followed. There was pro- longed cloaking, there were lingering farewells. A few papas were in the supper-room, sitting among the debris of game. A few young non-dancing husbands sat be- neath gas unnaturally bright, reading whatever chance book was at hand, and thinking of the young child at home waiting for mama who was dancing the "Ger- man" below. A few exhausted matrons sat in the robing- room, tired, sad, wishing Jane would come up; assailed at intervals by a vague suspicion that it was not quite worth while; wondering how it was they used to have such good times at balls; yawning, and looking at their watches ; while the regular beat of the music below, with sardonic sadness, continued. At last Jane came up, had had the most glorious time, and went down with mamma to the carriage, and so drove home. Even the last Jane went — the last noisy youth was expelled — and Mr. and Mrs. Potiphar, having duly performed their biennial so- cial duty, dismissed the music, ordered the servants to count the spoons, and an hour or two after daylight went to bed. Enviable Mr. and Mrs. Potiphar ! We are now prepared for the great moral indignation of the friend who saw us eating our dinde aux truffcs in 248 GEORGE WILLIAM CURTIS that remarkable supper-room. We are waiting to hear him say in the most moderate and "gentlemanly" man- ner, that it is all veiy well to select flaws and present them as specimens, and to learn from him, possibly with in- dignant publicity, that the present condition of parties is not what we have intimated. Or, in his quiet and pointed way, he may smile at our fiery assault upon edged flounces, and nuga pyramids, and the kingdom of Lilliput in general. Yet, after aJl, and despite the youths who are led out, and carried home, or who stumble through the "Ger- man," this is a sober matter. My friend told us we should see the "best society." But he is a prodigious wag. WhO' make this country ? From whom is its char- acter of unparalleled enterprise, heroism, and success de- rived? Who have given it its place in the respect and the fear of the world? Who, annually, recruit its ener- gies, confirm its progress, and secure its triumph? Who are its characteristic children, the pith, the sinew, the bone, of its prosperity? Who found, and direct, and con- tinue its manifold institutions of mercy and education? Who are, essentially, Americans? Indignant friend, these classes, whoever they may be, are the "best society," because they alone are the representatives of its character and cultivation. They are the "best society" of New York, of Boston, of Baltimore, of St. Louis, of New Or- leans, whether they live upon six hundred or sixty thou- sand dollars a year — whether they inhabit princely houses in fashionable streets (which they often do), or not — whether their sons have graduated at Celarius's and the Jardin Mahille, or have never been out of their father's shops — whether they have "air" and "style," and are "so gentlemanly" and "so aristocratic," or not. Your shoe- maker, your lawyer, your butcher, your clergyman — if 249 OUR BEST SOCIETY they are simple and steady, and, whether rich or poor, are unseduced by the sirens of extravagance and ruinous dis- play, help make up the "best society." For that mystic communion is not composed of the rich, but of the worthy; and is "best" by its virtues, and not by its vices. When Johnson, Burke, Goldsmith, Garrick, Reynolds, and their friends, met at supper in Goldsmith's rooms, where was the "best society" in England? When George the Fourth outraged humanity in his treatment of Queen Caroline, who was the first scoundrel in Europe? Pause yet a moment, indignant friend. Whose habits and principles would ruin this country as rapidly as it has been made? Who are enamored of a puerile imitation of foreign splendors? Who strenuously endeavor to graft the questionable points of Parisian society upon our own? Who pass a few years in Europe and return skep- tical of republicanism and human improvement, longing and sighing for more sharply emphasized social distinc- tions? Who squander, with profuse recklessness, the hard-earned fortunes of their sires ? Who diligently de- vote their time to nothing, foolishly and wrongly suppos- ing that a young English nobleman has nothing to do? Who, in fine, evince by their collective conduct, that they regard their Americanism as a misfortune, and are so the most deadly enemies of their country? None but what our wag facetiously termed "the best society." If the reader doubts, let him consider its practical re- sults in any great emporiums of "best society." Marriage is there regarded as a luxury, toO' expensive for any but the sons of rich men, or fortunate young men. We once heard an eminent divine assert, and only half in sport, that the rate of living was advancing so incredibly, that weddings in his experience were perceptibly diminishing. The reasons might have been many and various. But we 250 GEORGE WILLIAM CURTIS all acknowledge the fact. On the other hand, and about the same time, a lovely damsel (ah! Clorinda!) whose father was not wealthy, who had no prospective means of support, who could do nothing but polka to perfection, who literally knew almost nothing, and who constantly shocked every fairly intelligent person by the glaring ig- norance betrayed in her remarks, informed a friend at one of the Saratoga balls, whither he had made haste to meet "the best society," that there were "not more than three good matches in society." La Dame aiix Camelias, Marie Duplessis, was to our fancy a much more feminine, and admirable, and moral, and human person, than the adored Clorinda. And yet what she said was the legitimate re- sult of the state of our fashionable society. It worships wealth, and the pomp which wealth can purchase, more than virtue, genius or beauty. We may be told that it has always been so in every country, and that the fine society of all lands is as profuse and flashy as our own. We deny it, flatly. Neither English, nor Frencli, nor Italian, nor German society, is so unspeakably barren as that which is technically called "society" here. In Lon- don, and Paris, and Vienna, and Rome, all the really emi- nent men and women help make up the mass of society. A party is not a mere ball, but it is a congress of the wit, beauty, and fame of the capital. It is worth while to dress, if you shall meet Macaulay, or Hallam, or Guizot, or Thiers, or Landseer, or Delaroche — Mrs. Norton, the Misses Berry, Madame Recamier, and all the brilliant women and famous foreigners. But why should we de- sert the pleasant pages of those men, and the recorded gossip of those women, to be squeezed flat against a wall, while young Doughface pours oyster-gravy down our shirt-front, and Caroline Pettitoes wonders at "Mr. Diis- seldorf's" industry? 251 OUR BEST SOCIETY If intelligent people decline to go, you justly remark, it is their own fault. Yes, but if they stay away, it is very certainly their great gain. The elderly people are always neglected with us, and nothing surprises intelli- gent strangers more than the tyrannical supremacy of Young America. But we are not surprised at this neg- lect. How can we be, if we have our eyes open? When Caroline Pettitoes retreats from the floor to the sofa, and, instead of a "polker," figures at parties as a matron, do you suppose that "tough old Joes" like ourselves are go- ing to desert the young Caroline upon the floor, for Ma- dame Pettitoes upon the sofa? If the pretty young Caro- line, with youth, health, freshness, a fine, budding form, and wreathed in a semi-transparent haze of flounced and flowered gauze, is so vapid that we prefer to accost her with our eyes alone, and not with our tongues, is the same Caroline married into a Madame Pettitoes, and fanning herself upon a sofa — no longer particularly fresh, nor young, nor pretty, and no longer budding, but very fully blown — likely to be fascinating in conversation ? We can not wonder that the whole connection of Pettitoes, when advanced to the matron state, is entirely neglected. Proper homage tO' age we can all pay at home, to our par- ents and grandparents. Proper respect for some persons is best preserved by avoiding their neighborhood. And what, think you, is the influence of this extrava- gant expense and senseless show upon these same young men and women ? We can easily discover. It saps their noble ambition, assails their health, lowers their estimate of men, and their reverence for women, cherishes an eager and aimless rivalry, wealcens true feeling, wipes away the bloom of true modesty, and induces an ennui, a satiety, and a kind of dillettante misanthropy, which is only the more monstrous because it is undoubtedly real. You shall 252 GEORGE WILLIAM CURTIS hear young men of intelligence and cultivation, to whom the unprecedented circumstances of this country offer op- portunities of a great and beneficent career, complaining that they were born within this blighted circle; regretting that they were not bakers and tallow-chandlers, and un- der no obligation to keep up appearances ; deliberately surrendering all the golden possibilities of that future which this country, beyond all others, holds before them ; sighing that they are not rich enough to marry the girls they love, and bitterly upbraiding fortune that they are not millionaires ; suffering the vigor of their years to ex- hale in idle wishes and pointless regrets ; disgracing their manhood by lying in wait behind their "so gentlemanly" and "aristocratic" manners, until they can pounce upon a "fortune" and ensnare an heiress into matrimony : and so, having dragged their gifts — their horses of the sun — into a service which shames all their native pride and power, they sink in the mire; and their peers and emu- lators exclaim that they have "made a good thing of it." Are these the processes by which a noble race is made and perpetuated? At Mrs, Potiphar's we heard several Pendennises longing for a similar luxury, and announc- ing their firm purpose never to have wives nor houses un- trl they could have them as splendid as jewelled Mrs. Potiphar, and her palace, thirty feet front. Where were their heads, and their hearts, and their arms ? How looks this craven despondency, before the stern virtues of the ages we call dark ? When a man is so^ voluntarily imbe- cile as to regret he is not rich, if that is what he wants, before he has struck a blow for wealth ; or so dastardly as to renounce the prospect of love, because, sitting sigh- ing, in velvet dressing-gown and slippers, he does not see his way clear to ten thousand a year : when young women coiffed a merveille, of unexceptionable "style," who, with 253 OUR BEST SOCIETY or without a prospective penny, secretly look down upon honest women who struggle for a livelihood, like noble and Christian beings, and, as such, are rewarded; in whose society a man must forget that he has ever read, thought, or felt; who destroy in the mind the fair ideal of woman, which the genius of art, and poetry, and love, their inspirer has created ; then, it seems to us, it is high time that the subject should be regarded, not as a matter of breaking butterflies upon the wheel, but as a sad and sober question, in whose solution, all fathers and moth- ers, and the state itself, are interested. When keen ob- servers, and men of the world, from Europe, are amazed and appalled at the giddy whirl and frenzied rush of our society — a society singular in history for the exaggerated prominence it assigns to wealth, irrespective of the talents that amassed it, they and their possessor being usually hustled out of sight — is it not quite time to ponder a little upon the Court of Louis XIV, and the "merrie days" of King Charles II? Is it not clear that, if what our good wag, with caustic irony, called "best society," were really such, every thoughtful man would read upon Mrs. Poti- phar's softly-tinted walls the terrible "mene, mene" of an imminent destruction ? Venice in her pui-ple prime of luxury, when the famous law was passed making all gondolas black, that the nobles should not squander fortunes upon them, was not more luxurious than New York to-day. Our hotels have a su- perficial splendor, derived from a profusion of gilt and paint, wood and damask. Yet, in not one of them can the traveler be so quietly comfortable as in an English inn, and nowhere in New York can the stranger procure a dinner, at once so neat and elegant, and economical, as at scores of cafes in Paris. The fever of display has con- sumed comfort. A gondola plated with gold was no 254 GEORGE WILLIAM CURTIS easier than a black wooden one. We could well spare a little gilt upon the walls, for more cleanliness upon the public table; nor is it worth while to cover the walls with mirrors to reflect a want of comfort. One prefers a wooden bench to a greasy velvet cushion, and a sanded floor to a soiled and threadbare carpet. An insipid uni- formity is the Procrustes-bed, upon which "society" is stretched. Every new house is the counterpart of every other, with the exception of more gilt, if the owner can afford it. The interior arrangement, instead of being characteristic. Instead of revealing something of the tastes and feelings of the owner, is rigorously conformed to every other interior. The same hollow and tame com- plaisance rules in the intercourse of society. Who dares say precisely what he thinks upon a great topic? What youth ventures tO' say sharp things, of slavery, for in- stance, at a polite dinner-table? What girl dares wear curls, when Martelle prescribes pufTs or bandeaux ? What specimen of Young America dares have his trousers loose or wear straps to them? We want individuality, heroism, and, if necessary, an uncompromising persist- ence in difference. This is the present state of parties. They are wildly extravagant, full of senseless display; they are avoided by the pleasant and intelligent, and swarm with reckless regiments of "Brown's men." The ends of the earth contribute their choicest products to the supper, and there is everything that wealth can purchase, and all the spa- cious splendor that thirty feet front can afford. They are hot, and crowded, and glaring. There is a little weak scandal, venomous, not witty, and a stream of weary platitude, mortifying to every sensible person. Will any of our Pendennis friends intermit their indignation for a moment, and consider how many good things they have 255 OUR BEST SOCIETY said or heard during the season? If Mr. Potiphar's eyes should chance tO' fall here, will he reckon the amount of satisfaction and enjoyment he derived from Mrs. Poti- phar's ball, and will that lady candidly confess what she gained from it beside weariness and disgust ? What elo- quent sermons we remember tO' have heard in which the sins and the sinners of Babylon, JerichO' and Gomorrah were scathed with holy indignation. The cloth is very hard upon Cain, and completely routs the erring kings of Judah, The Spanish Inquisition, too, gets frightful knocks, and there is much eloquent exhortation to preach the gospel in the interior of Siam. Let it be preached there and God speed the Word. But also let us have a text or twO' in Broadway and the Avenue. The best sermon ever preached upon society, within our knowledge, is Vanity Fair. Is the spirit of that story less true oi New York than of London ? Probably we never see Amelia at our parties, nor Lieutenant George Osborne, nor good gawky Dobbin, nor Mrs. Re- becca Sharp Crawley, nor old Steyne. We are very much pained, of course, that any author should take such dreary views of human nature. We, for our parts, all go to Mrs. Potiphar's to refresh our faith in men and women. Gen- erosity, amiability, a catholic charity, simplicity, taste, sense, high cultivation, and intelligence, distinguish our parties. The statesman seeks their stimulating influence; the literary man, after the day's labor, desires the repose of their elegant conversation; the professional man and the merchant hurry up from down town to shuffle off the coil of heavy duty, and forget the drudgery of life in the agreeable picture of its amenities and graces presented by Mrs. Potiphar's ball. Is this account of the matter, or Vanity Fair, the satire? What are the prospects of any society of which that tale is the true history ? 256 GEORGE WILLIAM CURTIS There is a picture in the Lnxeinbonrg- gallery at Paris, The Decadence of the Romans, which made the fame and fortune of Couture, the painter. It represents an orgie in the court of a temple, during the last days of Rome. A swarm of revellers occupy the middle of the picture, wreathed in elaborate intricacy of luxurious pos- ture, men and women intermingled ; their faces, in which the old Roman fire scarcely flickers, brutalized with ex- cess of every kind ; their heads of dishevelled hair bound with coronals of leaves, while, from goblets of an antique grace, they drain the fiery torrent which is destroying them. Around the bacchanalian feast stand, lofty upon pedestals, the statues of old Rome, looking, with marble calmness and the severity of a rebuke beyond words, up- on the revellers. A youth of boyish grace, with a wreath woven in his tangled hair, and with red and drowsy eyes, sits listless upon one pedestal, while upon another stands a boy insane with drunkenness, and proffering a dripping goblet to the marble mouth of the statue. In the corner of the picture, as if just quitting the court — Rome finally departing — is a group of Romans with care-worn brows, and hands raised to their faces in melancholy meditation. In the foreground of the picture, which is painted with all the sumptuous splendor of Venetian art, is a stately vase, around which hangs a festoon of gorgeous flowers, its end dragging upon the pavement. In the background, between the columns, smiles the blue sky of Italy — the only thing Italian not deteriorated by time. The careful student of this picture, if he have been long in Paris, is some day startled by detecting, especially in the faces of the women represented, a surprising likeness to the women of Paris, and perceives, with a thrill of dismay, that the models for this picture of decadent human nature are furnished by the very city in which he lives. 257 THE TWO FARMERS BY CAROLYN WELLS Once on a Time there were Two Farmers who wished to Sell their Farms. To One came a Buyer who' offered a Fair Price, but the Farmer refused to Sell, saying he had heard rumors of a Railroad which was to be Built in his Vicinity, and he hoped The Corporation would buy his Farm at a Large Figure. The Buyer therefore went Away, and as the Railroad never Materialized, the Farmer Sorely Regretted that he lost a Good Chance. The Other Farmer Sold his Farm to the First Cus- tomer who came Along, although he Received but a Small Price for It. Soon Afterward a Railroad was Built right through the Same Farm, and The Railroad Company paid an Enormous Sum for the Land. MORALS : This Fable teaches that a Bird In The Hand is worth Two In The Bush, and The Patient Waiter Is No Loser. 258 SAMUEL BROWN BY PHCEBE GARY It was many and many a year ago. In a dwelling down in town, That a fellow there lived whom you may know, By the name of Samuel Brown ; And this fellow he lived with no other thought Than to our house to come down. I was a child, and he was a child, In that dwelling down in town. But we loved with a love that was more than love, I and my Samuel Brown, — ■ iWith a love that the ladies coveted. Me and Samuel Brown. And this was the reason that, long ago, To that dwelling down in town, A girl came out of her carriage, courting My beautiful Samuel Brown; So that her high-bred kinsmen came, And bore away Samuel Brown, And shut him up in a dwelling house. In a street quite up in town. The ladies, not half so happy up there, Went envying me and Brown ; Yes! that was the reason (as all men know, In this dwelling down in town), That the girl came out of the carriage by night, Coquetting and getting my Samuel Brown. 259 SAMUEL BROWN But our love Is more artful by far than the love If those who are older than we, — Of many far wiser than we, — And neither the girls that are livingf above, Nor the girls that are down in town, Can ever dissever my soul from the soul Of the beautiful Samuel Brown. For the morn never shines, without bringing me lines, From my beautiful Samuel Brown; And the night's never dark, but I sit in the park With my beautiful Samuel Brown. And often by day, I walk down in Broadway, With my darling, my darling, my life and my stay, I To our dwelling down in town, To our house in the street down town. 260 THE WAY IT WUZ BY JAMES WHITCOMB RILEY Las' July— an', I presume 'Bout as hot As the ole Gran' -Jury room Where they sot ! — Fight 'twixt Mike an' Dock McGriff — 'Pears to me jes' Hke as if I'd a dremp' the whole blame thing — Alius ha'nts me roun' the gizzard When they're nightmares on the wing, An' a feller's blood 's jes' friz ! Seed the row from a to izzard — 'Cause I WUZ a-standin' as clost to 'em As me an' you is ! Tell you the way it wuz — An' I don't want to see, Like some fellers does, When they're goern to be Any kind o' fuss — On'y makes a rumpus wuss Fer to interfere When their dander's riz — But I WUZ a-standin' as clost to 'em As me an' you is ! I wuz kind o' strayin' Past the blame saloon — Heerd some fiddler playin' That "pie hee-cup tune !" 261 THE WAY IT WUZ Sort o' stopped, you know, Fer a minit er so, And WUZ jes' about Settin' down, when — Jeemses whks! Whole durn winder-sash fell out ! An' there laid Dock McGriff, and Mike A-straddlin' him, all bloody-like, An' both a-gittin' down to biz ! — An' I WUZ a-standin' as dost to 'em As me an' you is ! I WUZ the on'y man aroun' — (Durn old-fogy town! 'Peared more like, to me, Sund'y 'an Saturd'y!) Dog come 'crost the road An' tuck a smell An' put right back ; ■Mishler driv by 'ith a load O' cantalo'pes he couldn't sell — Too mad, 'y jack ! To even ast What WUZ up, as he went past ! Weather most outrageous hot ! — Fairly hear it sizz Roun' Dock an' Mike — till Dock he shot, An' Mike he slacked that grip o' his An' fell, all spraddled out. Dock riz 'Bout half up, a-spittin' red, An' shuck his head — An' I WUZ a-standin' as clost to 'em As me an' you is ! 262 JAMES WHITCOMB RILEYj An' Dock he says, A-whisperin'-like, — **It hain't no use A-tryin' ! — Mike He's jes' ripped my daylights loose !- Git that blame-don fiddler to Let up, an' come out here — You Got some burryin' to do, — ■ Mike makes one, an' I expects In ten seconds I'll make two!" And he drapped back, where he riz, 'Crost Mike's body, black and blue, Like a great big letter X ! — - An' I wuz a-standin' as clost to 'em As me an' you is ! 263 SHE TALKED BY SAM WALTER FOSS She talked of Cosmos and of Cause, And wove green elephants in gauze, And while she frescoed earthen jugs, Her tongue would never pause : On sages wise and esoteric. And bards from Wendell Holmes to Herrick' Thro' time's proud Pantheon she walked, And talked and talked and talked and talked ! And while she talked she would crochet. And make all kinds of macrame. Or paint green bobolinks upon Her mother's earthen tray; She'd decorate a smelling bottle While she conversed on Aristotle; While fame's proud favorites round her flocked, She talked and talked and talked and talked ! She talked and made embroidered rugs, She talked and painted 'lasses jugs, And worked five sea-green turtle doves On papa's shaving mugs ; With Emerson or Epictetus, Plato or Kant, she used to greet us : She talked until we all were shocked, And talked and talked and talked and talked ! 264 SAM WALTER FOSS She had a lover, and he told The story that is never old. While she her father s bootjack worked K lovely green and gold. She switched off on Theocritus, And talked about Democritus ; And his most ardent passion balked, And talked and talked and talked and talked. He begged her to become his own ; She talked of ether and ozone, And painted yellow poodles on Her brother's razor hone ; Then talked of Noah and Neb'chadnezzar, And Timon and Tiglath-pileser — While he at her heart portals knocked, She talked and talked and talked and talked ! He bent in love's tempestuous gule, She talked of strata and of shale. And worked magenta poppies on Her mother's water pail ; And while he talked of passion's power, She amplified on Schopenhauer — A pistol flashed : he's dead ! Unshocked, She talked and talked and talked and talked ! 265 GRANDMA KEELER GETS GRANDPA READY FOR SUNDAY-SCHOOL BY SARAH P. McLean GREENE Sunday morning nothing arose in Wallencamp save the sun. At least, that celestial orb had long forgotten all the roseate flaming of his youth, in an honest, straightfor- ward march through the heavens, ere the first signs of smoke came curling lazily up from the Wallencamp chim- neys. I had retired at night, very weary, with the delicious consciousness that it wouldn't make any difference when I woke up the next morning, or whether, indeed, I woke at all. So I opened my eyes leisurely and lay half-dream- ing, half-meditating on a variety of things. I deciphered a few of the texts on the scriptural patch- work quilt which covered my couch. There were — "Let not your heart be troubled," "Remember Lot's wife," and "Philander Keeler," traced in inky hieroglyphics, all in close conjunction. Finally I reached out for my watch, and, having ascer- tained the time of day, I got up and proceeded to dress hastily enough, w'ondering to hear no signs of life in the 'house. I went noiselessly down the stairs. All was silent below, except for the peaceful snoring of Mrs. Philander and the little Keelers, which was responded to from some remote western corner of the Ark by the triumphant snores of Grandma and Grandpa Keeler. 266 SARAH P. McLean GREENE I attempted to kindle a fire in the stove, but it sizzled a little while, spitefully, as much as to say, "What, Sun- day morning? Not I!" and went out. So I concluded to put on some wraps and go out and warm myself in the sun. I climbed the long- hill back of the Ark, descended, and walked along the bank of the river. It was a beautiful morning. The air was — everything that could be de- sired in the way of air, but I felt a desperate need of some- thing more substantial. Standing alone with nature, on the bank of the lovely river, I thought, with tears in my eyes, of the delicious breakfast already recuperating the exhausted energies of my far-away home friends. When I got back to the house, Mrs. Philander, in sim- ple and unaffected attire, was bustling busily about the . stove. The snores from Grandma and Grandpa's quarter had ceased, signifying that they, also, had advanced a stage in the grand processes of Sunday morning. The children came teasing me to dress them, so I fast- ened for them a variety of small articles which I flattered myself on having combined in a very ingenious and ar- tistic manner, though I believe those infant Keelers went weeping to Grandma afterward, and were remodeled by her all-comforting hand with much skill and patience. In the midst of her preparations for breakfast, Made- line abruptly assumed her hat and shawl, and was seen from the window, walking leisurely across the fields in the direction of the woods. She returned in due time, bearing an armful of fresh evergreens, which she twisted around the family register. When the ancient couple made their appearance, I re- marked silently, in regard to Grandma Keeler's hair, what 267 GRANDMA KEELER GETS GRANDPA READY proved afterward to be its usual holiday morning arrange- ment. It was confined in six infinitesimal braids which appeared to be sprouting out, perpendicularly, in all di- rections from her head. The effect of redundancy and expansiveness thus heightened and increased on Grand- ma's features was striking in the extreme. While we were eating breakfast, that good soul ob- served to Grandpa Keeler: "Wall, pa, I suppose you'll be all ready when the time comes to take teacher and me over to West Wallen to Sunday-school, won't ye?" Grandpa coughed, and coughed again, and raised his eyes helplessly to the window. "Looks some like showers," said he. "A-hem ! a-hem ! Looks mightily to me like showers, over yonder." "Thar', r'aly, husband ! I must say I feel mortified for ye," said Grandma. "Seein' as you're a perfessor, too, and thar' ain't been a single Sunday mornin' since I've lived with ye, pa, summer or winter, but what you've seen showers, and it r'aly seems to me it's dreadful incon- sistent when thar' ain't no cloud in the sky, and don't look no more like rain than I do." And Grandma's face, in spite of her reproachful tones, was, above all, blandly sunlike and expressive of anything rather than deluge and watery disaster. Grandpa was silent a little while, then coughed again. I had never seen Grandpa in worse straits. "A-hem ! a-hem ! 'Fanny' seems to be a little lame, this mornin'," said he. "I shouldn't wonder. She's been goin' pretty stiddy this week." "It does beat all, pa," continued Grandma Keeler, "how 't all the horses you've ever had since I've known ye have always been took lame Sunday mornin'. Thar' was 'Happy Jack,' he could go anywhers through the week, and never limp a step, as nobody could see, and 268 SARAH P. McLEAN GREENE Sunday mornin' he was always took lame! And thar' was 'Tantrum' — " "Tantrum" was the horse that had run awtay with Grandma when she was thrown from the wagon, and gen- erally smashed to pieces. And now, Grandma branched off into the thrilling reminiscences connected with this in- cident of her life, which was the third time during the week that the horrible tale had been repeated for my de- lectation. When she had finished. Grandpa shook his. head with painful earnestness, reverting to the former subject of discussion. "It's a long jaunt!" said he; "a long jaunt!" "Thar's a long hill to climb before we reach Zion's mount," said Grandma Keeler, impressively. "Wall, there's a darned sight harder one on the road to West Wallen!" burst out the old sea-captain desper- ately; "say nothin' about the devilish stones!" "Thar' now," said Grandma, with calm though awful reproof; "I think we've gone fur enough for one day; we've broke the Sabbath, and took the name of the Lord in vain, and that ought to be enough for perfessors." Grandpa replied at length in a greatly subdued tone: "Wall, if you and the teacher want to go over to Sunday- school to-day, I suppose we can go if we get ready," a long submissive sigh — "I suppose we can." "They have preachin' service in tlie mornin', I sup- pose," said Grandma. "But we don't generally git along to that. It makes such an early start. We generally try to get around, when we go, in time for Sunday-school. They have singin' and all. It's just about as interestin', I think, as preachin*. The old man r'aly likes it," she ob- served aside to me; "when he once gets started, but he kind o' dreads the gittin' started." 269 GRANDMA KEELER GETS GRANDPA READY When I beheld the ordeal through which Grandpa Keeler was called to pass, at the hands of his faithful consort, before he was considered in a fit condition of mind and body to embark for the sanctuary, I marveled not at the old man's reluctance, nor that he had indeed seen clouds and tempest fringing the horizon. Immediately after breakfast, he set out for the barn, ostensibly to "see to the chores;" really, I believe, to ob- tain a few moments' respite, before worse evil should come upon him. Pretty soon Grandma was at the back door calling in firm though persuasive tones : "Husband ! husband ! come in, now, and get ready." No answer. Then it was in another key, weighty, yet expressive of no weak irritation, that Grandma called "Come, pa ! pa-a ! pa-a-a !" Still no answer. Then that voice of Grandma's sung out like a trumpet, terrible with meaning — "Bijonah Keeler !" But Grandpa appeared not. Next, I saw Grandma slowly but surely gravitating in the direction of the barn, and soon she returned, bringing with her that ancient delinquent, who looked like a lost sheep indeed and a truly unreconciled one. "Now the first thing," said Grandma, looking her for- lorn captive over; "is boots. Go and get on yer meetin' gaiters, pa." The old gentleman, having dutifully invested himself with those sacred relics, came pathetically limping into the room. "I declare, ma," said he; "somehow these things — phew! Somehow they pinch my feet dreadfully. I don't know what it is, — phew ! They're dreadful oncomf 'table things somehow." "Since I've known ye, pa," solemnly ejaculated Grand- 270 SARAH P. McLean GREENE ma Keeler, "you've never had a pair o' meetin^ boots that set easy on yer feet. You'd ought to get boots big enough for ye, pa," she continued, looking down disapprovingly on the old gentleman's pedal extremities, which resembled two small scows at anchor in black cloth encasements : "and not be so proud as to go to pinchin' yer feet into gaiters a number o' sizes too small for ye." "They're number tens, I tell ye !" roared Grandpa net- tled outrageously by this cutting taunt. "Wall, thar', now, pa," said Grandma, soothingly; "if I had sech feet as that, I wouldn't go to spreadin' it all over town, if I was you — ^but it's time we stopped bicker- in' now, husband, and got ready for meetin' ; so set down and let me wash yer head." "I've washed once this mornin'. It's clean enough," Grandpa protested, but in vain. He was planted in a chair, and Grandma Keeler, with rag and soap and a basin of water, attacked the old gentleman vigorously, much as I have seen cruel mothers wash the faces of their earth- begrimed infants. He only gave expression to such groans as : "Thar', ma ! don't tear my ears to pieces ! Come, ma ! you've got my eyes so full o' soap now, ma, that I can't see nothin'. Phew, Lordy! ain't ye most through with this, ma?" Then came the dyeing process, which Grandma Keeler assured me, aside, made Grandpa "look like a man o' thirty;" but to me, after it he looked neither old nor young, human nor inhuman, nor like anything that I had ever seen before under the sun. "There's the lotion, the potion, the dye-er, and the set- ter," said Grandma, pointing to four bottles on the tablev "Now whar's the directions, Madeline?" These having been produced from between the leaves 271 GRANDMA KEELER GETS GRANDPA READY of the family Bible, Madeline read, while Grandma made a vigorous practical application of the various mixtures. "This admirable lotion" — in soft ecstatic tones Made- line rehearsed the flowery language of the recipe — "though not so instantaneously startling in its effect as our inestimable dyer and setter, yet forms a most essen- tial part of the w'hole process, opening, as it does, the dry and lifeless pores of the scalp, imparting to them new life and beauty, and rendering them more easily suscepti- ble to the applications which follow. But we must go deeper than this ; a tone must be given to the whole sys-' tern by means of the cleansing and rejuvenating of the very centre of our beings, and, for this purpose, we have prepared our wonderful potion." Here Grandpa, with a' wry face, was made to swallow a spoonful of the mix-' ture. "Our unparalleled dyer," Madeline continued, "re- stores black hair to a more than original gloss and bril- liancy, and gives to the faded golden tress the sunny flashes of youth." Grandpa wlas dyed. "Our world-, renowned setter completes and perfects the whole process by adding tone and permanency to the efficacious qualities of the lotion, potion, and dyer, etc. ;" while on Grandpa's head the unutterable dye was set. "Now, read teacher some of the testimonials, daugh- ter," said Grandma Keeler, whose face was one broad, generous illustration of that rare and peculiar virtue called faith. So Madeline continued: "Mrs. Hiram Briggs, of. North Dedham, writes: 'I was terribly afflicted withj baldness, so that, for months, I was little more than an^ outcast from society, and an object of pity to my most familiar friends. I tried every remedy in vain. At length I heard of your wonderful restorative. After a' week's application, my hair had already begun to grow 272 SARAH P. McLean GREENE in what seemed the most miraculous manner. At the end of ten months it had assumed such length and propor- tions as to be a most luxurious burden, and where I had before been regarded with pity and aversion, I became the envied and admired of all beholders.' " "Just think!" said Grandma Keeler, with rapturous sympathy and gratitude, "how that poor creetur must a' felt!" " 'Orion Spaulding, of Weedsville, Vermont,' " Made- line went on — but, here, I had to beg to be excused, and went to my room to get ready for the Sunday-school. When I came down again. Grandpa Keeler was seated, completely arrayed in his best clothes, opposite Grandma, who held the big family Bible in her lap, and a Sunday- school question book in one hand. "Now, pa," said she ; "what tribe was it in sacred writ that wore bunnits?" I was compelled to infer from the tone of Grandpa Keeler's answer that his temper had not undergone a mollifying process during my absence. "Come, ma," said he; "how much longer ye goin' to pester me in this way?" "Why, pa," Grandma rejoined calmly; "until you git a proper understandin' of it. What tribe was it in sacred writ that wore bunnits ?" "Lordy !" exclaimed the old man. "How d'ye suppose I know ! They must 'a' been a tarnal old womanish look- in' set anyway." "The tribe o' Judah, pa," said Grandma, gravely. "Now, how good it is, husband, to have your understand- in' all freshened up on the scripters !" "Come, come, ma !" said Grandpa, rising nervously. "It's time we was startin'. When I make up my mind to go anywhere I always want to git there in time. If I was 273 GRANDMA KEELER GETS GRANDPA READY goin' to the Old Harry, I should want to git there In time." "It's my consarn that we shall git thar' before time, spme on us," said Grandma, with sad meaning, "unless we lam to use more respec'ful language." I shall never forget how we set off for church that Sabbath morning, way out at one of the sunny back doors of the Ark: for there was Madeline's little cottage that fronted the highway, or lane, and then there was a long backward extension of the Ark, only one story in height. This belonged peculiarly to Grandma and Grandpa Keeler. It contained the "parlor" and three "keepin' " rooms opening one into the other, all of the same size and general bare and gloomy appearance, all possessing the same sacredly preserved atmosphere, through which we passed with becoming silence and solemnity into the "end" room, the sunny kitchen where Grandma and Grandpa kept house by themselves in the summer time, and there at the door, her very yellow coat reflecting the rays of the sun, stood Fanny, presenting about as much appear- ance of life and animation as a pensive summer squash. The carriage, I thought, was a fac-simile of the one in which I had been brought from West Wallen on the night of my arrival. One of the most striking peculiarities of this sort of vehicle was the width at which the wheels were set apart. The body seemed comparatively narrow. It was very long, and covered with white canvas. It had neither windows nor doors, but just the one guarded opening in front. There were no steps leading to this, and, indeed, a variety of obstacles before it. And the way Grandma effected an entrance was to put a chair on a mound of earth, and a cricket on top of the chair, and thus, having climbed up to Fanny's reposeful back, she slipped passively down, feet foremost, to the whiffle-tree; 274 SARAH P. McLean GREENE from thence she easily gained the plane of the carriage floor. Grandpa and I took a less circuitous, though, perhaps, not less difficult route. I sat with Grandpa on the "front" seat — it may be re- marked that the "front" seat was very much front, and the "back" seat very much back — there w^s a kind of wooden shelf built outside as a resting-place for the feet, so that while our heads were under cover, our feet were out, utterly exposed to the weather, and we must either lay them on the shelf or let them hang off into space. Madeline and the children stood at the door to see us off. "All aboard ! ship ballasted ! wnnd fa'r ! go ahead thar*, Fanny!" shouted Grandpa, who seemed quite restored in spirits, and held the reins and wielded the whip with a masterful air. He spun sea-yarns, too, all the way — marvelous ones, and Grandma's reproving voice was mellowed by the dis- tance, and so confusedly mingled with the rumbling of the wheels, that it seemed hardly to reach him at all. Not that Grandma looked discomfited on this account, or in bad humor. On the contrary, as she sat back there in the ghostly shadows, with her hands folded, and her hair combed out in resplendent waves on either side of her head, she appeared conscious that every word she uttered was taking root in some obdurate heart. She was, in every respect, the picture of good-will and contentment. But the face under Grandpa's antiquated beaver began to give me a fresh shock every time I looked up at him, for the light and the air were rapidly turning his rejuve- nated locks and his poor, thin fringe of whiskers to an unnatural greenish tint, while his bushy eyebrows, un- touched by the hand of art, shone as white as ever. 275 GRANDMA KEELER GETS GRANDPA READY In spite of the old sea-captain's entertaining stories, it seemed, indeed, "a long jaunt" to West Wallen. To say that Fanny was a slow horse would be but a feeble expression of the truth. A persevering "click ! click ! click !" began to arise from Grandma's quarter. This annoyed Grandpa ex- ceedingly. "Shet up, ma !" he was moved to exclaim at last. "I'm steerin' this craft." "Click! click! click!" came perseveringly from behind. "Dum it, ma! thar', ma!" cried Grandpa, exasperated beyond measure. "How is this boss goin' to hear any- thing that I say ef you keep up such a tarnal cacklin' ?" Just as we were coming out of the thickest part of the woods, about a mile beyond Wallencamp, we discovered a man walking in the distance. It was the only human being we had seen since we started. "Hullo, there's Lovell!" exclaimed Grandpa. "I was wonderin' why we hadn't overtook him before. We gin- 'ally take him in on the road. Yis, yis; that's Lovell, ain't it, teacher ?" I put up my glasses, helplessly. "I'm sure," I said, "I can't tell, positively. I have seen Mr. Barlow but once, and at that distance I shouldn't know my own father." "Must be Lovell," said Grandpa. "Yis, I know him! Hullo, thar' ! Ship ahoy ! ship ahoy !' Grandpa's voice suggested something of the fire and vigor It must have had when it rang out across the foam of waves and pierced the tempest's roar. The man turned and looked at us, and then went on again. "He don't seem to recognize us," said Grandma. "Ship a-hoy ! Ship a-hoy !" shouted Grandpa. SARAH P. McLean GREENE THe man turned and looked at us again, and this time he stopped and kept on looking. When we got up to him we saw that it wasn't Lovell 'Barlow at all, but a stranger of trampish appearance, drunk and fiery, and fixed in an aggressive attitude. I was naturally terrified. What if he should attack us in that lonely spot! Grandpa was so old! And more- over, Grandpa was so taken aback to find that it wasn't Lovell that he began some blunt and stammering expres- sion of surprise, which only served to increase the stran- ger's ire. Grandma, imperturbable soul ! who never failed to come to the rescue even in the most desperate emer- gencies — Grandma climbed over to the front, thrust out her benign head, and said in that deep, calm voice of hers : "We're a goin' to the house of God, brother ; won't you git in and go too?" "No!" our brother replied, doubling up his fists and shaking them menacingly in our faces : "I won't go to no house o' God. What d'ye mean by overhauling me on the road, and askin' me to git into yer d — d old travel- ing lunatic asylum ?" "Drive on, pa," said Grandma, coldly. "He ain't in no condition to be labored with now. Drive on kind o' quick!" "Kind o' quick" we could not go, but Fanny was made to do her best, and we did not pause to look behind. When \Ve got to the church Sunday-school had already begun. There was Lovell Barlow looking preternaturally stiff in his best clothes, sitting with a class of young men. He saw us when we came in, and gave me a look of deep meaning. It was the same expression — as though there was some solemn, mutual understanding between us — which he had worn on that night when he gave me his picture. V7 GRANDMA KEELER GETS GRANDPA READY "There's plenty of young folks' classes," said Grand- ma; "but seein' as we're late maybe you'd jest as soon go right along in with us." I said that I should like that best, so I went into the "old folks' " class with Grandma and Grandpa Keeler. There were three pews of old people in front of us, and the teacher, who certainly seemed to me the oldest per- son I had ever seen, sat in an otherwise vacant pew in front of all, so that, his voice being very thin and queru- lous, we could hear very little that he said, although we were edified in some faint sense by his pious manner of shaking his head and rolling his eyes toward the ceiling. The church was a square wooden edifice, of medium size, and contained three stoves all burning brightly. Against this, and the drowsy effect of their long drive in the sun and wind, my two companions proved powerless to struggle. Grandpa looked furtively up at Grandma, then en- deavored to put on as a sort of apology for what he felt was inevitably coming, a sanctimonious expression which was most unnatural to him, and which soon faded away as the sweet unconsciousness of slumber overspread his features. His head fell back helplessly, his mouth opened wide. He snored, but not very loudly. I looked at Grandma, wondering why her vigilance had failed on this occasion, and lo! her head was falling peacefully from side to side. She was fast asleep, too. She woke up first, however, and then Grandpa was speedily and adroitly aroused by some means, I think it was a pin ; and Grand- ma fed him with bits of unsweetened flag-root, which he munched penitently, though evidently without relish, un- til he dropped off to sleep again, and she dropped off to sleep again, and so they continued. But it always happened that Grandma woke up first. 278 SARAH P. McLEAN GREENE And whereas Grandpa, when the avenging pin pierced his shins, recovered himself with a start and an air of guilty confusion, Grandma opened her eyes at regular in- tervals, with the utmost calm and placidity, as though she had merely been closing them to engage in a few mo- ments of silent prayer. 279 VIVE LA BAGATELLE BY GELETT BURGESS Sing a song of foolishness, laughing stocks and cranks ! The more there are the merrier ; come join the ranks ! Life is dry and stupid ; whoop her up a bit ! Donkeys live in clover ; bray and throw a fit ! Take yourself in earnest, never stop to think, Strut and swagger boldly, dress in red and pink ; Prate of stuff and nonsense, get yourself abused ; Some one's got to play the fool to keep the crowd amused ! Bully for the idiot ! Bully for the guy ! You could be a prig yourself, if you would only try! Altruistic asses keep the fun alive ; Clowns are growing scarcer ; hurry and arrive ! I seen a crazy critic a-writin' of a screed ; "Tendencies" and "Unities" — Maeterlinck indeed! He wore a paper collar, and his tie was up behind ; If that's the test of Culture, then I'm glad I'm not refined ! Let me laugh at you, then you can laugh at me ; Then we'll josh together everything we see; Every one's a nincompoop to another's view ; Laughter makes the sun shine ! Roop-de-doodle-doo ! 280 THE TWO BROTHERS BY CAROLYN WELLS Once on a Time there were Two Brothers who Set Out to make their Way In The World. One was of a Roving Disposition, and no sooner had he settled Down to Live in One Place than he would Gather Up all his Goods and Chattels and Move to an- other Place. From here again he would Depart and make him a Fresh Home, and so on until he Became an Old Man and had gained neither Fortune nor Friends. The Other, being Disinclined to Change or Diversity of Scene, remained all his Life in One Place. He there- fore Became Narrow-Minded and Provincial, and gained None of the Culture and Liberality of Nature which comes from Contact with various Scenes of Life. MORALS : This Fable teaches that a Rolling Stone Gathers No Moss, and a Setting Hen Never Grows Fat. 281 A LETTER FROM PETROLEUM V. NASBY I AM Requested to Act as Chaplain of the Cleve- land Convention. — That Beautiful City Visited for that Purpose. Post Offis, Confedrit X Roads, (wich is in the Stait uv Kentucky)', September 20, 1866. I wuz sent for to come to Washington, from my com- fortable quarters at the Post Offis, to attend the conven- shun uv sich soldiers and sailors uv the United States ez bleeve in a Union uv 36 States, and who hev sworn alle- jinse to a flag with 36 stars onto it, at Cleveland. My esteemed and life-long friend and co-laborer, Rev. Henry Ward Beecher, wuz to hev bin the chaplin uv the conven- shun, but he failed us, and it wuz decided in a Cabinet meetin that I shood take his place. I didn't see the neces- sity uv hevin a chaplin at every little convenshun uv our party, and so stated ; but Seward remarked, with a groan, that ef ever there wuz a party, since parties wuz invented, wich needed prayin for, ours wuz that party. "And, Parson," sed he, glancin' at a list uv delegates, "ef yoo hev any agonizin petitions, any prayers uv extra fervency, offer em up for these fellers. Ef there is any efficacy in prayer, it's my honest, unbiased opinion that there never wuz in the history uv the world, nor never will be agin, sich a magnificent chance to make it manifest. Try yoor- self particularly on Custer; tho', after all," continyood he, 282 PETROLEUM V. NASBY in a musin, abstracted sort uv a way, wich he's fallen into lately, "the fellow is sich a triflin bein, that he reely kin hardly be held 'sponsible for what he's doin ; and the bal- ance uv em, good Hevens! they'r mostly druv to it by hunger." And the Secretary maundered on suthin about "sixty days" and "ninety days," payin no more attention to the rest uv us than ez ef we wuzn't there at all. So, receevin transportashen and suffishent money from the secret service fund for expenses, I departed for Cleve- land, and after a tejus trip thro' an Ablishn country, I arrived there. My thots were gloomy beyond expression. I bed recently gone through this same country ez chaplin to the Presidential tour, and every stashen hed its pecoo- liar onpleasant remembrances. Here wuz where the cheers for Grant were vociferous, with nary a snort for His Eggslency ; there wuz where the peasantry laft in his face when he went thro' with the regler ritooal uv presentin the constitooshn and the flag with 36 stars onto it to a deestrick assessor; there wuz — ^but why recount my suf- ferins ? Why harrow up the public bosom, or lasserate the public mind ? Suffice to say, I endoored it ; suffice to say that I hed strength left to ride up Bank street, in Cleve- land, the seen uv the most awful insult the Eggsecutive ever receeved. The evenin I arrived, the delegates, sich ez wuz on hand, held a informal meetin to arrange matters so ez they wood work smooth when the crowd finally got to- gether. Genral Wool wuz ez gay and frisky ez though he reely belonged to the last ginerashn. There wuz Custar, uv Michigan, with his hair freshly oiled and curled, and busslin about ez though he hed cheated hisself into the beleef that he reely amounted to suthin; and there wuz seventy-eight other men, who hed distinguished their- selves in the late war, but who hed never got their deserts, 283 A LETTER ceptin by tDrevet, owin to the fact that the Admlnlstrashnl wuz Ablishn, which they wuzn't. They were, in a pekuni- ary pint uv view, suthin the worse for wear, tho' why that shood hev bin the case I coodent see (they hevin bin, to an alarmin extent, quarter-masters and commissaries, and in the recrootin service), til I notist the prevaihn color uv their noses, and heerd one uv em ask his neighbor ef Cleveland wuz blest with a faro bank ! Then I knowd all about it. There wuz another pekooliarity about it which for a time amoozed me. Them ez wuz present wuz divided into 2 classes — those ez hed bin recently appinted to posi- shens, and them ez expected to be shortly. I notist on the countenances uv the first class a look uv releef, sich ez I hev seen in factories Saturday nite, after the hands wuz paid off for a hard week's work; and on the other class the most wolfish, hungry, fierce expression I hev ever witnessed. Likewise, I notist that the latter set uv pa- triots talked more hefty uv the necessity uv sustainin the policy uv our firm and noble President, and damned the Ablishunists with more emphasis and fervency than the others. One enthoosiastic individual, who hed bin quarter- master two years, and hed bin allowed to resign "jest after the battle, mother," wich, hevin his papers all de- stroyed, made settlin with the government a easy matter, wuz so feroshus that I felt called upon to check him. "Gently, my frend," sed I, "gently! I hev bin thro' this thing; I hev my commission. It broke out on me jest ez it hez on yoo ; but yoo won't git yoor Assessorship a minit sooner for it." "It ain't a Assessorship I want," sez he. "I hev de- voted myself to the task uv bindin up the wounds uv my beloved country — " 284 PETROLEUM V. NASBY "Did you stop anybody very much from inflictin them sed wounds?" murmured I. "An ef I accept the Post Orfis in my native village, — which I hev bin solissited so strongly to take that I hev finally yielded, — I do it only that I may devote my few remainin energies wholly to the great cause uv restorin the 36 States to their normal posishens under the flag with 36 stars onto it, in spite uv the Joodis Iskariots wich, ef I am whom, wat is the Savior, and — and where is — " Perseevin that the unfortunate man hed got into the middle uv a quptashen from the speech uv our noble and patriotic President, and knowin his intellek wuzn't hefty enough to git it off jist as it wuz originally delivered, I took him by the throat, and shet off the flood uv his elo- kence. "Be quiet, yoo idiot !" remarked I, soothingly, to him. "Yoo'll git your apintment, becoz, for the fust time in the history uv this or any other Republic, there's a market for jist sich men ez yoo; but all this blather won't fetch it a minit sooner." "Good Lord !" tho't I, ez I turned away, "wat a Presi- dent A. J. is, to hev to buy up sich cattle ! Wat a post- master he must be, whose gineral cussedness turns my stummick !" It wuz deemed necessary to see uv wat we wuz com- pozed; whatever Kernel K , who is now Collector uv Revenue in Illinoy, asked ef there wuz ary man in the room who hed bin a prizner doorin the late fratricidle struggle. A gentleman uv, perhaps, thirty aroze, and sed he wuz. He hed bin taken three times, and wuz, altogether, 18 months in doorance vile in three diffrent prizns. Custar fell pn his neck, and asked him, aggitatidly, ef he wuz shoor — quite shoor, after suffer in all that, that he 28s A LETTER supported the policy of the President? Are you quite shoor — quite shoor? ^ "I am," returned the phenomenon. "I stand by Andrew Johnson and his poHcy, and I don't want no office !" "Hev yoo got wun ?" shouted they all in korus. "Nary!" sed he. "With me it is a matter uv principle!" "Wat prizns wuz yoo incarcerated in ?" asked I, lookin at him with wonder. "Fust at Camp Morton, then at Camp Douglas, and finally at Johnson's Island !" Custar dropt him, and the rest remarked that, while they hed a very helthy opinion uv him, they guessed he'd better not menshen his presence, or consider hisself a dele- gate. Ez ginerous foes they loved him ruther better than a brother ; yet, as the call didn't quite inclood him, tho' there wuz a delightful oneness between em, yet, ef 'twuz all the same, he hed better not announce hisself. He wuz from Kentucky, I afterwards ascertained. The next mornin, suthin over two hundred more arriv; and the delegashens bein all in, it wuz decided to go on with the show. A big tent hed bin brought on from Bos- ton to accommodate the expected crowd, and quite an ani- mated discussion arose ez to wich corner uv it the Con- venshun wuz to ockepy. This settled, the biznis wuz be- gun. Genral Wool wuz made temporary Chairman, to wich honor he responded in a elokent extemporaneous speech, which he read from manuscript. General Ewing made another extemporaneous address, which he read from manuscript, and we adjourned for dinner. The dinner hour was spent in caucussin privately in one uv the parlors uv the hotel. The Chairman asked who shood make speeches after dinner, wen every man uv em pulled from his right side coat pocket a roll uv manuscript, and sed he hed jotted down a few ijees wich 286 PETROLEUM V. NASBY he hed conclooded to present extemporaneously to the Convenshun. That Babel over, the Chairman sed he pre- soomed some one shood be selected to prepare a address ; whereupon every delegate rose, and pulled a roll uv manu- script from his left side coat pocket, and sed he had jotted down a few ijees on the situashn, wich he proposed to present, et settry. This occasioned another shindy; wen the Chairman remarked "Resolushens," wen every dele- gate rose, pulled a roll uv manuscript from his right breast coat pocket, and sed he hed jotted down a few ijees, wich, etc. I stood it until some one mentioned me ez Chaplin to the expedition West, when the pressure becum unendur- able. They sposed I was keeper uv the President's con- science, and I hed not a minit's peece after that. In vain I ashoored em that, there bein no consciences about the White House, no one could hold sich a offis; in vain I ashoored em that I hed no influence with His Majesty. Two-thirds uv em pulled applicashens for places they wanted from the left breast coat pocket, and insistid on my takin em, and seein that they was appinted. I told em that I cood do nuthin for em ; but they laft me to skorn. "You are jist the style uv man," said they, "who hez in- flooence with His Eggslency, and yoo must do it." Hemmed in, there wuz but one way uv escape, and that way I took. Seezin a carpet sack, wich, by the way, be- longed to a delegate (I took it to give myself the look of a traveler), I rushed to the depot, and startid home, en- tirely satisfied that ef Cleveland may be taken as a sample, the less His Majesty depends on soljers, the better. Petroleum V. Nasby, P. M. (wich is Postmaster), and likewise late Chaplain to the expedishn. 287 A LETTER P. S. — I opened the carpet sack on the train, spectin to find a clean shirt in it, at least. It contained, to my dis- gust, an address to be read before the Cleveland Conven- tion, a set uv resolutions, a speech, and a petition uv the proprietor thereof for a collectorship, signed by eight hundred names, and a copy uv the Indiana State Direc- tory for 1864. The names vi^uz in one hand-writin, and wuz arranged alphabetically. Petroleum V. Nasby. ^88 FAMILIAR AUTHORS AT WORK , by hayden carruth Miss Tripp Miss Tripp for years has lived alone, Without display or fuss or pother. The house she dwells in is her own — She got it from her dying father. Miss T. delights in all good works, She goes to church three times on Sunday, Her daily duty never shirks, Nor keeps her goodness for this one day. She loves to bake and knit and sew, For wider fields she doesn't hanker ; Yet for the things they have I know A-many poor folk have to thank her. The simple life she truly leads. She loves her small domestic labors ; In spring she plants her garden seeds And shares the product with her neighbors. By Books and Authors now I see In literature she's made a foray: "The Yellow Shadow"— said to be "A crackerjack detective-story." 289 FAMILIAR AUTHORS AT WORK Captain Brown Bluff Captain Brown is somewhat queer, But of the sea he's very knowing. I scarcely meet him once a year — He's off in search of whales a-blowing. For fifty years — perhaps for more — He's sailed about upon the ocean. He thinks that if he lived ashore He'd die. But this is just a notion. Still when the Captain comes to port With barrels of oil from whales caught napping, He'll pace the deck, and loudly snort, "This land air is my strength a-sapping. *I call this living on hard terms ; I wish that I had never seen land ; I wish I were a-chasing sperms Abaft the nor'east coast of Greenland." Yet on his latest cruise, 'tween whales The Captain wrote a book most charming. It's called — and it is having sales — "Some Practical Advice on Farming." T. H. Smith Tom Henry Smith I long have known Although he really is a hermit — At least, Tom Henry lives alone, And that's what people always term it. 290 HAYDEN CARRUTH Tom Henry never is annoyed By fashion's change. He wears a collar Constructed out of celluloid. His hats ne'er cost above a dollar. Tom loves about his room to mess, And cook a sausage at the fireplace. It doesn't serve to help his dress — Grease spatters over the entire place. Tom Henry likes to read a book, And writes a little for the papers, But scarcely ever leaves his nook, And takes no part in social capers. Now Tom has penned a book himself. I hope he'll never feel compunctions ! Its title is — it's on my shelf — "Pink Teas and Other Social Functions." Ruth Jones I've found the Joneses pleasant folk — I've watched them all their children fetch up. Jones loves to have a quiet smoke — She's famous for tomato catchup. Ruth is their eldest — now fifteen, A tallish girl with pleasing features. Each school-day morn she can be seen As she trips by to meet her teachers. A serious-minded miss, you'd say, Not given much to school-girl follies. She still sometimes will slip away To spend a half-hour with her dollies. 291 FAMILIAR AUTHORS AT WORK She's learned to sweep, to sew, to bake — She's quite a helpmate to her mother. On Saturday she loves to take The go-cart out with little brother. At writing now she bids for fame — Her book a great success is reckoned. "By Right of Flashing Sword," its name, A strong romance of James the Second. 292 THE LOST WORD BY JOHN PAUL Seated one day at the typewriter, I was weary of a's and e's, And my fingers wandered wildly, Over the consonant keys. I know not what I was writing, With that thing so like a pen ; But I struck one word astounding — Unknown to the speech pi men. It flooded the sense of my verses. Like the break of a tinker's dam, And I felt as one feels when the printer Of your "infinite calm" makes clam. It mixed up s's and x's Like an alphabet coming to strife. It seemed the discordant echo Of a row between husband and wife. It brought a perplexed meaning Into my perfect piece, And set the machinery creaking As though it were scant of grease. 293 THE LOST WORD I have tried, but I try it vainly, The one last word to divine Which came from the keys of my typewriter And so would pass as mine. It may be some other typewriter Will produce that word again, It may be, but only for others — / shall write henceforth with a pen. 294 THE DUTCHMAN WHO HAD THE "SMALL POX" BY HENRY P. LELAND Very dry, indeed, is the drive from Blackberry to Squash Point, — dry even for New Jersey ; and when you remember that it's fifty miles between the two towns, its division into five drinks seems very natural. When you are packed, three on one narrow seat, in a Jersey stage, it is necessary. A Jersey stage! It is not on record, but when Dante winds up his Tenth "Canter" into the Inferno with — Each, as his back was laden, came indeed Or more or less contracted ; and it seemed As he who showed most patience in his look. Wailing, exclaimed, "I can endure no more 1" the conclusion that he alluded to a crowded Jersey stage- load is irresistible. A man with long legs, on a back seat, in one of these vehicles, suffers like a snipe shurup in a snuff-box. For this reason, the long-legged man should sit on the front seat with the driver; there, like the hen-turkey who tried to sit on a hundred eggs, he can "spread himself." The writer sat alongside the driver one morning, just at break of day, as the stage drove out of Blackberry: he was a through passenger to Squash Point. It was a very cold morning. In order to break the ice for a conversation, he praised the fine points of an off horse. The driver thawed : 295 DUTCHMAN WHO HAD THE "SMALL POX" "Ya-as; she's a goot boss, und I knows how to trive him !" It was evidently a case of mixed breed. "Where is Wood, who used to drive this stage ?" "He he's lait up mit ter rummatiz sence yesterweek, und I trives for him. So — " I went on reading a news- paper : a fellow-passenger, on a back seat, not having the fear of murdered English on his hands, coaxed the Dutch driver into a long conversation, much to the delight of a very pretty Jersey-blue belle, who laughed so merrily that it was contagious ; and in a few minutes, from being like unto a conventicle, we were all as wide awake as one of Christy's audiences. By sunrise we were in excellent spirits, up to all sorts of fun ; and when, a little later on, our stage stopped at the first watering-place, the driver found himself the center of a group of treaters to the dis- tilled "juice of apples." It is just as easy to say "apple- jack," and be done with it ; but the writer, being very anx- ious to form a style, cribs from all quarters. The so oft- repeated expression "juice of the grape" has been for a long time on his hands, and, wishing to work it up, he would have done it in this case, only he fears the skep- ticism of his readers. By courtesy, they may wink at the poetical license of a reporter of a public dinner who calls turnip-juice and painted whisky "juice of the grape," but they would not allow the existence, for one minute, of such application to the liquors of a Jersey tavern. It's out of place. "Here's a package to leave at Mr. Scudder's, the third house on the left-hand side after you get into Jericho. What do you charge?" asked a man who seemed to know the driver. "Pout a leffy," answered he. Receiving the silver, he gathered up the reins, and put the square package in the stage-box. Just as he started the horses, he leaned his 296 HENRY P. LELAND head out of the stage, and, looking back to the man who gave him the package, shouted out the question : "Ter fird haus on ter lef hant out of Yeriko?" The man didn't hear him, but the driver was satisfied. On we went at a pretty good rate, considering how heavy the roads were. Another tavern, more watering, more ap- ple-jack. Another long stretch of sand, and we were com- ing into Jericho. "Anypotty know ter Miss Scutter haus?" asked the driver, bracing his feet on the mail-bag which lay in front of him, and screwing his head round so as to face in. There seemed to be a consultation going on inside the stage. *T don't know nobody o' that name in Jericho. Do you, Lishe?" asked a weather-beaten-looking man, who evi- dently "went by water," of another one who apparently went the same way. "There wos ole Square Gow's da'ter, she marri'd a Scudder; moved up here some two years back. Come to think on't, guess she lives nigher to Glass-house," an- swered Lishe. The driver, finding he could get no light out of the passengers, seeing a tall, raw-boned woman washing some clothes in front of a house, and who flew out of sight as the stage flew in, handed me the reins as he jumped from his seat and chased the fugitive, hallooing, — "I'fe got der small pox, I'fe got der — " Here his voice was lost as he dashed into the open door of the house. But in a minute he reappeared, followed by a broom with an enraged woman annexed, and a loud voice shouting out, — "You git out of this ! Clear yourself, quicker ! I ain't goin' to have you diseasin' honest folks, ef you have got the smallpox." 297 DUTCHMAN WHO HAD THE "SMALL POX" "I dells you I'fe got der small pox. Ton't you versteh? der SMALL POX !" This time he shouted it out in capital letters ! "Clear outl I'll call the men- folks ef you don't clear;" and at once she shouted, in a tip-top voice, "Ike, you Ike, where air you ?" Ike made his appearance on the full run. "W-w-what's the matter, mother ?" — Miss Scudder his mother ! I should have been shocked, as I was on my first visit to New Jersey, if I had not had a key to this. "That is a very pretty girl," I said on that occasion to a Jersey- man; "who is she?" — "She's old Miss Perrine's da'ter," was the reply. I looked at the innocent victim of man's criminal conduct with commiseration. "What a pity!" I remarked. "Not such a very great pity," said Jersey, eying me very severely. "I reckon old man Perrine's got as big a cedar-swamp as you, pr I either, would like to own." "Her grandfather you speak of?" "No, I don't: I'm talking 'bout her father, — he that married Abe Simm's da'ter and got a power of land by it; and that gal, their da'ter, one of these days will step right into them swamps." "Oh," I replied, "Mrs. Perrine's daughter," accenting the "Missis!" "Mussus or Miss, it's all the same in Jersey," he an- swered. Knowing this, Ike's appeal was intelligible. To pro- ceed with our story, the driver, very angry by this time, shouted, — "I dells you oonst more for der last dime. I'fe got der small pox ! unt Mishter Ellis he gifs me a leffy to gif der small pox to Miss Scutter; unt if dat vrow is Miss Scut- ter, I bromised to gif her ter small pox." 298 HENRY P. LELAND It was Miss Scudder, and I explained to her that it was a small box he had for her. The affair was soon settled as regarded its delivery, but not as regards the laughter and shouts of the occupants of the old stage-coach as we rolled away from Jericho. The driver joined in, although he had no earthly idea as to its cause, and added not a little to it by saying, in a triumphant tone of voice, — "I vps pound to gif ter olt voomans ter small pox !" 299 WALK BY WILLIAM DEVERE Up the dusty road from Denver town To where the mines their treasures hide, The road is long, and many miles, The golden styre and town divide. Along this road one summer's day, There toiled a tired man. Begrimed with dust, the weary way He cussed, as some folks can. The stranger hailed a passing team That slowly dragged its load along; His hail roused up the teamster old, And checked his merry song. "Say-y, stranger!" "Wal, whoap." "Ken I walk behind your load A spell in this road?" "Wal, no, yer can't walk, but git XJp on this seat an' ride ; git up hyer." "Nop, that ain't what I want. Fur it's in yer dust, that's like a smudge, I want to trudge, for I desarve it." "Wal, pards, I ain't no hog, an' I don't Own this road, afore nor 'hind. So jest git right in the dust An' walk, if that's the way yer 'clined. 300 WILLIAM DEVERE Gee up, ger lang!" the driver said. The creaking wagon moved amain, While close behind the stranger trudged, And clouds of dust rose up again. The teamster heard the stranger talk As if two trudged behind his van, Yet, looking 'round, could only spy A single lonely man. Yet heard the teamster w:ords like these Come from the dust as from a cloud. For the weary traveler spoke his mind. His thoughts he uttered loud, And this the burden of his talk : "Walk, now, you , walk ! Not the way you went to Denver ? Walk, • ! Jest walk ! "Went up in the mines an' made yer stake, 'Nuff to take yer back to ther state Whar yer wur born. Whar'n hell's yer corn? Wal, walk, you , walk ! "Dust in yer eyes, dust in yer nose, Dust down yer throat, and thick On yer clothes. Can't hardly talk ? I know it, but walk, you , walk ! "What did yer do with all yer tin ? Ya-s, blew every cent of it in ; Got drunk, got sober, got drunk agin. Wal, walk, ! Jest walk. 301 WALK "What did yer do? What didn't yer do? Why, when ye war thar, yer gold-dust flew, Yer thought it fine to keep op'nin' wine. Now walk, you , walk. "Stop to drink? What— water? Why, thar Water with you warn't anywhere, 'Twas wine. Extra Dry. Oh, You flew high — Now walk, you , walk. "Chokes yer, this dust ? Wal, that Ain't the wust, When yer get back whar the Diggins are No pick, no shovel, no pan ; Wal, yer a healthy man, Walk— jest walk." The fools don't all go to Denver town, Nor do they all from the mines come down. 'Most all of us have in our day — In some sort of shape, some kind of way — Painted the town with the old stuff, Dipped in stocks or made some bluff, Mixed wines, old and new. Got caught in wedlock by a shrew. Stayed out all night, tight, Rolled home in the morning light, With crumpled tie and torn clawhammer, 'N* woke up next day with a katzen jammer, And walked, oh , how we walked. 302 WILLIAM DEVERE Now, don't try to yank every bun, Don't try to have all the fun, Don't think that you know it all, Don't think real estate won't fall, Don't try to bluff on an ace, Don't get stuck on a pretty face, Don't believe every jay's talk — For if you do you can bet you'll walk ! 303 MR. DOOLEY ON GOLD-SEEKING BY FINLEY PETER DUNNE "Well, sir," said Mr. Hennessy, "that Alaska's th' gr-reat place. I thought 'twas nawthin' but an iceberg with a few seals roostin' pn it, an' wan or two hundherd Ohio politicians that can't be killed on account iv th' threaty iv Pawrs. But here they tell me 'tis fairly smoth- ered in goold. A man stubs his toe on th' ground, an' lifts th' top off iv a goold mine. Ye go to bed at night, an' wake up with goold fillin' in ye'er teeth." "Yes," said Mr. Dooley, "Clancy's son was in here this mornin', an' he says a frind iv his wint to sleep out in th' open wan night, an' whin he got up his pants assayed four ounces iv goold to th' pound, an' his whiskers panned out as much as thirty dollars net." "If I was a young man an' not tied down here," said Mr. Hennessy, "I'd go there: I wud so." "I wud not," said Mr. Dooley. "Whin I was a young man in th' ol' counthry, we heerd th' same story about all America. We used to set be th' tur-rf fire o' nights, kickin' our bare legs on th' flure an' wishin' we was in New York, where all ye had to do was to hold ye'er hat an' th' goold guineas'd dhrop into it. An' whin I got to be a man, I come over here with a ham and a bag iv oatmeal, as sure that I'd return in a year with money enough to dhrive me own ca-ar as I was that me name was Martin Dooley. An' that was a cinch. "But, faith, whin I'd been here a week, I seen that 304 FINLEY PETER DUNNE there was nawthin' but mud undher th' pavement, — I lamed that be means iv a pick-axe at tin shilHn's th' day, — an' that, though there was plenty Iv goold, thim that had it were froze to it; an' I come west, still lookin' fr mines. Th' on'y mine I sthruck at Pittsburgh was a hole fr sewer pipe. I made it. Siven shillin's th' day. Smaller thin New York, but th' livin' was cheaper, with Mon'ga- hela rye at five a throw, put ye'er hand around th' glass. "I was still dreamin' goold, an' I wint down to Saint Looey. Th' nearest I come to a fortune there was findin' a quarther on th' sthreet as I leaned over th' dashboord iv a car to whack th' off mule. Whin I got to Chicago, I looked around fr the goold mine. They was Injuns here thin. But they wasn't anny mines I cud see. They was mud to be shovelled an' dhrays to be dhruv an' beats to be walked. I choose th' dhray; f r I was niver cut out f r a copper, an' I'd had me fill iv excavatin'. An' I dhruv th' dhray till I wint into business. "Me experyence with goold minin' is it's always in th* nex' county. If I was to go to Alaska, they'd tell me iv th' finds in Seeberya. So I think I'll stay here. I'm a silver man, annyhow; an' I'm contint if I can see goold wanst a year, whin some prominent citizen smiles over his newspaper. I'm thinkin' that ivry man has a goold mine undher his own dure-step or in his neighbor's pocket at th' farthest." "Well, annyhow," said Mr. Hennessy, "I'd like to kick up th' sod, an' find a ton iv gold undher me fut." "What wud ye do if ye found it?" demanded Mr. Dooley. "I — I dinnaw," said Mr. Hennessy, whose dreaming had not gone this far. Then, recovering himself, he ex- claimed with great enthusiasm, "I'd throw up me job an' — an' live like a prince." 30s MR, DOOLEY ON GOLD-SEEKING "I tell ye what ye'd do," said Mr. Dooley. "Ye'd come back here an' sthrut up an' down th' sthreet with ye'er thumbs in ye'er armpits; an' ye'd dhrink too much, an* ride in sthreet ca-ars. Thin ye'd buy foldin' beds an' piannies, an' start a reel estate office. Ye'd be fooled a good deal an' lose a lot iv ye'er money, an' thin ye'd tighten up. Ye'd be in a cold fear night an' day that ye'd lose ye'er fortune. Ye'd wake up in th' middle iv th' night, dhrcamin' that ye was back at th' gas-house with ye'er money gone. Ye'd be prisidint iv a charitable society. Ye'd have to wear ye'er shoes in th' house, an' ye'er wife'd have ye around to rayciptions an' dances. Ye'd move to Mitchigan Avnoo, an' ye'd hire a coachman that'd laugh at ye. Ye'er boys'd be joods an' ashamed iv ye, an' ye'd support ye'er daughters' husbands. Ye'd rackrint ye'er tinants an' lie about ye'er taxes. Ye'd go back to Ireland on a visit, an' put on airs with ye'er cousin Mike. Ye'd be a mane, close-fisted, onscrupulous ol' curmudgeon ; an', whin ye'd die, it'd take haf ye'er fortune f'r rayqueems to put ye r-right. I don't want ye iver to speak to me whin ye get rich, Hinnissy." "I won't," said Mr. Hennessy. 306 LOVE SONNETS OF A HOODLUM BY WALLACE IRWIN Say, will she treat me white, or throw me down, Give me the glassy glare, or welcome hand. Shovel me dirt, or treat me on the grand, Knife me, or make me think I own the town? Will she be on the level, do me brown. Or will she jolt me lightly on the sand, Leaving poor Willie froze to beat the band, Limp as your grandma's Mother Hubbard gown ? I do not know, nor do I give a whoop, But this I know : if she is so inclined She can come play with me on our back stopp, Even in office hours, I do not mind — In fact I know I'm nice and good and ready To get an option on her as my steady. VIII I sometimes think that I am not so good. That there are foxier, warmer babes than I, That Fate has given me the calm go-by And my long suit is sawing mother's wood. Then would I duck from under if I could, Catch the hog special on the jump and fly To some Goat Island planned by destiny For dubs and has-beens and that splemn brood. 307 LOVE SONNETS OF A HOODLUM But spite of bug-wheels in my cocoa tree, The trade in lager beer is still a-humming, A schooner can be purchased for a V Or even grafted if you're fierce at bumming. My finish then less clearly do I see, For lo ! I have another think a-coming. IX Last night I tumbled off the water cart — It was a peacherino of a drunk ; I put the cocktail market on the punk And tore up all the sidewalks from the start. The package that I carried was a tart That beat Vesuvius out for sizz and spunk, And when they put me in my little bunk You couldn't tell my jag and me apart. Oh ! would I were the ice man for a space, Then might I cool this red-hot cocoanut, Corral the jim-jam bugs that madly race Around the eaves that from my forehead jut — Or will a carpenter please come instead And build a picket fence around my head ? XII Life is a combination hard to buck, A proposition difficult to beat, E'en though you get there Zaza with both feet, In forty flickers, it's the same hard luck. And you are up against it nip and tuck. Shanghaied without a steady place to eat. Guyed by the very copper on your beat Whp lays to jug you when you run amuck. 308 WALLACE IRWIN O Life ! you give Yours Truly quite a pain. On the T square I do not like your style ; For you are playing favorites again And you have got me handicapped a mile. Avaunt, false Life, with all your pride and pelf: Go take a running jump and chase yourself! XIV mommer ! wasn't Mame a looty toot Last night when at the Rainbow Social Club She did the bunny hug with every scrub From Hogan's Alley to the Dutchman's Boot, While little Willie, like a plug-eared mute. Papered the wall and helped absorb the grub, Played nest-egg with the benches like a dub When hot society was easy fruit ! Am I a turnip ? On the strict Q. T., Why do my Trilbys get so ossified? Why am I minus when it's up to me To brace my Paris Pansy for a glide? Once more my hoodoo's thrown the game and scored A flock of zeros on my tally-board. XXI At noon to-day Murphy and Mame were tied. A gospel huckster did the referee. And all the Drug Clerks' Union loped to see The queen of Minnie Street become a bride. And that bad actor, Murphy, by her side. Standing where Yours Despondent ought to be. 1 went to hang a smile in front of me. But weeps were in my glimmers when I tried. 309 LOVE SONNETS OF A HOODLUM The pastor murmured, "Two and twp make one/ And slipped a sixteen K on Mamie's grab; And when the game was tied and all was done The guests shied footwear at the bridal cab, And Murphy's little gilt-roofed brother Jim Snickered, "She's left her happy home for him." 310 HOW "RUBY'' PLAYED BY GEORGE W. BAGBY (Jud Brownin, when visiting New York, goes to hear Rubinstein, and gives the following description of his playing.), Well, sir, Ke had the blamedest, biggest, catty-corner- dest planner you ever laid eyes on ; somethin' like a dis- tracted billiard-table on three legs. The lid was hoisted, and mighty well it was. If it hadn't been, he'd 'a' tore the entire inside clean out and shattered 'em to the four winds of heaven. Played well? You bet he did; but don't interrupt me. When he first sit down he 'peared to keer mighty little 'bout playin' and wisht he hadn't come. He tweedle- leedled a little on a treble, and twoodle-oodled some on the base, — just foolin' and boxin' the thing's jaws for be- in' in his way. And I says to a man sittin' next to me, says I, "What sort of fool playin' is that?" And he says, "Helsh!" But presently his hands commenced chasin' one another up and down the keys, like a passel of rats scamperin' through a garret very swift. Parts of it was sweet, though, and reminded me of a sugar squirrel turn- in' the wheel of a candy cage. "Now," I says to my neighbor, "he's showin' off. He thinks he's a-doin' of it, but he ain't got no idee, no plan of nothin'. If he'd play me a tune of some kind or other, I'd—" But my neighbor says, "Heish !" very impatient. I was just about to git up and go home, bein' tired of '311 HOW "RUBY" PLAYED that foolishness, when I heard a little bird waking up away off in the woods and call sleepy-like to his mate, and I looked up and see that Rubin was beginning- to take some interest in his business, and I sit down again. It was the peep of day. The light came faint from the east, the breezes blowed gentle and fresh, some more birds waked up in the orchard, then some more in the trees near the house, and all begun singin' together. People began to stir, and the gal opened the shutters. Just then the first beam of the sun fell upon the blossoms a leetle more, and it techt the roses on the bushes, and the next thing it was broad day; the sun fairly blazed, the birds sung like they'd split their little throats ; all the leaves was movin', and flashin' diamonds of dew, and the whole wide world was bright and happy as a king. Seemed to me like there was a good breakfast in every house in the land, and not a sick child or woman anywhere. It was a fine mornin'. And I says to my neighbor, "That's music, that is." But he glared at me like he'd like to cut my throat. Presently the wind turned ; it begun to thicken up, and a kind of gray mist came over things ; I got low-spirited directly. Then a silver rain began to fall. I could see the drops touch the ground; some flashed up like long pearl ear-rings, and the rest rolled away like round rubies. It was pretty, but melancholy. Then the pearls gathered themselves into long strands and necklaces, and then they melted into thin silver streams, running between golden gravels, and then the streams joined each other at the bottom of the hill, and made a brook that flowed silent, except that you could kinder see the music, especially when the bushes on the banks moved as the music went along down the valley. I could smell the flowers in the meadow. But the sun didn't shine, nor the birds sing : it was a foggy day, but not cold. 312 GEORGE W. BAGBY The most curious thing was the little white angel-boy, like you see in pictures, that run ahead of the music brook and led it on, and on, away out of the world, where no man ever was, certain, I could see the boy just as plain as I see you. Then the moonlight came, without any sunset, and shone on the graveyards, where some few ghosts lifted their hands and went over the wall, and between the black, sharp-top trees splendid marble houses rose up, with fine ladies in the lit-up windows, and men that loved 'em, but could never get anigh 'em, who played on guitars under the trees, and made me that miserable I could have cried, because I wanted to love somebody, I don't know who, better than the men with the guitars did. Then the sun went down, it got dark, the wind moaned and wept like a lost child for its dead mother, and I could 'a' got up then and there and preached a better sermon than any I ever listened to. There wasn't a thing in the world left to live for, not a blame thing, and yet I didn't want the music to stop one bit. It was happier to be miserable than to be happy without being miserable. I couldn't understand it. I hung my head and pulled out my handkerchief, and blowed my nose loud to keep me from cryin'. My eyes is weak anyway; I didn't want anybody to be a-gazin' at me a-sniv'lin', and it's nobody's business what I do with my nose. It's mine. But some several glared at me mad as blazes. Then, all of a sud- den, old Rubin changed his tune. He ripped out and he rared, he tipped and he tared, he pranced and he charged like the grand entry at a circus. 'Feared to me that all the gas in the house was turned on at once, things got so bright, and I hilt up my head, ready to look any man in the face, and not afraid of nothin'. It was a circus and a brass band and a big ball all goin' on at the same time. He lit into them keys like a thousand of brick; he give 'em 313 HOW "RUBY" PLAYED no rest 'day or night ; lie set every livin' joint in me a-goin*, and, not bein' able to stand it no longer, I jumped spang onto my seat, and jest hollered, — "Go it, my Rube!" Every blame man, woman and child in the house riz on me, and shouted, "Put him out ! put him out !" "Put your great-grandmother's grizzly gray greenish cat into the middle of next month !" I says. "Tech me if you dare! I paid my money, and you jest come anigh me!" With that some several policemen run up, and I had to simmer down. But I would 'a' fit any fool that laid hands on me, for I was bound to hear Ruby out or die. He had changed his tune again. He hop-light ladies and tip-toed fine from end to end of the key-board. He played soft and low and solemn. I heard the church bells over the hills. The candles of heaven was lit, one by one ; I saw the stars rise. The great organ of eternity began to play from the world's end to the world's end, and all the angels went to prayers. . . . Then the music changed to water, full of feeling that couldn't be thought, and be- gan to drop — drip, drop — drip, drop, clear and sweet, like tears of joy falling into a lake of glory. It was sweeter than that. It was as sweet as a sweet-heart sweetened with white sugar mixed with powdered silver and seed-dia- monds. It was too sweet. I tell you the audience cheered. Rubin he kinder bowed, like he wanted to say, ''Much obleeged, but I'd rather you wouldn't interrup' me." He stopped a moment or two to catch breath. Then he got mad. He run his fingers through his hair, he shoved up his sleeve, he opened his coat-tails a leetle further, he drug up his stool, he leaned over, and, sir, he just went for that old planner. He slapped her face, he boxed her jaws, he pulled her nose, he pinched her ears, and he 314 GEORGE W. BAGBY scratcheH her cheeks, until she fairly yelled. He knocked her down and he stamped on her shameful. She bellowed like a bull, she bleated like a calf, she howled like a hound, she squealed like a pig, she shrieked like a rat, and then he wouldn't let her up. He run a quarter stretch down the low grounds of the base, till he got clean in the bowels of the earth, and you heard thunder galloping after thun- der through the hollows and caves of perdition ; and then he fox-chased his right hand with his left till he got 'way out of the treble into the clouds, whar the notes was finer than the p'ints of cambric needles, and you couldn't hear nothin' but the shadders of 'em. And then he wouldn't let the old planner go. He for'ard two'd, he crost over first gentleman, he chassade right and left, back to your places, he all hands'd aroun', ladies to the right, prome- nade all, in and out, here and there, back and forth, up and down, perpetual motion, double twisted and turned and tacked and tangled into forty-eleven thousand double bow-knots. By jinks ! it was a mixtery. And then he wouldn't let the old planner go. He fetcht up his right wing, he fetcht up his left wing, he fetcht up his center, he fetcht up his reserves. He fired by file, he fired by platoons, by com- pany, by regiments, and by brigades. He opened his can- non, — siege-guns down thar, Napoleons here, twelve- pounders yonder, — big guns, little guns, middle-sized guns, round shot, shells, shrapnels, grape, canister, mor- tar, mines and magazines, every livin' battery and bomb a-goin' at the same time. The house trembled, the lights danced, the walls shuk, the floor come up, the ceilin' come down, the sky split, the ground rocked — heavens and earth, creation, sweet potatoes, Moses, ninepences, glory, ten- penny nails, Samson in a 'simmon-tree. Tump Tompson in a tumbler-cart, roodle-oodle-oodle-oodle-ruddle-uddle- 315 HOW "RUBY" PLAYED uddle-iiddle — raddle-addle-eedle — riddle-iddle-iddle-iddle — reedle-eedle-eedle-eedle — p-r-r-r-rlank ! Bang ! ! ! lang ! perlang ! p-r-r-r-r-r ! ! Bang ! ! ! ! With that bang! he hfted himself bodily into the a'r, and he come down with his knees, his ten fingers, his ten toes, his elbows, and his nose, striking every single soli- tary key on the pianner at the same time. The thing busted and went off into seventeen hundred and fifty-seven thou- sand five hundred and forty-two hemi-demi-semi-quivers, and I know'd no mo'. When I come to, I were under ground about twenty foot, in a place they call Oyster Bay, treatin' a Yankee that I never laid eyes on before and never expect to ag'in. Day was breakin' by the time I got to the St. Nicholas Hotel, and I pledge you my word I did not know my name. The man asked me the number of my room, and I told him, "Hot music pn the half-shell for two !" PLAGIARISM BY JOHN B. TABB If Poe from Pike The Raven stole, As his accusers say. Then to embody Adam's soul, God plagiarised the clay. 316 GO LIGHTLY, GAL (the cake-walk) by anne virginia culbertson Sweetes' li'l honey in all dis Ian', Come erlong yer an' gimme yo' han', Go lightly, gal, go lightly ! Cawn all shucked an' de barn flo' clear. Come erlong, come erlong, come erlong, my dear, Go lightly, gal, go lightly ! Fiddles dey callin' us high an' fine, "Time fer de darnsin', come an' jine," Go lightly, gal, go lightly ! My pooty li'l honey, but you is sweet ! An' hit's clap yo' ban's an' shake yo' feet, Go lightly, gal, go lightly ! Hit's cut yo' capers all down de line. Den mek yo' manners an' tiptoe fine. Go lightly, gal, go lightly ! Oh, hit's whu'll yo' pardners roun' an' roun', Twel you hyst dey feet clean off de groun', Go lightly, gal, go lightly ! Oh, hit's tu'n an' twis' all roun' de flo', Fling put yo' feet behime, befo'. Go lightly, gal, go lightly ! Gre't Lan' o' Goshen ! but you is spry ! Kain't none er de urr gals spring so high, Go lightly, gal, go lightly ! 317 GO LIGHTLY, GAL OH, roll yo' eyes an' wag yo' hald An' shake yo' bones twel you nigh most dald. Go lightly, gal, go lightly ! Doan' talk ter me 'bout gittin' yo' bref, Gwine darnse dis out ef hit cause my def ! Go lightly, gal, go lightly ! Um-humph ! done darnse all de urr folks down ! Skip erlong, honey, jes' one mo' roun' ! Go lightly, gal, go lightly ! Fiddles done played twel de strings all break ! Come erlong, honey, jes' one mo' shake, Go lightly, gal, go lightly ! Now teck my arm an' perawd all roun', So dey see whar de sho'-nuff darnsers foun', Go lightly, gal, go lightly ! Den gimme yo' han' an' we quit dish yer, Come erlong, come erlong, come erlong, my dear. Go lightly, gal, go lightly ! '318 THE GOLFER'S RUBAIYAT* BY H. W. BOYNTON Wake! for the sun has driven in equal flight The stars before him from the Tee of Night, And holed them every one without a miss, Swinging at ease his gold-shod Shaft pf Light. Now the fresh Year, reviving old Desires, The thoughtful Soul to Solitude retires, Pores on this Club and That with anxious eye, And dreams of Rounds beyond the Rounds of Liars. Come, choose your ball, and in the Fire of Spring Your Red Coat, and your wooden Putter fling; The Club of Time has but a little while To waggle, and the Club is on the swing. Whether at Musselburgh or Shinnecock, In motley Hose or humbler motley Sock, The Cup of Life is ebbing Drop by Drop, Whether the Cup be filled with Scotch or Bock. A Bag of Clubs, a Silver-Town or two, A Flask of Scotch, a Pipe of Shag— and Thou Beside me caddying in the Wilderness — Ah, Wilderness were Paradise enow. They say the Female and the Duffer strut On sacred Greens where Morris used to put ; Himself a natural Hazard now, alas ! That nice hand quiet now, that great Eye shut. * By permission of Fox, Duffield and Company. From The Golf- er's Rubaiyat. Copyright, 1901, by Herbert S. Stone and Company. THE GOLFER'S RUBAIYAT I sometimes think that never springs so green The Turf as where some Good Fellow has been, And every emerald Stretch the Fair Green shows His kindly Tread has known, his sure Play seen. Myself when young did eagerly frequent Jamie and His, and heard great argument Of Grip and Stance and Swing; but everm.ore Found at the Exit but a Dollar spent. With them the seed of Wisdom did I sow, And with mine own hand sought to make it grow ; And this was all the Harvest that I reaped : 'You hold it This Way, and you swing it So." The swinging Brassie strikes ; and, having struck, Moves on : nor all your Wit or future Luck Shall lure it back to cancel half a Stroke, Nor from the Card a single Seven pluck. And that inverted Ball they call the High — By which the Duffer thinks to live or die, Lift not your hands to It for help, for it As impotently froths as you or L Yon rising Moon that leads us Home again. How oft hereafter will she wax and wane; How oft hereafter rising wait for us At this same Turning — and for One in vain. And when, like her, my Golfer, I have been And am no more above the pleasant Green, And you in your mild Journey pass the Hole I made in One — ah ! pay my Forfeit then ! '220 MR. DOOLEY ON REFORM CANDIDATES BY FINLEY PETER DUNNE "That frind iv ye'ers, Dugan, is an intilligent man," said Mr. Dooley. "All he needs is an index an' a few il- lusthrations to make him a bicyclopedja iv useless in- formation." "Well," said Mr. Hennessy, judiciously, "he ain't no Soc-rates an' he ain't no answers-to-questions colum ; but he's a good man that goes to his jooty, an' as handy with a pick as some people are with a cocktail spoon. What's he been doin' again ye ?" "Nawthin'," said Mr. Dooley, "but he was in here Choosday. 'Did ye vote?' says I. *I did,' says he. 'Which wan iv th' distinguished bunko steerers got ye'er invalu'- ble suffrage?' says I. 'I didn't have none with me,' says he, 'but I voted f'r Charter Haitch,' says he. T've been with him in six ilictions,' says he, 'an' he's a good man,' he says. 'D'ye think ye' re votin' f'r th' best?' says I. 'Why, man alive,' I says, 'Charter Haitch was assassi- nated three years ago,' I says. 'Was he?' says Dugan. *Ah, well, he's lived that down be this time. He was a good man,' he says. "Ye see, that's what thim rayform lads wint up again. If I liked rayformers, Hinnissy, an' wanted f'r to see thim win out wanst in their lifetime, I'd buy thim each a suit Iv chilled steel, ar-rm thim with raypeatin' rifles, an' take thim east iv State Sthreet an' south iv Jackson Bully- vard. At prisint th' opinion that pre-vails in th' ranks iv 321 MR. DOOLEY ON REFORM CANDIDATES th' gloryous ar-rmy Iv ray- form is that there ain't anny- thing worth seein' in this lar-rge an' commodyous desert but th' pest-house an' the bridewell. Me frind Willum J. O'Brien is no rayformer. But Willum J. undherstands that there's a few hundherds iv thousands iv people livin' in a part iv th' town that looks like nawthin' but smoke fr'm th' roof iv th' Onion League Club that have on'y two pleasures in life, tp wur-ruk an' to vote, both iv which they do at th' uniform rate iv wan dollar an' a half a day. That's why Willum J. O'Brien is now a sinitor an' will be an aldherman afther next Thursdah, an' it's why other people are sinding him flowers. "This is th' way a rayform candydate is ilicted. Th' boys down town has heerd that things ain't goin' r-right somehow. Franchises is bein' handed out to none iv thim ; an' wanst in a while a mimber iv th' club, comin' home a little late an' thryin' to riconcile a pair iv r-round feet with an embroidered sidewalk, meets a sthrong ar-rm boy that pushes in his face an' takes away all his marbles. It begins to be talked that th' time has come f'r good citizens f r to brace up an' do somethin', an' they agree to nomy- nate a candydate f'r aldherman. 'Who'll we put up ?' says they. 'How's Clarence Doolittle?' says wan. *He's laid up with a coupon thumb, an' can't r-run.' 'An' how about Arthur Doheny?' '1 swore an oath whin I came put iv colledge I'd niver vote f'r a man that wore a made tie.' 'Well, thin, let's thry Willie Boye.' 'Good,' says th' comity. 'He's jus' th' man f'r our money.' An' Willie Boye, after thinkin' it over, goes to his tailor an' or- dhers three dozen pairs iv pants, an' decides f'r to be th' sthandard-bearer iv th' people. Musin' over his fried eyesthers an' asparagus an' his champagne, he bets a polo pony again a box of golf-balls he'll be ilicted unanimous; an' all th' good citizens make a vow f'r to set th' alar-rm 322 FINLEY PETER DUNNE clock f r half-past three on th' aftheriioon iv iliction clay, so's to be up in time to vote fr th' riprisintltive iv pure gover'mint. " 'Tis some time befure they comprehind that there ar-re other candydates in th' field. But th' other candy- dates know it. Th' sthrongest iv thim — his name is Flan- nigan, an' he's a re-tail dealer in wines an' liquors, an' he lives over his establishment. Flannigan was nomynated enthusyastically at a prim'ry held in his bar-rn; an' be- fure Willie Boye had picked out pants that wud match th' color iv th' Austhreelyan ballot this here Flannigan had put a man on th' day watch, tol' him to speak gently to anny raygistered voter that wint to sleep behind th' sthove, an' was out that night visitin' his frinds. Who was it judged th' cake walk? Flannigan. Who was it carrid th' pall? Flannigan. Who was it sthud up at th' christening ? Flannigan. Whose ca-ards did th' grievin' widow, th' blushin' bridegroom, or th' happy father find in th' hack? Flannigan's. Ye bet ye'er life. Ye see Flan- nigan wasn't out fr th' good iv th' community. Flanni- gan was out fr Flannigan an' th' stuff. "Well, iliction day come around; an' all th' imminent frinds iv good gover'mint had special wires sthrung into th' club, an' waited f r th' returns. Th' first precin't showed 28 votes fr Willie Boye to 14 f r Flannigan. 'That's my precin't,' says Willie. *I wondher who voted thim fourteen?' 'Coachmen,' says Clarence Doolittle. 'There are thirty-five precin'ts in this ward,' says th' leader iv th' rayform ilimint. 'At this rate, I'm sure iv 440 meejority. Gossoon,' he says, 'put a keg iv sherry wine on th' ice,' he says. 'Well,' he says, 'at last th' com- munity is relieved fr'm misrule,' he says. 'To-morrah I will start in arrangin' amindmints to th' tariff schedool an' th' ar-bitration threety,' he says. 'We must be up an' 323 MR. DOOLEY ON REFORM CANDIDATES <3om'/ he says. 'Hoi' on there,' says wan iv th' comity. *There must be some mistake in this fr'm th' sixth pre- cin't,' he says. 'Where's the sixth precin't?' says Clar- ence. 'Over be th' dumps,' says Wilhe. 'I told me fut- man to see to that. He lives at th' cor-ner iv Desplaines an' Bloo Island Av'noo on Goose's Island,' he says. /What does it show?' Tlannigan, three hundherd an' eighty-five; Hansen, forty-eight; Schwartz, twinty; O'Malley, sivinteen; Casey, ten; O'Day, eight; Larsen, five; O'Rourke, three; Mulcahy, two; Schmitt, two; Moloney, two; Riordon, two; O'^NIalley, two; Willie Boye, wan.' 'Gintlemin,' says Willie Boye, arisin' with a stern look in his eyes, *th' rascal has bethrayed me. Waither, take th' sherry wine off th' ice. They'se no hope f'r sound financial legislation this year. I'm goin' home.' "An', as he goes down th' sthreet, he hears a band play an' sees a procission headed be a calceem light ; an', in a carredge, with his plug hat in his hand an' his di'mond makin' th' calceem look like a piece iv punk in a smoke- house, is Flannigan, payin' his first visit this side iv th' thracks." 324 AN EVENING MUSICALS BY MAY ISABEL FISK Scene — A conventional, but rather over-decorated, drawing-room. Grand piano drawn conspicuously to center of floor. Rozvs of camp-chairs. It is ten minutes before the hour of invitation. The Hostess, a large wom- an, is costumed in yellow satin, embroidered in spangles. Her diamonds are many and of large size. She is seated on the extreme edge of a chair, struggling with a pair of very long gloves. She looks Hurried and anxious. Poor Relative, invited as a "great treat," sits opposite. Her ex- pression is timid and apprehensive. They are the only occupants of the room. Hostess — No such thing, Maria. You look all right. Plain black is always very genteel. Nothing I like so well for evening, myself. Just keep your face to the wall as much as you can, and the worn places will never show. You can take my ecru lace scarf, if you wish, and that will cover most of the spots. I don't mean my new scarf — the one I got two years ago. It's a little torn, but it won't matter — for you. I think you will find it on the top shelf of the store-room closet on the third floor. If you put a chair on one of the trunks, you can easily reach it. Just wait a minute, till I get these gloves on; I want you to button them. I do hope I haven't forgotten anything. Baron von Gosheimer has promised to come. I have told everybody. It would be terrible if he should disappoint me. 325 AN EVENING MUSICALE Masculine Voice from Above — Sarah, where the 'devil have you put my shirts? Everything is upside down in my room, and I can't find them. I pulled every blessed thing out of the chijffonier and wardrobe, and they're not there ! Hostess — Oh, Henry ! You must hurry — I'm going to use your room for the gentlemen's dressing-room, and it's time now for people to come. You must hurry. Host (from above, just as front door opens, admitting Baron von Gosheimer and two women guests) — Where the devil are my shirts ? Hostess (unconscious of arrivals) — Under the bed in my room. Hurry ! (Host, in bath gown and slippers, ^dashes madly into wife's room, and dives under bed as women guests enter. Unable to escape, he crawls farther beneath bed. His feet remain visible. Women guests discover them.) Guests (in chorus) — Burglars ! burglars ! Help ! help ! (Baron von Gosheimer, ascending to the next floor, hears them and hastens to the rescue.) Baron — Don't be alarmed, ladies. Has either of you a poker? No? That is to be deplored. (Catches Host by heels and drags him out. Tableau.) Hostess (to Poor Relative, giving an extra tug at her gloves) — There, it's all burst out on the side ! That stupid saleslady said she knew they would be too small. Oh, dear, I'm that upset ! And these Louis Quinze slippers are just murdering me. I wish it were all over. {Enter Baron von Gosheimer and zvomen guests.y Hostess — Dear baron, how good of you! I was just saying, if you didn't come I should wish my musicale in Jericho. And, now that you are here, I don't care if any one else comes or not. (To women guests.) How d'ye do? I must apologize for Mr. Smythe — he's been de- 326 MAY ISABEL FISK taineH down-town. He just telephoned me. He'll be in later. Do sit down; it's just as cheap as standing, I al- ways say, and it does save your feet. You ladies can find seats over in the corner. ( Detaining Baron. ) Dear baron — (Enter guests.) Guest — So glad you have a clear evening. Now, when we gave our affair, it poured. Of course, zue had a crowd, just the same. People always come to us, whether it rains or not. (Takes a seat. Guests begin to arrive in num- bers. ) Hostess — So sweet of you to come ! Guest — So glad you have a pleasant evening. I am sure to have a bad night whenever I entertain — Hostess — (to another guest) — So delightful of you to come! Guest — Such a perfect evening! I'm so glad. I said as we started out, "Now, this time, Mrs. Smythe can't help but have plenty of people. Whenever I entertain, it's sure to — " (More guests.) (Telegram arrives, announcing that the prima donna has a sore throat, and will be unable to come. Time passes. ) Male Guest (to another) — Well, I wish to heaven, something would be doing soon. This is the deadest af- fair I was ever up against. Omnipresent Joker (greeting acquaintance) — Hello, pld man ! — going to sing to-night ? Acquaintance — Oh, yes, going to sing a solo. Joker — So low you can't hear it? Ha, ha! (Guests near by groan. ) Voice (overheard) — Madame Cully? My dear, she al- ways tells you that you haven't half enough material, and makes you get yards more. Besides, she never sends your pieces back, though I have — 327 AN EVENING MUSICALE Fat Old Lady {to neighbor) — I never was so warm in my life! I can't imagine why people invite you, just to make you uncomfortable. Now, when I entertain, I have the windows open for hours before any one comes. Joker (aside) — ^That's why she always has a frost! Ha, ha! (Host enters, showing traces of hasty toilette — face red, and a razor-cut on chin.) Host {rubbing his hands, and endeavoring to appear at ease and facetious) — Well, how d'ye do, everybody! Sorry to be late on such an auspicious — Joker {interrupting) — Suspicious! Ha, ha! Host — occasion. I hope you are all enjoying your- selves. Chorus of Guests — Yes, indeed ! Hostess — 'Sh, 'sh, 'sh ! I have a great disappointment for you all. Here is a telegram from my best singer, say- ing she is sick, and can't come. Now, we will have the pleasure of listening to Miss Jackson. Miss Jackson is a pupil of Madame Parcheesi, of Paris. {Singer whispers to her.) Oh, I beg your pardon! It's Madame Marcheesi. Deaf Old Gentleman {seated by piano, talking to pretty girl) — I'd rather listen to you than hear this cater- wauling. (Old Gentleman is dragged into corner and silenced. ) Young Woman {singing) — "Why do I sing? I know not, I know not ! I can not help but sing. Oh, why do I sing?" {Guests moan softly and demand of one another, Why does she sing?) Woman Guest {to another) — Isn't that just the way? — their relatives are always dying, and it's sure to be wash-day or just when you expect company to dinner, and off they go to the funeral — 328 MAY ISABEL FISK '(Butler appears zvith trayful of punch-glasses.) Male Guest (to another) — Thank the Lord! here's relief in sight. Let's drown our troubles. The Other — It's evident you haven't sampled the Smythes' punch before. I tell you it's a crime to spoil a thirst with this stuff. Well, here's how. Woman Guest (to neighbor) — I never saw Mrs.- Smythe looking quite so hideous and atrociously vulgar before, did you ? Neighbor — Never ! Why did we come ? Voice (overheard) — The one in the white-lace gown and all those diamonds ? Another Voice — Yes. Well, you know it was com- mon talk that before he married her — Hostess — 'Sh, 'sh, 'sh ! Signor Padrella has offered to play some of his own compositions, but I thought you would all rather hear something familiar by one of the real composers — Rubens or Chopin — Chopinhauer, I think— (Pianist plunges mildly into something.) Voice (during a lull in the music) — First, you brown an onion in the pan, then you chop the cabbage — Guest (in the dressing-room, just arriving, to an- other) — Yes, we are awfully late, too, but I always say you never can be too late at one of the Smythes' horrors. Thin Young Woman (in limp pink gown and string of huge pearls, who has come to recite) — I'm awfully nervous, and I do believe I'm getting hoarse. Mama, you didn't forget the lemon juice and sugar? (Drinks from bottle.) Now, where are my bronchial troches? Don't you think I could stand just a little more rouge? I think it's a shame I'm not going to have footlights. Remember, you are not to prompt me, unless I look at you. You will get me all mixed up, if you do. (They descend.) 329 AN EVENING MUSICALE Hostess (^o elocutionist) — ^Why, I thought you were never coming! I wanted you to fill in while people were taking their seats. The guests always make so much noise, and the singers hate it. Now, what did you say you would require — an egg-beater and a turnip, wasn't it? Oh, no ! That's for the young man who is going to do the tricks. I remember. Are you all ready ? Elocutionist (m a trembling voice) — Ye-es. Hostess — 'Sh, 'sh, 'sh! Elocutionist — Aux Italiens. "At Paris it was, at the opera there. And she looked like — " Guest {to another) — Thirty cents, old chap! I tell you, there's nothing will knock you out quicker than — Hostess — 'Sh, 'sh, 'sh! {Young woman finishes, and retires amidst subdued applause. Reappears immediately and gives "The Ma- niac") Hostess — As I have been disappointed in my best tal- ent for this evening, Mr. Briggs has kindly consented to do some of his parlor-magic tricks. (Mr. Briggs steps forward, a large, -florid young man, wearing a ''made" dress-tie, the buckle of which crawls up the back of his collar.) Briggs — Now, ladies and gentlemen, I shall have to ask you all to move to the other side of the room. ( This is accomplished with muttered uncomplimentary remarks concerning the magician. ) Briggs (to Hostess) — I must have the piano pushed to the further end. I must have plenty of space. (All the men guests are pressed into service, and, with much diifi- culty the piano is moved. ) Briggs — Now, I want four large screens. Hostess (faintly) — But I have only two! 330 MAY ISABEL FISK Briggs — Well, then, get me a clothes-horse and a couple of sheets. Poor Relative — You know, Sarah, I used the last two when I made up my bed in the children's nursery yester- day. I can easily get — Hostess (hastily) — No, Maria, don't tT6\ibde.''.'\To guests) — Perhaps, some of you gentlemen wouldn't mind lending us your overcoats to cover the clothes-horse ? Chorus (with great lack of enthusiasm) — Of course Ij Delighted ! ( They go for coats.) Hostess (to Poor Relative) — Maria, you get the clothes-horse. I think it's in the laundry, or — Oh, I think it's in the cellar. Well, you look till you find it. (To Briggs) — I got as many of the things you asked for as I could remember. Will you read the list over? Briggs — Turnip and egg-beater — Hostess — Yes. Briggs — Egg, large clock, jar of gold-fish, rabbit and empty barrel. Hostess — I have the egg. Briggs (much annoyed) — I particularly wanted the gold-fish, the clock and the barrel. ( Guests grom restless. ) Hostess — Couldn't you do a trick while we are wait- ing — one with the egg-beater and turnip? Briggs — No ; I don't know one. Hostess — Couldn't you make up one? Briggs (icily) — Certainly not. (Gloom descends over the company, until the Poor Rel- ative arrives, staggering under the clothes-horse.) Chorus of Men Guests — Let me help you ! (Improvised screen is finally arranged. Briggs 'per- forms "parlor magic" for an hour. Guests, fidget, yawn and commence to drop away, one by one.)] 331 AN EVENING MUSICALE Guest (to Hostess) — Really, we must tear ourselves away. Such a delightful evening! — not a dull moment. And your punch — heavenly! Do ask us again. Good night. Hostess — Thank you so much! So good of you to come. Another Guest — Yes, we must go. I've had a per- fectly dear time. Hostess — So sorry you must go. So good of you to come. Good night. IN THE dressing-room Chorus of Guests — Wasn't it awful ? — Such low peo- ple! — Why did we ever come — Parvenue! Elocutionist — I was all right, wasn't I, mama ? You noticed they never clapped a bit until I'd walked the whole length of the room to my chair. It just showed how wrought up they were. You nearly mixed me up, though, prompting me in the wrong place ; I — Hostess (throzmig herself on sofa as door closes on last guest) — Well, I'm completely done up! {To Poor Relative) — Maria, run up to my room, and get my red worsted bed-slippers. I can't stand these satin tortures a minute longer. Entertaining is an awful strain. It's so hard trying not to say the wrong thing at the right place. But, then, it certainly went off beautifully. I could tell every one had such a good time I 332 COMIN' THU BY ANNE VIRGINIA CULBERTSON Yer's a sinner comin' thu, Crowd roun', bre'ren, sisters, too, Sing wid all yo' might an' main, He'p de sinner out er pain, He's comin', comin' thu. He bin "seekin' " dis long time, He'p him cas' de foe behime. Clap yo' ban's an' sing an' shout, He'p him cas' de debil out, Le's wrassel him right thu. Tu'rr side de Gate er Sin, Year him kickin' ter git in, Putt up prayers wid might an' main, Dat he doesn' kick in vain, Y'all kin pray him thu. Heart a-bus'in' fer de right, Debil hol'in' to him tight, Year him swish dat forked tail, See de sinner-man turn pale, Come on an' he'p him thu. Sinner hangin' 'bove de pit. By a hya'r strotch over hit, Debil hoi' one eend an' shake, Y'all kin see de sinner quake, Quick, he'p dis man come thu. 333 COMIN' THU Seize de ropes, now, ev'y man, He'p de gospel ship ter Ian', One long pull an' one gre't shout, Hallelu ! We got him out, De sinner done come thu I 334 AUNT DINAH'S KITCHEN BY HARRIET BEECHER STOWE Lilce a certain class of modern philosophers, Dinah per- fectly scorned logic and reason in every shape, and always took refuge in intuitive certainty ; and here she was per- fectly impregnable. No possible amount of talent, or au- thority, or explanation could ever make her believe that any other way was better than her own, or that the course she had pursued in the smallest matter could be in the least modified. This had been a conceded point with her old mistress, Marie's mother; and "Miss Marie," as Di- nah always called her young mistress, even after her mar- riage, found it easier to submit than contend; and so Dinah had ruled supreme. This was the easier, in that she was perfect mistress of that diplomatic art which unites the utmost subservience of manner with the utmost inflexibility as to measure. Dinah was the mistress of the whole art and mystery of excuse-making, in all its branches. Indeed, it was an axiom with her that the cook can do no wrong, and a cook in a Southern kitchen finds abundance of heads and shoul- ders on which to lay off every sin and frailty, so as to maintain her own immaculateness entire. If any part of the dinner was a failure, there were fifty indisputably good reasons for it, and it was the fault, undeniably, of fifty other people, whom Dinah berated with unsparing zeal. But it was very seldom that there was any failure in Dinah's last results. Though her mode of doing every- 335 AUNT DINAH'S KITCHEN thing was peculiarly meandering and circuitous, and with- out any sort of calculation as to time and place, — though her kitchen generally looked as if it had been arranged by a hurricane blowing through it, and she had about as many places for each cooking utensil as there were days in the year, — yet, if one could have patience to wait her own good time, up would come her dinner in perfect or- der, and in a style of preparation with which an epicure could find no fault. It was now the season of incipient preparation for din- ner. Dinah, who required large intervals of reflection and repose, and was studious of ease in all her arrange- ments, was seated on the kitchen floor, smoking a short, stumpy pipe, to which she was much addicted, and which she always kindled up, as a sort of censer, whenever she felt the need of an inspiration in her arrangements. It was Dinah's mode of invoking the domestic Muses. Seated around her were various members of that rising race with which a Southern household abounds, engaged in shelling peas, peeling potatoes, picking pin-feathers out of fowls, and other preparatory arrangements, Dinah every once in a while interrupting her meditations to give a poke, or a rap on the head, to some of the young opera- tors, with the pudding-stick that lay by her side. In fact, Dinah ruled over the woolly heads of the younger mem- bers with a rod of iron, and seemed to consider them born for no earthly purpose but to "save her steps," as she phrased it. It was the spirit of the system under which she had grown up, and she carried it out to its full extent. Miss Ophelia, after passing on her reformatory tour through all the other parts of the establishment, now en- tered the kitchen. Dinah had heard, from various sources, what was going on, and resolved to stand on defensive and conservative ground, — mentally determined to op- 336 HARRIET BEECHER STOWE pose and ignore every new measure, without any actual and observable contest. The kitchen was a large, brick-floored apartment, with a great old-fashioned fireplace stretching along one side of it, — an arrangement which St. Clair had vainly tried to persuade Dinah to exchange for the convenience of a modern cook-stove. Not she. No Pusseyite, or conserv- ative of any school, was ever more inflexibly attached to time-honored inconveniences than Dinah. When St. Clair had first returned from the North, im- pressed with the system and order of his uncle's kitchen arrangements, he had largely provided his own with an array of cupboards, drawers, and various apparatus, to induce systematic regulation, under the sanguine illusion that it would be of any possible assistance to Dinah in her arrangements. He might as well have provided them for a squirrel or a magpie. The more drawers and closets there were, the more hiding-holes could Dinah make for the accommodation of old rags, hair-combs, old shoes, ribbons, cast-off artificial flowers, and other articles of vertu, wherein her soul delighted. When Miss Ophelia entered the kitchen, Dinah did not rise, but smoked on in sublime tranquillity, regarding her movements obliquely out of the corner of her eye, but ap- parently intent only on the operations around her. Miss Ophelia commenced opening a set of drawers. "What is this drawer for, Dinah ?" she said. "It's handy for 'most anything, missis," said Dinah. So it appeared to be. From the variety it contained Miss Ophelia pulled out first a fine damask table-cloth stained with blood, having evidently been used to envelop some raw meat. "What's this, Dinah ? You don't wrap up meat in your mistress's best table-cloth ?" 337 AUNT. DINAH'S KITCHEN "Oh, Lor*, missis, no ; the towels was all a-missin', so I just did it. I laid it out to wash that ar ; that's why I put it than" "Shir'less!" said Miss Ophelia to herself, proceeding to tumble over the drawer, where she found a nutmeg-grater and two or three nutmegs, a Methodist hymn-book, a couple of soiled Madras handkerchiefs, some yarn and knitting-work, a paper of tobacco and a pipe, a few crackers, one or two gilded china saucers with some pomade in them, one or two thin old shoes, a piece of flannel carefully pinned up enclosing some small white onions, several damask table-napkins, some coarse crash towels, some twine and darning-needles, and several broken papers, from which sundry sweet herbs were sift- ing into the drawer, "Where do you keep your nutmegs, Dinah?" said Miss Ophelia, with the air of one who "prayed for patience." "Most anywhar, missis; there's some in that cracked tea-cup up there, and there's some over in that ar cup- board." "Here are some in the grater," said Miss Ophelia, hold- ing them up. "Laws, yes; I put 'em there this morning; I likes to keep my things handy," said Dinah. "You Jake! what are you stopping for ? You'll cotch it ! Be still, thar !" she added, with a dive of her stick at the criminal. "What's this?" said Miss Ophelia, holding up the saucer of pomade. "Laws, it's my har-grease: I put it thar to have it handy." "Do you use your mistress's best saucers for that?" "Law ! it was 'cause I was driv' and in sich a hurry. I was gwine to change it this very day." "Here are two damask table-napkins.'* 338 HARRIET BEECHER STOWE "Them table-napkins I put thar to get 'em washed out some day." "Don't you have some place here on purpose for things to be washed?" "Well, Mas'r St. Clair got dat ar chest, he said, for dat ; but I likes to mix up biscuit and hev my things on it some days, and then it ain't handy a-liftin' up the lid." "Why don't you mix your biscuits on the pastry-table, there?" "Law, missis, it gets sot so full of dishes, and one thing and another, der ain't no room, noways." "But you should wash your dishes, and clear them away." "Wash my dishes !" said Dinah, in a high key, as her wrath began to rise over her habitual respect of manner. "What does ladies know 'bout work, I want to know? When'd mas'r ever get his dinner, if I was to spend all my time a-washin' and a-puttin' up dishes? Miss Marie never telled me so, nohow." "Well, here are these onions." "Laws, yes !" said Dinah ; " that is whar I put 'em, now. I couldn't 'member. Them's particular onions I was a savin' for dis yer very stew. I'd forgot they was in dat ar old flannel." Miss Ophelia lifted out the sifting papers of sweet herbs. "I wish missis wouldn't touch dem ar. I likes to keep my things where I knows whar to go to 'em," said Dinah, rather decidedly. "But you don't want these holes in the papers." "Them's handy for siftin' on't out," said Dinah. "But you see it spills all over the drawer." "Laws, yes! if missis will go a-tumblin' things all up so, it will. Missis has spilt lots dat ar way," said Dinah, coming uneasily to the drawers. "If missis only will go 339 AUNT DINAH'S KITCHEN up-sta'rs till my clarin'-up time comes, I'll have every- thing right; but I can't do nothin' when ladies is 'round a-henderin'. You Sam, don't you gib de baby dat ar sugar-bowl ! I'll crack ye over, if ye don't mind !" "I'm going through the kitchen, and going to put every- thing in order, once, Dinah; and then I'll expect you to keep it so." "Lor', now. Miss 'Phelia, dat ar ain't no way for ladies to do. I never did see ladies doin' no sich ; my old missis nor Miss Marie never did, and I don't see no kinder need on't." And Dinah stalked indignantly about, while Miss Ophelia piled and sorted dishes, emptied dozens of scat- tering bowls of sugar into one receptacle, sorted napkins, table-cloths, and towels, for washing; washing, wiping and arranging with her own hands, and with a speed and alacrity which perfectly amazed Dinah. "Lor', now ! if dat ar de way dem Northern ladies do, dey ain't ladies nohow," she said to some of her satellites, when at a safe hearing-distance. "I has things as straight as anybody, when my clarin'-up times comes ; but I don't want ladies 'round a-henderin' and gettin' my things all where I can't find 'em." To do Dinah justice, she had, at irregular periods, paroxyms of reformation and arrangement, which she called "clarin'-up times," when she would begin with great zeal and turn every drawer and closet wrong side outward on to the floor or tables, and make the ordinary confusion sevenfold more confounded. Then she would light her pipe and leisurely go over her arrangements, looking things over and discoursing upon them ; making all the young fry scour most vigorously on the tin things, and keeping up for several hours a most energetic state of confusion, which she would explain to the satisfaction of all inquirers by the remark that she was a "clarin'-up." 340 HARRIET BEECHER STOWE "She couldn't hev things a-gAvine on so as they liad been, and she was gwine to make these yer young ones keep better order ;" for Dinah herself, somehow, indulged the illusion that she herself was the soul of order, and it was only the young tins, and the everybody else in the house, that were the cause of anything that fell short of perfec- tion in this respect. When all the tins were scoured, and the tables scrubbed snowy white, and everything that could offend tucked out of sight in holes and corners, Dinah would dress herself up in a smart dress, clean apron, and high, brilliant Madras turban, and tell all marauding "young uns" to keep out of the kitchen, for she was gwine to have things kept nice. Indeed, these periodic seasons were often an inconvenience to the whole household, for Dinah would contract such an immoderate attachment to her scoured tin as to insist upon it that it shouldn't be used again for any possible purpose, — at least till the ardor of the "clarin'-up" period abated. ■341 THE STRIKE AT HINMAN'S BY ROBERT J. BURDETTE Away back in the fifties, "Hinman's" was not only the best school in Peoria, but it was the greatest school in the world. I sincerely thought so then, and as I was a very lively part of it, I should know. Mr. Hinman was the Faculty, and he was sufficiently numerous to demonstrate cube root with one hand and maintain discipline with the other. Dear old man; boys and girls with grandchil- dren love him to-day, and think of him among their blessings. He was superintendent of public instruction, board of education, school trustee, county superintend- ent, principal of the high school and janitor. He had a pleasant smile, a genius for mathematics, and a West Point idea of obedience and discipline. He carried upon his person a grip that would make the imported malady which mocks that name in these degenerate days, call itself Slack, in very terror at having assumed the wrong title. We used to have "General Exercises" on Friday after- noon. The most exciting feature of this weekly frivolity consisted of a free-for-all exercise in mental arithmetic. Mr. Hinman gave out lists of numbers, beginning with easy ones and speaking slowly; each succeeding list he dictated more rapidly and with ever-increasing complica-, tions of addition, subtraction, multiplication and divi- sion, until at last he was giving them out faster than he could talk. One by one the pupils dropped out of the 342 ROBERT J. BURDETTE race with despairing faces, but always at the closing peremptory : "Answer?" At least a dozen hands shot into the air and as many voices shouted the correct result. We didn't have many books, and the curriculum of an Illinois school in those days was not academic ; but two things the children could do, they could spell as well as the dictionary and they could handle figures. Some of the fellows fairly wal- lowed in them. I didn't. I simply drowned in the shal- lowest pond of numbers that ever spread itself on the page. As even unto this day I do the same. Well, one year the Teacher introduced an innovation ; "compositions" by the girls and "speakin' pieces" by the boys. It was easy enough for the girls, who had only to read the beautiful thought that "spring is the pleasant- est season of the year." Now and then a new girl, from the east, awfully precise, would begin her essay — "spring is the most pleasant season of the year," and her would we call down with derisive laughter, whereat she walked to her seat, very stiffly, with a proud dry-eyed look in her face, only to lay her head upon her desk when she reached it, and weep silently until school closed. But "speakin' pieces" did not meet with favor from the boys, save one or two good boys who were in training by their parents for congressmen or presidents. The rest of us, who were just boys, with no desire ever to be anything else, endured the tyranny of compulsory oratory about a month, and then resolved to abolish the whole business by a general revolt. Big and little, we agreed to stand by each other, break up the new exercise, and get back to the old order of things — the hurdle races in mental arithmetic and the geographical chants which we could run and intone together. 343 THE STRIKE AT HINMAN'S Was I a mutineer? Well, say, son, your Pa was a constituent conspirator. He was in the color guard. You see, the first boy called on for a declamation was to announce the strike, and as my name stood very high — in the alphabetical roll of pupils — I had an excellent chance of leading the assaulting column, a distinction for which I was not at all ambitious, being a stripling of ten- der years, ruddy countenance, and sensitive feelings. However, I stiffened the sinews of my soul, girded on my armor by slipping an atlas back under my jacket and was ready for the fray, feeling a little terrified shiver of delight as I thought that the first lick Mr. Hinman gave me would make him think he had broken my back. The hour for "speakin' pieces," an hour big with fate, arrived on time. A boy named Aby Abbott was called up ahead of me, but he happened to be one of the presi- dential aspirants (he was mate on an Illinois river steam- boat, stern-wheeler at that, the last I knew of him), and of course he flunked and "said" his piece — a sadly pro- phetic selection — "Mr. President, it is natural for man to indulge in the illusions of hope." We made such sug- gestive and threatening gestures at him, however, when Mr. Hinman wasn't looking, that he forgot half his "piece," broke down and cried. He also cried after school, a little more bitterly, and with far better reason. Then, after an awful pause, in which the conspirators could hear the beating of each other's hearts, my name was called. I sat still at my desk and said : "I ain't goin' to speak no piece." Mr. Hinman looked gently surprised and asked : "Why not, Robert?" I replied : 344 ROBERT J. BURDETTE "Because there ain't goin' to be any more speakin' pieces." The teacher's eyes grew round and big as he inquired : "Who says there will not?" I said, in slightly firmer tones, as I realized that the moment had come for dragging the rest of the rebels into court : "All of us boys!" But Mr. Hinman smiled, and said quietly that he guessed there would be "a little more speaking before the close of the session." Then laying his hand on my shoulder, with most punctilious but chilling courtesy, he invited me to the rostrum. The "rostrum" was twenty- five feet distant, but I arrived there on schedule time and only touched my feet to the floor twice on my way. And then and there, under Mr. Hinman's judicious coaching, before the assembled school, with feelings, nay, emotions which I now shudder to recall, I did my first "song and dance." Many times before had I stepped off a solo-cachuca to the staccato pleasing of a fragment of slate frame, upon which my tutor was a gifted per- former, but never until that day did I accompany myself with words. Boy like, I had chosen for my "piece" a poem sweetly expressive of those peaceful virtues which I most heartily despised. So that my performance, at the inauguration of the strike, as Mr. Hinman conducted the overture, ran something like this — "Oh, not for me (whack) is the rolling (whack) drum, Or the (whack, whack) trumpet's wild (whack) appeal! (Boo- hoo!) Or the cry (swish — whack) of (boo-hoo-hoo!) war when the (whack) foe is come (ouch!) Or the (ow — wow!) brightly (whack) flashing (whack-whack) steel! (wah-hoo, wah-hoo!)" Words and symbols can not convey to the most gifted 345 THE STRIKE AT HINMAN'S imagination the gestures with which I illustrated the seven stanzas of this beautiful poem. I had really selected it to please my mother, whom I had invited to be present, when I supposed I would deliver it. But the fact that she attended a missionary meeting in the Baptist church that afternoon made me a friend of missions forever. Suffice it to say, then, that my pantomime kept pace and time with Mr. Hinman's system of punctuation until the last line was sobbed and whacked out. I groped my be- wildered way to my seat through a mist of tears and sat down gingerly and sideways, inly wondering why an inscrutable providence had given to the rugged rhinoc- eros the hide which the eternal fitness of things had plainly prepared for the school-boy. But I quickly forgot my own sorrow and dried my tears with laughter in the enjoyment of the subsequent acts of the opera, as tlie chorus developed the plot and action. Mr. Hinman, who had been somewhat gentle with me, dealt firmly with the larger boy who followed, and there was a scene of revelry for the next twenty min- utes. The old man shook Bill Morrison until his teeth rattled so you couldn't hear him cry. He hit Mickey McCann, the tough boy from the Lower Prairie, and Mickey ran out and lay down in the snow to cool off. He hit Jake Bailey across the legs with a slate frame, and it hurt so that Jake couldn't howl — he just opened his mouth wide, held up his hands, gasped, and forgot his own name. He pushed Bill Haskell into a seat and the bench broke. He ran across the room and reached out for Lem Harkins, and Lem had a fit before the old man touched him. He shook Dan Stevenson for two minutes, and when he let him go, Dan walked around his own desk five times before he could find it, and then he couldn't sit 346 ROBERT J. BURDETTE down without holding on. He whipped the two Knowl- tons with a skate-strap in each hand at the same time; the Greenwood family, five boys and a big girl, he whipped all at once with a girl's skipping rope, and they raised such a united wail that the clock stopped. He took a twist in Bill Rodecker's front hair, and Bill slept with his eyes open for a week. He kept the atmos- phere of that school-room full of dust, and splinters, and lint, weeping, wailing and gnashing of teeth, until he reached the end of the alphabet and all hearts ached and wearied of the inhuman strife and wicked contention. Then he stood up before us, a sickening tangle of slate frame, strap, ebony ferule and skipping rope, a smile on his kind old face, and asked, in clear, triumphant tones: "WHO says there isn't going to be any more speaking pieces?" And every last boy in that school sprang to his feet; standing there as one human being with one great mouth, we shrieked in concerted anguish : "NOBODY DON'T!" And your Pa, my son, who led that strike, has been "speakin' pieces" ever since. 347 A NAUTICAU BALLAD BY CHARLES E. CARRYL A capital ship for an ocean trip Was the "Walloping Window-blind"; No gale that blew dismayed her crew Or troubled the captain's mind. The man at the wheel was taught to feel Contempt for the wildest blow, And it pften appeared, when the weather had cleared. That he'd been in his bunk below. 'The boatswain's mate was very sedate. Yet fond of amusement, too; And he played hop-scotch with the starboard watch. While the captain tickled the crew. And the gunner we had was apparently mad, For he sat on the after rail, And fired salutes with the captain's boots, In the teeth of the booming gale. 'The captain sat in a commodore's hat And dined in a royal way On toasted pigs and pickles and figs And gummery bread each day. But the cook was Dutch and behaved as such ; For the diet he gave the crew Was a number of tons of hot-cross buns Prepared with sugar and glue. 348 CHARLES E. CARRYL "All nautical pride we laid aside, And we cast the vessel ashore On the Gulliby Isles, where the Poohpooh smiles, And the Rumbletumbunders roar. And we sat on the edge o£ a sandy ledge And shot at the whistling bee ; And the cinnamon-bats wore water-proof hats As they danced in the sounding sea. "On rubgub bark, from dawn to dark, We fed, till we all had grown Uncommonly shrunk, — when a Chinese junk Came by from the torriby zone. She was stubby and square, but we didn't much care. And we cheerily put to sea ; And we left the crew of the junk to chew The bark of the rubgub tree." 349 NATURAL PERVERSITIES BY JAMES WHITCOMB RILEY I am not prone to moralize In scientific doubt On certain facts that Nature tries To puzzle us about, — For I am no philosopher Of wise elucidation, But speak of things as they occur, From simple observation. I notice little things — to wit : — I never missed a train Because I didn't run for it ; I never knew it rain That my umbrella wasn't lent, — Or, when in my possession, The sun but wore, to all intent, A jocular expression. I never knew a creditor To dun me for a debt But I was "cramped" or "busted" ; or I never knew one yet, When I had plenty in my purse, To make the least invasion, — As I, accordingly perverse. Have courted no occasion. 350 JAMES WHITCOMB RILEY Nor do I claim to comprehend What Nature has in view In giving us the very friend To trust we oughtn't to. — But so it is : The trusty gun Disastrously exploded Is always sure to be the one We didn't think was loaded. Our moaning is another's mirth, — And what is worse by half, We say the funniest thing on earth And never raise a laugh : Mid friends that love us overwell, And sparkling jests and liquor, Our hearts somehow are liable To melt in tears the quicker. We reach the wrong when most we seek The right ; in like effect, We stay the strong and not the weak — Do most when we neglect. — Neglected genius — truth be said — As wild and quick as tinder. The more you seek to help ahead The more you seem to hinder. I've known the least the greatest, too — And, on the selfsame plan. The biggest fool I ever knew Was quite a little man : We find we .ought, and then we won't — We prove a thing, then doubt it, — Know everything but when we don't Know anything about it. 351 BUDD WILKINS AT THE SHOW BY S. E. KISER Since I've got used to city ways and don't scare at the cars. It makes me smile to set and think of years ago. — My stars ! How green I was, and how green all them country peo- ple be — Sometimes it seems almost as if this hardly could be me. Well, I was goin' to tell you 'bout Budd Wilkins: I declare He was the durndest, greenest chap that ever breathed the air — The biggest town on earth, he thought, was our old county seat, With its one two-story brick hotel and dusty bizness street. We'd fairs in fall and now and then a dance or huskin' bee. Which was the most excitin' things Budd Wilkins ever see. Until, one winter, Skigginsville was all turned upside down By a troupe of real play actors a-comin' into town. The court-house it was turned into a theater, that night. And I don't s'pose I'll live to see another sich a sight : I guess that every person who was able fer to go Jest natchelly cut loose fer oncet, and went to see the show. 352 S. E. KISER Me and Budd we stood around there all day in the snow, But gosh ! it paid us, fer we got seats right in the second row! Well, the brass band played a tune er two, and then the play begun, And 'twa'n't long 'fore the villain had the hero on the run. Say, talk about your purty girls with sweet, confidin' ways — I never see the equal yit, in all o' my born days, Of that there brave young heroine, so clingin' and so mild. And jest as innocent as if she'd been a little child. I most forgot to say that Budd stood six feet in his socks, As brave as any lion, too, and stronger than an ox ! But there never was a man, I'll bet, that had a softer heart. And he was always sure to take the weaker person's part. Budd, he fell dead in love right off with that there purty girl, And I suppose the feller's brain was in a fearful whirl, Fer there he set and gazed at her, and when she sighed he sighed. And when she hid her face and sobbed, he actually cried. He clinched his fists and ground his teeth when the villain laid his plot And said out loud he'd like to kill the rogue right on the spot. And when the hero helped the girl, Budd up and yelled "Hooray!" He'd clean fergot the whole blame thing was nothing but a play. 353 BUDD WILKINS AT THE SHOW At last the villain trapped the girl, that sweet confidin* child, And when she cried for help, why I'll admit that I was riled ; The hero couldn't do a thing, but roll and writhe around And tug and groan because they'd got the poor chap gagged and bound. The maiden cried : "Unhand me now, or, weak girl that I am—" And then Budd Wilkins he jumped up and give his hat a slam, And, quicker'n I can tell it he was up there raisin' Ned, A-rescuin' the maiden and a-punchin' the rogue's head. I can't, somehow, perticklerize concernin' that there row : The whole thing seems a sort of blur as I recall it now — But I can still remember that there was a fearful thud. With the air chock full of arms and legs and the villain under Budd. I never see a chap so bruised and battered up before As that there villain was when he was picked up from the floor ! — The show ? Oh, it was busted, and they put poor Budd in jail, And kept him there all night, because I couldn't go his bail. Next mornin' what d' you think we heard ? Most s'prised in all my life! That sweet, confidin' maiden was the cruel villain's wife ! Budd wilted when he heard it, and he groaned, and then, says he : *'Well, I'll be dummed! Bill, that's the last play actin' show fer me !" 354 BALLAD BY CHARLES GODFREY LELAND Der noble Ritter Hugo Von Schwillensaufenstein, Rode out mit shpeer and helmet, Und he coom to de panks of de Rhine. Und oop dere rose a meer maid, Vot hadn't got nodings on, Und she say, "Oh, Ritter Hugo, Vhere you goes mit yourself alone?" And he says, "I rides in de creenwood Mit helmet und mit shpeer. Till I cooms into em Gasthaus, Und dere I trinks some beer." Und den outshpoke de maiden Vot hadn't got nodings on : "I tont dink mooch of beoplesh Dat goes mit demselfs alone; "You'd petter coom down in de wasser, Vere deres heaps of dings to see, Und hafe a shplendid tinner Und drafel along mit me. "Dere you sees de fisch a schwimmin, Und you catches dem efery one :"— So sang dis wasser maiden Vot hadn't got nodings on. 355 BALLAD "Dere ish drunks all full mit money In ships dat vent down of old ; Und you helpsh yourself, by dunder! To shimmerin crowns of gold. "Shoost look at dese shpoons und vatches ! Shoost see dese diamant rings ! Coom down und full your bockets, Und I'll giss you like avery dings. "Vot you vantsh mit your schnapps und lager? Coom down into der Rhine ! Der ish pottles der Kaiser Charlemagne Vonce filled mit gold-red wine !" Dat fetched him — he shtood all shpell pound ; She pooled his coat-tails down, She drawed him oonder der wasser, De maidens mit nodings on. 356 THE HOOSIER AND THE SALT PILE BY DANFORTH MARBLE "I'm sorry," said Dan, as he knocked the ashes from his regaha, as he sat in a small crowd over a glass of sherry, at Florence's, New York, one evening, — "I'm sorry that the stages are disappearing so rapidly. I never enjoyed traveling so well as in the slow coaches. I've made a good many passages over the Alleghanies, and across Ohio, from Cleveland to Columbus and Cincinnati, all over the South, down East, and up North, in stages, and I generally had a good time. "When I passed over from Cleveland to Cincinnati, the last time, in a stage, I met a queer crowd. Such a corps, such a time, you never did see. I never was better amused in my life. We had a good team, — spanking horses, fine coaches, and one of them drivers you read of. Well, there was nine 'insiders,' and I don't believe there ever was a stage full of Christians ever started before, so chuck full of music. "There was a beautiful young lady going to one of the Cincinnati academies; next to her sat a Jew peddler, — Cowes and a market ; wedging him was a dandy black-leg, with jewelry and chains around about his breast and neck enough to hang him. There was myself, and an old gen- tleman with large spectacles, gold-headed cane, and a jolly, soldering-iron-looking nose; by him was a circus- rider, whose breath was enough to breed yaller fever and could be felt just as easy as cotton velvet! A cross old 357 THE HOOSIER AND THE SALT PILE woman came next, whose look would have given any rea- sonable man the double-breasted blues before breakfast; alongside of her was a rale backwoods preacher, with the biggest and ugliest mouth ever got up since the flood. He was flanked by the low comedian of the party, an Indiana Hoosier, 'gAvine down to Orleans to get an army contrac' to supply the forces, then in Mexico, with beef. "We rolled along for some time. Nobody seemed in- clined to 'open.' The old aunty sat bolt upright, looking crab-apples and persimmons at the hoosier and the preacher ; the young lady dropped the green curtain of her bonnet over her pretty face, and leaned back in her seat to nod and dream over japonicas and jumbles, pantalets and poetry; the old gentleman, proprietor of the Bar- dolph nose, looked out at the corduroy and swashes; the gambler fell off into a doze, and the circus convoy fol- lowed suit, leaving the preacher and me vis-a-vis and say- ing nothing to nobody. 'Indiany,' he stuck his mug out of the window and criticized the cattle we now and then passed. I was wishing somebody would give the conver- sation a start, when Tndiany' made a break. " 'This ain't no great stock country,' says he to the old gentleman with the cane. " 'No, sir,' says the old gentleman. 'There's very little grazing here, and the range is pretty much wore out.' "Then there was nothing said again for some time. Bimeby the hoosier opened ag'in : " 'It's the d dest place for 'simmon-trees and tur- key-buzzards I ever did see !' "The old gentleman with the cane didn't say nothing, and the preacher gave a long groan. The young lady smiled through her veil, and the old lady snapped her eyes and looked sideways at the speaker. 358 DANFORTH MARBLE " 'Don't make much beef here, I reckon,' says the hoosier. " 'No,' says the gentleman. " 'Well, I don't see how in h — 11 they all manage to get along in a country whar thar ain't no ranges and they don't make no beef. A man ain't considered worth a cuss in Indiany what hasn't got his brand on a hundred head.' " 'Yours is a great beef country, I believe,' says the old gentleman. " 'Well, sir, it ain't anything else. A man that's got sense enuff to foller his own cow-bell with us ain't in no danger of starvin'. I'm gwine down to Orleans to see if I can't git a contract out of Uncle Sam to feed the boys what's been lickin' them infernal Mexicans so bad. I s'pose you've seed them cussed lies what's been in the pa- pers about the Indiany boys at Bony Visty.' " 'I've read some accounts of the battle,' says the old gentleman, 'that didn't give a very flattering account of the conduct of some of our troops.' "With that, the Indiany man went into a full explana- tion of the affair, and, gettin' warmed up as he went along, begun to cuss and swear like he'd been through a' dozen campaigns himself. The old preacher listened to him with evident signs of displeasure, twistin' and groan- in' till he couldn't stand it no longer. " 'My friend,' says he, 'you must excuse me, but your conversation would be a great deal more interesting to me — and I'm sure would please the company much better — if you wouldn't swear so terribly. It's very wrong to swear, and I hope you'll have respect for our feelin's, if you hain't no respect for your Maker.' "If the hoosier had been struck with thunder and light- nln', he couldn't have been more completely tuck aback. He shut his mouth right in the middle of what he was 359 THE HOOSIER AND THE SALT PILE sayin*, and looked at the preacher, while his face got as red as fire. " 'Swearin',' says the old preacher, 'is a terrible bad practice, and there ain't no use in it, nohow. The Bible says, Swear not at all, and I s'pose you know the com- mandments about swearin' ?' "The old lady sort of brightened up, — the preacher was her 'duck of a man' ; the old fellow with the nose and cane let off a few 'umph, ah ! umphs' ; but 'Indiany' kept shady ; he appeared to be cowed down. " T know,' says the preacher, 'that a great many people swear without thinkin', and some people don't b'lieve the Bible.' "And then he went on to preach a regular sermon ag'in swearing, and to quote Scripture like he had the whole Bible by heart. In the course of his argument he undertook to prove the Scriptures to be true, and told us all about the miracles and prophecies and their fulfilment. The old gentleman with the cane took a part in the conversation, and the hoosier listened, without ever opening his head. " 'I've just heard of a gentleman,' says the preacher, 'that's been to the Holy Land and went over the Bible country. It's astonishin' to hear what wonderful things he has seen. He was at Sodom and Gomorrow, and seen the place whar Lot's wife fell.' " 'Ah !' says the old gentleman with the cane. " 'Yes,' says the preacher ; 'he went to the very spot ; and, what's the remarkablest thing of all, he seen the pil- lar of salt what she was turned into.' " 'Is it possible !' says the old gentleman. " 'Yes, sir ; he seen the salt, standin' thar to this day.* " 'What !' says the hoosier, 'real genewine, good salt ?' " *Yes, sir, a pillar of salt, jest as it was when that wicked woman was punished for her disobedience.' 360 DANFORTH MARBLE "All but the gambler, who was snoozing in the corner p£ the coach, looked at the preacher, — the hoosier with an expression of countenance that plainly told us that his mind was powerfully convicted of an important fact. ** 'Right out in the open air?' he asked. " *Yes, standin' right in the open field, whar she fell.' " 'Well, sir,' says 'Indiany,' 'all I've got to say is, if she'd dropped in our parts, the cattle would have licked her up afore sundown !' "The preacher raised both his hands at such an irrever- ent remark, and the old gentleman laughed himself into a fit of asthmatics, what he didn't get over till we came to the next change of horses. The hoosier had played the mischief with the gravity of the whole party; even the old maid had to put her handkerchief to her face, and the young lady's eyes were filled with tears for half an hour afterward. The old preacher hadn't another word to say on the subject ; but whenever we came to any place, or met anybody on the road, the circus-man nursed the thing along by asking what was the price of salt." 361 A RIVAL ENTERTAINMENT. BY KATE FIELD I once heard a bright child declare that if circuses were prohibited in heaven, she did not wish to go there. She had been baptized, was under Christian influences, and, previous to this heterodoxy, had never given her good parents a moment's anxiety. Her naive utterance touched a responsive chord within my own breast, for well did I remember how gloriously the circus shone by the light of other days ; how the ring-master, in a wrinkled dress-coat, seemed the most enviable of mortals, being on speaking terms with all the celestial creatures who jumped over flags and through balloons ; how the clown was the dear- est, funniest of men; how the young athletes in tights and spangles were my beau-ideals of masculinity; and how La Belle Rose, with one foot upon her native heath, otherwise a well-padded saddle, and the other pointed in the direction of the sweet little cherubs that sat up aloft, was the most fascinating of her sex. I am persuaded that circuses fill an aching void in the universe. What chil- dren did before their invention I shudder to think, for circuses are to childhood what butter is to bread; and what the world did before the birth of Bamum is an al- almost equally frightful problem. Some are born to shows, others attain shows, and yet again others have shows thrust upon them. Barnum is a born showman. If ever a man fulfills his destiny, it is the discoverer of Tom Thumb. With the majority of men and women life is a 362 KATE FIELD failure. Not until one leg dangles in the grave is their raison d'etre disclosed. The round people always find themselves sticking in the square holes, and vice versa; but with Barnum we need not deplore a vie manquee. We can smile at his reverses, for even the phoenix has cause to blush in his presence. Though pursued by tongues of fire, Barnum remains invincible when iron, stone, and mortar crumble around him; and while yet the smoke is telling volumes of destruction, the cheery voice of the showman exclaims, "Here you are, gentlemen; admission fifty cents, children half price." Apropos of Barnum, once in my life I gave myself up to unmitigated joy. Weary of lecturing, singing the song "I would I were a boy again," I went to see the elephant. To speak truly, I saw not one elephant, but half a dozen. I had a feast of roaring and a flow of circus. In fact I indulged in the wildest dissipation. I visited Bar- num's circus and sucked peppermint candy in a way most childlike and bland. The reason seems obscure, but cir- cuses and peppermint candy are as inseparable as peanuts and the Bowery. Appreciating this solemn fact, Barnum provides bigger sticks adorned with bigger red stripes than ever Romans sucked in the palmy days of the Col- iseum. In the dim distance I mistook them for barbers' poles, but upon direct application I recognized them for my long lost own. However, let me, like the Germans, begin with the cre- ation. "Here, ladies and gentlemen, is for sale Mr. Bar- num's Autobiography, full of interest and anecdote, one of the most charming productions ever issued from the press, 900 pages, thirty-two full-page engravings, reduced from $3.50 to $1.50. Every purchaser enters free." How ordinary mortals can resist buying Barnum's Autobiography for one dollar — such a bargain as never 363 A RIVAL ENTERTAINMENT was — is incomprehensible. I believe they can not. I be- lieve they do their duty like men. As one man I resisted, because I belong to the press, and therefore am not mor- tal. Who ever heard of a journalist getting a bargain? With Spartan firmness I turned a deaf ear to the per- suasive music of the propagandist, and entered where hope is all before. I was not staggered by a welcome from all the Presidents of the United States, Fitz-Greene Hal- leck. General Hooker, and Gratz Brown. These person- ages are rather woodeny and red about the face, as though flushed with victories of the platform or the table, but I recognize their fitness in a menagerie. What athlete has turned more somersaults than some of these represent- ative men ? What lion has roared more gently than a few of these sucking doves? Barnum's tact in appropriately grouping curiosities, living and dead, is too well known to require comment. Passing what Sam Weller would call "a reg'lar knock-down of intellect," I took my seat high in the air amid a dense throng of my fellow-crea- tures, and realized how many people it takes to make up the world. What did I see ? I saw double. I beheld not one ring but two, in each of which the uncommon variety of man was disporting in an entertaining manner. I felt for these uncommon men. Think what immortal hates must arise from these dual performances ! We all like to receive the reward of merit, but when two performances are going on simultaneously, how are the artists to know for whom it is intended? Applause is the sweet compen- sation for which all strive privately or publicly, and to be cheated out of it, or left in doubt as to its destination, is a refined form of the Inquisition. Fancy the sensations of the man balancing plates on the little end of nothing, — a feat to which he has consecrated his life, — at thought of his neighbor's performance of impossible feats in the '364 KATE FIELD air! It would be more than human in both not to wish the other in Jericho, or in some equally remote quarter of the globe. I sympathized with them. I became be- wildered in my endeavors to keep one eye on each. If human beings were constructed on the same principles as Janus, and had two faces, a fore-and-aft circus would be convenient; but as nowadays double-faced people only wear two eyes in their heads, the Barnumian conception muddles the intellect. I pray you, great and glorious showman, take pity on your artists and your audiences. Don't drive the former mad and the latter distracted. Remember that insanity is on the increase, and that ac- commodations in asylums are limited. Take warning be- fore you undermine the reason of an entire continent. Beware! Beware! I hear much and see more of the physical weakness of woman. Michelet tells the sentimental world that woman is an exquisite invalid, with a perennial headache and nerves perpetually on the rack. It is a mistake. When I gaze upon German and French peasant-women, I ask Michelet which is right, he or Nature? And since my introduction to Barnum's female gymnast, — a good-look- ing, well-formed mother of a family, who walks about unflinchingly with men and boys on her shoulders, and carries a 300-pound gun as easily as the ordinary woman carries a clothes-basket, — I have been persuaded that "the coming woman," like Brother Jonathan, will "lick all creation." In that good time, woman will have her rights because she will have her muscle. Then, if there are murders and playful beatings between husbands and wives, the wives will enjoy all the glory of crime. What an outlook ! And what a sublime consolation to the pres- ent enfeebled race of wives that are having their throats cut and their eyes carved out merely because their biceps 365 A RIVAL ENTERTAINMENT have not gone Into training! Barnum's female gymnast is an example to her sex. What woman has done woman may do again. Mothers, train up your daughters in the way they should fight, and when they are married they will not depart this life. God is on the side of the stoutest muscle as well as of the heaviest battalions. It is per- fectly useless to talk about the equality of the sexes as long as a man can strangle his own mother-in-law. I was exceedingly thrilled by the appearance of the two young gentlemen from the Cannibal Islands, who are beautifully embossed in green and red, and compassion- ated them for the sacrifices they make In putting on blan- kets and civilization. Is It right to deprive them of their daily bread, — I mean their daily baby ? Think what self- restraint they must exercise while gazing upon the tooth- some infants that congregate at the circus! That they do gaze and smack their overhanging lips I knov/, be- cause, after going through their cannibalistic dance, they sat behind me and howled in a subdued manner. The North American Indian who occupied an adjoining seat, favored me with a translation of their charming conver- sation, by which I learned many important facts concern- ing man as an article of diet. It appears that babies, after all, do not make the daintiest morsels. Tender they are, of course, but, being immature, they have not the rich flavor of a youthful adult. This seems reasonable. Veal is tender, but can It be favorably compared with beef? The cases are parallel. The embossed young men con- sider babies excellent for entrees, but for roasts there Is nothing like plump maidens in their teens. Men of twenty are not bad eating. When older, they are Invariably boiled. Commenting upon the audience, the critics did not consider It appetizing ; and, strange as it may appear, I felt somewhat hurt by the remark, for who Is not vain 366 KATE FIELD enough to wish to look good enough to eat? Fancy being shipwrecked off the Fiji Islands, and discarded by canni- bals as a tough subject, while your companions are liter- ally killed with attention! Can you not imagine, that, under such circumstances, a peculiar jealousy of the su- perior tenderness of your friends would be a thorn in the flesh, rendering existence a temporary burden? If we lived among people who adored squinting, should we not all take to it, and cherish it as the apple of our eye? And if we fell among anthropophagi, would not our love of approbation make us long to be as succulent as young pigs? What glory to escape from the jaws of death, if the jaws repudiate us? So long as memory holds a seat in this distracted brain, I shall entertain unpleasant feel- ings toward the embossed young gentlemen who did not sigh to fasten their affections — otherwise their teeth — on me. It was worse than a crime : it was bad taste. Roaming among the wild animals, I made the acquaint- ance of the cassowary, in which I have been deeply inter- ested since childhood's sunny hours, for then 't was oft I sang a touching hymn running thus : "If I were a cassowary Far away in Timbuctoo, I should eat a missionary, Hat, and boots, and hymn-book too." From that hour the cassowary occupied a large niche in my heart. The desire to gaze upon a bird capable of digesting food to which even the ostrich never aspired, pursued me by day and tinctured my dreams by night. "What you seek for all your life you will come upon sud- denly when the whole family is at dinner," says Thoreau. I met the cassowary at dinner. He was dining alone, hav- ing left his family in Africa, and I must say that I never met with a greater disappointment. Were it not for the 367 A RIVAL ENTERTAINMENT touching intimation of the hymn, I should believe it im- possible for him to eat a missionary. A quieter, more ami- able bird never stood on two legs. A polite attendant stirred him up for me, yet his temper and his feathers remained unruffled. Perhaps if our geographical position had changed to Timbuctoo, and I had been a missionary with hymn-book in hand, the cassowary might have real- ized my expectations. As it was, one more illusion van- ished. In order to regain my spirits, I shook hands with the handsome giant in brass buttons ; and speaking of giants leads me to the subject of all lusus naturco, particularly the Circassian young lady, the dwarf, the living skeleton, the Albinos, and What-is-it. I have dropped more than one tear at the fate of these unfortunate beings; for what is more horribly solitary than to live in a strange crowd, with "No one to love, None to caress?" NoaH was human. When he retired to the ark, he se- lected two of a kind from all the animal kingdom for the sake of sociability as well as for more practical purposes. Showmen should be equally considerate. To think of those Albino sisters with never an Albino beau, of the Circassian beauty with never a Circassian sweetheart, of the living skeleton with never another skeleton in his closet (how he can look so good-natured would be most mysterious, were not his digestion pronounced perfect), to think of the wretched What-is-it with never a Mrs. What-is-it, produces unspeakable anguish. May they meet their affinities in another and a more sympathetic world, where monstrosities are impossible for the reason that we leave our bones on earth. Since gazing at the What-is-it, I have become a convert to Darwin. It is too 368 KATE FIELD true. Our ancestors stood on their hind legs, and the less we talk about pedigree the better. The noble democrat in search of a coat-of-arms and a grandfather should visit a grand moral circus. Let us assume a virtue, though we have it not ; let our pride ape humility. Were I asked which I thought the greater necessity of civilization, lectures or circuses, I should lay my right hand upon my left heart, and exclaim, "Circuses !" 369 YAWCOB STRAUSS BY CHARLES FOLLEN ADAMS I haf von funny leedle poy, Vot gomes schust to mine knee ; Der queerest schap, der Greatest rogue, As efer you dit see. He runs, und schumps, und schmashes dings In all barts off der house : But vot off dot ? he vas mine son, Mine leedle Yawcob Strauss. He gets der measles und der mumbs, Und eferyding dot's oudt ; He sbills mine glass off lager bier. Foots schnuff indo mine kraut. He fills mine pipe mit Limburg cheese, — Dot vas der roughest chouse : I'd dake dot vrom no oder poy But leedle Yawcob Strauss. He dakes der milk-ban for a dhrum, Und cuts mine cane in dwo. To make der schticks to beat it mit, — Mine cracious, dot vas drue ! I dinks mine had vas schplit abart, He kicks oup sooch a touse : But nefer mind ; der poys vas few Like dot young Yawcob Strauss. 370 CHARLES FOLLEN ADAMS He asks me questions sooch as 'dese : Who baints mine nose so red ? Who vas it cuts dot schmoodth blace oudt Vrom der hair ubon mine hed ? Und vhere der plaze goes vrom der lamp Vene'er der ghm I douse. How gan I all dose dings eggsblain To dot schmall Yawcob Strauss ? I somedimes dink I schall go vild Mit sooch a grazy poy, Und vish vonce more I gould haf rest, Und beaceful dimes enshoy ; But ven he vas ashleep in ped, So guiet as a mouse, I prays der Lord, "Dake anyding. But leaf dot Yawcob Strauss." 371 SEFFY AND SALLY BY JOHN LUTHER LONG The place was the porch of the store, the time was about ten o'clock in the morning of a summer day, the people were the amiable loafers — and Old Baumgartner. The person he was discoursing about was his son Sepheni- jah. I am not sure that the name was not the ripe fruit of his father's fancy — with, perhaps, the Scriptural sug- gestion which is likely to be present in the affairs of a Pennsylvania-German — whether a communicant or not — even if he live in Maryland. "Yas — always last; expecial at funerals and weddings. Except his own — he's sure to be on time at his own fu- neral. Right out in front! Hah? But sometimes he misses his wedding. Why, I knowed a feller — yous all knowed him, begoshens! — that didn't git there tell an- other feller'd married her — 'bout more'n a year afterward. Wasn't it more'n a year, boys? Yas — Bill Eisenkrout. Or, now, was it his brother — Baltzer Iron-Cabbage? Seems to me now like it was Baltz. Somesing wiss a B at the front end, anyhow." Henry Wasserman diffidently intimated that there was a curious but satisfactory element of safety in being last — a "fastnacht" in their language, in fact. Those in front were the ones usually hurt in railroad accidents, Alexander Althoff remembered. "Safe?" cried the speaker. "Of course! But for why — say, for why?" Old Baumgartner challenged defiantly. ^7^ JOHN LUTHER LONG No one answered and he let several Impressive minutes intervene. "You don't know ! Hang- you, none of yous knows ! Well — because he ain't there when anysing occurs — al- ways a little late !" They agreed with him by a series of sage nods. "But, fellers, the worst is about courting. It's no way to be always late. Everybody else gits there first, and it's nossing for the fastnacht but weeping and wailing and gnashing of the teeth. And mebby the other feller gits considerable happiness — and a good farm." There was complaint in the old man's voice, and they knew that he meant his own son Seffy. To add to their embarrassment, this same son was now appearing over the Lustich Hill — an opportune moment for a pleasing digression. For you must be told early concerning Old Baumgartner's longing for certain lands, tenements and hereditaments — using his own phrase — which were not his own, but which adjoined his. It had. passed into a proverb of the vicinage; indeed, though the property in question belonged to one Sarah Pressel, it was known colloquially as "Baumgartner's Yearn." And the reason of it was this : Between his own farm and the public road (and the railroad station when it came) lay the fairest meadow-land farmer's eye had ever rested upon. (I am speaking again for the father of Seffy and with his hyperbole.) Save in one particu- lar, it was like an enemy's beautiful territory lying be- tween one's less beautiful own and the open sea — keep- ing one a poor inlander who is mad for the seas — whose crops must either pass across the land of his adversary and pay tithes to him, or go by long distances around him at the cost of greater tithes to the soulless owners of the turnpikes — who aggravatingly fix a gate each way 373 SEFFY AND SALLY to make their tithes more sure. So, I say, it was like Slav- ing the territory of his enemy lying between him and the deep water — save, as I have also said, in one particular, to wit : that the owner — the Sarah Pressel I have men- tioned — was not Old Baumgartner's enemy. In fact, they were tremendous friends. And it was by this friendship — and one other thing which I mean to mention later — that Old Baumgartner hoped, before he died, to attain the wish of his life, and see, not only the Elysian pasture-field, but the whole of the adjoining farm, with the line fences down, a part of his. The other thing I promised to mention as an aid to this ambition — was Seffy. And, since the said Sarah was of nearly the same age as Seffy, perhaps I need not explain further, except to say that the only obstruction the old man could see now to acquiring the title by marriage was — Seffy himself. He was, and always had been, afraid of girls — especially such aggressive, flirtatious, pretty and tem- pestuous girls as this Sarah. These things, however, were hereditary with the girl. It was historical, in fact, that, during the life of Sarah's good-looking father, so importunate had been Old Baum- gartner for the purchase of at least the meadow — he could not have ventured more at that time — and so obstinate had been the father of the present owner — (he had red hair precisely as his daughter had) — that they had come to blows about it, to the discomfiture of Old Baumgartner; and, afterward, they did not speak. Yet, when the loafers at the store laughed, Baumgartner swore that he would, nevertheless, have that pasture before he died. But then, as if fate, too, were against him, the rail- road was built, and its station was placed so that the Pressel farm lay directly between it and him, and of 374 JOHN LUTHER LONG course the "life" went more and more in the direction of the station — left him more and more "out of it" — and made him poorer and poorer, and Pressel richer and richer. And, when the store laughed at that, Baumgart- ner swore that he would possess half of the farm before he died; and as Pressel and his wife died, and Seffy grew up, and as he noticed the fondness of the little red- headed girl for his little tow-headed boy, he added to his adjuration that he would be harrowing that whole farm before he died, — zuithout paying a cent for it! But both Seffy and Sally had grown to a marriagea- ble age without anything happening. Seffy had become inordinately shy, while the coquettish Sally had accepted the attentions of Sam Pritz, the clerk at the store, as an antagonist more worthy of her, and in a fashion which sometimes made the father of Seffy swear and lose his temper — with Seffy. Though, of course, in the final dis- position of the matter, he was sure that no girl so nice as Sally would marry such a person as Sam Pritz, with no extremely visible means of support — a salary of four dollars a week, and an odious reputation for liquor. And it was for these things, all of which were known (for Baumgartner had not a single secret) that the company at the store detected the personal equation in Old Baum- gartner's communications. Seffy had almost arrived by this time, and Sally was in the store ! With Sam ! The situation was highly dra- matic. But the old man consummately ignored this com- plication and directed attention to his son. For him, the molasses-tapper did not exist. The fact is he was over- joyed. Seffy, for once in his life, would be on time! He would do the rest. "Now, boys, chust look at 'em ! Dogged if they ain't bose like one another! How's the proferb? Birds of a 375 SEFFY AND SALLY feather flock wiss one another? I dunno. Anyhow, Sef flocks wiss Betz constant. And they understand one an- other good. Trotting Hke a sidewise dog of a hot sum- mer's day !" And he showed the company, up and down the store-porch, just how a sidewise dog would be hkely to trot on a hot summer day — and then laughed joy- ously. If there had been an artist eye to see they would have been well worth its while — Seffy and the mare so affec- tionately disparaged. And, after all, I am not sure that the speaker himself had not an artist's eye. For a spring pasture, or a fallow upland, or a drove of goodly cows deep in his clover, I know he had. (Perhaps you, too, have?) And this was his best mare and his only son. The big bay, clad in broad-banded harness, soft with oil and glittering with brasses, was shambling indolently down the hill, resisting her own momentum by the diago- nal motion the old man had likened to a dog's sidewise trot. The looped trace-chains were jingling a merry dithyramb, her head was nodding, her tail swaying, and Seffy, propped by his elbow on her broad back, one leg swung between the hames, the other keeping time on her ribs, was singing : " *I want to be an angel And with the angels stand, A crown upon my forehead A harp within my hand — ' " His adoring father chuckled. *T wonder what for kind of anchel he'd make, anyhow? And Betz — they'll have to go together. Say, I wonder if it is horse-an- chels?" No one knew ; no one offered a suggestion. "Well, it ought to be. Say — he ken perform circus wiss ol'Betz!" 376 JOHN LUTHER LONG They expressed their polite surprise at this for per- haps the hundredth time. "Yas — they have a kind of circus-ring- in the barnyard. He stands on one foot, then on another, and on his hands wiss his feet kicking, and then he says words — Hke hokey-pokey — and Betz she kicks up behind and throws him off in the dung and we all laugh — happy efer after — Betz most of all !" After the applause he said : "I guess I'd better wake 'em up ! What you sink ?" They one and all thought he had. They knew he would do it, no matter what they thought. His method, as usual, was his own. He stepped to the adjoining field, and, selecting a clod with the steely polish of the plowshare upon it, threw it at the mare. It struck her on the flank. She gathered her feet under her in sudden alarm, then slowly relaxed, looked slyly for the old man, found him, and understanding, suddenly wheeled and ambled off home, leaving Seffy prone on the ground as her part of the joke. The old man brought Seffy in triumph to the store- porch. "Chust stopped you afore you got to be a anchel !" he M^as saying. "We couldn't bear to sink about you being a anchel — an' wiss the anchels stand — a harp upon your forehead, a crown within your hand, I expect — when it's corn-planting time." Seffy grinned cheerfully, brushed off the dust and contemplated his father's watch — held accusingly against him. Old Baumgartner went on gaily. "About an inch and a half apast ten ! Seffy, I'm glad you ain't breaking your reputation for being fastnachtich. Chust about a quarter of an inch too late for the prize wiss flour on its hair and arms and its frock pinned up to show 377 SEFFY AND SALLY its new pelticoat ! Uhu ! If I had such a nice petticoat — " he imitated the lady in question, to the tremendous de- Hght of the gentle loafers. Seffy stared a little and rubbed some dust out of his eyes. He was pleasant but dull. "Yassir, Sef, if you'd a-got yere at a inch and a quar- ter apast! Now Sam's got her. Down in the cellar a- licking molasses together! Doggone if Sam don't git eferysing — except his due bills. He don't want to be no anchel tell he dies. He's got fun enough yere — ^but Seffy — you're like the flow of molasses in January — at court- ing." This oblique suasion made no impression on Seffy. It is doubtful if he understood it at all. The loafers began to smile. One laughed. The old man checked him with a threat of personal harm. "Hold on there, Jefferson Dafis Busby," he chid. "I don't allow no one to laugh at my Seffy — except chust me — account I'm his daddy. It's a fight-word the next time you do it." Mr. Busby straightened his countenance. "He don't seem to notice — nor keer — 'bout gals — do he?" No one spoke. "No, durn him, he ain't no good. Say — what'll you give for him, hah ? Yere he goes to the highest bidder — for richer, for poorer, for better, for worser, up and down, in and out, swing your partners — what's bid ? He ken plow as crooked as a mule's hind leg, sleep hard as a 'possum in wintertime, eat like a snake, git left efery time — ^but he ken ketch fish. They wait on him. What's bid?" No one would hazard a bid. "Yit a minute," shouted the old fellow, pulling out his 378 JOHN LUTHER LONG bull's-eye watch again, "what's bid ? Going — going — all done — going — " "A dollar!" The bid came from behind him, and the voice was beautiful to hear. A gleam came into the old man's eyes as he heard it. He deliberately put the watch back in its pocket, put on his spectacles, and turned, as if she were a stranger. "Gone!" he announced then. "Who's the purchaser? Come forwards and take away you' property. What's the name, please?" Then he pretended to recognize her. "Oach! Sally! Well, that's lucky! He goes in good hands. He's sound and kind, but needs the whip." He held out his hand for the dollar. It was the girl of whom he had spoken accurately as a prize. Her sleeves were turned up as far as they would go, revealing some soft lace-trimmed whiteness, and there was flour on her arms. Some patches of it on her face gave a petal-like effect to her otherwise aggressive color. The pretty dress was pinned far enough back to reveal the prettier petticoat — plus a pair of trimly-clad ankles. Perhaps these were neither the garments nor the airs in which every farmer-maiden did her baking. But then, Sally was no ordinary farmer-maiden. She was all this, it is true, but she was, besides, grace and color and charm itself. And if she chose to bake in such attire — or, even, if she chose to pretend to do so, where was the churl to say her nay, even though the flour was part of a deliber- ate "make up"? Certainly he was not at the store that summer morning. And Seffy was there. Her hair escaped redness by only a little. But that little was just the difference between ugliness and beauty. For, whether Sally were beautiful or not — about which we might contend a bit — her hair 379 SEFFY AND SALLY was, and perhaps that is the reason why it was nearly always uncovered — or, possibly, again, because it was so much uncovered was the reason it was beautiful. It seemed to catch some of the glory of the sun. Her face had a few freckles and her mouth was a trifle too large. But, in it were splendid teeth. In short, by the magic of brilliant color and natural grace she narrowly escaped being extremely handsome — in the way of a sunburned peach, or a maiden's-blush apple. And even if you should think she were not hand- some, you would admit that there was an indescribable rustic charm about her. She was like the aroma of the hay-fields, or the woods, or a field of daisies, or dande- lions. The girl, laughing, surrendered the money, and the old man, taking an arm of each, marched them per- emptorily away. "Come to the house and git his clothes. Eferysing goes in — stofepipe hat, butterfly necktie, diamond pin, tooth- brush, hair-oil, razor and soap." They had got far enough around the corner to be out of sight of the store, during this gaiety, and the old man now shoved Seffy and the girl out in front of him, linked their arms, and retreated to the rear. "What Sephenijah P. Baumgartner, Senior, hath j'ined together, let nobody put athunder, begoshens!" he announced. The proceeding appeared to be painful to Sefify, but not to Sally. She frankly accepted the situation and promptly put into action its opportunities for coquetry. She begged him, first, with consummate aplomb, to aid her in adjust- ing her parcels more securely, insisting upon carrying them herself, and it would be impossible to describe ade- quately her allures. The electrical touches, half-caress, 380 JOHN LUTHER LONG half-defiance; the confidential whisperings, so that the wily old man in the rear might not hear; the surges up against him; the recoveries — only to surge again — these would require a mechanical contrivance which reports not only speech but action — and even this might easily fail, so subtle was it all ! "Sef — Seffy, I thought it was his old watch he was auctioning off. I wanted it for — for — a nest-egg! aha- ha-ha! You must excuse me." "You wouldn't 'a' bid at all if you'd knowed it was me, I reckon," said Seffy. "Yes, I would," declared the coquette. "I'd rather have you than any nest-egg in the whole world — any two of 'em !" — and when he did not take his chance — "if they were made of gold !" But then she spoiled it. "It's worse fellows than you, Seffy." The touch of coquetry was but too apparent. "And better," said Seffy, with a lump in his throat. "I know I ain't no good with girls — and I don't care!" "Yes!" she assented wickedly. "There are better ones." "Sam Pritz— " Sally looked away, smiled, and was silent. "Sulky Seffy!" she finally said. "If he does stink of salt mackerel, and 'most always 'drunk!" Seffy went on bitterly. "He's nothing but a molasses-tapper !" Sally began to drift farther away and to sing. Calling Pritz names was of no consequence — except that it kept Seffy from making love to her while he was doing it — which seemed foolish to Sally. The old man came up and brought them together again. "Oach! go 'long and make lofe some more. I like to 381 SEFFY AND SALLY see It. I expect I am an old fool, but I like lo see it — it's like ol' times — yas, and if you don't look out there, _Seffy, I'll take a hand myself — yassir! go 'long!" He drew them very close together, each looking the Other way. Indeed he held them there for a moment, roughly, Seffy stole a glance at Sally. He wanted to see how she was taking his father's odiously intimate suggestion. But it happened that Sally wanted to see how he was taking it. She laughed with the frankest of joy as their eyes met. "Seffy — I do — like you," said the coquette. "And you pught to know it. You imp !" Now this was immensely stimulating to the bashful "I like you," he said — "ever since we was babies." "Sef — I don't believe you. Or you wouldn't waste your time so — about Sam Pritz !" "Er — Sally — where you going to to-night?" Seffy meant to prove himself. And Sally answered, with a little fright at the sudden aggressiveness she had procured. "Nowheres that / know of." "Well — may I set up with you?" The pea-green sunbonnet could not conceal the utter amazement and then the radiance which shot into Sally's face. "Set— up— with— me !" "Yes!" said Seffy, almost savagely. "That's what I said." "Oh, I — I guess so! Yes! of course!" she answered variously, and rushed off home. "You know I own you," she laughed back, as if she had not been sufficiently explicit. "I paid for you I Your 382 JOHN LUTHER LONG 'pappy's got the money! I'll expect my property to- night." "Yas !" shouted the happy old man, "and begoshens ! it's a reg'lar bargain ! Ain't it, Seffy ? You her property — real estate, hereditaments and tenements." And even Seffy was drawn into the joyous laughing conceit of it ! Had he not just done the bravest thing of his small life? "Yes!" he cried after the fascinating Sally. "For sure and certain, to-night !" "It's a bargain !" cried she. , "For better or worser, richer or poorer, up an' down, in an' out, chassez right and left! Aha-ha-ha! Aha-ha- ha! But, Seffy," — and the happy father turned to the happy son and hugged him, "don't you efer forgit that she's a feather-head and got a bright red temper like her daddy ! And they both work mighty bad together some- times. When you get her at the right place onct — well, nail her down — hand and feet — so's she can't git away. When she gits mad her little brain evaporates, and if she had a knife she'd go round stabbing her best friends — that's the only sing that safes her — yas, and us! — no knife. If she had a knife it would be funerals following her all the time." II They advanced together now, Seffy's father whistling some tune that was never heard before on earth, and, with his arm in that of his son, they watched Sally bounding away. Once more, as she leaped a fence, she looked laughingly back. The old man whistled wildly out of tune, Seffy waved a hand ! "Now you shouting, Seffy ! Shout ag'in !'* "I didn't say a word !" "Well— it ain't too late ! Go on !" 383 SEFFY AND SALLY Now Seffy understood and laughed with his father. "Nice gal, Sef— Seffy!" "Yes !" admitted Seffy with reserve. "Healthy." Seffy agreed to this, also. "No doctor-bills!" his father amplified. Seffy said nothing. "Entire orphen." "She's got a granny!" "Yas," chuckled the old man at the way his son was drifting into the situation — thinking about granny! — "but Sally owns the farm!" "Uhu !" said Seffy, whatever that might mean. "And Sally's the boss!" Silence. "And granny won't object to any one Sally marries, anyhow — she dassent! She'd git licked!" "Who said anything about marrying ?" Seffy was speciously savage now — as any successful wooer might be. "Nobody but me, sank you!" said the old man with equally specious meekness. "Look how she ken jump a six-rail fence. Like a three-year filly! She's a nice gal, Seffy — and the farms j'ine together — her pasture-field and our corn-field. And she's kissing her hand back- wards! At me or you, Seffy?" Seffy said he didn't know. And he did not return the kiss — though he yearned to. "Well, I bet a dollar that the first initial of his last name is Sephanijah P. Baumgartner, Junior.^* "Well!" said Seffy with a great flourish, "I'm going to set up with her to-night." "Oach — git out, Sef !" — though he knew it. "You'll see." 384 JOHN LUTHER LONG "No, I won't," said his father. "I wouldn't be so durn mean. Nossir!" Seffy grinned at this subtle foolery, and his courage continued to grow. "I'm going to wear my high hat!" he announced, with his nose quite in the air. "No, Sef !" said the pld man with a wonderful inflec- tion, facing him about that he might look into his de- termined face. For it must be explained that the stove- pipe hat, in that day and that country, was dedicated only to the most momentous social occasions and that, conse- quently, gentlemen wore it to go courting. "Yes !" declared Seffy again. "Bring forth the stovepipe. The stovepipe, the stovepipe — " chanted Seffy's frivolous father in the way of the Anvil Chorus. "And my butterfly necktie with — " "Wiss the di'mond on?" whispered his father. They laughed in confidence of their secret. Seffy, the successful wooer, was thawing out again. The diamond was not a diamond at all — the Hebrew who sold it to Seffy had confessed as much. But he also swore that if it were kept in perfect polish no one but a diamond mer- chant could tell the difference. Therefore, there being no diamond merchant anywhere near, and the jewel be- ing always immaculate, Seffy presented it as a diamond and had risen perceptibly in the opinion of the vicinage. "And — and — and — Sef — Seffy, what you goin' to "Do?" Seffy had been absorbed in what he was going to wear. "Yas — yas — that's the most important." He encircled 385 SEFFY AND SALLY Seffy's waist and gently squeezed it. "Oh, of course! Hah? But what 3/^7 f" I regret to say that Seffy did not understand. "Seffy," he said impressively, "you haf tol' me what you goin' to wear. It ain't much. The weather's yit pooty col' nights. But I ken stand it if you ken — God knows about Sally! Now, what you goin' to do — that's the conuntrum I ast you !" Still it was not clear to Seffy. "Why — what I'm a-going to do, hah? Why — ^what- ever occurs." "Gosh-a'mighty ! And nefer say a word or do a sing to help the occurrences along ? Goshens ! What a setting- up ! Why — say — Seffy, what you set up forf" Seffy did not exactly know. He had never hoped to practise the thing — in that sublimely militant phase. "What do 3;ow think?" "Well, Sef — plow straight to her heart. I wisht I had your chance. I'd show you a other-guess kind a setting- up — yassir! Make your mouth warter and your head swim, begoshens! Why, that Sally's just like a young stubble-field ; got to be worked constant, and plowed deep, and manured heafy, and mebby drained wiss blind ditches, and crops changed constant, and kep' a-going thataway — constant — constant — so's the weeds can't git in her. Then you ken put her in wheat after a while and git your money back." This drastic metaphor had its effect. Seffy began to understand. He said so. "Now, look here, Seffy," his father went on more softly, "when you git to this — and this — and this," — he went through his pantomime again, and it included a progressive caressing to the kissing point — "well, chust when you bose comfortable — hah ? — mebby on one cheer, 386 JOHN LUTHER LONG what I Icnow — it's so long sence I done it myself — when you bose comfortable, ast her — chust ast her — aham ! — what she'll take for the pasture-field ! She owns you bose and she can't use bose you and the pasture. A bird in the hand is worth seferal in another feller's — not so?" But Seffy only stopped and stared at his father. This, again, he did not understand. "You know well enough I got no money to buy no pasture-field," said he. "Gosh-a'mighty !" said the old man joyfully, making as if he would strike Seffy with his huge fist — a thing he often did. "And ain't got nossing to trade?" "Nothing except the mare !" said the boy. "Say — ain't you got no feelings, you idjiot?" "Oh—" said Seffy. And then: "But what's feelings got to do with cow-pasture ?" "Oach ! No wonder he wants to be an anchel, and wiss the anchels stand — holding sings in his hands and on his head! He's too good for this wile world. He'd linger shifering on the brink and fear to launch away all his durn life — if some one didn't push him in. So here goes !" This was spoken to the skies, apparently, but now he turned to his son again. "Look a-yere, you young dummer-ux,* feelings is the same to gals like Sally, as money is to you and me. You ken buy potatoes wiss 'em ! Do you understand ?" Seffy said that he did, now. "Well, then, I'fe tried to buy that pasture-field a sousand times — " Seffy started. "Yas, that's a little bit a He — mebby a dozen times. And at last Sally's daddy said he'd lick me if I efer said * Dumb ox — a term of reproach. SEFFY AND SALLY pasture-Held ag'In, and I said it ag'in and he licked me! He was a big man — and red-headed yit, like Sally. Now, look a-yere — you ken git that pasture-field wissout money and wissout price — except you' dam' feelings which ain't no other use. Sally won't lick you — if she is bigger — don't be a-skeered. You got tons of feelin's you ain't got no other use for — don't waste 'em — they're good green money, and we'll git efen wiss Sally's daddy for licking me yit — and somesing on the side ! Huh ?" At last it was evident that Seffy fully understood, and his father broke into that discordant whistle once more. "A gal that ken jump a six-rail fence — and wissout no running start — don't let her git apast you !" "Well, I'm going to set up with her to-night," said Seffy again, with a huge ahem. And the tune his father whistled as he opened the door for him sounded some- thing like "I want to be an angel." "But not to buy no pasture-land !" warned Seffy. "Oach, no, of course not !" agreed his wily old father. "That's just one of my durn jokes. But I expect I'll take the fence down to-morrow! Say, Sef, you chust marry the gal. I'll take keer the fence !" ^ III It took Seffy a long time to array himself as he had threatened. And when it was all done you wouldn't have known him — you wouldn't have cared to know him. For his fine yellow hair was changed to an ugly brown by the patent hair-oil with which he had dressed it — and you would not have liked its fragrance, I trust. Bergamot, I think it was. His fine young throat was garroted within a starched standing collar, his feet were pinched in creak- 388 JOHN LUTHER LONG ing boots, his hands close-gauntleted in buckskin gloves, and he altogether incomparable, uncomfortable, and tri- umphant. Down stairs his father paced the floor, watch in hand. From time to time he would call out the hour, like a watchman on a minaret. At last : "Look a-yere, Seffy, it's about two inches apast seven — and by the time you git there — say, yiefer gif another feller a chance to git there afore you or to leave after you !" Seffy descended at that moment with his hat poised in his left hand. His father dropped his watch and picked it up. Both stood at gaze for a moment. "Sunder, Sef ! You as beautiful as the sun, moon and stars — and as stinky as seferal apothecary shops. Yere, take the watch and git along — so's you haf some time wiss you — now git along! You late a' ready. Goshens! You wass behind time when you wass born ! Yas, your mam- my wass disapp'inted in you right at first. You wass seventy-six hours late! But now you reformed — sank God ! I always knowed it wass a cure for it, but I didn't know it wass anysing as nice as Sally." Seffy issued forth to his first conquest — lighted as far as the front gate by the fat lamp held in his father's hand. "A — Sef — Seffy, shall I set up for you tell you git home?" he called into the dark. "No!" shouted Seffy. "Aha — aha — aha! That sounds right! Don't you for- git when you bose — well — comfortable — aha — aha I Mebby on one cheer aha — ha-ha. And we'll bose take the fence down to-morrow. Mebby all three !" 389 AN ARCHiEOLOGICAL CONGRESS BY ROBERT J. BURDETTE " 'There's none can tell about my birth For I'm as old as the big round earth ; Ye young Immortals clear the track, I'm the bearded Joke on the Carpet tack." Thus spoke A Joke With boastful croak ; And as he said, Upon his head He stood, and waited for the tread Of thoughtless wight, Who, in the night, Gets up, arrayed in garments white, And indiscreet. With unshod feet. Prowls round for something good to eat. But other Jokes His speech provokes ; And old, and bald, and lame, and gray, With loftiest scorn they say him Nay ; And bid him hold his unwcaned tongue. For they were blind ere he was young. So hot They grew. This complot Crew, ;390 ROBERT J. BURDETTE They laid a plan To catch a Man ; That all the clan Might then trepan His skull with Jokes; they thus began: First Mule, his heel its skill to try, Amid his ribs like lightning laid — And back recoiled — he well knew why ; "Insurance Man," he faintly sayed. Next Stove Pipe rushed, as hot as fire, "Put up !" he cried, in accents bold ; With Elbow joint he struck the lyre. And knocked the Weather Prophet cold. But thou, Ice Cream, with hair so gray, Three thousand years before the Flood, Cold, bitter cold, will be the day Thou dost not warm the Jester's blood. "Spoons for the spooney," was her ancient song. That with slow measure dragged its deathless length along. And longer had she sung, but with a frown, Old Pie, impatient, rose And roared, "Behold, I am the Funny Clown ! And without me there is no Joke that goes. "To every Jester in the land, I lend my omnipresent hand ; I've filled in Jokes of every grade Since ever Jokes and Pies were made; Sewed, pegged and pasted, glued or cast, If not the first of Jokes, I'll be the last." 391 AN ARCH^OLOGICAL CONGRESS With heart unripe and mottled hide, Pale summer watermeloncholly sighed, And — ^but the Muse would find it vain To give a list of all the train ; The hairless, purblind, toothless crew, That burst on Man's astonished view — The Bull dog and the Garden gate ; The Girl's Papa in wrathful state; Ma'ma in law ; the Leathern Clam ; The Woodshed Cat; the Rampant Ram; The Fly, the Goat, the Skating Rink, The Paste-brush plunging in the Ink ; The Baby wailing in the Dark ; The Songs they sang upon the Ark ; Things that were old when Earth was new. And as they lived still old and older grew. And as these Jokes about him cried, And all their Ancient Arts upon him tried. Their hapless victim, Man, lay down and died. 392 A BOY'S VIEW OF IT BY FRANK L. STANTON Mother — she's always a-sayin', she is, Boys must be looked after — got to be strict; When I tear my breeches like Billy tears his, It helps 'em considerable when I am licked ! But it ain't leapin' over the fence or the post — It's jest that same lickin' 'at tears 'em the most ! Mother — she's always a-sayin' to me, Boys must have people to foller 'em roun' ; Kever kin tell where they're goin' to be ; Sure to git lost, an' then have to be foun'. An' then — when they find 'em, they're so full of joy They can't keep from lovin' an' lickin' the boy ! There's Jimmy Johnson — got lost on the road ; Daddy wuz drivin' to market one day, Fell out the wagon, an' nobody knowed Till they come to a halt, an' his daddy said: "Hey! Wonder where Jimmy is gone to ?" But Jim — Warn't no two bosses could keep up with him ! Jest kept a-goin', an' got to a place Where wuz a circus ; took up with the clown, Cut off his ringlets and painted his face. An' then come right back to his daddy's own town! An' what do you reckon? His folks didn't know, An' paid to see Jimmy that night in the show ! 393 A BOY'S VIEW OF IT An* there's Billy Jenkins — he jest run away (Folks at his house wuzn't treatin' him right) ; Went to the place where the red Injuns stay; An' once, when his daddy wuz travelin' at night An' the Injuns took after him, hollerin' loud, Bill run to his rescue, an' scalped the whole crowd! No use in talkin' — ^boys don't have no show ! Wuzn't fer people a-follerin' 'em roun'. Jest ain't no tellin' how fast they would grow"; Bet you they'd fool everybody in town ! But mother — she says they need lickin', an' so They're too busy hollerin' to git up an' grow ! 394 "RINGWORM FRANK" BY JAMES WHITCOMB RILEY Jest Frank Reed's his real name — though Boys all calls him "Ringworm Frank," 'Cause he alius runs round so. — No man can't tell where to bank Frank '11 be, Next you see Er hear of him ! — Drat his melts ! — That man's alius somers else! We're old pards. — But Frank he jest Can't stay still ! — Wuz prosper'n' here. But lit out on furder West Somers on a ranch, last year : Never heard Nary a word How he liked it, tel to-day, Got this card, reads thisaway : — "Dad-burn climate out here makes Me homesick all Winter long, And when Springtime comes, it takes Two pee-wees to sing one song, — One sings 'pee,* And the other one 'wee!' Stay right where you air, old pard. — Wisht / wuz this postal-card !" 395 THE COLONEL'S CLOTHES BY CAROLINE HOWARD GILMAN Every man has some peculiar taste or preference, and, I think, though papa dressed with great elegance, his was a decided love of his old clothes; his garments, like his friends, became dearer to him from their wear and tear in his service, and they were deposited successively in his dressing-room, though mamma thought them quite unfit for him. He averred that he required his old hunting- suits for accidents ; his summer jackets and vests, though faded, were the coolest in the world ; his worm-eaten but warm roquelaure was admirable for riding about the fields, etc. In vain mamma represented the economy of cutting up some for the boys, and giving others to the servants; he would not consent, nor part with articles in which he said he felt at home. Often did mamma re- monstrate against the dressing-room's looking like a haberdasher's shop; often did she take down a coat, hold it up to the light, and show him perforations that would have honored New Orleans or Waterloo; often, while Chloe was flogging the pantaloons, which ungallantly kicked in return, did she declare that it was a sin and a shame for her master to have such things in the house; still the anti-cherubic shapes accumulated on the nails and hooks, and were even considered as of sufficient im- portance to be preserved from the fire at the burning of Roseland. Our little circle about this time was animated by a visit 396 CAROLINE HOWARD OILMAN from a peddler. As soon as he was perceived crossing the lawn with a large basket on his arm, and a bundle slung across a stick on his shoulder, a stir commenced in the house. Mamma assumed an air of importance and respon- sibility ; I felt a pleasurable excitement ; Chloe's and Flora's eyes twinkled with expectation; while, from dif- ferent quarters, the house servants entered, standing with eyes and mouth silently open, as the peddler, after de- positing his basket and deliberately untying his bundle, offered his goods to our inspection. He was a stout man, with a dark complexion, pitted with the small-pox, and spoke in a foreign accent. I confess that I yielded myself to the pleasure of purchasing some gewgaws, which I afterward gave to Flora, while mamma looked at the glass and plated ware. "Ver sheap," said the peddler, following her eye, and taking up a pair of glass pitchers; "only two dollar — sheap as dirt. If te lady hash any old closhes, it is petter as money." Mamma took the pitchers in her hand with an inquisi- torial air, balanced them, knocked them with her small knuckles — they rang as clear as a bell — examined the glass — there was not a flaw in it. Chloe went through the same process; they looked significantly at each other, nodded, set the pitchers on the slab, and gave a little ap- probatory cough. "They are certainly very cheap," said mamma, tenta- tively. "They is, for true, my mistress," said Chloe, with solemnity, "and more handsomer than Mrs. Whitney's that she gin six dollars for at Charleston." "Chloe," said mamma, "were not those pantaloons you were shaking to-day quite shrunk and worn out ?" "Yes, ma'am," said she; "and they don't fit nohow. 397 THE COLONEL'S CLOTHES The last time the colonel wore them he seemed quite on- restless'^ "Just step up," said her mistress, "and bring them down ; but stay — what did you say was the price of these candlesticks, sir?" "Tish only von dollars; but tish more cheaper for te old closhes. H te lady will get te old closhes, I will put in te pellows and te prush, and it ish more sheaper, too." Chloe and mamma looked at each other, and raised their eyebrows. "I will just step up and see those pantaloons," said mamma, in a consulting tone. "It will be a mercy to the colonel to clear out some of that rubbish. I am confident he can never wear the pantaloons again ; they are rubbed in the knees, and require seating, and he never will wear seated pantaloons. These things are unusually cheap, and the colonel told me lately we were in want of a few little matters of this sort." Thus saying, with a significant whisper to me to watch the peddler, she disappeared with Chloe. They soon returned, Chloe bearing a variety of gar- ments, for mamma had taken the important premier pas. The pantaloons were first produced. The peddler took them in his hand, which flew up like an empty scale, to show how light they were ; he held them up to the sun, and a half contemptuous smile crossed his lips; then shaking his head, he threw them down beside his basket. A drab overcoat was next inspected, and was also thrown aside with a doubtful expression. "Mr. Peddler," said mamma, in a very soft tone, "you must allow me a fair price; these are very excellent ar- ticles." "Oh, ver fair," said he, "but te closhes ish not ver 398 CAROLINE HOWARD GILMAN goot; te closhesman is not going to give me noting for dish," and he laid a waistcoat on the other two articles. Mamma and Chloe had by this time reached the depths of the basket, and, with sympathetic exclamations, ar- ranged several articles on the slab. "You will let me have these pitchers," said mamma, with a look of concentrated resolution, "for that very nice pair of pantaloons." The peddler gave a short whistle expressive of con- tempt, shook his head, and said, "Tish not possibles. I will give two pishers and von prush for te pantaloon and waistcoat." Mamma and Chloe glanced at each other and at me; I was absorbed in my own bargains, and said, carelessly, that the pitchers were perfect beauties. Chloe pushed one pitcher a little forward, mamma pushed the other on a parallel line, then poised a decanter, and again applied her delicate knuckles for the test. That, too, rang out the musical, unbroken sound, so dear to the housewife's ear, and, with a pair of plated candlesticks, was deposited on the table. The peddler took up the drab overcoat. "Te closhesman's give noting for dish." Mamma looked disconcerted. The expression of her face implied the fear that the peddler would not even ac- cept it as a gift. Chloe and she held a whispering consul- tation. At this moment Binah came in with little Patsey, who, seeing the articles on the slab, pointed with her dim- pled fingers, and said her only words, "Pretty ! pretty !" At the same moment, Lafayette and Venus, the two lit- tle novices in furniture-rubbing, exclaimed, "Ki ! if dem ting an't shine too much !" These opinions made the turning-point in mamma's mind, though coming from such insignificant sources. 399 THE COLONEL'S CLOTHES "So they are pretty, my darling," said mamma to Pat- sey ; and then, turning to the peddler, she asked him what he would give in exchange for the pantaloons, the waist- coat and the coat. The peddler set aside two decanters, one pitcher, the plated candlesticks, and a hearth-brush. "Tish ver goot pargains for te lady," said he. Mamma gained courage. "I can not think of letting you have all these things without something more. You must at least throw in that little tray," and she looked at a small scarlet one, worth perhaps a quarter of a dollar. The peddler hesitated, and held it up so that the morn- ing sun shone on its bright hues. *T shall not make a bargain without that," said mamma, resolutely. The peddler sighed, and laying it with the selected articles said : "Tish ver great pargains for te lady." Mamma smiled triumphantly, and the peddler, tying up his bundle and slinging his stick, departed with an air of humility. Papa's voice was soon heard, as usual, before he was seen. "Rub down Beauty, Mark, and tell Diggory to call out the hounds." There was a slight embarrassment in mamma's man- ner when he entered, mingled with the same quantity of bravado. He nodded to her, tapped me on the head with his riding-whip, gave Patsey a kiss as she stretched out her arms to him, tossed her in the air, and, returning her to her nurse, was passing on. "Do stop, Colonel," said mamma, "and admire my bar- gains. See this cut glass and plate that we have been wishing for, to save our best set." 400 CAROLINE HOWARD GILMAN "What, this trash?" said he, pausing a moment at the table — "blown glass and washed brass! Who has been fooling you ?" "Colonel," said mamma, coloring highly, "how can you—" "I can not stop a minute, now, wife," said he. "Jones and Ferguson are for a hunt to-day! They are waiting at Drake's corner. It looks like falling weather and my old drab will come in well to-day." Mamma looked frightened, and he passed on up-stairs. He was one of those gentlemen who keep a house alive, as the phrase is, whether in merriment or the contrary, and we were always prepared to search for his hat, or whip, or slippers, which he was confident he put in their places, but which, by some miracle, were often in opposite direc- tions. Our greatest trial, however, was with mamma's and his spectacles, for they had four pairs between them — far-sighted and near-sighted. There were, indeed, opti- cal delusions practiced with them ; for when papa wanted his, they were hidden behind some pickle-jar; and when mamma had carefully placed hers in her key-basket, they were generally found in one of papa's various pockets; when a distant object was to be seen, he was sure to mount the near-sighted, and cry "Pshaw !" and if a splinter was to be taken out, nothing could be found but the far-sighted ones, and he said something worse: sometimes all four pairs were missing, and such a scampering ensued ! We now heard a great outcry up-stairs. "Wife! Chloe! Cornelia! come and find my drab coat!" We looked at each other in dismay, but papa was not a man for delay, and we obeyed his summons. "Wife," said he, beating aside the externals of man that hung about his dressing-room, "where is my old drab coat?" 401 THE COLONEL'S CLOTHES Mamma swallowed as if a dry artichoke was in her throat, as she said, slowly, "Why, colonel, you know you had not worn that coat for months, and as you have an- other one, and a roquelaure, and the coat was full of moth- holes, I exchanged it with the peddler for cut glass and plate." "Cut devils !" said papa, who liked to soften an oath by combinations; "it was worth twenty dollars — yes, more, because I felt at home in it. I hate new coats as I do — " "But, colonel," interrupted mamma, "you did not see the scarlet tray, and the — " "Scarlet nonsense," shouted papa; "I believe, if they could, women would sell their husbands to those rascally peddlers !" Beauty and the hounds were now pronounced ready. I followed papa to the piazza, and heard his wrath rolling off as he cantered away. 402