of American in cw6 CASSELL & COMPANY, LIMITED: LONDON, PARIS &> NEW YORK. PREFACE. IN making a selection from the humorous writers of America, I have been guided mainly by my own likes and dislikes. Hence this volume lays no claim to being either exhaustive or representative. I believe, however, that some of the very choicest bits of Yankee humour will be found in these pages, though I have been compelled to omit much that I should have liked to include. To all who love to " laugh and grow fat," to the happy thousands to whom it is given as a priceless boon to be able to see the ridiculous aspect of affairs, I present this book with the greatest confidence that it will be heartily welcomed and enjoyed. For those to whom exaggeration and the grotesque have no charm, I have only one .word of advice : Don't attempt to understand these pages. You won't succeed, and you will only end by being disappointed with the work, and angry with me for compiling it. It is not necessary for me to say anything as to the strong method many of my authors have of calling a spade 22232^3 iv PREFACE, a spade. I have not laid an impious hand upon what some might call their impiety I have not done so because I firmly believe their apparent lack of reverence is only a matter of form in spirit these men are more earnest and nearer the deepest truths of life than are many people of "nice sentiments but nasty thoughts." I have to acknowledge with thanks the courtesy of Messrs. Chatto and Windus, by whose permission I have been able to use extracts from Mark Twain's "A Tramp Abroad" and "The Stolen White Elephant." LADYWELL, May, 1883. CONTENTS. C&arles JF. PAGE Sequel to the "One-Horse Shay" ...... loi The Puzzled Dutchman . .182 A Tale of a Nose .... 183 Yawcob Strauss .... 237 A Highly-coloured Romance 238 To Bary Jade ..... 240 125 129 133 Sfteler, Cooley's Boy and Dog Judge Pitman Mrs. Jones's Pirate . Plum Pits ...... 33 Ramrods ...... 77 Kontentment ..... 241 Marriage ...... 243 Corn Cobs ...... 270 Sollum Thoughts .... 276 Lobstir Salad ..... 277 Maxims ....... 291 Philosophy ...... 317 Sutler, SMilltam 8llan. Nothing to Wear . . . Carletoit. 216 Betsey and I are Out ... 15 How Betsey and I made up . 18 Uncle Sammy 20 The New Church Organ . 24 The Editor's Guests ... 27 (Emerson, Halpfc fUSHaUo. PAGB The Mountain and the Squir- rel ........ 115 Helen's Babies ..... 184 The Heathen Chinee . . .116 The Aged Stranger . . .118 In the Mission Garden . .119 The Society upon the Stanis- laus ....... I2O Dow's Hat ...... 122 In the Tunnel ..... 173 Penelope ...... 174 Jim ........ 175 Half an Hour Before Supper 177 Her Letter ...... 278 His Answer to "Her Letter" 280 , Colonel The Enchanted Shirt . .179 bolmes, Itoer GMtnbtll. My Aunt 80 The Dorchester Giant . . 81 The September Gale ... 83 The Sweet Little Man . . 85 The Spectre Pig .... 87 The Ballad of the Oysterman 90 The Deacon's Masterpiece; or, The Wonderful "One- Hoss Shay " 91 VI CONTENTS. How the Old Horse Won the Bet . . . . . . 95 Our Sumatra Correspondence (from "The Autocrat of the Breakfast Table ") . . 102 The Music Grinders . . . 292 The Demon of the Study . 294 Rip Van Winkle lelanfc, Hans Breitmann's Barty . 105 312 Lototll, The Pious Editor's Creed . 152 Doctor Lobster . . . .155 The Courting ..... 157 The Unhappy Lot of Mr. Knott ....... 245 Ho-ho of the Golden Belt . 137 Early Rising ..... 141 The Best of Husbands . . 142 The Ghost-Player .... 283 >totoe, The Minister's Wooing . . 285 74 7 13 The Vagabonds . CTtoain, ifiarfe. The Roman Guide Blucher's Note PAGE Speech on the Babies . .144 An Encounter with an Inter- viewer ...... 147 The Jumping Frog of Cala- veras County . . . .163 The Story of the Bad Lif.le Boy who didn't com 4 o Grief Writing a Novel ... The Aged Pilot Man . . Punch, Brothers, Punch . The Ascent of the Rigi . (SSSartr, Rvtmnti. To California and Back : I. On the Steamer; II. The Isthmus ; III. Mexi- co ; IV. California ; V. Washoe ; VI. Mr. Pepper ; VII. Horace Greeley's Ride to Placerville ; VIII. To Reese River ; IX. Great Salt Lake City ; X. The Mountain Fever ; XI. " I am here ; " XII. Brigham Young ; XIII. A Piece is Spoken ; XIV. The Ball; XV. Phelps's Almanac ; XVI. Hurrah for the Road ; XVII. Very Much Married . . The Showman's Courtship . 34 161 SSEarner, Charles On Gardening SMillte, JRat&aniel The Declaration . Love in a Cottage 314 .. 78 .. 79 SELECTIONS OF AMERICAN HUMOUR. ifflark Cfoam, [Mark Twain, whose real name is Samuel Langhorne Clemens, was born 1835. He is a prolific writer; his best-known works are "The Innocents Abroad" and "The Innocents at Home," "The New Pilgrim's Progress," "Roughing It," and "A Tramp Abroad.' 1 Besides these he has written a great many short stories and sketches.] THE ROMAN GUIDE. From " The Innocents Abroad." I WISH to say one word about Michael Angelo Buonarotti. I used to worship the mighty genius of Michael Angelo that man who was great in poetry, painting, sculpture, architecture great in everything he undertook. But I do not want Michael Angelo for breakfast for luncheon for dinner for tea for supper for between meals. I like a change occasionally. In Genoa he designed everything; in Milan he or his pupils designed every- thing ; he designed the Lake of Como ; in Padua, Verona, Venice, Bologna, who did we ever hear of, from guides, but Michael Angelo ? In Florence he painted everything, designed everything, nearly, and what he did not design he used to sit on a favourite stone and look at, and they showed us the stone. In Pisa he designed everything but the old shot-tower, and they would have attributed that to him if it had not been so awfully out of the perpendicular. He designed the piers of Leghorn and the custom-house regulations of Civita Vecchia. But here here it is frightful. He designed St. Peter's ; he designed the Pope ; he designed the Pantheon, the uniform of the Pope's soldiers, the 8 SELECTIONS OF AMERICAN HUMOUR. Tiber, the Vatican, the Coliseum, the Capitol, the Tarpeian Rock, the Barberini Palace, St. John Lateran, the Campagna, the Appian Way, the Seven Hills, the Baths of Caracalla, the Claudian Aque- duct, the Cloaca Maxima the eternal bore designed the Eternal City, and, unless all men and books do lie, he painted everything in it ! Dan said the other day to the guide, " Enough, enough, enough ! Say no more ! Lump the whole thing ! say that the Creator made Italy from designs by Michael Angelo ! " I never felt so fervently thankful, so soothed, so tranquil, so filled with a blessed peace, as I did yesterday, when I learned that Michael Angelo was dead. But we have taken it out of this guide. He has marched us through miles of pictures and sculpture in the vast corridors of the Vatican; and through miles of pictures and sculpture in twenty other places; he has shown us the great picture in the Sistine Chapel, and frescoes enough to fresco the heavens pretty much all done by Michael Angelo. So with him we have played that game which has vanquished so many guides for us imbecility and idiotic questions. These creatures never suspect ; they have no idea of a sarcasm. He shows us a figure and says : " Statoo brunzo." (Bronze statue.) We look at it indifferently, and the doctor asks: "By Michael Angelo?" "No not know who." Then he shows us the ancient Roman Forum. The doctor asks : " Michael Angelo?" A stare from the guide. " No thousan' year before he is born ! " Then an Egyptian obelisk. Again : " Michael Angelo ? " " Oh, mon Z>ieu, genteelmen ! Zis is two thousan' year before he is born ! " He grows so tired of that unceasing question sometimes, that he dreads to show us anything at all. The wretch has tried all the ways he can think of to make us comprehend that Michael Angelo is only responsible for the creation of a part of the world, but somehow he has not succeeded yet Relief for overtasked eyes and brain from study and sight-seeing is necessary, or we shall become idiotic sure enough. Therefore this guide must continue to suffer. If he does not enjoy it so much the worse for him. We do. In this place I may as well jot down a chapter concerning THE ROMAN GUIDE. g those necessary nuisances, European guides. Many a man has wished in his heart he could do without his guide, but, knowing he could not, has wished he could get some amusement out of him as a remuneration for the affliction of his society. We accom- plished this latter matter, and if our experience can be made use- ful to others they are welcome to it Guides know about enough English to tangle everything up so that a man can make neither head nor tail of it. They know their story by heart the history of every statue, painting, cathedral, or other wonder they show you. They know it and tell it as a parrot would and if you interrupt, and throw them off the track, they have to go back and begin over again. All their lives long they are employed in showing strange things to foreigners and listening to their bursts of admiration. It is human nature to take delight in exciting admiration. It is what prompts children to say "smart" things, and do absurd ones, and in other ways "show off" when company is present. It is what makes gossips turn out in rain and storm to go and be the first to tell a startling bit of news. Think, then, what a passion it becomes with a guide whose privilege it is every day to show to strangers wonders that throw them into perfect ecstasies of admiration ! He gets so that he could not by any possibility live in a soberer atmosphere. After we discovered this, we never went into ecstasies any more we never admired anything we never showed any but impassible faces and stupid indifference in the presence of the sublimest wonders a guide had to display. We had found their weak point. We have made good use of it ever since. We have made some of those people savage at times, but we have never lost our own serenity. The doctor asks the questions generally, because he can keep his countenance, and look more like an inspired idiot, and throw more imbecility into the tone of his voice than any man that lives. It comes natural to him. The guides in Genoa are delighted to secure an American party, because Americans so much wonder, and deal so much in sentiment and emotion before any relic of Columbus. Our guide there fidgeted about as if be had swallowed a spring mattress. He was full of animation full of impatience. He said lo SELECTIONS OF AMERICAN HUMOUR. " Come wis me, genteelmen ! come ! I show you ze letter writing by Christopher Colombo ! write it himself ! write it wis his own hand ! come ! " He took us to the municipal palace. After much impressive fumbling of keys and opening of locks, the stained and aged document was spread before us. The guide's eyes sparkled. He danced about us and tapped the parchment with his finger. " What I tell you, genteelmen ! Is it not so ? See ! hand- writing Christopher Colombo ! write it himself ! " We looked indifferent unconcerned. The doctor examined the document very deliberately, during a painful pause. Then he said, without any show of interest "Ah Ferguson what what did you say was the name of the party who wrote this ? " " Christopher Colombo ! ze great Christopher Colombo ! " Another deliberate examination. " Ah did he write it himself, or or how ? " "He write it himself! Christopher Colombo! he's own handwriting, write by himself ! " Then the doctor laid the document down and said " Why, I have seen boys in America only fourteen years old that could write better than that" " But zis is ze great Christo " I don't care who it is ! It's the worst writing I ever saw. Now you mustn't think you can impose on us because we are strangers. We are not fools, by a good deal. If you have got any specimens of penmanship of real merit, trot them out ! and if you haven't drive on ! " We drove on. The guide was considerably shaken up, but he made one more venture. He had something which he thought would overcome us. He said " Ah, genteelmen, you come wis me ! I show you beautiful, O, magnificent bust Christopher Colombo ! splendid, grand, magnificent ! " He brought us before the beautiful bust for it was beautiful and sprang back and struck an attitude. " Ah, look, genteelmen ! beautiful, grand, bust Christopher Colombo ! beautiful bust, beautiful pedestal ! " THE ROMAN GUIDE. n The doctor put up his eye-glass procured for such occasions. " Ah what did you say this gentleman's name was ? " " Christopher Colombo ! ze great Christopher Colombo ! " "Christopher Colombo the great Christopher Colombo. Well, what did he do?" " Discover America ! discover America. Oh, ze devil ! " "Discover America. No that statement will hardly wash. We are just from America ourselves. We heard nothing about it Christopher Colombo pleasant name is is he dead ? " " Oh, corpo di Baccho ! three hundred year ! " "What did he die of?" " I do not know ! I cannot tell." "Small-pox, think?" " I do not know, genteelmen ! I do not know what he die of!" "Measles, likely?" "Maybe maybe I do not know I think he die of some things." /'Parents living?" " Im-posseeble ! " " Ah which is the bust and which is the pedestal ? " " Santa Maria ! zis ze bust \-zis ze pedestal ! " " Ah, I see, I see happy combination very happy combina- tion, indeed. Is is this the first time this gentleman was ever on a bust?" That joke was lost on the foreigner guides cannot master the subtleties of the American joke. We have made it interesting to this Roman guide. Yesterday we spent three or four hours in the Vatican again, that wonderful- world of curiosities. We came very near expressing interest some- times even admiration it was very hard to keep from it. We suc- ceeded though. Nobody else ever did in the Vatican museums. The guide was bewildered non-plussed. He walked his legs off, nearly, hunting up extraordinary things, and exhausted all his ingenuity on us, but it was a failure ; we never showed any interest in anything. He had reserved what he considered to be his greatest wonder till the last a royal Egyptian mummy, the best preserved in the world, perhaps. He took us- there. He felt so 12 SELECTIONS OF AMERICAN HUMOUR sure this time that some of his old enthusiasm came back to him " See, genteelmen ! Mummy ! Mummy ! " The eye-glass came up as calmly, as deliberately as ever. "Ah Ferguson what did I understand you to say the gen- tleman's name was ? " " Name ? he got no name ! Mummy ! 'Gyptian mummy ! " " Yes, yes. Born here ? " " No ! 'Gyptian mummy ! " "Ah, just so. Frenchman, I presume?" " No ! not Frenchman, not Roman ! born in Egypta ! " " Born in Egypta. Never heard of Egypta before. Foreign locality, likely. Mummy mummy. How calm he is how self- possessed. Is; ah is he dead ? " " Oh, sacrJ bleu> been dead three thousan' year ! " The doctor turned on him savagely " Here, now, what do you mean by such conduct as this ! Playing us for Chinamen because we are strangers and trying to learn ! Trying to impose your vile secondhand carcasses on us! thunder and lightning, I've a notion to to if you've got a nicefres/i corpse, fetch him out ! or by George we'll brain you ! " We make it exceedingly interesting for this Frenchman. How- ever, he paid us back, partly, without knowing it. He came to the hotel this morning to ask if we were up, and he endeavoured as well as he could to describe us, so that the landlord would know which persons he meant. He finished with the casual remark that we were lunatics. The observation was so innocent and so honest that it amounted to a very good thing for a guide to say. There is one remark (already mentioned) which never yet has failed to disgust these guides. We use it always, when we can think of nothing else to say. After they have exhausted their enthu- siasm pointing out to us and praising the beauties of some ancient bronze image or broken-legged statue, we look at it stupidly and in silence for five, ten, fifteen minutes as long as we can hold out, in fact and then ask "Is is he dead?" That conquers the serenest of them. It is not what they are looking for especially a new guide. Our Roman Ferguson is the BLUCHERS NOTE. 13 most patient, unsuspecting, long-suffering subject we have had yet We shall be sorry to part with him. We have enjoyed his society very much. We trust he has enjoyed ours, but we are harassed with doubts. BLUCHER'S NOTE. WE have had a bath in Milan, in a public bath-house. They were going to put all three of us in one bath-tub, but we objected. Each of us had an Italian farm on his back. We could have felt affluent if we had been officially surveyed and fenced in. We chose to have three bath-tubs, and large ones tubs suited to the dignity of aristocrats who had real estate, and brought it with them. After we were stripped and had taken the first chilly dash, we discovered that haunting atrocity that has embittered our lives in so many cities and villages of Italy and France there was no soap. I called. A woman answered, and I barely had time to throw myself against the door she would have been in in another second. I said " Beware, woman ! Go away from here go away, now, or it will be the worse for you. I am an unprotected male, but I will preserve my honour at the peril of my life ! " These words must have frightened her, for she skurried away very fast. Dan's voice rose on the ear " Oh, bring some soap, why don't you ! " The reply was Italian. Dan resumed " Soap, you know soap. That is what I want soap. S-o-a-p, soap ; s-o-p-e, soap ; s-o-u-p, soap. Hurry up ! I don't know how you Irish spell it, but I want it. Spell it to suit yourself, but fetch it. I'm freezing." I heard the doctor say impressively " Dan, how often have we told you that these foreigners cannot understand English ? Why will you not depend upon us ? Why will you not tell us what you want, and let us ask for it in the language of the country ? It would save us a great deal of the 14 SELECTIONS OF AMERICAN HUMOUR. humiliation your reprehensible ignorance causes us. I will address this person in his mother tongue : ' Here, cospetto ! corpo di Bacco ! Sacramento ! Solferino ! Soap, you son of a gun ! ' Dan, if you would let us talk for you, you would never expose your ignorant vulgarity." Even this fluent discharge of Italian did not bring the soap at once, but there was a good reason for it. There was not such an article about the establishment It is my belief that there never had been. They had to send far up town, and to several different places, before they finally got it, so they said. We had to wait twenty or thirty minutes. The same thing had occurred the evening before at the hotel. I think I have divined the reason for this state of things at last The English know how to travel comfortably, and they carry soap with them ; other foreigners do not use the article. At every hotel we stop at we always have to send out for soap, at the last moment, when we are grooming ourselves for dinner, and they put it in the bill along with the candles and other nonsense. In Marseilles they make half the fancy toilet soap we consume in America, but the Marseillaise only have a vague theoretical idea of its use, which they have obtained from books of travel, just as they have acquired an uncertain notion of clean shirts, and the peculiarities of the gorilla, and other curious matters. This reminds me of poor Blucher's note to the landlord in Paris : " PARIS, le 7 Juillet. " Monsieur le Landlord, Sir : Pourquoi don't you mettez some savon in your bed-chambers ? Est-ce que vous pensez I will steal it ? La nuit passte you charged me pour deux chandelles when I only had one ; hier vous avez charged me avec glace when I had none at all ; tout les jours you are coming some fresh game or other on me, mats vous ne pouvez pas play this savon dodge on me twice. Savon is a necessary de la vie to anybody but a French- man, etje Faurai hors de cet hdtel or make trouble. You hear me. Allans. "BLUCHER." I remonstrated against the sending of this note, because it was so mixed up that the landlord would never be able to make head or tail of it ; but Blucher said he guessed the old man would read the French of it and average the rest Carletom [The author of " Farm Ballads" is not much known in England. He is a good type of purely Western humour and pathos, and has done his work as Burns did, " with team afield," as well as in the study and at the desk.] BETSEY AND I ARE OUT. DRAW up the papers, lawyer, and make 'em good and stout ; For things at home are crossways, and Betsey and I are out. We, who have worked together, so long as man and wife, Must pull in single harness for the rest of our nat'ral life. " What is the matter ? " say you. I swan it's hard to tell ! Most of the years behind us we've passed by very well ; I have no other woman, she has no other man Only we've lived together as long as we ever can. So I have talked with Betsey, and Betsey has talked with me, And so we've agreed together that we can't never agree ; Not that we've catched each other in any terrible crime ; We've been a-gathering this for years, a little at a time. There was a stock of temper, we both had for a start, Although we never suspected 'twould take us two apart ; I had my various failings, bred in the flesh and bone ; And Betsey, like all good women, had a temper of her own. The first thing I remember whereon we disagreed Was something concerning heaven a difference in our creed ; We arg'ed the thing at breakfast, we arg'ed the thing at tea, And the more we arg'ed the question the more we didn't agree. And the next that I remember was when we lost a cow ; She had kicked the bucket for certain, the question was only How? I held my own opinion, and Betsey another had ; And when we were done a-talkin', we both of us was mad. 1 6 SELECTIONS OF AMERICAN HUMOUR. And the next that I remember, it started in a joke ; But full for a week it lasted, and neither of us spoke. And the next was when I scolded because she broke a bowl ; And she said I was mean and stingy, and hadn't any soul. And so that bowl kept pourin' dissensions in our cup ; And so that blamed cow-critter was always a-comin' up; And so that heaven we arg'ed no nearer to us got, But it gave us a taste of somethin' a thousand times as hot. And so the thing kept workin', and all the selfsame way ; Always somethin' to arg'e and somethin' sharp to say ; A And down on us came the neighbors, a couple dozen strong, And lent their kindest sarvice for to help the thing along. And there has been days together and many a weary week We was both of us cross and spunky, and both too proud to speak ; And I have been thinkin' and thinkin' the whole of the winter and fall, If I can't live kind with a woman, why, then, I won't at all. And so I have talked with Betsey, and Betsey has talked with me, And we have agreed together that we can't never agree ; And what is hers shall be hers, and what is mine shall be mine ; And I'll put it in the agreement, and take it to her to sign. Write on the paper, lawyer the very first paragraph Of all the farm and live-stock that she shall have her half ; For she has helped to earn it, through many a weary day, And it's nothing more than justice that Betsey has her pay. Give her the house and homestead a man can thrive and roam ; But women are skeery critters, unless they have a home ; And I have always determined, and never failed to say, That Betsey should never want a home if I was taken away. There is a little hard money that's drawin' tol'rable pay : A couple of hundred dollars laid by for a rainy day ; BETSEY AND I ARE OUT. 17 Safe in the hands of good men, and easy to get at ; Put in another clause there, and give her half of that. Yes, I see you smile, Sir, at my givin' her so much ; Yes, divorce is cheap, Sir, but I take no stock in such ; True and fair I married her, when she was blithe and young ; And Betsey was al'ays good to me, exceptin' with her tongue. Once, when I was young as you, and not so smart, perhaps, For me~she mittened a lawyer, and several other chaps ; And all of them was flustered, and fairly taken down, And I for a time was counted the luckiest man in town. Once when I had a fever I won't forget it soon I was hot as a basted turkey and crazy as a loon ; Never an hour went by me when she was out of sight She nursed me true and tender, and stuck to me day and night And if ever a house was tidy, and ever a kitchen clean, Her house and kitchen was tidy as any I ever seen ; And I don't complain of Betsey, or any of her acts, Exceptin' when we've quarrelled, and told each other facts. So draw up the paper, lawyer, and I'll go home to-night, And read the agreement to her, and see if it's all right ; And then, in the mornin', I'll sell to a tradin' man I know, And kiss the child that was left to us, and out in the world I'll go. And one thing put in the paper, that first to me didn't occur : That when I am dead at last she'll bring me back to her ; And lay me under the maples I planted years ago, When she and I was happy before we quarrelled so. And when she dies I wish that she would be laid by me, And, lyin' together in silence, perhaps we will agree ; And, if ever we meet in heaven, I wouldn't think it queer If we loved each other the better because we quarrelled here. 1 8 SELECTIONS OF AMERICAN HUMOUR. HOW BETSEY AND I MADE UP. GIVE us your hand, Mr. Lawyer : how do you do to-day ? You drew up that paper I s'pose you want your pay. Don't cut down your figures ; make it an X or a V ; For that 'ere written agreement was just the makin' of me. Goin' home that evenin' I tell you I was blue, Thinkin' of all my troubles, and what I was goin' to do ; And if my hosses hadn't been the steadiest team alive, They'd 've tipped me over, certain, for I couldn't see where to drive. No for I was labourin' under a heavy load ; No for I was travellin' an entirely different road ; For I was a-tracin' over the path of our lives ag'in, And seein' where we missed the way, and where we might have been. And many a corner we'd turned that just to a quarrel led, When I ought to 've held my temper; and driven straight ahead ; And the more I thought it over the more these memories came, And the more I struck the opinion that I was the most to blame. And things I had long forgotten kept risin' in my mind, Of little matters betwixt us, where Betsey was good and kind : And these things flashed all through me, as you know things some- times will When a feller's alone in the darkness, and everything is still " But," says I, " we're too far along to take another track, And when I put my hand to the plow I do not oft turn back ; And 'tain't an uncommon thing now for couples to smash in two;" And so I set my teeth together, and vowed I'd see it through. When I come in sight o' the house 'twas some'at in the night, And just as I turned a hill-top I see the kitchen light ; Which often a han'some pictur' to a hungry person makes, But it don't interest a feller much that's goin' to pull up stakes. How BETSEY AND I MADE UP. 19 And when I went in the house the table was set for me As good a supper's I ever saw, or ever want to see ; And I crammed the agreement down my pocket as well as I could, And fell to eatin' my victuals, which somehow didn't taste good. And Betsey, she pretended to look about the house, But she watched my side coat pocket like a cat would watch a mouse ; And then she went to foolin' a little with her cup, And intently readin' a newspaper, a-holdin' it wrong side up. And when I'd done my supper I drawed the agreement out, And give it to her without a word, for she knowed what 'twas about ; And then I hummed a little tune, but now and then a note Was bu'sted by some animal that hopped up in my throat Then Betsey she got her specs from off the mantel-shelf, And read the article over quite softly to herself; Read it by little and little, for her eyes is gettin' old, And lawyers' writing ain't no print, especially when it's cold And after she'd read a little she give my arm a touch, And kindly said she was afraid I was 'lowin' her too much ; But when she was through she went for me, her face a-streamin 1 with tears, And kissed me for the first time in over twenty years ! I don't know what you'll think, Sir I didn't come to inquire But I picked up that agreement and stuffed it in the fire ; And I told her we'd bury the hatchet alongside of the cow ; And we struck an agreement never to have another row. And I told her in the future I wouldn't speak cross or rash If half the crockery in the house was broken all to smash ; And she said, in regards to heaven, we'd try and learn its worth By startin' a branch establishment and runnin' it here on earth. And so we sat a-talkin' three-quarters of the night, And opened our hearts to each other until they both grew light ; B 2 20 SELECTIONS OF AMERICAN HUMOUR. And the days when I was winnin' her away from so many men Was nothin' to that evenin' I courted her over again. Next mornin' an ancient virgin took pains to call on us, Her lamp all trimmed and a-burnin' to kindle another fuss ; But when she went to pryin' and openin' of old sores, My Betsey rose politely, and showed her out-of-doors. Since then I don't deny but there's been a word or two ; But we've got our eyes wide open, and know just what to do : When one speaks cross the other just meets it with a laugh, And the first one's ready to give up considerable more than half. Maybe you'll think me soft, Sir, a-talkin' in this style, But somehow it does me lots of good to tell it once in a while ; And I do it for a compliment 'tis so that you can see That that there written agreement of yours was the makin' of me. So make out your bill, Mr. Lawyer : don't stop short of an X ; Make it more if you want to, for I have got the cheques. I'm richer than a National Bank, with all its treasures told, For I've got a wife at home now that's worth her weight in gold. UNCLE SAMMY. SOME men were born for great things, Some were born for small ; Some it is not recorded Why they were born at all ; But Uncle Sammy was certain he had a legitimate call Some were born with a talent, Some with scrip and land ; Some with a spoon of silver, And some with a different brand ; But Uncle Sammy came holding an argument in each hand. UNCLE SAMMY. 21 Arguments sprouted within him, And twinkled in his little eye ; He lay and calmly debated When average babies cry, And seemed to be pondering gravely whether to live or to die. But prejudiced on that question He grew from day to day, And finally he concluded 'Twas better for him to stay ; And so into life's discussion he reasoned and reasoned his way. Through childhood, through youth into manhood Argued and argued he ; And he married a simple maiden, Though scarcely in love was she ; But he reasoned the matter so clearly she hardly could help but agree. And though at first she was blooming, And the new firm started strong, And though Uncle Sammy loved her, And tried to help her along, She faded away in silence, and 'twas evident something was wrong. Now Uncle Sammy was faithful, And various remedies tried ; He gave her the doctor's prescriptions, And plenty of logic beside ; But logic and medicine failed him, and so one day she died. He laid her away in the church-yard, So haggard and crushed and wan ; And reared her a costly tombstone With all of her virtues on ; And ought to have added, " A victim to arguments pro and con." 22 SELECTIONS OF AMERICAN HUMOUR. For many a year Uncle Sammy Fired away at his logical forte : Discussion was his occupation, And altercation his sport ; He argued himself out of churches, he argued himself into court But alas for his peace and quiet, One day, when he went it blind, And followed his singular fancy, And slighted his logical mind, And married a ponderous widow that wasn't of the arguing kind ! Her sentiments all were settled, Her habits were planted and grown, Her heart was a starved little creature That followed a will of her own ; And she raised a high hand with Sammy, and proceeded to play it alone. Then Sammy he charged down upon her With all of his strength and his wit, And many a dextrous encounter, And many a fair shoulder-hit ; But vain were his blows and his blowing : he never could budge her a bit. He laid down his premises round her, He scraped at her with his saws ; He rained great facts upon her, And read her the marriage laws ; But the harder he tried to convince her, the harder and harder she was. She brought home all her preachers, As many as ever she could With sentiments terribly settled, And appetites horribly good Who sat with him long at his table, and explained to him where he stood UNCLE SAMMY. 23 And Sammy was not long in learning To follow the swing of her gown, And came to be faithful in watching The phase of her smile and her frown ; And she, with the heel of assertion, soon tramped all his arguments down. And so, with his life-aspirations Thus suddenly brought to a check And so, with the foot of his victor Unceasingly pressing his neck He wrote on his face " I'm a victim," and drifted a logical wreck. And farmers, whom he had argued To corners tight and fast, Would wink at each other and chuckle, And grin at him as he passed, As to say, " My ambitious old fellow, your whiffletree's straightened at last." Old Uncle Sammy one morning Lay down on his comfortless bed, And Death and he had a discussion, And Death came out ahead ; And the fact that SHE failed to start him was only because he was dead. The neighbors laid out their old neighbor, With homely but tenderest art ; And some of the oldest ones faltered, And tearfully stood apart ; For the crusty old man had often unguardedly shown them his heart. But on his face an expression Of quizzical study lay, As if he were sounding the angel Who travelled with him that day, And laying the pipes down slily for an argument on the way. 24 SELECTIONS OF AMERICAN HUMOUR. And one new-fashioned old lady Felt called upon to suggest That the angel might take Uncle Sammy, And give him a good night's rest, And then introduce him to Solomon, and tell him to do his best. THE NEW CHURCH ORGAN. THEY'VE got a brand-new organ, Sue, For all their fuss and search ; They've done just as they said they'd do, And fetched it into church. They're bound the critter shall be seen, And on the preacher's right They've hoisted up their new machine, In everybody's sight They've got a chorister and choir, Ag'in' my voice and vote ; For it was never my desire To praise the Lord by note ! I've been a sister good an' true For five-an'- thirty year ; I've done what seemed my part to do, An' prayed my duty clear ; I've sung the hymns both slow and quick, Just as the preacher read, And twice when Deacon Tubbs was sick, I took the fork an' led ! And now, their bold, new-fangled ways Is comin' all about ; And I, right in my latter days, Am fairly crowded out ! To-day the preacher, good old dear, With tears all in his eyes, THE NEW CHURCH ORGAN. 25 Read, " I can read my title clear To mansions in the skies." I al'ays liked that blessed hymn I s'pose I al'ays will; It somehow gratifies my whim, In good old Ortonville ; But when that choir got up to sing, I couldn't catch a word ; They sung the most dog-gondest thing A body ever heard ! Some worldly chaps was standin' near ; An' when I see them grin, I bid farewell to every fear, And boldly waded in. I thought I'd chase their tune along, An' tried with all my might ; But though my voice is good an' strong, I couldn't steer it right ; When they was high, then I was low, An' also contrawise ; An" I too fast, or they too slow, To " mansions in the skies." An' after every verse, you know, They play a little tune ; I didn't understand, an' so I started in too soon. I pitched it pretty middlin' high, I fetched a lusty tone, But oh, alas ! I found that I Was singing there alone ! They laughed a little, I am told j But I had done my best ; And not a wave of trouble rolled Across my peaceful breast. And Sister Brown I could but look She sits right front of me ; 26 SELECTIONS OF AMERICAN HUMOUR. She never was no singin' book, An' never went to be ; But then she al'ays tried to do The best she could, she said ; She understood the time right through, An' kep' it with her head ; But when she tried this mornin', oh, I had to laugh or cough ! It kep' her head a-bobbin' so, It e'en a'most came off ! An' Deacon Tubbs he all broke down, As one might well suppose ; He took one look at Sister Brown, And meekly scratched his nose. He looked his hymn-book through and through, And laid it on the seat, And then a pensive sigh he drew, And looked completely beat. An' when they took another bout, He didn't even rise ; But drawed his red bandanner out, An' wiped his weepin' eyes. I've been a sister, good an' true, For five-an'-thirty year ; I've done what seemed my part to do, An' prayed my duty clear ; But Death will stop my voice, I know For he is on my track ; And some day I to church will go, And never more come back ; And when the folks get up to sing Whene'er that time shall be I do not want no patent thing A-squealin' over me ! THE EDITOR'S GUESTS. 27 THE EDITOR'S GUESTS. THE Editor sat in his sanctum, his countenance furrowed with care, His mind at the bottom of business, his feet at the top of a chair, His chair-arm an elbow supporting, his right hand upholding his head, His eyes on his dusty old table, with different documents spread : There were thirty long pages from Howler, with underlined capitals topped, And a short disquisition from Growler, requesting his newspaper stopped ; There were lyrics from Gusher, the poet, concerning sweet flow'rets and zephyrs, And a stray gem from Plodder, the farmer, describing a couple of heifers ; There were billets from beautiful maidens, and bills from a grocer or two, And his best leader hitched to a letter, which inquired if he wrote it, or who ? There were raptures of praises from writers of the weakly melli- fluous school, And one of his rival's last papers, informing him he was a fool ; There were several long resolutions, with names telling whom they were by, Canonising some harmless old brother who had done nothing worse than to die ; There were traps on that table to catch him, and pents to sting and to smite him ; There were gift enterprises to sell him, and bitters attempting to bite him ; There were long staring " ads " from the city, and money with never a one, Which added, " Please give this insertion, and send in your bill when you're done; " There were letters from organisations their meetings, their wants, and their laws 28 SELECTIONS OF AMERICAN HUMOUR. Which said, " Can you print this announcement for the good of our glorious cause ? " There were tickets inviting his presence to festivals, parties, and shows, Wrapped in notes with " Please give us a notice " demurely slipped in at the close ; In short, as his eye took the table, and ran o'er its ink-spattered trash, There was nothing it did not encounter, excepting perhaps it was cash. The Editor dreamily pondered on several ponderous things. On different lines of action, and the pulling of different strings ; Upon some equivocal doings, and some unequivocal duns ; On how few of his numerous patrons were quietly prompt-paying ones; On friends who subscribed " just to help him," and wordy en- couragement lent, And had given him plenty of counsel, but never had paid him a cent; On vinegar, kind-hearted people were feeding him every hour, Who saw not the work they were doing, but wondered that "printers are sour: " On several intelligent townsmen, whose kindness was so without stint That they kept an eye out on his business, and told him just what he should print ; On men who had rendered him favours, and never pushed forward their claims, So long as the paper was crowded with " locals " containing their names ; On various other small matters, sufficient his temper to roil, And finely contrived to be making the blood of an editor boil; And so one may see that his feelings could hardly be said to be smooth, And he needed some pleasant occurrence his ruffled emotions to soothe : THE EDITOR'S GUESTS. 29 He had it ; for lo ! on the threshold, a slow and reliable tread, And a farmer invaded the sanctum, and these are the words that he said : " Good-mornin', sir, Mr. Printer ; how is your body to-day ? I'm glad you're to home; for you fellers is al'ays a-runnin away. Your paper last week wa'n't so spicy nor sharp as the one week before : But I s'pose, when the campaign is opened, you'll be whoopin' it up to 'em more. That feller that's printin' The Smasher is goin' for you perty smart ; And our folks said this mornin' at breakfast, they thought he was gettin' the start, But I hushed 'em right up in a minute, and said a good word for you; I told 'em I b'lieved you was tryin' to do just as well as you knew ; And I told 'em that some one was sayin', and whoever 'twas it is so, That you can't expect much of no one man, nor blame him for what he don't know. But, layin' aside pleasure for business, I've brought you my little boy Jim ; And I thought I would see if you couldn't make an editor outen of him. " My family stock is increasing while other folk's seems to run short. I've got a right smart of a family it's one of the old-fashioned sort : There's Ichabod, Isaac, and Israel, a-workin' away on the farm They do 'bout as much as one good boy, and make things go off like a charm. There's Moses and Aaron are sly ones, and slip like a couple of eels ; But they're tol'able steady in one thing they al'ays git round to their meals. 30 SELECTIONS OF AMERICAN HUMOUR. There's Peter is busy inventin' (though what he invents I can't see), And Joseph is studyin' medicine and both of 'em boardin' with me. There's Abram and Albert is married, each workin* my farm for myself, And Sam smashed his nose at a shootin', and so he is laid on the shelf. The rest of the boys are all growin', 'cept this little runt, which is Jim, And I thought that perhaps I'd be makin' an editor outen o' him. " He ain't no great shakes for to labour, though I've laboured with him a good deal, And give him some strappin' good arguments I know he couldn't help but to feel ; But he's built out of second-growth timber, and nothin' about him is big Exceptin' his appetite only, and there he's as good as a pig. I keep him a-carryin' luncheons, and fillin' and bringin' the jugs, And take him among the pertatoes, and set him to pickin' the bugs; And then there is things to be doin' a-helpin' the women indoors ; There's churnin' and washin' of dishes, and other descriptions of chores ; But he don't take to nothin' but victuals, and he'll never be much, I'm afraid, So I thought it would be a good notion to larn him the editor's trade. His body's too small for a farmer, his judgment is rather too slim, But I thought we perhaps could be makin' an editor outen o' him ! " It ain't much to get up a paper it wouldn't take him long for to learn; He could feed the machine, I'm thinkin', with a good strappin' fellow to turn ; And things that was once hard in doin' is easy enough now to do ; Just keep your eye on your machinery, and crack your arrange- ments right through. THE EDITOR'S GUESTS. 31 I used for to wonder at readin', and where it was got up, and how ; But 'tis most of it made by machinery I can see it all plain enough now. And poetry, too, is constructed by machines o' different designs, Each one with a gauge and a chopper to see to the length of the lines ; And I hear a New York clairvoyant is runnin' one sleeker than grease, And a rentirf her heaven-born productions at a couple of dollars apiece ; An' since the whole trade has growed easy, 'twould be easy enough, I've a whim, If you was agreed, to be makin' an editor outen of Jim ! " The Editor sat in his sanctum and looked the old man in the eye, Then glanced at the grinning young hopeful, and mournfully made his reply : " Is your son a small unbound edition of Moses and Solomon both? Can he compass his spirit with meekness, and strangle a natural oath? Can he leave all his wrongs to the future, and carry his heart in his cheek ? Can he do an hour's work in a minute, and live on a sixpence a week ? Can he courteously talk to an equal, and browbeat an impudent dunce ? Can he keep things in apple-pie order, and do half a dozen at once? Can he press all the springs of knowledge, with quick and reliable touch, And be sure that he knows how much to know, and knows how to not know too much ? Does he know how to spur up his virtue, and put a check-rein on his pride ? Can he carry a gentleman's manners within a rhinoceros' hide ? Can he know all, and do all, and be all, with cheerfulness, courage, and vim ? If so we perhaps can be makin' an editor 'outen of him.'" 32 SELECTIONS OF AMERICAN HUMOUR. The farmer stood curiously listening, while wonder his visage o'erspread ; And he said, " Jim, I guess we'll be goin' ; he's probably out of his head." But lo ! on the rickety stair-case, another reliable tread, And entered another old farmer, and these are the words that he said : "Good morning, sir, Mr. Editor, how is the folks to-day? I owe you for next year's paper ; I thought I'd come in and pay. And Jones is agoin' to take it, and this is his money here ; I shut down on lendin' it to him, and coaxed him to try it a year. And here is a few little items that happened last week in our town ; I thought they'd look good for the paper, and so I just jotted 'em down. And here is a basket of cherries my wife picked expressly for you ; And a small bunch of flowers from Jennie she thought she must send somethin' too. You're doin' the politics bully, as all our family agree ; Just keep your old goose-quill a-floppin', and give 'em a good one for me. And now you are chuck full of business, and I won't be takin' your time ; I've things of my own I must 'tend to good-day, sir, I b'lieve I will climb." The Editor sat in his sanctum, and brought down his fist with a thump : " God bless that old farmer," he muttered, " he 's a regular Editor's trump." And 'tis thus with our noble profession, and thus it will ever be still ; There are some who appreciate its labours, and some who perhaps never will. But in the great time that is coming, when loudly the trumpet shall sound, PLUM PITS. 33 And they who have laboured and rested shall come from the quivering ground ; When they who have striven and suffered to teach and ennoble the race, Shall march at the front of the column, each one in his God-given place, As they pass through the gates of The City with proud and vic- torious tread, The editor, printer, and "devil," will travel not far from the head. PLUM PITS. BY JOSH BILLINGS. IT iz a grate art to kno how tew listen. This seems to be about the way it iz did : When we are yung, we run into difikultys, and when we git old, we fall into them. Love seems tew hav this effekt, it makes a yung man sober, and an old man gay. Love iz a lighted kandel, and coquets fly around it, just az a miller duz, till by-and-by they dive into it, and then what a burnt coquet and miller we hav. It ain't bekauze lovers are so sensitiff that they quarrel so often, it iz bekauze thare iz so mutch phun in making up. I don't kno but a Prude may possibly fall in love, but if they ever do, they don't kno it. About the last thing a man duz tew korrekt hiz faults iz tew quit them. I should jist az soon expekt tew see a monkey fall in love as to see a dandy. The wimmen ought tew ketch all them phellows who part their hair in the middle, and clap a red flannel pettycoat on them. The chief end ov woman, now daze, seems tew be to wear new silk clothes, and the chief end ov man seems to be to pay .for them. About all that this far-famed Philosophy kan teach us, iz tew suffer pain, and not own it, and it seems to hav reached the hight of its ambishun when it courts sorrow, for the sake ov being a martyr. OTartr* [Charles Farrer Browne, who adopted this pseudonym, lived 1832 1867. He died of con- sumption, from which he was suffering severely when he delivered his "Lecture" in London. His chief works are his "Travels among the Mormons" and his "Life in London." He was the forerunner of the many American humourists who, since his day, have written in peculiar forms of orthography and syntax.] TO CALIFORNIA AND BACK. I. ON THE STEAMER. NEW YORK, Oct. 13, 1863. THE steamer Ariel starts for California at noon. Her decks are crowded with excited passengers, who instantly undertake to " look after " their trunks and things ; and what with our smashing against each other, and the yells of the porters, and the wails over lost baggage, and the crash of boxes, and the roar of the boilers, we are for the time being about as unhappy a lot of maniacs as were ever thrown together. I am one of them. I am rushing round with a glaring eye in search of a box. Great jam, in which I find a sweet young lady with golden hair, clinging to me fondly, and saying, " Dear George, farewell ! " Discovers her mistake, and disappears. I should like to be George some more. Confusion so great that I seek refuge in a state room, which contains a single lady of forty-five summers, who says, " Base man ! leave me ! " I leave her. By-and-by we cool down, and become somewhat regulated. Next day. When the gong sounds for breakfast we are fairly out on the sea, which runs roughly, and the Ariel rocks wildly. Many of the passengers are sick, and a young naval officer establishes a reputa- tion as a wit by carrying to one of the invalids a plate of raw salt pork, swimming in cheap molasses. I am not sick ; so I roll round the deck in the most cheerful sea-dog manner. To CALIFORNIA AND BACK. 35 The next day and the next pass by in a serene manner. The waves are smooth now, and we can all eat and sleep. We might have enjoyed ourselves very well, I fancy, if the Ariel, whose capacity was about three hundred and fifty passengers, had not on this occasion carried nearly nine hundred, a hundred at least of whom were children of an unpleasant age. Captain Semmes captured the Ariel once, and it is to be deeply regretted that that thrifty buccaneer hadn't made mince-meat of her, because she is a miserable tub at best, and hasn't much more right to be afloat than a second-hand coffin has. I do not know her proprietor, Mr. C. Vanderbilt. But I know of several excellent mill privileges in the State of Maine, and not one of them is so thoroughly Darned as he was all the way from New York to AspinwalL I had far rather say a pleasant thing than a harsh one ; but it is due to the large number of respectable ladies and gentlemen who were on board the steamer Ariel with me that I state here that the accommodations on that steamer were very vile. If I did not so state, my conscience would sting me through life, and I should have horrid dreams, like Richard III. Esq. The proprietor apparently thought we were undergoing trans- portation for life to some lonely island, and the very waiters who brought us meats that any warder of any penitentiary would blush to offer convicts, seemed to think it was a glaring error our not being in chains. As a specimen of the liberal manner in which this steamer was managed, I will mention that the purser (a very pleasant person, by the way) was made to unite the positions of purser, baggage clerk, and doctor ; and I one day had a lurking suspicion that he was among the waiters in the dining-cabin, disguised in a white jacket and slipshod pumps. I have spoken my Piece about the Ariel, and I hope Mr. Vanderbilt will reform ere it is too late. Dr. Watts says the vilest sinner may return as long as the gas-meters work well, or words to that effect We were so densely crowded on board the Ariel, that I cannot conscientiously say we were altogether happy. And sea-voyages at C 2 36 SELECTIONS OF AMERICAN HUMOUR. best are a little stupid. On the whole I should prefer a voyage on the Erie Canal, where there isn't any danger, and where you can carry picturesque scenery along with you so to speak. II. THE ISTHMUS. ON the ninth day we reached Aspinwall in the Republic of Grenada. The President of New Grenada is a Central American named Mosquero. I was told that he derived quite a portion of his income by carrying passengers' valises and things from the steamer to the hotel in Aspinwall. It was an infamous falsehood. Fancy A Lincoln carrying carpet bags and things ! and indeed I should rather trust him with them than Mosquero, because the former gentleman, as I think some one has before observed, is " honest" I entrust my bag to a speckled native, who confidentially gives me to understand that he is the only strictly honest person in Aspinwall. The rest, he says, are niggers which the coloured people of the Isthmus regard as about as scathing a thing as they can say of one another. I examined the New Grenadian flag, which waves from the chamber-window of a refreshment saloon. It is of simple design. You can make one. Take half of a cotton shirt, that has been worn two months, and dip it in molasses of the Day and Martin brand. Then let the flies gambol over it for a few days, and you have it. It is an emblem of Sweet Liberty. At the Howard House the man of sin rubbeth the hair of the horse to the bowels of the cat, and our girls are waving their lily- white hoofs in the dazzling waltz. We have a quadrille, in which an English person slips up and jams his massive brow against my stomach. He apologizes, and I say, "all right, my lord." I subsequently ascertain that he superintended the shipping of coals for the British steamers, and owned fighting cocks. The ball stops suddenly. Great excitement. One of our passengers intoxicated and To CALIFORNIA AND BACK. 37 riotous in the street. Openly and avowedly desires the entire Republic of New Grenada to " come on." In case they do come on, agrees to make it lively for them. Is quieted down at last, and marched off to prison by a squad of Grenadian troops. Is musical as he passes the hotel, and smiling sweetly upon the ladies and children on the balcony, expresses a distinct desire to be an Angel, and with the Angels stand. After which he leaps nimbly into the air, and imitates the war-cry of the red man. The natives amass wealth by carrying valises, &c., then squander it for liquor. My native comes to me as I sit on the verandah of the Howard House smoking a cigar, and solicits the job of taking my things to the cars next morning. He is intoxicated, and has been fighting, to the palpable detriment of his wearing apparel ; for he has only one pair of tattered pantaloons and a very small quantity of shirt left. We go to bed. Eight of us are assigned to a small den up- stairs, with only two lame apologies for beds. Mosquitoes and even rats annoy us fearfully. One bold rat gnaws at the feet of a young Englishman in the party. This was; more than the young Englishman could stand, and rising from his bed he asked us if New Grenada wasn't a Republic ? We said it was. " I thought so," he said. " Of course I mean no disrespect to the United States of America in the remark, but I think I prefer a bloated monarchy ! " He smiled sadly then handing his purse and his mother's photograph to another English person, he whispered softly, " If I am eaten up, give them to Me mother tell her I died like a true Briton, with no faith whatever in the success of a republican form of government ! " And then he crept back to bed again. We start at seven the next morning for Panama. My native comes bright and early to transport my carpet sack to the railway station. His clothes have suffered still more during 38 SELECTIONS OF AMERICAN HUMOUR. the night, for he comes to me now dressed only in a small rag and one boot At last we are off. " Adios, Americanos ! " the natives cry ; to which I pleasantly reply, " Adous ! and long may it be before you have the chance to Do us again." The cars are comfortable on the Panama railway, and the country through which we pass is very beautiful. But it will not do to trust it much, because it breeds fevers and other unpleasant disorders, at all seasons of the year. Like a girl we most all have known, the Isthmus is fair but false. There are mud huts all along the route, and half-naked savages gaze patronisingly upon us from their door-ways. An elderly lady in spectacles appears to be much scandalised by the scant dress of these people, and wants to know why the Select men don't put a stop to it From this, and a remark she incidentally makes about her son who has invented a washing machine which will wash, wring, and dry a shirt in ten minutes, I infer that she is from the hills of Old New England, like the Hutchinson family. The Central American is lazy. The only exercise he ever takes is to occasionally produce a Revolution. When his feet begin to swell and there are premonitory symptoms of gout, he "revo- lushes" a spell, and then serenely returns to his cigarette and hammock under the palm trees. These Central American Republics are queer concerns. I do not of course precisely know what a last year's calf s ideas of im- mortal glory may be, but probably they are about as lucid as those of a Central American in regard to a republican form of government. And yet I am told they are a kindly people in the main. I never met but one of them a Costa-Rican, on board the Ariel. He lay sick with fever, and I went to him and took his hot hand gently in mine. I shall never forget his look of gratitude. And the next day he borrowed five dollars of me, shedding tears as he put it in his pocket At Panama we lost several of our passengers, and among them three Peruvian ladies, who go to Lima, the city of volcanic erup- tions and veiled black-eyed beauties. To CALIFORNIA AND BACK. 39 The Senoritas who leave us at Panama are splendid creatures. They taught me Spanish, and in the soft moonlight we walked on deck and talked of the land of Pizarro. (You know old Piz. con- quered Peru ! and although he was not educated at West Point, he had still some military talent.) I feel as though I had lost all my relations, including my grandmother and the cooking stove, when these gay young Senoritas go away. They do not go to Peru on a Peruvian bark, but on an English steamer. We find the St Louis, the steamer awaiting us at Panama, a cheerful and well-appointed boat, and commanded by Capt. Hudson. III. MEXICO. WE make Acapulco, a Mexican coast town of some importance, in a few days, and all go ashore. The pretty peasant girls peddle necklaces made of shells, and oranges, in the streets of Acapulco, on steamer days. They are quite naive about it. Handing you a necklace they will say, " Me give you pres-ent, Senor," and then retire with a low curtsey. Returning, however, in a few moments, they say quite sweetly, " You give me pres-ent, Senor, of quarter dollar ! " which you at once do unless you have a heart of stone. Acapulco was shelled by the French a year or so before our arrival there, and they effected a landing. But the gay and gallant Mexicans peppered them so persistently and effectually from the mountains near by, that they concluded to sell out and leave. Napoleon has no right in Mexico. Mexico may deserve a licking. That is possible enough. Most people do. But nobody has any right to lick Mexico except the United States. We have a right, I flatter myself, to lick this entire continent, including our- selves, any time we want to. The signal gun is fired at n, and we go off to the steamer in small boats. In our boat is an inebriated United States official, who flings 4, salt - 2 hams. i live pig (Dr. Kingston changed him in the box office). i wolf-skin. 5 pounds honey in the comb. 1 6 strings of sausages 2 pounds to the string. i cat-skin. i churn (two families went in on this ; it is an ingenious churn, and fetches butter in five minutes by rapid grinding). i set children's under-garments, embroidered. i firkin of butter. i keg of apple-sauce. One man undertook to pass a dog (a cross between a Scotch terrier and a Welsh rabbit) at the box-office, and another presented a German-silver coffin-plate, but the Doctor very justly repulsed them both, To CALIFORNIA AND BACK. 63 XIV. THE BALL. THE Mormons are fond of dancing. Brigham and Heber C. dance. So do Daniel H. Wells and the other heads of the Church. Balls are opened with prayer, and when they break up a benediction is pronounced. I am invited to a ball at Social Hall, and am escorted thither by Brothers Stenhouse and Clawson. Social Hall is a spacious and cheerful room. The motto of " Our Mountain Home " in brilliant evergreen capitals adorns one end of the hall, while at the other a platform is erected for the musicians, behind whom there is room for those who don't dance, to sit and look at the festivities. Brother Stenhouse, at the request of President Young, formally introduces me to company from the platform. There is a splendour of costumery about the dancers I had not expected to see. Quadrilles only are danced. The Mazourka is considered sinful. Even the old-time round waltz is tabooed. I dance. The Saints address each other here, as elsewhere, as Brother and Sister. " This way, Sister : " " Where are you going, Brother?" etc., etc. I am called Brother Ward. This pleases me, and I dance with renewed vigour. The Prophet has some very charming daughters, several of whom are present to-night. I was told they spoke French and Spanish. The Prophet is more industrious than graceful as a dancer. He exhibits, however, a spryness of legs quite remarkable in a man at his time of life. I didn't see Heber C. Kimball on the floor. I am told he is a loose and reckless dancer, and that many a lily- white toe has felt the crushing weight of his cowhide monitors. The old gentleman is present, however, with a large number of wives. It is said he calls them his "heifers." "Ain't you goin' to dance with some of my wives ? " said a Mormon to me. These things make a Mormon ball more spicy than a Gentile one. The supper is sumptuous, and bear and beaver adorn the bill of fare. I go away at the early hour of two in the morning. The moon is shining brightly on the snow-covered streets. The lamps are out, and the town is still as a graveyard. 64 SELECTIONS OF AMERICAN HUMOUR. XV. PHELPS'S ALMANAC. THERE is an eccentric Mormon at Salt Lake City of the name of W. W. Phelps. He is from Cortland, State of New York, and has been a Saint for a good many years. It is said he enacts the character of the Devil, with a pea-green tail, in the Mormon initia- tion ceremonies. He also publishes an Almanac, in which he blends astronomy with short moral essays, and suggestions in regard to the proper management of hens. He also contributes a poem entitled " The Tombs " to his Almanac for the current year, from which I quote the last verse : " Choose ye ; to rest with stately grooms ; Just such a place there is for sleeping ; Where everything, in common keepine, Is free from want and worth and weeping ; There folly's harvest is a reaping, Down in the grave, among the tombs." Now, I know that poets and tin-pedlars are " licensed," but why does W. VV. P. advise us to sleep in the barn with the ostlers ? These are the most dismal Tombs on record, not excepting the Tomb of the Capulets, the Tombs of New York, or the Toombs of Georgia. Under the head of " Old Sayings," Mr. P. publishes the follow- ing. There is a modesty about the last " saying " which will be pretty apt to strike the reader : "The Lord does good and Satan evil, said Moses. Sun and Moon, see me conquer, said Joshua. Virtue exalts a woman, said David. Fools and folly frolic, said Solomon. Judgments belong to God, said Isaiah. The path of the just is plain, said Jeremiah. The soul that sins dies, said Ezekiel. The wicked do wicked, said Daniel. Ephraim fled and hid, said Hosea. The Gentiles war and waste, said Joel. The second reign is peace and plenty, said Amos. Zion is the house of the Gods, said Obadiah. A fish saved me, said Jonah. Our Lion will be terrible, said Micah. Doctor, cure yourself, said the Saviour. Live to live again, said W. W. Phelps." To CALIFORNIA AND BACK. 65 XVI. HURRAH FOR THE ROAD. TIME, Wednesday afternoon, February 10. The Overland Stage, Mr. William Glover on the box, stands before the veranda of the Salt Lake House. The genial Nat Stein is arranging the way-bill. Our baggage (the overland passenger is only allowed twenty-five pounds) is being put aboard, and we are shaking hands, at a rate altogether furious, with Mormon and Gentile. Among the former are brothers Stenhouse, Caine, Clawson, and Townsend ; and among the latter are Harry Riccard, the big-hearted English mountaineer (though once he wore white kids and swallow-tails in Regent Street, and in his boyhood went to school to Miss Edge- worth, the novelist) ; the daring explorer Rood, from Wisconsin ; the Rev. James McCormick, missionary, who distributes paste- board tracts among the Bannock miners ; and the pleasing child of gore, Capt. D. B. Stover, of the Commissary department We go away on wheels, but the deep snow compels us to sub- stitute runners twelve miles out. There are four passengers of us. We pierce the Wahsatch mountains by Parley's Canon. A snow-storm overtakes us as the night thickens, and the wind shrieks like a brigade of strong-lunged maniacs. Never mind. We are well covered up our cigars are gocd I have on deerskin pantaloons, a deerskin overcoat, a beaver cap and buffalo over- shoes ; and so, as I tersely observed before, Never mind. Let us laugh the winds to scorn, brave boys ! But why is William Glover, driver, lying flat on his back by the roadside, and why am I turn- ing a handspring in the road, and why are the horses tearing wildly down the Wahsatch mountains ? It is because William Glover has been thrown from his seat, and the horses are running away. I see him fall off, and it occurs to me that I had better get out. In doing so, such is the velocity of the sleigh, I turn a handspring. Far ahead I hear the runners clash with the rocks, and I see Dr. Kingston's lantern (he always would have a lantern) bobbing about like the binnacle light of an oyster sloop, very close in a chopping sea. Therefore I did not laugh the winds to scorn as much as I did, brave boys. E 66 SELECTION'S OF AMERICAN HUMOUR. William G. is not hurt, and together we trudge on after the runaways in the hope of overtaking them, which we do some two miles off. They are in a snowbank, and " nobody hurt." We are soon on the road again, all serene ; though I believe the doctor did observe that such a thing could not have occurred under a monarchical form of government. We reach Weber station, thirty miles from Salt Lake City, and wildly situated at the foot of the grand Echo Canon, at 3 o'clock the following morning. We remain over a day here with James Bromley, agent of the Overland Stage line, and who is better known on the plains than Shakspeare is; although Shakspeare has done a good deal for the stage. James Bromley has seen the Overland line grow up from its ponyicy; and, as Fitz-Green Halleck happily observes, none know him but to like his style. He was intended for an agent. In his infancy he used to lisp the refrain, " I want to be an agent, And with the agents stand." I part with this kind-hearted gentleman, to whose industry and ability the Overland line owes much of its success, with sin- cere regret ; and I hope he will soon get rich enough to trans- plant his charming wife from the Desert to the "White Settle- ments." Forward to Fort Bridger, in an open sleigh. Night clear, cold, and moonlit. Driver Mr. Samuel Smart. Through Echo Canon to Hanging Rock Station. The snow is very deep, there is no path, and we literally shovel our way to Robert Pollock's station, which we achieve in the Course of Time. Mr. P. gets up and kindles a fire, and a snowy nightcap and a pair of very bright black eyes beam upon us from the bed. That is Mrs. Robert Pollock. The long cabin is a comfortable one. I make coffee in my French coffee-pot, and let loose some of the roast chickens in my basket. (Tired of fried bacon and saleratus bread, the principal bill of fare at the stations, we had supplied ourselves with chicken, boiled ham, onions, sausages, sea-bread, canned butter, cheese, honey, &wamp and slopped around in the mud for a long time, and finally he ketched a frog, and fetched him in, and gave him to this feller, and says : " Now, if you're ready, set him alongside of Dan'l, with his fore-paws just even with Dan'l, and I'll give the word." Then he says, " One two three jump ! " and him and the feller touched up the frogs from behind, and the new frog hopped off, but Dan'l give a heave, and hysted up his shoulders so like a French- man, but it wan't no use he couldn't budge ; he was planted as solid as an anvil, and he couldn't no more stir than if he was anchored out. Smiley was a good deal surprised, and he was disgusted too, but he didn't have no idea what the matter was, of course. The feller took the money and started away; and when he was going out at the door, he sorter jerked his thumb over his shoulder this way at Dan'l, and says again, very deliberate, " Well, / don't see no p'ints about that frog that's any better'n any other frog." Smiley he stood scratching his head and looking down at Dan'l a long time, and at last he says, " I do wonder what in the nation that frog throwed off for I wonder if there an't something the matter with him he 'pears to look mighty baggy, somehow." And he ketched Dan'l by the nap of the neck and lifted him up and says, " Why, blame my cats, if he don't weigh five pound ! " and turned him upside down, and he belched out a double handful of shot. And then he see how it was, and he was the maddest man he set the frog down and took out after that feller, but he never ketched him. And [Here Simon Wheeler heard his name called from the front yard, and got up to see what was wanted.] And turning to me as he moved away, he said: "Just set where you are, stranger, and rest easy I ain't going to be gone a second." But, by your leave, I did not think that a continuation of the history of the enterprising vagabond Jim Smiley would be likely to afford me much information concerning the Rev. Leonidas W. Smiley, and so I started away. THE STORY OF THE BAD LITTLE BOY. 169 At the door I met the sociable Wheeler returning, and he button-holed me, and recommenced : " Well, thish-yer Smiley had a yaller one-eyed cow that didn't have no tail, only jest a short stump like a bannanner, and " " Oh ! hang Smiley and his afflicted cow ! " I muttered good- naturedly, and bidding the old gentleman good day, I departed. THE STORY OF THE BAD LITTLE BOY WHO DIDN'T COME TO GRIEF. ONCE there was a bad little boy whose name was Jim though, if you will notice, you will find that bad little boys are nearly always called James in your Sunday-school books. It was very strange, but still it was true, that this one was called Jim. He didn't have any sick mother, either a sick mother who was pious and had the consumption, and would be glad to lie down in the grave and be at rest, but for the strong love she bore her boy, and the anxiety she felt that the world would be harsh and cold towards him when she was gone. Most bad boys in the Sunday-school books are named James, and have sick mothers, who teach them to say, "Now I lay me down," etc., and sing them to sleep with sweet plaintive voices, and then kiss them good-night, and kneel down by the bedside and weep. But it was different with this fellow. He was named Jim, and there wasn't anything the matter with his mother no consumption, or anything of that kind. She was rather stout than otherwise, and she was not pious ; moreover, she was not anxious on Jim's account. She said if he were to break his neck, it wouldn't be much loss. She always spanked Jim to sleep, and she never kissed him good-night ; on the contrary, she boxed his ears when she was ready to leave him. Once this little bad boy stole the key of the pantry and slipped in there and helped himself to some jam, and filled up the vessel with tar, so that his mother would never know the difference ; but all at once a terrible feeling didn't come over him, and something didn't seem to whisper to him, " Is it right to 170 SELECTIONS OF AMERICAN HUMOUR. disobey my mother ? Isn't it sinful to do this ? Where do bad little boys go who gobble up their good kind mother's jam ? " and then he didn't kneel down all alone and promise never to be wicked any more, and rise up with a light happy heart, and go and tell his mother all about it, and beg her forgiveness, and be blessed by her with tears of pride and thankfulness in her eyes. No ; that is the way with all other bad boys in the books ; but it happened otherwise with this Jim, strangely enough. He ate that jam, and said it was bully, in his sinful, vulgar way ; and he put in the tar, and said that was bully also, and laughed, and observed " that the old woman would get up and snort " when she found it out ; and when she did find it out, he denied knowing anything about it, and she whipped him severely, and he did the crying himself. Everything about this boy was curious everything turned out differently with him from the way it does to the bad Jameses in the books. Once he climbed up Farmer Acorn's apple tree to steal apples, and the limb didn't break, and he didn't fall and break his arm, and get torn by the farmer's great dog, and then languish on a sick bed for weeks, and repent and become good. Oh ! no ; he stole as many apples as he wanted, and came down all right ; and he was all ready for the dog, too, and knocked him endways with a rock when he came to tear him. It was very strange nothing like it ever happened in those mild little books with marbled backs, and with pictures in them of men with swallow-tailed coats and bell-crowned hats, and pantaloons that are short in the legs, and women with the waists of their dresses under their arms and no hoops on. Nothing like it in any of the Sunday-school books. Once he stole the teacher's penknife, and when he was afraid it would be found out, and he would get whipped, he slipped it into George Wilson's cap poor Widow Wilson's son, the moral boy, the good little boy of the village, who always obeyed his mother, and never told an untruth, and was fond of his lessons, and infatuated with Sunday-school. And when the knife dropped from the cap, and poor George hung his head and blushed, as if in conscious guilt, and the grieved teacher charged the theft upon him, and was just in the very act of bringing the switch THE STORY OF THE BAD LITTLE BOY. 171 down upon his trembling shoulders, a white-haired improbable justice of the peace did not suddenly appear in their midst and strike an attitude and say, " Spare this noble boy there stands the cowering culprit ! I was passing the school-door at recess, and, unseen myself, I saw the theft committed ! " And then Jim didn't get whaled, and the venerable justice didn't read the tearful school a homily, and take George by the hand and say such a boy deserved to be exalted, and then tell him to come and make his home with him, and sweep out the office and make fires, and run errands, and chop wood, and study law, and help his wife to do household labours, and have all the balance of the time to play, and get forty cents a month and be happy. No ; it would have happened that way in the books, but it didn't happen that way to Jim. No meddling old clam of a justice dropped in to make trouble, and so the model boy George got thrashed, and Jim was glad of it ; because, you know, Jim hated moral boys. Jim said he was "down on them milk-sops." Such was the coarse language of this bad, neglected boy. But the strangest thing that ever happened to Jim was the time he went boating on Sunday and didn't get drowned, and that other time that he got caught out in the storm when he was fishing on Sunday, and didn't get struck by lightning. Why you might look, and look, and look through the Sunday-school books, from now till next Christmas, and you would never come across anything like this. Oh ! no ; you would find that all the bad boys who go boating on Sunday invariably get drowned ; and all the bad boys who get caught out in storms, when they are fishing on Sunday, infallibly get struck by lightning. Boats with bad boys in them always upset on Sunday, and it always storms when bad boys go fishing on the Sabbath. How this Jim ever escaped is a mystery to me. This Jim bore a charmed life that must have been the way of it Nothing could hurt him. He even gave the elephant in the menagerie a plug of tobacco, and the elephant didn't knock the top of his head off with his trunk. He browsed around the cupboard after essence of peppermint, and didn't make a mistake and drink aquafortis. He stole his father's gun and went hunting on the Sabbath, and didn't shoot three or four of his fingers off. 172 SELECTIONS OF AMERICAN HUMOUR. He struck his little sister on the temple with his fist when he was angry, and she didn't linger in pain through long summer days, and die with sweet words of forgiveness upon her lips, that redoubled the anguish of his breaking heart. No; she got over it. He ran off and went to sea at last, and didn't come back and find himself sad and alone in the world, his loved ones sleep- ing in the quiet churchyard, and the vine-embowered home of his boyhood tumbled down and gone to decay. Ah ! no ; he came home drunk as a piper, and got into the station-house the first thing. And he grew up, and married, and raised a large family, and brained them all with an axe one night, and got wealthy by all manner of cheating and rascality ; and now he is the infernalest, "wickedest scoundrel in his native village, and is universally re- spected, and belongs to the Legislature. So you see there never was a bad James in the Sunday- school books that had such a streak of luck as this sinful Jim with the charmed life. Avarice and lazyness makes the most disgusting kind ov a mixtur. Two thirds ov what is called love iz nothing but jealousy. Sekrets are like the meazles they take eazy and spred eazy. The eazyest thing for our friends to diskover in us, and the hardest thing for us to diskover in ourselfs, iz that we are growing old. We sumtimes hit a thing right the fust blow, but most always a suckcess iz the result ov menny failures. The heart rules the hed, bekauze the pashuns rule the judge- ment. Advice iz like kissing it don't kost nothing, and iz a pleazant thing to do. One ov the most diffikult, and at the same time one ov the most necessary, things for us old phellows to know, iz that we aint ov so mutch ackount now az we waz. JOSH BILLINGS. ret feartt. IN THE TUNNEL. DIDN'T know Flynn, Flynn of Virginia, Long as he 's been 'yar Look'ee here, stranger, Whar hev you been ? Here in this tunnel He was my pardner, That same Tom Flynn, Working together, In wind and weather, Day out and in. Didn't know Flynn ! Well, that is queer ; Why, it's a sin To think of Tom Flynn, Tom with his cheer, Tom without fear, Stranger, look 'yar ! Thar in the drift, Back to the wall, He held the timbers Ready to fall ; Then in the darkness I heard him call : " Run for your life, Jake ! Run for your wife's sake ! Don't wait for me." And that was all Heard in the din, Heard of Tom Flynn, Flynn of Virginia. 174 SELECTIONS OF AMERICAN HUMOUR. That 's all about Flynn of Virginia. That lets me out Here in the damp, Out of the sun, That 'ar derned lamp Makes my eyes run. Well, there, I'm done ! But, sir, when you'll Hear the next fool Asking of Flynn, Flynn of Virginia, Just you chip in, Say you knew Flynn ; Say that you 've been 'yar. PENELOPE. SIMPSON'S BAR, 1858. So you've kem 'yer agen, And one answer won't do ? Well, of all the derned men That I've struck, it is you. O Sal ! 'yer 's that derned fool from Simpson's, cavortin' round 'yer in the dew. Kem in, ef you 'will. Thar, quit ! Take a cheer. Not that ; you can't fill Them theer cushings this year, For that cheer was my old man's, Joe Simpson, and they don't make such men about 'yer. He was tall, was my Jack, And as strong as a tree. "Jiu* 175 Thar's his gun on the rack, Just you heft it, and see. And you come a courtin' his widder. Lord ! where can that critter, Sal, be ? You 'd fill my Jack's place ? And a man of your size, With no baird to his face, Nor a snap to his eyes, And nary Sho ! thar ! I was foolin', I was, Joe, for sartain, don't rise. Sit down. Law ! why, sho ! I'm as weak as a gal, Sal ! Don't you go, Joe, Or I'll faint, sure, I shall. Sit down, anywheer, where you like, Joe, in that cheer, if you choose, Lord, where 's Sal ! "JIM." SAY, there ! PVaps Some on you chaps Might know Jim Wild ? Well, no offence : Thar aint no sense In gettin' riled ! Jim was my chum Up on the Bar : That's why I come Down from up yar, Lookin' for Jim. Thank ye, sir ! You Aint of that crew, Blest if you are ! 176 SELECTIONS OF AMERICAN HUMOUR. Money ? Not much ; That aint my kind : I ain't no such. Rum ? I don't mind, Seein' it 's you. Well, this yer Jim. Did you know him ? Jess 'bout your size ; Same kind of eyes ? Well, that is strange : Why, it 's two year Since he came here, Sick, for a change. Well, here's to us : Eh? The h you say ! Dead? That little cuss ? What makes you star, You over thar ? Can't a man drop 's glass 'n yer shop But you must rar' ? It wouldn't take D much to break You and your bar. Dead! Poor little Jim ! Why, thar was me, Jones, and Bob Lee, Harry and Ben, No-account men : Then to take him ! HALF AN HOUR BEFORE SUPPER. 177 Well, thar Good-by, No more, sir, I Eh? What's that you say ? Why, dern it ! sho ! No? Yes! By Jo! Sold! Sold ! Why, you limb, You ornery, Derned old Long-legged Jim ! HALF AN HOUR BEFORE SUPPER. " So she 's here, your unknown Dulcinea the lady you met on the train, .\nd you really believe she would know you if you were to meet her again ? " " Of course," he replied, " she would know me ; there never was womankind yet Forgot the effect she inspired. She excuses, but does not forget." " Then you told her your love ? " asked the elder ; while the younger looked up with a smile : " I sat by her side half an hour what else was I doing the while ? " What, sit by the side of a woman as fair as the sun in the sky, And look somewhere else lest the dazzle flash back from your own to her eye ? " No, I hold that the speech of the tongue be as frank and as bold as the look, And I held up myself to herself that was more than she got from her book." " Young blood ! " laughed the elder ; " no doubt you are voicing the mode of to-day : But then we old fogies at least gave the lady some chance for delay L 1 78 SELECTIONS OF AMERICAN HUMOUR. "There's my wife (you must know) we first met on the journey from Florence to Rome ; It took me three weeks to discover who was she, and where was her home ; " Three more to be duly presented ; three more ere I saw her again ; And a year ere my romance began where yours ended that day on the train." " Oh, that was the style of the stage-coach ; we travel to-day by express ; Forty miles to the hour," he answered, " won't admit of a passion that's less." "But what if you make a mistake?" quoth the elder. The younger half sighed. " What happens when signals are wrong or switches misplaced ? " he replied. " Very well, I must bow to your wisdom," the elder returned, " but submit Your chances of winning this woman your boldness has bettered no whit " Why, you do not at best know her name. And what if I try your ideal With something, if not quite so fair, at least more en regie and real? " Let me find you a partner. Nay, come, I insist you shall fol low this way. My dear, will you not add your grace to entreat Mr. Rapid to stay? " My wife, Mr. Rapid Eh, what ? Why, he 's gone yet he said he would come. How rude ! I don't wonder, my dear, you are properly crimson and dumb ? " [Colonel Hay was born about 1830, and his " Pike County Ballads " was published sometime in the iSjo's. One poem, "Little Breeches," is singularly powerful, but like "Jim Bludso " is a trifle strong for British tastes.] THE ENCHANTED SHIRT. Fytte y e Firste : wherein it shall be shown how y' Truth is too mightie a Druggefor such as be of feeble temper. THE King was sick. His cheek was red And his eye was clear and bright ; He ate and drank with a kingly zest, And peacefully snored at night. But he said he was sick, and a king should know, And doctors came by the score. They did not cure him. He cut off their heads, And sent to the schools for more. At last two famous doctors came, And one was as poor as a rat He had passed his life in studious toil, And never found time to grow fat. The other had never looked in a book ; His patients gave him no trouble ; If they recovered they paid him well, If they died their heirs paid double. Together they looked at the royal tongue, As the King on his couch reclined ; In succession they thumped his august chest, But no trace of disease could find. The old sage said, " You're as sound as a nut" " Hang him up," roared the King in a gale In a ten-knot gale of royal rage ; The other leech grew a shade pale j ^ ? 180 SELECTIONS OF AMERICAN HUMOUR. But he pensively rubbed his sagacious nose, And thus his prescription ran The King will be well if he sleeps one night In the Shirt of a Happy Man. Fytle y 6 Seconde : telleth of y* search for y e Shirte and ho~w it was fowide but was no.'te, for reasons qu : are sayd or sting. Wide o'er the realm the couriers rode, And fast their horses ran, And many they saw, and to many they spoke, But they found no Happy Man. They found poor men who would fain be rich, And rich who thought they were poor, And men who twisted their waists in stays, And women that short hose wore. They saw two men by the roadside sit, And both bemoaned their lot ; For one had buried his wife, he said, And the other one had not. At last they came to a village gate, A beggar lay whistling there ; He whistled and sang and laughed and rolled On the grass in the soft June air. The weary couriers paused and looked At the scamp so blithe and gay ; And one of them said, " Heaven save you, friend ! You seem to be happy to-day." " O yes, fair sirs," the rascal laughed, And his voice rang free and glad ; " An idle man has so much to do That he never has time to be sad." THE ENCHANTED SHIRT. 181 " This is our man," the courier said ; " Our luck has led us aright. " I will give you a hundred ducats, friend, For the loan of your shirt to-night." The merry blackguard lay back on the grass, And laughed till his face was black ; " I would do it, God wot," and he roared with the fun, " But I haven't a shirt to my back." Fytte y 8 Third : Shewing how Hys Majestic y* King came at last to sleepe in a Happie Man his Shirte. Each day to the King the reports came in Of his unsuccessful spies, And the sad panorama of human woes Passed daily under his eyes. And he grew ashamed of his useless life, And his maladies hatched in gloom ; He opened his windows and let the air Of the free heaven into his room. And out he went in the world and toiled In his own appointed way ; And the people blessed him, the land was glad, And the King was well and gay. Imaginashun, tew mutch indulged in, soon iz tortured into reality ; this iz one way that good hoss thiefs are made, a man leans over a fence all day, and imagines the hoss in the lot belongs tew him, and sure enuff, the fust dark night, the hoss does. JOSH BILLINGS. C&arlesf Jf, THE PUZZLED DUTCHMAN. I'M a proken-hearted Deutscher, Vot's villed mit crief und shame. I dells you vot der drouple ish : / doesn't know my name. You dinks dis fery vunny, eh ? Ven you der schtory hear, You vill not vender den so mooch, It vas so schtrange und queer. Mine moder had dwo leedle twins ; Dey vas me und mine broder : Ve lookt so fery mooch alike, No von knew vich vrom todcr. Von off der poys was " Yawcob," Und " Hans " der oder's name : But den it made no tifferent, Ve both got called der same. Veil ; von off us got tead Yaw, Mynheer, dot ish so ! But vedder Hans or Yawcob, Mine moder she don'd know. Und so I am in drouples : I gan't kit droo mine hed, Vedder I'm Hans vot's Ufing % Qr Yawcob wt is tead 1 A TALE OF A NOSE. 183 A TALE OF A NOSE. 'TWAS a hard case, that which happened in Lynn. Haven't heard of it, eh ? Well then, to begin, There's a Jew down there whom they call " Old Mose," Who travels about, and buys old clothes. Now Mose which the same is short for Moses Had one of the biggest kind of noses : It had a sort of an instep in it, And he fed it with snuff about once a minute. One day he got in a bit of a row With a German chap who had kissed hisfrau, And, trying to punch him d la Mace, Had his nose cut off close up to his face. He picked it up from off the ground, And quickly back in its place 'twas bound, Keeping the bandage upon his face Until it had fairly healed in place. Alas for Mose ! 'Twas a sad mistake Which he in his haste that day did make ; For, to add still more to his bitter cup, He found he had placed it wrong side up. "There's no great loss without some gain ; w And Moses says, in a jocular vein, He arranged it so for taking snuff, As he never before could get enough. One thing, by the way, he forgets to add, Which makes the arrangement rather bad : Although he can take his snuff with ease, He has to stand on his head to sneeze ! gabfoertoiu [This charming writer is the author of " Helen's Babies," written, it is said, to amuse a sickly wife ; of " The Jericho Road," a very clever satire, and various other short stories.] HELEN'S BABIES. THE first cause, so far as it can be determined, of the existence of this book may be found in the following letter, written by my only married sister, and received by me, Harry Burton, salesman of white goods, bachelor, aged twenty-eight, and received just as I was trying to decide where I should spend a fortnight's vacation : "HILLCREST, June 15, 1875. " DEAR HARRY : Remembering that you are always complaining that you never have a chance to read, and knowing that you won't get it this summer, if you spend your vacation among people of your own set, I write to ask you to come up here. I admit that I am not wholly disinterested in inviting you. The truth is, Tom and I are invited to spend a fortnight with my old school- mate, Alice Wayne, who, you know, is the dearest girl in the world, though you didn't obey me and marry her before Frank Wayne appeared. Well, we're dying to go, for Alice and Frank live in splendid style ; but, as they haven't included our children in their invitation, and have no children of their own, we must leave Budge and Toddie at home. I've no doubt they'll be perfectly safe, for my girl is a jewel, and devoted to the children, but I would feel a great deal easier if there was a man in the house. Besides, there's the silver, and burglars are less likely to break into a house where there's a savage- looking man. (Never mind about thanking me for the compliment.) If yotfll only come up, my mind will be completely at rest. The children won't give You the slightest trouble ; they're the best children in the world everybody says so. " Tom has plenty of cigars, I know, for the money I should have had for a new suit went to pay his cigar-man. He has some new claret, too, that he goes into ecstacies over, though 7 can't tell it from the vilest black ink, except by the colour. Our horses are in splendid condition, and so is the garden you see I don't forget your old passion for flowers. And, last and best, there never were so many handsome girls at Hillcrest as there are among the summer HELEN'S BABIES. 185 boarders already here ; the girls you already are acquainted with here will see that you meet all the newer acquisitions. " Reply by telegraph right away. Of course you'll say ' Yes.' " In great haste, your loving "SISTER HELEN. " P.S. You shall have our own chamber ; it catches every breeze, and commands the finest views. The children's room communicates with it 5 so, if anything should happen to the darlings at night, you'd be sure to hear them." " Just the thing ! " I ejaculated. Five minutes later I had telegraphed Helen my acceptance of her invitation, and had mentally selected books enough to busy me during a dozen vaca- tions. Without sharing Helen's belief that her boys were the best ones in the world, I knew them well enough to feel assured that they would not give me any annoyance. There were two of them, since Baby Phil died last fall ; Budge, the elder, was five years of age, and had generally, during my flying visits to Helen, worn a shy, serious, meditative, noble face, with great, pure, pene- trating eyes, that made me almost fear their stare. Tom declared he was a born philanthropist or prophet, and Helen made so free with Miss Muloch's lines as to sing : " Ah, the day that thon goest a wooing, Budgie, my boy ! " Toddie had seen but three summers, and was a happy little know-nothing with a head full of tangled yellow hair, and a very pretty fancy for finding out sunbeams and dancing in them. I had long envied Tom his horses, his garden, his house, and his location, and the idea of controlling them for a fortnight was particularly delightful. Tom's taste in cigars and claret I had always respected, while the lady inhabitants of Hillcrest were, ac- cording to my memory, much like those of every other suburban village the fairest of their sex. Three days later I made the hour and a half trip between New York and Hillcrest, and hired a hackman to drive me over to Tom's. Half a mile from my brother-in-law's residence, our horses shied violently, and the driver, after talking freely to them, turned to me and remarked : " That was one of the ' Imps.' " 1 86 SELECTIONS OF AMERICAN HUMOUR. "What was?" I asked " That little cuss that scared the bosses. There he is now, holdin' up that piece of brushwood. 'Twould be just like his cheek, now, to ask me to let him ride. Here he comes, rurmin'. Wonder where t'other is ? They most generally travel together. We call 'em the Imps, about these parts, because they're so un- common likely at mischief. Always skeerin' bosses, or chasin' cows, or frightenin' chickens. Nice enough father an' mother, too queer, how young, ones do turn out ! " As he spoke, the offending youth came panting beside our carriage, and in a very dirty sailor suit, and under a broad-brimmed straw hat, with one stocking about his ankle, and two shoes averaging about two buttons each, I recognised my nephew, Budge ! About the same time there emerged from the bushes by the roadside a smaller boy, in a green gingham dress, a ruffle which might once have been white, dirty stockings, blue slippers worn through at the toes, and an old-fashioned straw turban. Thrusting into the dust of the road a branch from a bush; and shouting, " Here's my grass-cutter ! " he ran towards us enveloped in a " pillar of cloud," which might have served the purpose of Israel in Egypt When he paused, and the dust had somewhat subsided, I beheld the unmistakable lineaments of the child Toddie ! " They're my nephews," I gasped. " What ! " exclaimed the driver. " By gracious ! I forgot you were going to Colonel Lawrence's ! I didn't tell anything but the truth about 'em, though ; they're smart enough, an' good enough, as boys go ; but they'll never die of the complaint that children has in Sunday-school books." " Budge," said I, with all the sternness I could command, " do you know me ? " The searching eyes of the embryo prophet and philanthropist scanned me for a moment, then their owner replied : " Yes ; you're Uncle Harry. Did you bring us anything ? " " Bring us anything? " echoed Toddie. " I wish I could have brought you some big whippings," said I, with great severity of manner, " for behaving so badly. Get into this carriage." HELEN'S BABIES. 187 " Come on, Tod,' shouted Budge, although Toddie's farther ear was not a yard from Budge's mouth. " Uncle Harry's going to take us riding ! " " Going to take us riding ! " echoed Toddie, with the air of one in a reverie ; both the echo and the reverie I soon learned were characteristics of Toddie. As they clambered into the carriage I noticed that each one carried a very dirty towel, knotted in the centre into what is known as a slip-noose knot, drawn very tight. After some moments of disgusted contemplation of these rags, without being in the least able to comprehend their purpose, I asked Budge what those towels were for. " They're not towels, they're dollies," promptly answered my nephew. " Goodness ! " I exclaimed. " I should think your mother could buy you respectable dolls, and not let you appear in public with those loathsome rags." "We don't like buyed dollies," explained Budge. "These dollies is lovely; mine's name is Mary, an' Toddie's is Marfa." " Marfa ? " I queried. " Yes ; don't you know about ' Marfa and Mary's jus' gone along To ring dem charmin' bells,' that them Jubilees sings about ? " " Oh, Martha, you mean ? " " Yes, Marfa that's what I say. Toddie's dolly's got brown eyes, an' my dolly's got blue eyes." " I want to shee yours watch," remarked Toddie, snatching at my chain, and rolling into my lap. " Oh oo ee, so do I," shouted Budge, hastening to occupy one knee, and in transitu wiping his shoes on my trousers and the skirts of my coat Each imp put an arm about me to steady himself, as I produced my three-hundred-dollar time-keeper, and showed them the dial " I want to see the wheels go round," said Budge. " Want to shee wheels go wound," echoed Toddie. " No; I can't open my watch where there's so much dust," I said. i88 SELECTIONS OF AMERICAN HUMOUR. " What for ? " inquired Budge. " Want to shee the wheels go wound," repeated Toddie. " The dust gets inside the watch and spoils it," I explained. " Want to shee the wheels go wound," said Toddie once more. " I tell you I can't, Toddie," said I, with considerable asperity. " Dust spoils watches." The innocent gray eyes looked up wonderingly, the dirty but pretty lips parted slightly, and Toddie murmured : "Want to shee the wheels go wound. ;) I abruptly closed my watch, and put it into my pocket. In- stantly Toddie's lower lip commenced to turn outward, and con- tinued to do so until I seriously feared the bony portion of his chin would be exposed to view. Then his lower jaw dropped, and he cried : "Ah h h h h h h want to shee the wheels go wou ound." " Charles " (Charles is his baptismal name), " Charles," I ex- claimed, with some anger, " stop that noise this instant ! Do you hear me ? " " Yes oo oo oo oo ahoo ahoo." "Then stop it." " Wants to shee " " Toddie, I've got some candy in my trunk, but I won't give you a bit if you don't stop that infernal noise." " Well, I wants to shee wheels go wound. Ah ah h h h h ! " " Toddie, dear, don't cry so.Ci Here's some ladies coming in a carriage ; you wouldn't let them see you crying, would you ? You shall see the wheels go round as soon as we get home." A carriage containing a couple of ladies was rapidly approach- ing as Toddie again raised his voice. " Ah h h wants to shee wheels " Madly I snatched my watch from my pocket, opened the case, and exposed the works to view. The other carriage was meeting ours, and I dropped my head to avoid meeting the glance of the unknown occupants, for my few moments of contact with my dreadful nephews had made me feel inexpressibly unneat. Sud- denly the carriage with the ladies stopped. I heard my own name HELEN'S BABIES. 189 spoken, and, raising my head quickly (encountering Budgie's bullet head en route, to the serious disarrangement of my hat), I looked into the other carriage. There, erect, fresh, neat, com- posed, bright-eyed, fair-faced, smiling and observant, she would have been all this, even if the angel of the resurrection had just sounded his dreadful trump, sat Miss Alice Mayton, a lady who, for about a year, I had been adoring from afar. " When did you arrive, Mr. Burton ? " she asked, " and how long have you been officiating as child's companion ? You're certainly a happy-looking trio so unconventional. I hate to see children all dressed up and stiff as little mannikins, when they go out to ride. And you look as if you'd been having such a good time with them." " I I assure you, Miss Mayton," said I, " that my experience has been the exact reverse of a pleasant one. If King Herod were yet alive I'd volunteer as an executioner, and engage to deliver two interesting corpses at a moment's notice." " You dreadful wretch ! " exclaimed the lady. " Mother, let me make you acquainted with Mr. Burton, Helen Lawrence's brother. How is your sister, Mr. Burton ? " " I don't know," I replied ; "she has gone with her husband on a fortnight's visit to Captain and Mrs. Wayne, and I've been silly enough to promise to have an eye to the place while they're away." " Why, how delightful ! " exclaimed Miss Mayton. " Such horses ! Such flowers ! Such a cook ! " " And such children," said I, glaring suggestively at the imps, and rescuing from Toddie a handkerchief which he had extracted from my pocket, and was waving to the breeze. " Why, they're the best children in the world. Helen told me so the first time I met her this season. Children will be children, you know. We had three little cousins with us last summer, and I'm sure they made me look years older than I really am." " How young you must be, then, Miss Mayton ! " said I. I suppose I looked at her as if I meant what I said, for, although she inclined her head and said, " Oh, thank you," she didn't seem to turn my compliment off in her usual invulnerable style. Nothing happening in the course of conversation ever discomposed Alice Mayton for more than a hundred seconds, however, so she IQO SELECTIONS OF AMERICAN HUMOUR. soon recovered her usual expression and self-command, as her next remark fully indicated. " I believe you arranged the floral decorations at the St. Zephaniah's Fair, last winter, Mr. Burton ? 'Twas the most tasteful display of the season. I don't wish to give any hints, but at Mrs. Clarkson's, where we're boarding, there's not a flower in the whole garden. I break the Tenth Commandment dreadfully every time I pass Col. Lawrence's garden. Good-bye, Mr. Burton." " Ah, thank you ; I shall be delighted. Good-bye." " Of course you'll call," said Miss Mayton, as her carriage started ; " it's dreadfully stupid here no men except on Sundays." I bowed assent. In the contemplation of all the shy possi- bilities which my short chat with Miss Mayton had suggested, I had quite forgotten my dusty clothing and the two living causes thereof. While in Miss Mayton's presence the imps had preserved perfect silence, but now their tongues were loosened. "Uncle Harry," said Budge, "do you know how to make whistles ? " " Ucken Hawwy," murmured Toddie, " does you love dat lady?" " No, Toddie, of course not." "Then you's baddy man, an' de Lord won't let you go to heaven if you don't love peoples." " Yes, Budge," I answered hastily, " I do know how to make whistles, and you shall have one." "Lord don't like mans what don't love peoples," reiterated Toddie. "All right, Toddie," said I. "I'll see if I can't please the Lord some way. Driver, whip up, won't you ? I'm in a hurry to turn these youngsters over to the girl, and ask her to drop them into the bath." I found Helen had made every possible arrangement for my comfort. My room commanded exquisite views of mountain slope and valley, and even the fact that the imps' bedroom adjoined mine gave me comfort, for I thought of the pleasure of contemplating them while they were asleep, and beyond the power of tormenting their deluded uncle. At the supper-table Budge and Toddie appeared cleanly HELEN'S BABIES. 191 clothed and in their rightful faces. Budge seated himself at the table ; Toddie pushed back his high chair, climbed into it, and shouted : " Put my legs under ze tabo." Rightfully construing this remark as a request to be moved to the table, I fulfilled his desire. The girl poured tea for me, and milk for the children, and retired ; and then I remembered, to my dismay, that Helen never had a servant in the dining-room, except upon grand occasions, her idea being that servants retail to their friends the cream of the private conversation of the family circle. In principle I agreed with her, but the penalty of the practical appli- cation, with these two little cormorants on my hands, was greater suffering than any I had ever been called upon to endure for principle's sake ; but there was no help for it. I resignedly rapped on the table, bowed my head, said, " For what we are about to receive, the Lord make us thankful," and asked Budge whether he ate bread or biscuit " Why, we aint asked no blessin' yet," said he. " Yes, I did, Budge," said I. " Didn't you hear me ? " " Do you mean what you said just now ? " "Yes." " Oh, I don't think that was no blessin' at all Papa never says that kind of a blessin'." " What does papa say, may I ask ? " I inquired with becoming meekness. " Why, papa says, ' Our Father, we thank thee for this food ; mercifully remember with us all the hungry and needy to-day, for Christ's sake, Amen.' That's what he says." " It means the same thing, Budge." " / don't think it does ; and Toddie didn't have no time to say his blessin'. I don't think the Lord'll like it if you do it that way." " Yes, he will, old boy ; He knows what people mean." " Well, how can He tell what Toddie means, if Toddie can't say anything ? " " Wantsh to shay my blessin'," whined Toddie. It was enough ; my single encounter with Toddie had taught me to respect the young gentleman's force of character. So 192 SELECTIONS OF AMERICAN HUMOUR. again I bowed my head, and repeated what Budge has reported as "papa's blessin'," Budge kindly prompting me where my memory failed. The moment I began, Toddie commenced to jabber rapidly and loud, and the instant the " Amen " was pro- nounced he raised his head, and remarked with evident satisfac- tion : " I shed my blessin' two timesh." And Budge said gravely : " Now I guess we're all right" The supper was an exquisite one, but the appetites of those dreadful children effectually prevented my enjoying the repast. I hastily retired, called the girl, and instructed her to see that the children had enough to eat, and were put to bed immediately after, then I lit a cigar and strolled into the garden. The roses were just in bloom, the air was full of the perfume of honeysuckles, the rhododendrons had not disappeared, while I saw promise of the early unfolding of many other pet flowers of mine. I confess that I took a careful survey of the garden to see how fine a bouquet I might make for Miss Mayton, and was so abundantly satisfied with the material before me that I longed to begin the work at once, but that it would seem too hasty for true gentility. So I paced the paths, my hands behind my back, and my face well hidden by fragrant clouds of smoke, and went into wondering and reveries. I wondered if there was any sense in the language of flowers of which I had occasionally seen mention made by silly writers ; I wished I had learned it if it had any meaning ; I wondered if Miss Mayton understood it. At any rate, I fancied I could arrange flowers to the taste of any lady whose face I had ever seen ; and for Alice Mayton I would make something so superb that her face could not help lighting up when she beheld it I imagined just how her bluish-gray eyes would brighten, her cheeks would redden, not with sentiment, not a bit of it ; but with genuine pleasure, how her strong lips would part slightly and disclose sweet lines not displayed when she held her features well in hand. I I, a clear-headed, driving, successful salesman of white goods actually wished I might be divested of all nine- teenth-century abilities and characteristics, and be one of those fairies that only silly girls and crazy poets think of, and might, HELEN'S BABIES. 193 unseen, behold the meeting of my flowers with this highly culti- vated specimen of the only sort of flowers our cities produce. What flower did she most resemble ? A lily ? no ; too not exactly too bold, but too too well, I couldn't think of the word, but clearly it wasn't bold. A rose ! Certainly, not like those glorious but blazing remontants, nor yet like the shy, delicate, ethereal tea-roses with their tender suggestions of colour. Like this perfect Gloire de Dijon, perhaps; strong, vigorous, self- asserting, among its more delicate sisterhood ; yet shapely, perfect in outline and development, exquisite, enchanting in its never fully-analyzed tints, yet compelling the admiration of every one, and recalling its admirers again and again by the unspoken appeal of its own perfection its unvarying radiance, "Ah h h h ee ee ee ee ee oo oo oo oo " came from the window over my head. Then came a shout of " Uncle Harry ! " in a voice I recognized as that of Budge. I made no reply : there are moments when the soul is full of utterances unfit to be heard by childish ears. "Uncle Har-ray /" repeated Budge. Then I heard a window-blind open, and Budge exclaiming : " Uncle Harry, we want you to come and tell us stories." I turned my eyes upward quickly, and was about to send a savage negative in the same direction, when I saw in the window a face unknown and yet remembered. Could those great, wistful eyes, that angelic mouth, that spiritual expression, belong to my nephew Budge ? Yes, it must be certainly that super-celestial nose and those enormous ears never belonged to any one else. I turned abruptly, and entered the house, and was received at the head of the stairway by two little figures in white, the larger of which remarked : " We want you to tell us stories papa always does nights." " Very well, jump into bed what kind of stories do you like ? " " Oh, 'bout Jonah," said Budge. " 'Bout Jonah," echoed Toddie. " Well, Jonah was out in the sun one day, and a gourd-vine grew up all of a sudden, and made it nice and shady for him, and then it all faded as quick as it came." If ip4 SELECTIONS OP AMERICAN HUMOUR. A dead silence prevailed for a moment, and then Budge in- dignantly remarked : " That aint Jonah a bit /know 'bout Jonah." "Oh, you do, do you? "said I. "Then maybe you'll be so good as to enlighten me ? " " Huh ? " " If you know about Jonah, tell me the story, I'd really enjoy listening to it" " Well," said Budge, " once upon a time the Lord told Jonah to go to Nineveh and tell the people they was all bad. But Jonah didn't want to go, so he went on a boat that was going to Joppa. And then there was a big storm, an' it rained an' blowed and the big waves went as high as a house. An' the sailors thought there must be somebody on the boat that the Lord didn't like. An' Jonah said he guessed he was the man. So they picked him up and freed him in the ocean, an' I don't think it was well for 'em to do that after Jonah told the troof. An' a big whale was coming along, an' he was awful hungry, cos the little fishes what he likes to eat all went down to the bottom of the ocean when it began to storm, and whales can't go to the bottom of the ocean, cos they have to come up to breeve, an' little fishes don't. An' Jonah found 'twas all dark inside the whale, and there wasn't any fire there, an' it was all wet, an' he couldn't take off his clothes to dry, cos there wasn't no place to hang 'em, and there wasn't no windows to look out of, nor nothing to eat, nor nothin' nor nothin' nor nothin'. So he asked the Lord to let him out, and the Lord was sorry for him, an' he made the whale go up close to the land, an' Jonah jumped right out of his mouth, an' wasn't he glad ? An' then he went to Nineveh, an' done what the Lord told him to, and he ought to have done it in the first place if he had known what was good for him." " Done first payshe, know what's dood for him," asserted Toddie, in support of his brother's assertion. " Tell us 'nudder story." " Oh, no, sing us a song," suggested Budge. " Shing us shong," echoed Toddie. I searched my mind for a song, but the only one which came promptly was "L'Appari," several bars of which I gave my juvenile audience, when Budge interrupted me, saying : HELEN'S BABIES. 195 " I don't think that's a very good song." " Why not, Budge ? " " Cos I don't. I don't know a word what you're talking 'bout." " Shing 'bout ' Glory, glory, hallelulyah,' " suggested Toddie, and I meekly obeyed. The old air has a wonderful influence over me. I heard it in Western camp-meetings and negro-cabins when I was a boy; I saw the 22d Massachusetts march down Broadway, singing the same air during the rush to the front, during the early days of the war ; I have heard it sung by warrior tongues in nearly every Southern State; I heard it roared by three hundred good old Hunker Democrats as they escorted New York's first coloured regiment to their place of embarkation ; my old brigade sang it softly, but with a swing that was terrible in its earnestness, as they lay behind their stacks of arms just before going to action ; I have heard it played over the grave of many a dead comrade ; the semi-mutinous th cavalry became peaceful and patriotic again as their band-master played the old air after having asked permission to try his hand on them ; it is the same that burst forth spontaneously in our barracks, on that glorious morning when we learned that the war was over, and it was sung, with words adapted to the occasion, by some good rebel friends of mine, on our first social meeting after the war. All these recollections came hurrying into my mind as I sang, and probably excited me beyond my knowledge, for Budge suddenly re- marked : " Don't sing that all day, Uncle Harry ; you sing so loud, it hurts my head." " Beg your pardon, Budge," said I. " Good-night" " Why, Uncle Harry, are you going ? You didn't hear us say our prayers papa always does." "Oh! Well, go ahead." " You must say yours first," said Budge ; " that's the way papa does." " Very well," said I, and I repeated St Chrysostom's prayer, from the Episcopal service. I had hardly said " Amen," when Budge remarked : " My papa don't say any of them things at all ; I don't think that's a very good prayer." M 2 196 SELECTIONS OF AMERICAN HUMOUR. "Well, you say a good prayer, Budge." "All right." Budge shut his eyes, dropped his voice to the most perfect tone of supplication, while his face seemed fit for a sleeping angel ; then he said : " Dear Lord, we thank you for lettin' us have a good time to- day, an' we hope all the little boys everywhere have had good times too. We pray you to take care of us an' everybody else to- night, an' don't let 'em have any trouble. Oh yes, an' Uncle Harry's got some candy in his trunk, cos he said so in the carriage, we thank you for lettin' Uncle Harry come to see us, an' we hope he's got lots of candy lots an' piles. An' we pray you to take good care of all the poor little boys and girls that haven't got any papas an' mammas an' Uncle Harrys an' candy and beds to sleep in. An' take us all to Heaven when we die, for Christ's sake. Amen. Now give us the candy, Uncle Harry." " Hush, Budge ; don't Toddie say any prayers ? " " Oh, yes ; go on, Tod." Toddie closed his eyes, wriggled, twisted, breathed hard and quick, acting generally as if prayers were principally a matter of physical exertion. At last he began : " Dee Lord, not make me sho bad, an' besh mamma, an' papa, an' Budgie, an' doppity,* an' both boggies,t an' all good people in dish house, and everybody else, an' my dolly. A a amen !" " Now give us the candy," said Budge, with the usual echo from Toddie. I hastily extracted the candy from my trunk, gave some to each boy, the recipients fairly shrieking with delight, and once more said good-night. " Oh, you didn't give us any pennies," said Budge. " Papa give us some to put in our banks, every nights." "Well, I haven't got any now wait until to-morrow." " Then we want drinks." " I'll let Maggie bring you drink." " Want my dolly," murmured Toddie. I found the knotted towels, took the dirty things up gingerly and threw them upon the bed. " Now want to shee wheels go wound," said Toddie. * Grandfather. t Grandmothers. HELEN'S BABIES, 197 I hurried out of the room and slammed the door. I looked at my watch it was half-past eight ; I had spent an hour and a half with those dreadful children. They were funny, to be sure I found myself laughing in spite of my indignation. Still, if they were to monopolise my time as they had already done, when was I to do my reading ? Taking Fiske's " Cosmic Philosophy " from my trunk I descended to the back parlour, lit a cigar and a student-lamp, and began to read. I had not fairly commenced when I heard a patter of small feet, and saw my elder nephew before me. There was sorrowful protestation in every line of his countenance, as he exclaimed : " You didn't say ' Good-bye ' nor ' God bless you,' nor any- thing." " Oh good-bye." " Good-bye." " God bless you." " God bless you." Budge seemed waiting for something else. At last he said : " Papa says, ' God bless everybody.' " " Well, God bless everybody." " God bless everybody," responded Budge, and turned silently and went upstairs. "Bless your tormenting honest little heart," I said to myself; " if men trusted God as you do your papa, how little business there'd be for preachers to do." The night was a perfect one. The pure, fresh air, the perfume of the flowers, the music of the insect choir in the trees and shrubbery the very season itself seemed to forbid my reading philosophy, so I laid Fiske aside, delighted myself with a few rare bits from Paul Hayne's new volume of poems, read a few chap- ters of " One Summer," and finally sauntered off to bed. My nephews were slumbering sweetly ; it seemed impossible that the pure, exquisite, angelic faces before me belonged to my tormentors of a few hours before. As I lay on my couch I could see the dark shadow and rugged crest of the mountain ; above it, the silver stars against the blue, and below it the rival lights of the fire-flies against the dark background formed by the mountain itself. 198 SELECTIONS OF AMERICAN HUMOUR. No rumbling of wheels tormented me, nor any of the thousand noises that fill city air with the spirit of unrest, and I fell into a wonder almost indignant that sensible, comfort-loving beings could live in horrible New York, while such delightful rural homes were so near at hand. Then Alice Mayton came into my mind, and then a customer ; later, stars and trademarks, and bouquets, and dirty nephews, and fire-flies and bad accounts, and railway tickets, and candy and Herbert Spencer, mixed themselves con- fusingly in my mind. Then a vision of a proud angel, in the most fashionable attire, and a modern carriage, came and banished them all by its perfect radiance, and I was sinking in the most blissful unconsciousness "Ah h h h h h oo oo oo oo ee ee ee " Sh h h ! " I hissed. The warning was heeded, and I soon relapsed into oblivion. "Ah h h h oo oo ee ee ee EE ee." " Toddie, do you want uncle to whip you ? " " No." "Then lie still." "Well, Ize lost my dolly, an' I tant find her anywhere." " Well, I'll find her for you in the morning." " Oo oo ee I wants my dolly." " Well, I tell you I'll find her for you in the morning." " I want her now oo oo." " You can't have her now, so you can go to sleep." " Oh oo oo oo ee.' ; Springing madly to my feet, I started for the offender's room. I encountered a door ajar by the way, my forehead being first to discover it. I ground my teeth, lit a candle, and said something no matter what. " Oh, you said a bad swear ! " ejaculated Toddie ; "you won't go to heaven when you die." " Neither will you, if you howl like a little demon all night Are you going to be quiet, now ? " " Yesh, but I wants my dolly." "/don't know where your dolly is do you suppose I'm going to search this entire house for that confounded dolly ? " "'Taint 'founded. I wants my dolly." HELEN'S BABIES. 199 " I don't know where it is ; you don't think I stole your dolly, do you ? " " Well, I wants it, in de bed wif me." " Charles," said I, " when you arise in the morning, I hope your doll will be found. At present, however, you must be re- signed, and go to sleep. I'll cover you up nicely ; " here I began to rearrange the bed-clothing, when the fateful dolly, source of all my woes, tumbled out of them. Toddie clutched it, his whole face lighting up with affectionate delight, and he screamed : " Oh, dare is my dee dolly : turn to your own papa, dolly, an' I'll love you." And that ridiculous child was so completely satisfied by his outlay of affection that my own indignation gave place to genuine artistic pleasure. One can tire of even beautiful pictures, though, when he is not fully awake, and is holding a candle in a draught of air ; so I covered my nephews and returned to my own room, where I mused upon the contradictoriness of childhood until I fell asleep. In the morning I was awakened very early by the light streaming in the window, the blinds of which I had left open the night before. The air was alive with bird-songs, and the eastern sky was flushing with tints which no painter's canvas ever caught But ante-sunrise skies and songs are not fit subjects for the continued contemplation of men who read until midnight ; so I hastily closed the blinds, drew the shade, dropped the curtains, and lay down again, dreamily thanking Heaven that I was to fall asleep to such exquisite music. I am sure that I mentally forgave all my enemies as I dropped off into a most delicious doze, but the sudden realization that a light hand was passing over my cheek roused me to savage anger in an instant. I sprang up, and saw Budge shrink timidly away from my bedside. " I was only a-loving you, cos you was good, and brought us candy. Papa let's us love him whenever we want to every morn ing he does." " As early as this ? " demanded I. " Yes, just as soon as we can see, if we want to." Poor Tom ! I never could comprehend why, with a good wife, a comfortable income, and a clear conscience, he need always look 200 SELECTIONS OF AMERICAN HUMOUR. thin and worn worse than he ever did in Virginia woods or Louisiana swamps. But now I knew all. And yet, what could one do ? That child's eyes and voice, and his expression, which exceeded in sweetness that of any of the angels I had ever imagined, that child could coax a man to do more self-forgetting deeds than the shortening of his precious sleeping-hours amounted to. In fact, he was fast divesting me of my rightful sleepiness, so I kissed him and said : " Run to bed, now, dear old fellow, and let uncle go to sleep again. After breakfast I'll make you a whistle." " Oh, will you ? " The angel turned into a boy at once. " Yes ; now run along." " A loud whistle a real loud one ? " "Yes, but not if you don't go right back to bed." The sound of little footsteps receded as I turned over and closed my eyes. Speedily the bird-song seemed to grow fainter ; my thoughts dropped to pieces; I seemed to be floating on fleecy clouds, in company with hundreds of cherubs with Budge's features and night-drawers " Uncle Harry ! " May the Lord forget the prayer I put up just then ! " Uncle Harry ! " " I'll discipline you, my fine little boy," thought I. " Perhaps, if I let you shriek your abominable little throat hoarse, you'll learn better than to torment your uncle, that was just getting ready to love you dearly." " Uncle Har ray/" " Howl away, you little imp," thought I. " You've got me wide awake, and your lungs may suffer for it" Suddenly I heard, although in sleepy tones, and with a lazy drawl, some words which appalled me. The murmurer was Toddie : " Want shee wheels go wound. " " Budge ! " I shouted, in the desperation of my dread lest Toddie too might wake up, " what do you want ? " " Uncle Harry ! " 'WHAT!" " Uncle Harry, what kind of wood are you going to make the whistle out of?" HELENAS BABIES. 201 " I won't make any at all I'll cut a big stick and give you a sound whipping with it, for not keeping quiet as I told you to." " Why, Uncle Harry, papa don't whip us with sticks he spanks us." Heavens ! Papa ! papa ! papa ! Was I never to have done with this eternal quotation of " papa " ? I was horrified to find myself gradually conceiving a dire hatred of my excellent brother-in-law. One thing was certain, at any rate : sleep was no longer possible ; so I hastily dressed, and went into the garden. Among the beauty and the fragrance of the flowers, and in the delicious morning air, I succeeded in regaining my temper, and was de- lighted, on answering the breakfast-bell, two hours later, to have Budge accost me with : " Why, Uncle Harry, where was you? We looked all over the house for you, and couldn't find a speck of you." The breakfast was an excellent one. I afterward learned that Helen, dear old girl, had herself prepared a bill of fare for every meal I should take in the house. As the table talk of myself and nephews was not such as could do harm by being repeated, I requested Maggie, the servant, to wait upon the children, and I accompanied my request with a small treasury note. Relieved, thus, of all responsibility for the dreadful appetites of my nephews, I did full justice to the repast, and even regarded with some interest and amusement the industry of Budge and Toddie with their tiny forks and spoons. They ate rapidly for a while, but soon their appetites weakened, and their tongues were unloosed. " Ocken Hawwy," remarked Toddie, " daysh an awfoo funny chunt up 'tairs awfoo big chunt. I show it you after brepspup." " Toddie's a silly little boy," said Budge ; " he always says brepspup for brekbux."* " Oh ! What does he mean by chunt, Budge ? " " I guess he means trunk," replied my oldest nephew. Recollections of my childish delight in rummaging an old trunk it seems a century ago that I did it caused me to smile sympathetically at Toddie, to his apparent great delight. How * Breakfast. 202 SELECTIONS OF AMERICAN HUMOUR. delightful it is to strike a sympathetic chord in child-nature, thought I ; how quickly the infant eye comprehends the look which pre- cedes the verbal expression of an idea ! Dear Toddie ! for years we might sit at one table, careless of each other's words, but the casual mention of one of thy delights has suddenly brought our souls into that sweetest of all human communions that one which doubtless bound the Master himself to that apostle who was otherwise apparently the weakest among the chosen twelve. " An awfoo funny chunt " seemed to annihilate suddenly all differences of age, condition, and experience between the wee boy and myself, and A direful thought struck me. I dashed upstairs and into my room. Yes, he did mean my trunk. / could see nothing funny about it quite the contrary. The bond of sympathy between my nephew and myself was suddenly broken. Looking at the matter from the comparative distance which a few weeks have placed between that day and this, I can see that I was unable to consider the scene before me with a calm and unprejudiced mind. I am now satisfied that the sudden birth and hasty decease of my sympathy with Toddie were striking instances of human in- consistency. My soul had gone out to his because he loved to rummage in trunks, and because I imagined he loved to see the monument of incongruous material which resulted from such an operation; the scene before me showed clearly that I had rightly divined my nephew's nature. And yet my selfish in- stincts hastened to obscure my soul's vision, and to prevent that joy which should ensue when " Faith is lost in full fruition." My trunk had contained nearly everything, for while a cam- paigner I had learned to reduce packing to an exact science. Now, had there been an atom of pride in my composition I might have glorified myself, for it certainly seemed as if the heap upon the floor could never have come out of a single trunk. Clearly, Toddie was more of a general connoisseur than an amateur in packing. The method of his work I quickly discerned, and the discovery threw some light upon the size of the heap in front of my trunk. A dress-hat and its case, when their natural relation- ship is dissolved, occupy nearly twice as much space as before, even if the former contains a blacking-box not usually kept in it, HELEN'S BABIES. 203 and the latter contains a few cigars soaking in bay rum. The same might be said of a portable dressing-case and its contents, bought for me in Vienna by a brother ex-soldier, and designed by an old continental campaigner to be perfection itself. The straps which prevented the cover from falling entirely back had been cut, broken, or parted in some way, and in its hollow lay my dress-coat, tightly rolled up. Snatching it up with a violent exclamation, and unrolling it, there dropped from it one of those infernal dolls. At the same time a howl was sounded from the doorway. " You tookted my dolly out of her cradle I want to wock* my dolly oo oo oo ee ee ee " " You young scoundrel," I screamed yes, howled, I was so enraged " I've a great mind to cut your throat this minute. What do you mean by meddling with my trunk ? " "I doe know." Outward turned Toddie's lower lip; I be- lieve the sight of it would move a Bengal tiger to pity, but no such thought occurred to me just then. " What made you do it ? " "Be cause." " Because what ? " " I doe know." Just then a terrific roar arose from the garden. Looking out, I saw Budge with a bleeding finger upon one hand, and my razor in the other ; he afterwards explained he had been making a boat, and that knife was bad to him. To apply adhesive plaster to the cut was the work of but a minute, and I had barely completed this surgical operation when Tom's gardener-coachman appeared, and handed me a letter. It was addressed in Helen's well-known hand, and read as follows (the passages in brackets were my own comments) : "BLOOMDALE, June 21, 1875. " DEAR HARRY : I'm very happy in the thought that you are with my darling children, and although I'm having a lovely time here, I often wish I was with you. [Ump so do I.] I want you to know the little treasures real well. [Thank you, but I don't think I care to extend the acquaintanceship farther than is absolutely necessary.] It seems to me so unnatural that relatives * Rock. 204 SELECTIONS OF AMERICAN HUMOUR. know so little of those of their own blood, and especially of the innocent little spirits whose existence is almost unheeded. [Not when there's unlocked trunks standing about, sis.] " Now I want to ask a favoxir of you. When we were boys and girls at home, you used to talk perfect oceans about physiognomy, and phrenology, and unerring signs of character. I thought it was all nonsense then, but if you believe any of it now, I wish you'd study the children, and give me your well-considered opinion of them. [Perfect demons, ma'am ; imps, rascals, born to be hung both of them.] " I can't get over the feeling that dear Budge is born for something grand. [Grand nuisance.] He is sometines so thoughtful and so absorbed that I al- most fear the result of disturbing him ; then he has that faculty of perseverance which seems to be the only thing some men have lacked to make them great. [He certainly has it ; he exemplified it while I was trying to get to sleep this morning.] " Toddie is going to make a poet or a musician or an artist. [That's so ; all abominable scamps take to some artistic pursuit as an excuse for loafing.] His fancies take hold of him very strongly. (They do they do ; ' shee wheels go wound,' for instance.] He has not Budgie's sublime earnestness, but he doesn't need it ; the irresistible force with which he is drawn toward whatever is beautiful compensates for the lack. [Ah perhaps that explains his opera- tion with my trunk.] But I want your own opinion, for I know you make more careful distinction in character than I do. " Delighting myself with the idea that I deserve most of the credit for the lots of reading you will have done by this time, and hoping I shall soon have a line telling me how my darlings are, I am, as ever, "Your loving sister, " HELEN." Seldom have I been so roused by a letter as I was by this one, and never did I promise myself more genuine pleasure in writing a reply. I determined that it should be a masterpiece of analysis and of calm yet forcible expression of opinion. Upon one step, at any rate, I was positively determined. Calling the girl, I asked her where the key was that locked the door between my room and the children. " Please, sir, Toddie threw it down the well" " Is there a locksmith in the village ? " " No, sir ; the nearest one is at Paterson." " Is there a screw-driver in the house ? " Yes, sir." ' Bring it to me, and tell the coachman to get ready at once to drive me to Paterson." HELEN'S BABIES. 205 The screw-driver was brought, and with it I removed the lock, got into the carriage, and told the driver to take me to Paterson by the hill-road one of the most beautiful roads in America. " Paterson ! " exclaimed Budge. " Oh, there's a candy-store in that town ; come on, Toddie." " Will you ? " thought I, snatching the whip and giving the horses a cut. " Not if / can help it. The idea of having such a drive spoiled by the clatter of such a couple ! " Away went the horses, and up rose a piercing shriek and a terrible roar. It seemed that both children must have been mortally hurt, and I looked out hastily, only to see Budge and Toddie running after the carriage, and crying pitifully. It was too pitiful, I could not have proceeded without them, even if they had been afflicted with small pox. The driver stopped of his own accord, he seemed to know the children's ways and their results, and I helped Budge and Toddie in, meekly hoping that the eye of Providence was upon me, and that so self-sacrificing an act would be duly passed to my credit. As we reached the hill- road, my kindness to my nephews seemed to assume greater pro- portions, for the view before me was inexpressibly beautiful. The air was perfectly clear, and across two score towns I saw the great metropolis itself, the silent city of Greenwood beyond it, the bay, the narrows, the sound, the two silvery rivers lying between me and the Palisades, and even, across and to the south of Brooklyn, the ocean itself. Wonderful effects of light and shadow, pic- turesque masses, composed of detached buildings, so far distant that they seemed to be huddled together ; grim factories turned to beautiful palaces by the dazzling reflection of sunlight from their window panes ; great ships seeming in the distance to be toy- boats floating idly ; with no sign of life perceptible, the whole scene recalled the fairy stories, read in my youthful days, of en- chanted cities, and the illusion was greatly strengthened by the dragon-like shape of the roof of New York's new post-office, lying in the centre of everything, and seeming to brood over all " Uncle Harry ! " Ah, that was what I expected ! " Uncle Harry ! " 206 SELECTIONS OF AMERICAN HUMOUR. "Well, Budge?" " I always think that looks like heaven." "What does?" " Why, all that, from here over to that other sky way back there behind everything, I mean. And I think that (here he pointed toward what probably was a photographer's roof light) that place where it's so shiny, is where God stays." Bless the child ! The scene had suggested only elfindom to me, and yet I prided myself on my quick sense of artistic effects. " An' over there where that awful bright little speck is," con- tinued Budge, " that's where dear little brother Phillie is ; when- ever I look over there, I see him putting his hand out." " Dee 'ittle Phillie went to s'eep in a box, and the Lord took him to heaven," murmured Toddie, putting together all he had seen and heard of death. Then he raised his voice, and ex- claimed : " Ocken Hawwy, you know what Iz'he goin' do when I be's big man ? Iz'he goin' to have hosses an' tarridge, an' Iz'he goin' to wide over all ze chees an' all ze houses, an' all ze world an' ewyfing. An' whole lots of little birdies is comin' in my tarridge an' sing songs to me, an' you can come too if you want to, an we'll have w?-cream an' 'trawberries, an' see 'ittle fishes swimmin' down in ze water, an' we'll get a g'eat big house that's all p'itty on the outshide an' all p'itty on the inshide, and it'll all be ours and we'll do just ewyfing we want to." "Toddie, you're an idealist." " Toddy's a goosey-gander," remarked Budge, with great gravity. "Uncle Harry, do you think heaven's as nice as that place over there ? " "Yes, Budge, a great deal nicer." " Then why don't we die an' go there ? I don't want to go on livin' forever an' ever. I don't see why we don't die right away ; I think we've lived enough of days." " The Lord wants us to live until we get good and strong and smart, and do a great deal of good before we die, old fellow that's why we don't die right away." " Well, I want to see dear little Phillie, an' if the Lord won't HELEN'S BABIES. 207 let him come down here, I think he might let me die an' go to heaven. Little Phillie always laughed when I jumped for him. Uncle Harry, angels has wings, don't they ? " " Some people think they have, old boy." "Well, I know they don't, cos if Phillie had wings I know he'd fly right down here an' see me. So they don't." " But maybe he has to go somewhere else, Budge, or maybe he comes and you can't see him. We can't see angels with our eyes, you know." " Then what made the Hebrew children in the fiery furnace see one ? Their eyes were just like ours, wasn't they ? I don't care ; I want to see dear little Phillie awful much. Uncle Harry, if I went to heaven, do you know what I'd do ? " " What would you do, Budge ? " " Why, after I saw little Phillie, I'd go right up to the Lord an' give him a great big hug." "What for, Budge?" " Oh, cos he let's us have nice times, an' gave me my mamma an' papa, an' Phillie but he took him away again an' Toddie, but Toddie's a dreadful bad boy sometimes, though." "Very true, Budge," said I, remembering my trunk and the object of my ride. " Uncle Harry, did you ever see the Lord ? " "No, Budge; he has been very close to me a good many times, but I never saw him." " Well, / have ; I see him every time I look up in the sky, and there ain't nobody with me." The driver crossed himself and whispered, " He's foriver a-sayin' that, an' be the powers, I belave him. Sometimes ye'd think that the howly saints thimselves was a-sphakin whin that bye gits to goin' on that way." It was wonderful. Budge's countenance seemed too pure to be of the earth as he continued to express his ideas of the better land and its denizens. As for Toddie, his tongue was going incessantly, although in a tone scarcely audible ; but when I chanced to catch his expressions they were so droll and fanciful that I took him upon my lap that I might hear him more dis- tinctly. I even detected myself in the act of examining the 208 SELECTIONS OF AMERICAN HUMOUR. mental draft of my proposed letter to Helen, and of being ashamed of it But neither Toddie's fancy nor Budge's spiritu- ality caused me to forget the principal object of my ride. I found a locksmith and left the lock to be fitted with a key ; then we drove to the Falls. Both boys discharged volleys of questions as we stood by the gorge, and the fact that the roar of the falling water prevented me from hearing them did not cause them to relax their efforts in the least. I walked to the hotel for a cigar, taking the children with me. I certainly spent no more than three minutes in selecting and lighting a cigar, and asking the bar- keeper a few questions about the Falls ; but when I turned, the children were missing, nor could I see them in any direction. Suddenly bsfore my eyes rose from the nearer brink of the gorge two yellowish discs, which I recognised as the hats of my two nephews ; then I saw between the discs and me two small figures lying upon the ground. I was afraid to shout, for fear of scaring them, if they happened to hear me. I bounded across the grass, industriously raving and praying by turns. They were lying on their stomachs and looking over the edge of the cliff. I ap- proached them on tip-toe, threw myself upon the ground, and grasped a foot of each child. " Oh, Uncle Harry ! " screamed Budge in my ear, as I dragged him close to me, kissing and shaking him alternately, " I hunged over more than Toddie did." " Well, I I I I I I I hunged over a good deal, any how," said Toddie, in self-defence. That afternoon I devoted to making a bouquet for Miss May- ton, and a most delightful occupation I found it. It was no florist's bouquet, composed of only a few kinds of flowers, wired upon sticks, and arranged according to geometric pattern. I used many a rare flower too shy of bloom to recommend itself to florists ; I combined tints almost as numerous as the flowers were, and perfumes to which city bouquets are utter strangers. Arranging flowers is a favourite pastime of mine, but upon this particular occasion I enjoyed my work more than I had ever done before. Not that I was in love with Miss Mayton ; a man may honestly and strongly admire a handsome, brilliant woman without being in HELENAS BABIES. 209 love with her ; he can delight himself in trying to give her pleasure without feeling it necessary that she shall give him herself in re- turn. Since I arrived at years of discretion, I have always smiled sarcastically at the mention of the generosity of men who were in love ; they have seemed to me rather to be asking an immense price for what they offered. I had no such feeling toward Miss Mayton. There have been heathens who have offered gifts to goddesses out of pure adoration, and without any idea of ever having the exclusive companionship of their favourite divinities. I never offered Miss Mayton any attention which did not put me into closer sympathy with these same great-souled old Pagans, and with such Christians as follow their good example. With each new grace my bouquet took on my pleasure and satisfaction increased at the thought of how she would enjoy the completed evidence of my taste. At length it was finished, but my delight suddenly became clouded by the dreadful thought, " What will folks say ? " Had we been in New York instead of Hillcrest no one but the florist his messenger, the lady, and myself would know if I sent a bouquet to Miss Mayton; but in Hillcrest, with its several hundred native-born gossips, and its acquaintance of everybody with everybody else and their affairs, I feared talk. Upon the discretion of Mike, the coachman, I could safely rely ; I had already confidentially conveyed sundry bits of fractional cur- rency to him, and informed him of one of the parties at our store whose family Mike had known in Old Erin ; but every one knew where Mike was employed ; every one knew mysterious, unseen, and swift are the ways of communication in the country ! that I was the only gentleman at present residing at Colonel Lawrence's. Ah ! I had it. I had seen in one of the library drawers a small pasteboard box, shaped like a band-box doubt- less that would hold it. I found the box it was of just the size I needed. I dropped my card into the bottom, no danger of a lady not finding the card accompanying a gift of flowers, neatly fitted the bouquet in the centre of the box, and went in search of Mike. He winked cheeringly as I explained the nature of his errand, and he whispered : " I'll do it as clane as a whistle, your honor. Mistress Clark- N 2io SELECTIONS OF AMERICAN HUMOUR. son's cook an' mesilf understhand each other, an' I'm used to goin' up the back way. Dhivil a man can see but the angels, an' they won't tell." " Very well, Mike ; here's a dollar for you ; you'll find the box on the hat-rack, in the hall." Half an hour later, while I sat in my chamber window, reading, I beheld Mike, cleanly shaved, dressed and brushed, swinging up the road, with my box balanced on one of his enormous hands. With a head full of pleasing fancies, I went down to supper. My new friends were unusually good. Their ride seemed to have toned down their boisterousness and elevated their little souls ; their appetites exhibited no diminution of force, but they talked but little, and all that they said was smart, funny, or startling so much so that when, after supper, they invited me to put them to bed, I gladly accepted the invitation. Toddie disappeared some- where, and came back very disconsolate. " Can't find my dolly's k'adle," he whined. " Never mind, old pet," said I, soothingly. " Uncle will ride you on his foot." " But I want my dolly's k'adle," said he, piteously rolling out his lower lip. I remembered my experience when Toddie wanted to " shee wheels go wound," and I trembled. " Toddie/' said I, in a tone so persuasive that it would be worth thousands a year to me, as a salesman, if I could only com- mand it at will, " don't you want a ride on uncle's back ? " " No ; want my dolly's k'adle." " Don't you want me to tell you a story ? " For a moment Toddie's face indicated a terrible internal con- flict between Old Adam and Mother Eve, but curiosity finally overpowered natural depravity, and Toddie murmured : " Yesh." " What shall I tell you about ? " " 'Bout Nawndeark." " About what ? " " He means Noah an' the ark," exclaimed Budge. " Datsh what / shay Nawndeark," declared Toddie. " Well," said I, hastily refreshing my memory by picking up HELEN'S BABIES. 211 the Bible, for Helen, like most people, is pretty sure to forget to pack her Bible when she runs away from home for a few days, " well, once it rained forty days and nights, and everybody was drowned from the face of the earth excepting Noah, a righteous man, who was saved with all his family, in an ark which the Lord commanded him to build." " Uncle Harry," said Budge, after contemplating me with open eyes and mouth for at least two minutes after I had finished, " do you think that's Noah ? " " Certainly, Budge ; here's the whole story in the Bible." " Well, / don't think it's Noah one single bit," said he, with increasing emphasis. " I'm beginning to think we read different Bibles, Budge ; but let's hear your version." "Huh?" "Tell me about Noah, if you know so much about him." " I will, if you want me to. Once the Lord felt so uncomfort- able cos folks was bad that he was sorry he ever made anybody, or any world or anything. But Noah wasn't bad the Lord liked him first-rate, so he told Noah to build a big ark, and then the Lord would make it rain so everybody should be drownded but Noah an' his little boys an' girls, an' doggies an' pussies an' mamma-cows, an' little-boy-cows an' little-girl-cows an' hosses an' everything they'd go in the ark an' wouldn't get wetted a bit, when it rained. An' Noah took lots of things to eat in the ark cookies, an' milk, an' oatmeal, an' strawberries, an' porgies an' oh, yes; an' plum-puddin's an' pumpkin-pies. But Noah didn't want everybody to get drownded, so he talked to folks an' said, ' It's goin' to rain awful pretty soon ; you'd better be good, an' then the Lord'll let you come into my ark.' An' they jus' said, " Oh, if it rains we'll go in the house till it stops ; ' an' other folks said, ' We aint afraid of rain we've got an umbrella.' An' some more said, they wasn't goin' to be afraid of just a rain. But it did rain though, an' folks went in their houses, an' the water came in, an' they went up stairs, an' the water came up there, an' they got on the tops of the houses, an' up in big trees, an' up in mountains, an' the water went after 'em everywhere an' drownded everybody, only just except Noah and the people in the N 2 212 SELECTIONS OF AMERICAN HUMOUR. ark. An' it rained forty days an' nights, an' then it stopped, an' Noah got out of the ark, an' he and his little boys an' girls went wherever they wanted to, and everything in the world was all theirs; there wasn't anybody to tell 'em to go home, nor no Kindergarten schools to go to, nor no bad boys to fight 'em, nor nothing. Now tell us 'nother story." I determined that I would not again attempt to repeat por- tions of the Scripture narrative my experience in that direction had not been encouraging. I ventured upon a war story. " Do you know what the war was ? " I asked by way of re- connaissance. " Oh, yes," said Budge, "papa was there, an' he's got a sword ; don't you see it, hangin' up there ? " Yes, I saw it, and the difference between the terrible field where last I saw Tom's sword in action, and this quiet room where it now hung, forced me into a reverie from which I was aroused by Budge remarking : " Aint you going to tell us one ? " " Oh, yes, Budge. One day while the war was going on, there was a whole lot of soldiers going along a road, and they were as hungry as they could be ; they hadn't had anything to eat that day." " Why didn't they go into the houses, and tell the people they was hungry ? That's what /do when I goes along roads." " Because the people in that country didn't like them ; the brothers and papas and husbands of those people were soldiers, too ; but they didn't like the soldiers I told you about first, and they wanted to kill them." " I don't think they were a bit nice," said Budge, with con- siderable decision. "Well, the first soldiers wanted to kill them, Budge." " Then they was all bad, to want to kill each other." " Oh, no, they weren't ; there were a great many real good men on both sides." Poor Budge looked sadly puzzled, as he had an excellent right to do, since the wisest and best men are sorely perplexed by the nature of warlike feeling. "Both parties of soldiers were on horseback,'' I continued, HELEN'S BABIES. 213 ' ' and they were near each other, and when they saw each other they made their horses run fast, and the bugles blew, and the soldiers all took their swords out to kill each other with, when just then a little boy, who had been out in the woods to pick berries for his mamma, tried to run across the road, and caught his toe some way, and fell down, and cried. Then somebody halloed ' Halt ! ' very loud, and all the horses on one side stopped, and then somebody else halloed ' Halt ! ' and a lot of bugles blew, and every horse on the other side stopped, and one soldier jumped off his horse, and picked up the little boy, he was only about as big as you, Budge, and tried to comfort him ; and then a soldier from the other side came up to look at him, and then more soldiers came from both sides to look at him ; and when he got better and walked home, the soldiers all rode away, because they didn't feel like fighting just then." " O, Uncle Harry ! I think it was an awful good soldier that got off his horse to take care of that poor little boy." " Do you, Budge ? who do you think it was ? " "I dunno." " It was your papa." " Oh h h h h ! " If Tom could have but seen the ex- pression upon his boy's face as he prolonged this exclamation, his loss of one of the grandest chances a cavalry officer ever had would not have seemed so great to him as it had done for years. He seemed to take in the story in all its bearings, and his great eyes grew in depth as they took on the far-away look which seemed too earnest for the strength of an earthly being to support. But Toddie, he who a fond mamma thought endowed with art sense Toddie had throughout my recital the air of a man who was musing on some affair of his own, and Budge's exclama- tion had hardly died away, when Toddie commenced to weave aloud an extravaganza wholly his own. " When / was a soldier," he remarked, very gravely, " I had a coat an' a hat on, an' a muff, an' a little knake* wound my neck to keep me warm, an' it wained, an' hailed, an' 'tormed, an' I felt bad, so I whallowed a sword an' burned me all down dead." * Snake : tippet. 214 SELECTIONS OF AMERICAN HUMOUR. " And how did you get here ? " I asked, with interest pro- portioned to the importance of Toddie's last clause. " Oh, I got up from the burn-down dead, an' corned right here. An' I want my dolly's k'adle." O persistent little dragon ! If you were of age, what a for- tune you might make in business ! " Uncle Harry, I wish my papa would come home right away," said Budge. " Why, Budge ? " " I want to love him for bein' so good to that poor little boy in the war." " Ocken Hawwy, I wants my dolly's k'adle, tause my dolly's in it, an' I want to shee her ; " thus spake Toddie. " Don't you think the Lord loved my papa awful much for doin' that sweet thing, Uncle Harry ? " asked Budge. " Yes, old i'ellow, I feel sure that he did." " Lord lovesh my papa vewy much, so I love ze Lord vewy much," remarked Toddie. " An' I wants my dolly's k'adle an' my dolly." " Toddie, I don't know where either of them are I can't find them now do wait until morning, then Uncle Harry will look for them." " I don't see how the Lord can get along in heaven without my papa, LTncle Harry,' 1 said Budge. " Lord takesh papa to heaven, an' Budgie an' me, and we'll go walkin' an' see ze Lord, an' play wif ze angels' wings, an' hazh good timsh, an' never have to go to bed at all, at all." Pure-hearted little innocents ! compared with older people whom we endure, how great thy faith and how few thy faults ! How superior thy love A knock at the door interrupted me. " Come in " I shouted. In stepped Mike, with an air of the greatest secrecy, handed me a letter and the identical box in which I had sent the flowers to Miss Mayton. What could it mean ? I hastily opened the envelope, and at the same time Toddie shrieked : "Oh, darsh my dolly's k'adle dare tizh!" snatched and opened the box, and displayed his doll ! My heart sickened, and did not regain its strength during the perusal of the following note : HELEN'S BABIES. 215 ' ' Miss Mayton herewith returns to Mr. Burton the package which just ar- rived with his card. She recognises the contents as a portion of the apparent property of one of Mr. Burton's nephews, but is unable to understand why it should have been sent to her. " June 20, 1875." " Toddie," I roared, as my younger nephew caressed his loath- some doll, and murmured endearing words to it, " where did you get that box ? " " On the hat-wack," replied the youth, with perfect fearless- ness, " I keeps it in ze book-case djawer, an' somebody took it 'way, an' put nasty ole flowers in it." " Where are those flowers ? " I demanded. Toddie looked up with considerable surprise, but promptly re- plied : " I froed 'em away don't want no ole flowers in my dolly's k'a die. That's ze way she wocks see ! " And this horrible little destroyer of human hopes rolled that box back and forth with the most utter unconcern, as he spoke endearing words to the substi- tute for my beautiful bouquet ' To say that I looked at Toddie reprovingly is to express my feelings in the most inadequate language, but of language in which to express my feelings to Toddie I could find absolutely none. Within two or three short moments I had discovered how very anxious I really was to merit Miss Mayton's regard, and how very different was the regard I wanted from that which I had previously hoped might be accorded me. It seemed too ridiculous to be true that I, who had for years had dozens of charming lady acquaintances, and yet had always maintained my common-sense and self-control ; I, who had always considered it unmanly for a man to specially interest himself in any lady until he had an in- come of five thousand a year ; I, who had skilfully and many times argued that life-attachments, or attempts thereat, which were made without a careful preliminary study of the mental character- istics of the partner desired was the most unpardonable folly, / had transgressed every one of my own rules, and, as if to mock me for any pretended wisdom and care, my weakness was made known to me by a three-year-old marplot and a hideous rag doll ! WBOIiam ailan Butler. [Mr. Butler, who was born in 1825, wrote this poem in 1857, but beyond this he has published nothing that has attracted public attention.] NOTHING TO WEAR. AN EPISODE OF CITY LIFE. Miss FLORA M'FLIMSEV, of Madison Square, Has made three separate journeys to Paris ; And her father assures me, each time she was there, That she and her friend, Mrs. Harris (Not the lady whose name is so famous in history, But plain Mrs. H., without romance or mystery), Spent six consecutive weeks without stopping, In one continuous round of shopping ; Shopping alone, and shopping together, At all hours of the day, and in all sorts of weather ; For all manner of things that a woman can put On the crown of her head or the sole of her foot, Or wrap round her shoulders, or fit round her waist, Or that can be sewed on, or pinned on, or laced, Or tied on with a string, or stitched on with a bow, In front or behind above or below : For bonnets, mantillas, capes, collars, and shawls ; Dresses for breakfasts, and dinners, and balls ; Dresses to sit in, and stand in, and walk in ; Dresses to dance in, and flirt in, and talk in ; Dresses in which to do nothing at all ; Dresses for winter, spring, summer, and fall ; All of them different in colour and pattern Silk, muslin, and lace, crape, velvet, and satin ; Brocade, and broadcloth, and other material, Quite as expensive, and much more ethereal ; In short, for all things that could ever be thought of, Or milliner, modiste, or tradesman be bought of, NOTHING TO WEAR. 217 From ten-thousand-francs robes to twenty-sous frills ; In all quarters of Paris, and to every store, While M'Flimsey in vain stormed, scolded, and swore ; They footed the streets, and he footed the bills. The last trip, their goods shipped by the steamer Arago Formed, M'Flimsey declares, the bulk of her cargo ; Not to mention a quantity kept from the rest, Sufficient to fill the largest-sized chest, Which did not appear on the ship's manifest, But for which the ladies themselves manifested Such particular interest, that they invested Their own proper persons in layers and rows Of muslins, embroideries, worked underclothes, Gloves, handkerchiefs, scarfs, and such trifles as those. Then, wrapped in great shawls, like Circassian beauties, Gave GOOD-BYE to the ship, and GO-BY to the duties. Her relations at home all marvell'd, no doubt, Miss Flora had grown so enormously stout For an actual belle and a possible bride ; But the miracle ceased when she turned inside out, And the truth came to light, and the dry goods beside, Which, in spite of collector and custom-house sentry, Had enter'd the port without any entry. And yet, though scarce three months have pass'd since the day This merchandise went, on twelve carts, up Broadway, This same Miss M'Flimsey, of Madison Square, The last time we met, was in utter despair, Because she had nothing whatever to wear ! NOTHING TO WEAR ! Now, as this is a true ditty, I do not assert this, you know is between us That she's in a state of absolute nudity, Like Powers' Greek Slave, or the Medici Venus ; But I do mean to say, I have heard her declare, When, at the same moment, she had on a dress, Which cost five hundred dollars, and not a cent less, And jewelry worth ten times more, I should guess, 218 SELECTIONS OF AMERICAN HUMOUR. That she had not a thing in the wide world to wear ! I should mention just here, that out of Miss Flora's Two hundred and fifty or sixty adorers, I had just been selected as he who should throw all The rest in the shade, by the gracious bestowal On myself, after twenty or thirty rejections, Of those fossil remains which she called " her affections," And that rather decay'd, but well-known work of art, Which Miss Flora persisted in styling "her heart." So we were engaged. Our troth had been plighted, Not by moonbeam or starbeam, by fountain or grove, But in a front parlour, most brilliantly lighted, Beneath the gas fixtures we whisper'd our love. Without any romance, or raptures, or sighs, Without any tears in Miss Flora's blue eyes ; Or blushes or transports, or such silly actions, It was one of the quietest business transactions ; With a very small sprinkling of sentiment, if any, And a very large diamond imported by Tiffany, On her virginal lips while I printed a kiss, She exclaim'd, as a sort of parenthesis, And by way of putting me quite at my ease, " You know, I'm to polka as much as I please, And flirt when I like now stop, don't you speak And you must not come here more than twice in the week, Or talk to me either at party or ball, But always be ready to come when I call ; So don't prose to me about duty and stuff, If we don't break this off, there will be time enough For that sort of thing ; but the bargain must be, That, as long as I choose, I am perfectly free ; For this is a sort of engagement, you see, Which is binding on you, but not binding on me." Well, having thus woo'd Miss M'Flimsey and gain'd her, With the silks, crinolines, and hoops that contained her, I had, as I thought, a contingent remainder NOTHING TO WEAR. 219 At least in the property, and the best right To appear as its escort by day and by night : And it being the week of the STUCKUPS' grand ball Their cards had been out a fortnight or so, And set all the Avenue on the tiptoe I consider'd it only my duty to call, And see if Miss Flora intended to go. I found her as ladies are apt to be found, When the time intervening between the first sound Of the bell and the visitor's entry is shorter Than usual I found ; I won't say, I caught her Intent on the pier-glass, undoubtedly meaning To see if perhaps it didn't need cleaning. She turned as I entered " Why, Harry, you sinner, I thought that you went to the Flashers' to dinner ! " " So I did," I replied, " but the dinner is swallowed, And digested, I trust, for 'tis now nine and more ; So being relieved from that duty, I followed Inclination, which led me, you see, to your door. And now will your ladyship so condescend As just to inform me if you intend Your duty and grace, and presence to lend (All which, when I own, I hope no one will borrow) To the STUCKUPS', whose party, you know, is to-morrow ? " The fair Flora look'd up with a pitiful air, And answer'd quite promptly, " Why, Harry, man cher, I should like above all things to go with you there ; But really and truly I've nothing to wear ! " " Nothing to wear ! Go just as you are ; Wear the dress you have on, and you'll be by far, I engage, the most bright and particular star On the Stuckup horizon." I stopp'd, for her eye Notwithstanding this delicate onset of flattery, Open'd on me at once a most terrible battery Of scorn and amazement. She made no reply, But gave a slight turn to the end of her nose (That pure Grecian feature), as much as to say, " How absurd that any sane man should suppose 220 SELECTIONS OF AMERICAN HUMOUR. That a lady would go to a ball in the clothes, No matter how fine, that she wears every day ! " So I ventured again " Wear your crimson brocade," (Second turn up of nose) "That's too dark by a shade." " Your blue silk " " That's too heavy ; " " Your pink " " That's too light." "Wear tulle over satin" "I can't endure white." " Your rose-coloured, then, the best of the batch " " I haven't a thread of point lace to match." " Your brown moire antique " " Yes, and look like a Quaker ; " "The pearl-coloured " " I would, but that plaguy dressmaker Has had it a week." " Then that exquisite lilac, In which you would melt the heart of a Shylock " (Here the nose took again the same elevation) " I wouldn't wear that for the whole of creation." " Why not ? It's my fancy, there's nothing could strike it As more comme il faut ' " Yes, but, dear me, that lean Sophronia Stuckup has got one just like it, And I won't appear dress'd like a chit of sixteen." " Then that splendid purple, that sweet Mazarine ; That superb point d'aiguille, that imperial green, That zephyr-like tarlatan, that rich grenadine " " Not one of all which is fit to be seen," Said the lady, becoming excited and flush'd. " Then wear," I exclaimed, in a tone which quite crush'd Opposition, " that gorgeous toilette which you sported In Paris last spring, at the grand presentation, When you quite turn'd the head of the head of the nation ; And by all the grand court was so very much courted." The end of the nose was portentously tipped up And both the bright eyes shot forth indignation, As she burst upon me with the fierce exclamation, " I have worn it three times at the least calculation, And that and the most of my dresses are ripped up ! " Here I ripp'd OUT something, perhaps rather rash, Quite innocent, though ; but to use an expression More striking than classic, it " settled my hash," And proved very soon the last act of our session. NOTHING TO WEAR. 221 "Fiddlesticks, is it, sir? I wonder the ceiling Doesn't fall down and crush you. Oh, you men have no feeling ! You selfish, unnatural, illiberal creatures ! Who set yourselves up as patterns and preachers. Your silly pretence why, what a mere guess it is ! Pray, what do you know of a woman's necessities ? I have told you and shown you I've nothing to wear, And it's perfectly plain you not only don't care, But you do not believe me " (here the nose went still higher). " I suppose, if you dared, you would call me a liar. Our engagement is ended, sir yes, on the spot ; You're a brute, and a monster, and I don't know what." I mildly suggested the words Hottentot, Pickpocket and cannibal, Tartar and thief, As gentle expletives which might give relief. But this only proved as spark to the powder, And the storm I had raised came faster and louder ; It blew and it rain'd, thunder'd, lighten'd, and hail'd Interjections, verbs, pronouns, till language quite fail'd To express the abusive ; and then its arrears Were brought up all at once by a torrent of tears ; And my last faint, despairing attempt at an obs- Ervation was lost in a tempest of sobs. Well, I felt for the lady, and felt for my hat, too, Improvised on the crown of the latter a tattoo, In lieu of expressing the feelings which lay Quite too deep for words, as Wordsworth would say. Then, without going through the form of a bow, Found myself in the entry I hardly knew how On door-step and side walk, past lamp-post and square, At home and upstairs, in my own easy chair ; Poked my feet into slippers, my fire into blaze, And said to myself, as I lit my cigar, Supposing a man had the wealth of the Czar Of the Russias to boot, for the rest of his days, On the whole, do you think he would have much to spare, If he married a woman with nothing to wear? 222 SELECTIONS OF AMERICAN HUMOUR. Since that night, taking pains that it should not be bruited Abroad in society, I've instituted A course of enquiry, extensive and thorough, On this vital subject ; and find to my horror, That the fair Flora's case is by no means surprising, But that there exists the greatest distress In our female community, solely arising From this unsupplied destitution of dress, Whose unfortunate victims are filling the air With the pitiful wail of " Nothing to wear." Researches in some of the "Upper Ten" districts Reveal the most painful and startling statistics, Of which let me mention only a few : In one single house, on the Fifth Avenue, Three young ladies were found, all below twenty-two, Who have been three whole weeks without anything new In the way of flounced silks, and thus left in the lurch, Are unable to go to ball, concert, or church. In another large mansion near the same place, Was found a deplorable, heart-rending case Of entire destitution of Brussels point lace. In a neighbouring block there was found, in three calls, Total want, long-continued, of camels'-hair shawls ; And a suffering family, whose case exhibits The most pressing need of real ermine tippets ; One deserving young lady almost unable To survive for the want of a new Russian sable ; Another confined to the house, when it's windier Than usual, because her shawl isn't India, Still another, whose tortures have been most terrific Ever since the sad loss of the steamer PACIFIC ; In which were engulfed, not friend or relation (For whose fate she perhaps might have found consolation, Or borne it, at least, with serene resignation), But the choicest assortment of French sleeves and collars Ever sent out from Paris, worth thousands of dollars ; And all, as to style, most recherchd and rare, The want of which leaves her with nothing to wear, NOTHING TO WEAR 223 And renders her life so drear and dyspeptic, That she's quite a recluse, and almost a sceptic ; For she touchingly says that this sort of grief Cannot find in Religion the slightest relief, And Philosophy has not a maxim to spare For the victims of such overwhelming despair. But the saddest by far of all these sad features Is the cruelty practised upon the poor creatures By husbands and fathers, real Bluebeards and Timons, Who resist the most touching appeals made for diamonds By their wives and their daughters, and leave them for days Unsupplied with new jewelry, fans, or bouquets ; Even laugh at their miseries whenever they have a chance, And deride their demands as useless extravagance. One case of a bride was brought to my view, Too sad for belief, but, alas ! 'twas too true, Whose husband refused, as savage as Charon, To permit her to take more than ten trunks to Sharon. The consequence was, that when she got there, At the end of three weeks she had nothing to wear; And when she proposed to finish the season At Newport, the monster refused out and out, For his infamous conduct alleging no reason, Except that the waters were good for his gout Such treatment as this was too shocking, of course, And proceedings are now going on for divorce. But why harrow the feelings by lifting the curtain From these scenes of woe ! Enough, it is certain, Has here been disclosed to stir up the pity Of every benevolent heart in the city, And spur up humanity into a canter To rush and relieve these sad cases instanter. Won't somebody, moved by this touching description, Come forward to-morrow and head a subscription ? Won't some kind philanthropist, seeing that aid is So needed at once by these indigent ladies, Take charge of the matter ? or won't PETER COOPER The corner-stone lay of some splendid super- 224 SELECTIONS OF A Af ERIC AN HUMOUR. Structure, like that which to-day links his name In the Union unending of honour and fame ; And found a new charity just for the care Of these unhappy women with nothing to wear ; Which, in view of the cash which would daily be claim'd, The Laying-out Hospital well might be named ? Won't STEWART, or some of our dry-goods importers, Take a contract for clothing our wives and our daughters ? Or, to furnish the cash to supply those distresses, And life's pathway strew with shawls, collars, and dresses, Ere the want of them makes it much rougher and thornier, Won't someone discover a new California ? Oh, ladies, dear ladies, the next sunny day Please trundle your hoops just out of Broadway, From its whirl and its bustle, its fashion and pride, And the temples of Trade which tower on each side, To the alleys and lanes, where Misfortune and Guilt Their children have gather'd, their city have built ; Where Hunger and Vice, like twin beasts of prey, Have hunted their victims to gloom and despair ; Raise the rich, dainty dress, and the fine broider'd skirt, Pick your delicate way through the dampness and dirt, Grope through the dark dens, climb the rickety stair To the garret, where wretches, the young and the old, Half-starved and half-naked, lie crouch'd from the cold. See those skeleton limbs, those frost-bitten feet, All bleeding and bruised by the stones of the street ; Hear the sharp cry of childhood, the deep groans that swell From the poor dying creature who writhes on the floor ; Hear the curses that sound like the echoes of Hell, As you sicken and shudder, and fly from the door ! Then home to your wardrobes, and say if you dare Spoil'd Children of Fashion you've nothing to wear ! And oh, if perchance there should be a sphere Where all is made right which so puzzles us here, Where the glare and the glitter, and tinsel of Time Fade and die in the light of that region sublime, NOTHING TO WEAR. 22- Where the soul, disenchanted of flesh and of sense, Unscreen'd by its trappings, and shows, and pretence, Must be clothed for the life and the service above With purity, truth, faith, meekness, and love ; Oh, daughters of Earth ! foolish virgins, beware ! Lest in that upper realm you have nothing to wear ! MARRYING for money iz a meaner way tew git it than counter- fiting. Az a ginral thing the man who marrys a woman ov more uppercrust than himself will find the woman more anxious tew preserve the distance between them than tew bring him up tew her grade or go down tew hiz level. What the world wants iz good examples, not so mutch advice ; advice may be wrong, but examples prove themselves. Pride iz bogus. Adam at one time had a right tew be proud, but he let sin beat him out ov hiz birthright. A crowing hen and a cackling ruseter are very misfortunate poultry in a family. Titles are valuable ; they make us acquainted with menny persons who otherwise would be lost amung the rubbish. Peace iz the soft and holy shadder that virtew casts. Habits are like the wrinkles on a man's brow, if yu will smoothe out the one i will smoothe out the other. If yu should reduce the wants ov the people ov Nu York city tew aktual necessitys and plain comforts, yu would hav tew dubble the perlice force tew keep them from committing suicide. It iz a darned sight eazier tew find six men who kan tell exactly how a thing ought tew be did than tew find one who will doit Thare iz nothing so easy to larn az experience, and nothing so hard to apply. Thare ain't but phew men who kan stick a white hankerchef into the brest pocket ov their overcoat without letting a little ov it stick out just bi acksident J OSH BILLINGS. o Cfoafiu WRITING A NOVEL. VICE flourished luxuriantly during the heyday of our " flush times." The saloons were overburdened with custom ; so were the police courts, the gambling dens, the brothels, and the jails unfailing signs of high prosperity in a mining region in any region, for that matter. Is it not so ? A crowded police-court docket is the surest of all signs that trade is brisk and money plenty. Still, there is one other sign ; it comes last, but when it does come it establishes beyond cavil that the " flush times " are at the flood. This is the birth of the " literary " paper. The Weekly Occidental, " devoted to literature," made its appearance in Virginia. All the literary people were engaged to write for it Mr. F. was to edit it. He was a felicitous skirmisher with a pen, and a man who could say happy things in a crisp, neat way. Once, while editor of the Union,\\.Q had disposed of a laboured, incoherent, two-column attack made upon him by a contemporary with a single line, which, at first glance, seemed to contain a solemn and tremendous compliment viz. : " THE LOGIC OF OUR ADVERSARY RESEMBLES THE PEACE OF GOD," and left it to the reader's memory and after-thought to in- vest the remark with another and " more different " meaning by supplying for himself, and at his own leisure, the rest of the Scripture " in that it passeth understanding." He once said of a little, half-starved, wayside community, that had no subsistence except what they could get by preying upon chance passengers who stopped over with them a day when travelling by the overland stage, that in their church service they had altered the Lord's Prayer to read : " Give us this day our daily stranger ! " We expected great things of the Occidental. Of course it could not get along without an original novel, and so we made, arrange- ments to hurl into the work the full strength of the company. Mrs. F. was an able romancist of the ineffable school I know no other name to apply to a school whose heroes are all dainty and all perfect She wrote the opening chapter, and introduced a lovely WRITING A NOVEL. 227 blonde simpleton who talked nothing but pearls and poetry, and who was virtuous to the verge of eccentricity. She also intro- duced a young French Duke of aggravated refinement, in love with the blonde. Mr. F. followed next week, with a brilliant lawyer, who set about getting the Duke's estates into trouble, and a sparkling young lady of high society, who fell to fascinating the Duke and impairing the appetite of the blonde. Mr. D., a dark and bloody editor of one of the dailies, followed Mr. F., the third week, introducing a mysterious Rosicrucian, who transmuted metals, held consultations with the devil in a cave at dead of night, and cast the horoscope of the several heroes and heroines in such a way as to provide plenty of trouble for their future careers, and breed a solemn and awful public interest in the novel. He also introduced a cloaked and masked melodramatic mis- creant, put him on a salary, and set him on the midnight track of the Duke with a poisoned dagger. He also created an Irish coachman, with a rich brogue, and placed him in the service of the society-young-lady, with an ulterior mission to carry billets-doux to the Duke. About this time there arrived in Virginia a dissolute stranger, with a literary turn of mind rather seedy he was, but very quiet and unassuming ; almost diffident, indeed. He was so gentle, and his manners were so pleasing and kindly, whether he was sober or intoxicated, that he made friends of all who came in contact with him. He applied for literary work, offered conclusive evidence that he wielded an easy and practised pen, and so Mr. F. engaged him at once to help write the novel. His chapter was to follow Mr. D.'s, and mine was to come next. Now what does this fellow do but go off and get drunk, and then proceed to his quarters and set to work, with his imagination in a state of chaos, and that chaos in a condition of extravagant activity. The result may be guessed. He scanned the chapters of his predecessors, found plenty of heroes and heroines already created, and was satisfied with them ; he decided to introduce no more; with all the confidence that whisky inspires, and all the easy complacency it gives to its servant, he then launched himself lovingly into his work ; he married the coachman to the society-young-lady, for the sake of the scandal ; married the Duke to the blonde's step- O 2 228 SELECTIONS OF AMERICAN HUMOUR. mother, for the sake of the sensation ; stopped the desperado's salary; created a misunderstanding between the devil and the Rosicrucian ; threw the Duke's property into the wicked lawyer's hands ; made the lawyer's upbraiding conscience drive him to drink, thence to delirium tremens^ thence to suicide ; broke the coachman's neck ; let his widow succumb to contumely, neglect, poverty, and consumption ; caused the blonde to drown herself, leaving her clothes on the bank with the customary note pinned to them, forgiving the Duke, and hoping he would be happy ; re- vealed to the Duke, by means of the usual strawberry-mark on left arm, that he had married his own long-lost mother and destroyed his long-lost sister ; instituted the proper and necessary suicide of the Duke and the Duchess in order to compass poetical justice ; opened the earth and let the Rosicrucian through, accompanied with the accustomed smoke and thunder and smell of brimstone, and finished with the promise that in the next chapter, after holding a general inquest, he would take up the surviving charac- ter of the novel and tell what became of the devil ! It read with singular smoothness, and with a " dead " earnest- ness that was funny enough to suffocate a body. But there was war when it came in. The other novelists were furious. The mild stranger, not yet more than half sober, stood there, under a scathing fire of vituperation, meek and bewildered, looking from one to another of his assailants, and wondering what he could have done to invoke such a storm. When a lull came at last, he said his say gently and appealingly said he did not rightly re- member what he had written, but was sure he had tried to do the best he could, and knew his object had been to make the novel not only pleasant and plausible, but instructive, and The bombardment began again. The novelists assailed his ill-chosen adjectives and demolished them with a storm of denun- ciation and ridicule. And so the siege went on. Every time the stranger tried to appease the enemy he only made matters worse. Finally he offered to rewrite the chapter. This arrested hostilities. The indignation gradually quieted down, peace reigned again, and the sufferer retired in safety and got him to his own citadel. But on the way thither the evil angel tempted him and he got drunk again. And again his imagination went mad. He led the WRITING A NOVEL. 229 heroes and heroines a wilder dance than ever ; and yet all through it ran that same convincing air of honesty and earnestness that had marked his first work. He got the characters into the most extraordinary situations, put them through the most surprising performances, and made them talk the strangest talk ! But the chapter cannot be described. It was symmetrically crazy ; it was artistically absurd ; and it had explanatory foot-notes that were fully as curious as the text. I remember one of the " situations," and will offer it as an example of the whole. He altered the character of the brilliant lawyer, and made him a great-hearted, splendid fellow ; gave him fame and riches, and set his age at thirty-three years. Then he made the blonde discover, through the help of the Rosicrucian and the melodramatic miscreant, that while the Duke loved her money ardently and wanted it, he secretly felt a sort of leaning toward the society-young-lady. Stung to the quick, she tore her affections from him and bestowed them with tenfold power upon the lawyer, who responded with consum- ing zeal. But the parents would none of it What they wanted in the family was a Duke ; and a Duke they were determined to have ; though they confessed that next to the Duke the lawyer had their preference. Necessarily the blonde now went into a decline. The parents were alarmed. They pleaded with her to marry the Duke, but she steadfastly refused, and pined on. Then they laid a plan. They told her to wait a year and a day, and if at the end of that time she still felt that she could not marry the Duke, she might marry the lawyer with their full consent. The result was as they had foreseen : gladness came again, and the flush of returning health. Then the parents took the next step in their scheme. They had the family physician recommend a long sea voyage and much land travel for the thorough restoration of the blonde's strength; and they invited the Duke to be of the party. They judged that the Duke's constant presence and the lawyer's protracted absence would do the rest for they did not invite the lawyer. So they set sail in a steamer for America and the third day out, when their sea-sickness called truce and permitted them to take their first meal at the public table, behold there sat the lawyer ! The Duke and party made the best of an awkward 230 SELECTIONS OF AMERICAN HUMOUR. situation ; the voyage progressed, and the vessel neared America. But, by-and-by, two hundred miles off New Bedford, the ship took fire ; she burned to the water's edge ; of all her crew and passengers only thirty were saved. They floated about the sea half an afternoon and all night long. Among them were our friends. The lawyer, by superhuman exertions, had saved the blonde and her parents, swimming back and forth two hundred yards and bringing one each time (the girl first). The Duke had saved himself. In the morning two whale ships arrived on the scene and sent their boats. The weather was stormy and the em- barkation was attended with much confusion and excitement The lawyer did his duty like a man ; helped his exhausted and insensible blonde, her parents, and some others, into a boat (the Duke helped himself in) ; then a child fell overboard at the other end of the raft, and the lawyer rushed thither and helped half a dozen people fish it out, under the stimulus of its mother's screams. Then he ran back a few seconds too late the blonde's boat was under way. So he had to take the other boat, and go to the other ship. The storm increased and drove the vessels out of sight of each other drove them whither it would. When it calmed, at the end of three days, the blonde's ship was seven hundred miles north of Boston and the other about seven hundred south of that port. The blonde's captain was bound on a whaling cruise in the North Atlantic, and could not go back such a distance or make a port without orders; such being nautical law. The lawyer's captain was to cruise in the North Pacific, and he could not go back or make a port without orders. All the lawyer's money and baggage were in the blonde's boat and went to the blonde's ship so 1m "aptain made him work his passage as a com- mon sailor. When both ships had been cruising nearly a year, the one was off the coast of Greenland and the other in Behring's Strait The blonde had long ago been well-nigh persuaded that her lawyer had been washed overboard and lost just before the whale ships reached the raft, and now, under the pleadings of her parents and the Duke, she was at last beginning to nerve herself for the doom of the covenant, and prepare for the hated marriage. But she would not yield a day before the date set. The weeks dragged on, the time narrowed, orders were given to deck the ship WRITING A NOVEL. 231 for the wedding a wedding at sea among icebergs and walruses. Five days more and all would be over. So the blonde reflected, with a sigh and a tear. Oh, where was her true love and why, why did he not come and save her ? At that moment he was lift- ing his harpoon to strike a whale in Behring's Strait, five thousand miles away, by the way of the Arctic Ocean, or twenty thousand by the way of the Horn that was the reason. He struck, but not with perfect aim his foot slipped and he fell in the whale's mouth and went down his throat. He was insensible five days. Then he came to himself and heard voices ; daylight was streaming through a hole cut in the whale's roof. He climbed out and astonished the sailors who were hoisting blubber up a ship's side. He recog- nised the vessel, flew aboard, surprised the wedding party at the altar, and exclaimed : " Stop the proceedings I'm here ! Come to my arms, my own ! " There were foot-notes to this extravagant piece of literature wherein the author endeavoured to show that the whole thing was within the possibilities ; he said he got the incident of the whale travelling from Behring's Strait to the coast of Greenland, five thousand miles in five days, through the Arctic Ocean, from Charles Reade's " Love Me Little Love Me Long," and considered that that established the fact that the thing could be done ; and he instanced Jonah's adventure as proof that a man could live in a whale's belly, and added that if a preacher could stand it three days a lawyer could surely stand it five ! There was a fiercer storm than ever in the editorial sanctum now, and the stranger was peremptorily discharged, and his manu- script flung at his head. But he had already delayed things so much that there was not time for some one else to rewrite the chapter, and so the paper came out without any novel in it. It was but a feeble, struggling, stupid journal, and the absence of the novel probably shook public confidence ; at any rate, before the first side of the next issue went to press, the Weekly Occidental died as peacefully as an infant 23* SELECTIONS OF AMERICAN HUMOUR. THE AGED PILOT MAN. ON the Erie Canal, it was, All on a summer's day, I sailed forth with my parents Far away to Albany. From out the clouds at noe n that day There came a dreadful storm, That piled the billows high about, And filled us with alarm. A man came rushing from a house, Saying, " Snub up* your boat I pray 1 Snub up your boat, snub up, alas ! Snub up vhile yet you may." Our captain cast one glance astern, Then forward glanced he, And said, " My wife and little ones I never more shall see." Said Dollinger the pilot man, In noble words, but few " Fear not, but lean on Dollinger, And he will fetch you through." The boat drove on, the frightened mules Tore through the rain and wind, And bravely still in danger's post, The whip-boy strode behind. " Come 'board, come 'board," the captain cried, " Nor tempt so wild a storm ; " But still the raging mules advanced, And still the boy strode on. * The customary canal technicality for "tie up." THE AGED PILOT MAX. 233 Then said the captain to us all, " Alas, 'tis plain to me, The greater danger is not there, But here upon the sea. So let us strive, while life remains, To save all souls on board, And then if die at last we must, Let .... I cannot speak the word ! " Said Dollinger the pilot man, Tow'ring above the crew, " Fear not, but trust in Dollinger, And he will fetch you through." " Low bridge ! low bridge ! " all heads went down, The labouring bark sped on ; A mill we passed, we passed a church, Hamlets, and fields of corn ; And all the world came out to see, And chased along the shore, Crying, " Alas, alas, the sheeted rain, The wind, the tempest's roar ! Alas, the gallant ship and crew, Can nothing help them more ? " And from our deck sad eyes looked out Across the stormy scene : The tossing wake of billows aft, The bending forests green^ The chickens sheltered under carts, In lee of barn the cows, The skurrying swine with straw in mouth, The wild spray from our bows I 234 SELECTIONS OF AMERICAN HUMOUR. " She balances ? She wavers ! Now let her go about ! If she misses stays and broaches to We're all " [then with a shout,] " Huray ! huray ! Avast ! belay ! Take in more sail ! Lord, what a gale ! Ho, boy, haul taut on the hind mule's tail ! " " Ho ! lighten ship ? ho ! man the pump ! Ho, hostler, heave the lead ! " A quarter-three ! 'tis shoaling fast ! Three feet large ! t-h-r-e-e feet ! Three feet scant ! " I cried in fright, " Oh, is there no retreat ? " Said Dollinger the pilot man, As on the vessel flew, " Fear not, but trust in Dollinger, And he will fetch you through." A panic struck the bravest hearts, The boldest cheek turned pale ; For plain to all, this shoaling said A leak had burst the ditch's bed ! And, straight as bolt from crossbow sped, Our ship swept on, with shoaling lead, Before the fearful gale ! " Sever the tow-line ! Cripple the mules ! " Too late ! . . . . There comes a shock ! ******* Another length, and the fated craft Would have swum in the saving lock ! THE AGED PILOT MAN. 235 Then gathered together the shipwrecked crew And took one last embrace, While sorrowful tears from despairing eyes Ran down each hopeless face ; And some did think of their little ones Whom they never more might see, And others of waiting wives at home, And mothers that grieved would be. But of all the children of misery there On that poor sinking frame, But one spake words of hope and faith, And I worshipped as they came : Said Dollinger the pilot man (O brave heart strong and true ! ) " Fear not, but trust in Dollinger, For he will fetch you through." Lo ! scarce the words have passed his lips The dauntless prophet say'th, When every soul about him seeth A wonder crown his faith ! And count ye all, both great and small, As numbered with the dead ! For mariner for forty year, On Erie, boy and man, I never yet saw such a storm, Or one 't with it began ! So overboard a keg of nails And anvils three we threw, Likewise four bales of gunny-sacks, Two hundred pounds of glue, Two sacks of corn, four ditto wheat, A box of books, a cow, A violin, Lord Byron's works, A rip-saw and a sow. 236 SELECTIONS OF AMERICAN HUMOUR. A curve ! a curve ! the dangers grow ! " Labbord ! stabbord ! s-t-e-a-d-y 'so !- Hard-a.--port, Dol ! hellum-a-lee ! Haw the head mule ! the aft one gee ! Luff ! bring her to the wind ! " For straight a farmer brought a plank, (Mysteriously inspired) And laying it unto the ship, In silent awe retired. Then every sufferer stood amazed That pilot man before ; A moment stood. Then wondering turned, And speechless walked ashore. Dispatch iz taking time bi the ears. Hurry iz taking it bi the end ov the tail. The miser who heaps up gains tew gloat over iz like a hog in a pen fatted for a show. If you must chaw terbacker, young man, for Heaven's sake, chaw old plugg, it iz the nastyest. Without friends and without enemys iz the last reliable ackount we hav ov a stray dog. Men generally, when they whip a mule, sware ; the mule re- members the swareing, but forgits the licking. Sum folks wonder whare awl the lies cum from, but i don't, one good liar will pizen a whole country. Hunting after fame iz like hunting after fleas, hard tew ketch, and sure tew make yu uneazy if yu dew or don't ketch them. Menny people spend their time tricing tew find the hole whare sin got into this world if two men brake through the ice into a mill pond, they had better hunt for sum good hole tew git out, rather than git into a long argument about the hole they cum tew fall in. JOSH BILLINGS. YAWCOB STRAUSS. 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 of der house ; But vot off dot ? he vas mine son, Mine leedle Yawcob Strauss. He get der measles und der mumbs, Und eferyding dot's oudt ; He sbills mine glass of 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 gracious, dot vos drue ! I dinks mine hed was schplit abart, He kicks oup sooch a touse : But never mind ; der poys vas few Like dot young Yawcob Strauss. 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 ? 238 SELECTIONS OF AMERICAN HUMOUR. Und vhere der plaze goes vrom der lamp Vene'er der glim 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 vash asleep in ped, So guiet as a mouse, I prays der Lord, " Dake anyding, But leaf dot Yawcob Strauss." A HIGHLY-COLOURED ROMANCE. BEN GREEN was a New-Hampshire boy, Who stood full six feet two : A jovial chap this same Ben Green, Though he had oft been blue. He loved a girl named Olive Brown, Who lived near Bixby's pond, And who, despite her brunette name, Was a decided blonde. A pink of rare perfection she, The belle of all the town ; Though Ben oft wished her Olive Green, Instead of Olive Brown. And she loved Ben, and said that nought Should mar their joy serene ; And, when she changed from Olive Brown, Twould surely be to Green. A HIGHLY-COLOURED ROMANCE. 239 She kept her word in-violet, And vowed, ere she was wed, Although when Brown she had Be(e)n Green, When Green she'd be well read. But, ah ! her young affections changed To Gray, a Southern fellow ; And Green turned white the news to hear, Though first it made him yell, oh ! Says he, " How can you lilac this, When you vowed to be true ? I'll take your fine young lover, Gray, And beat him till he's blue." Then Olive Brown to crimson turned, And said, " Do as you say : The country long has wished to see 1 The Blue combined with Gray.' " Ben Green to purple turned with rage, And black his brow as night ; While on the cheek of Olive Brown The crimson changed to white. " O cruel Olive Brown ! " says Ben, " I've been dun-Brown by you : Let this ' Grayback ' his steps retrace, And take Greenback, oh, do ! " Poor Olive Brown, what could she say, To sea-Green look so sad ? And so she rose, and said to him, " I'll go and ask my dad." The years rolled by : Ben's raven locks For silver did not lack ; And Olive, with her hair of gold, Was glad she took Greenback. 240 SELECTIONS OF AMERICAN HUMOUR. TO BARY JADE. THE bood is beabig brighdly, love The sdars are shidig too ; While I ab gazig dreabily, Add thigkig, love, of you. You caddot, oh ! you caddot kdow My darlig, how I biss you (Oh, whadt a fearful cold I've got ! I'b sittig in the arbor, love, Where you sat by by side, Whed od that calb, autubdal dight You said you'd be by bride. Oh ! for wud bobedt to caress ; Add tederly to kiss you ; Budt do ! we're beddy biles apart (Ko-rash-o \ Ck-ck-/ft//-u !) This charbig evedig brigs to bide The tibe whed first we bet ; It seebs but odly yesterday ; I thig I see you yet. Oh ! tell be, ab I sdill your owd ? By hopes oh, do dot dash theb ! (Codfoud by cold, 'tis gettig worse Ck-//.r/j-u ! Ck-ck-thrash-eb !) Good-by, by darlig Bary Jade ! The bid-dight hour is dear j Add it is hardly wise, by love, For be to ligger here. The heavy dews are fallig fast : A fod good-dight I wish you. (Ho-rasA-o ! there it is agaid ! Ck-ck-//j/i-u !) [This is the nom deplume of Mr. A. W. Shaw, who has made it famous as that of the most philosophical of all the American humourists. His " Book of Sayings " was published in i86b, and he has printed several " Almanacks " since.] KONTENTMENT. KONTENTMENT is the gift ov God, as it kan be cultivated a little, but it is hard tew acquire. Kontentment is sed to be the same az happiness, this ackounts for the small amount ov happiness laying around loose, without enny owner. I don't beleave that man wai made tew be kontented, nor happy in this world, for if he had bin, he wouldn't hav hankered enuff for the other world. When a man gits perfektly kontented, he and a clam are fust couzins. Contentment is a kind ov moral laziness ; if thare want enny- thing but kontentment in this world, man wouldn't be any more of a suckcess than an angleworm iz. When a man gits so he don't want ennything more, he iz like a rackcoon with his intestines full ov green corn. Contentment iz one ov the instinkts, i admit it tew be happi- ness, but it iz kind ov spruce gum chawing happiness. We all find fault with Adam and Eve, for not being kontented, but if they had bin satisfied with the gardin "ov Eden, and them- selfs, they would hav been living thare now, the only two human beings on the face ov the arth, az innocent as a couple of vege- table oysters. They would hav bin two splendid specimens ov the handy work ov God, elegant portraits in the vestibule ov heaven, but they would not hav developed reazon, the only God-like attribute in man. When a man iz thoroly kontented, he iz either too lazy to want ennything, or too big a phool tew enjoy it I hav lived in naberhoods whare everyboddy seemed to be kon- tented, but if the itch had ever broke out in them naberhoods, the people would have skratched to this day. 242 SELECTIONS OF AMERICAN HUMOUR. I am in favor of all the vanitys, and petty ambishuns, all the jealousys and backbitings in the world, not bekauze i think they am hansome, but bekauze I think they stir up men, and wimmin, git them onto their muscle, cultivating their venom and reazon at the same time, and proving what a brilliant cuss man may be, at the same time that it proves what a miserable cuss he iz. I had rather see two wimmin pull hair, than tew see them set down, thoroughly satisfied with an aimless life, and never suffer eney excitement, greater than bleeding tears together, through their noze, for a parcel of shirtless heathen on the coast ov Madagaskar, or, once in a while, open their eyes, from a dream ov young hyson contentment tea, tew sarch the allmiknak, for the next change in the moon. Contentment, in this age of the world, either means death, or dekay ; in the days ov Abraham, contentment was simply ignorance. The world iz now full of laming, the arts, and sciences, and all the thousand appliances of reazon, these things make ignorance the exception, and no man haz a right tew cultivate contentment, enny more than he haz tew cut oph hiz thum, and set quietly down, and nuss the stub. Show me a thoroughly contented person, and i will show yu an useless one. What we want iz folks who won't be kontented, who kant be kontented, who git up in the morning, not simply to hav their bed made, but for the sake ov gitting tired ; not for the sake ov nourish- ing kontentment, but for the sake ov putting turpentine in sum ded place, and stiring up the animals. Contentment was born with Adam, and died when Adam ceased tew be an angel, and bekum a man. I don't say that a man couldn't be hatched out, and, like a young owl, set on a dri limb, awl hiz days, with hiz branes az fasst asleep az a mudturkles, and at last sneak into heaven, under the guize of kontentment, but i do say, that 10 generashuns ov sich men would run most of the human race into the ground, and leave the ballance az lifeless, and az base, as a currency made out ov puter ten cent pieces. I would like, jist az well az the next man, tew crawl into a hole, that jist fitted me, hed fust, and thus shutting out all MARRIAGE. 243 the light, be contented, for i know how awfully unsothening the aims and ambishuns ov life are, but this would only be burying mi few tallents, and sacrificing on the ded alter ov kontentment, what war given me to make a fire or a smudge with. Thare aint no sich thing as contentment and reazon existing together ; thoze who slip out ov the crowd, into sum alley, and pretend they are chawing the cud of sweet kontentment, the verry best specimens ov them, are no better than pin cushions, stuck full. They have jist az menny longings az ennybody, they have jist az menny vices, their virtews are too often simply a mixtur ov jealousy and cowardice. Contentment is not desighned, as a stiddy bizziness, for the sons ov man, while on this arth. A yeller dogg, with a tin kittle tew his tale, climbing a hill, at a three minit gate, iz a more reazonable spektacle for me than a slimy snail, contented and happy. MARRIAGE. MARRIAGE iz a fair transaction on the face ov it But thare iz quite too often put up jobs in it. It iz an old institushun, older than the pyramids, and az phull ov hyrogliphicks that noboddy kan parse. History holds its tounge who the pair waz who fust put on the silken harness, and promised tew work kind in it, thru thick and thin, up hill and down, and on the level, rain or shine, survive or perish, sink or swim, drown or flote. But whoever they waz they must hav made a good thing out ov it, or so menny ov their posterity would not hav harnessed up since and drov out Thare iz a grate moral grip in marriage ; it iz the mortar that holds the soshull bricks together. But there ain't but darn few pholks who put their money in matrimony who could set down and giv a good written opinyun whi on arth they cum to did it P 2 244 SELECTIONS OF AMERICAN HUMOUR. This iz a grate proof that it iz one ov them natral kind ov acksidents that must happen, jist az birds fly out ov the nest, when they hav feathers enuff, without being able tew tell why. Sum marry for buty, and never diskover their mistake ; this iz lucky. Sum marry for money, and don't see it. Sum marry for pedigree, and feel big for six months, and then very sensibly cum tew the conclusion that pedigree ain't no better than skimmilk. Sum marry tew pleze their relashuns, and are surprised tew learn that their relashuns don't care a cuss for them afterwards. Sum marry bekause they hav bin highsted sum whare else ; this iz a cross match, a bay and a sorrel; pride may make it endurable. Sum marry for love without a cent in their pocket, nor a friend in the world, nor a drop ov pedigree. This looks desperate, but it iz the strength ov the game. If marrying for love ain't a suckcess, then matrimony iz a ded beet. Sum marry bekauze they think wimmin will be skarse next year, and liv tew wonder how the crop holds out. Sum marry tew get rid ov themselfs, and diskover that the game waz one that two could play at, and neither win. Sum marry the seckond time to git even, and find it a gam- bling game, the more they put down, the less they take up. Sum marry tew be happy, and not finding it, wonder whare all the happiness on earth goes to when it dies. Sum marry, they kan't tell whi, and liv, they kan't tell how. Almoste every boddy gits married, and it iz a good joke. Sum marry in haste, and then set down and think it careful over. Sum think it over careful fust, and then set down and marry. Both ways are right, if they hit the mark. Sum marry rakes tew convert them. This iz a little risky, and takes a smart missionary to do it Sum marry coquetts. This iz like buying a poor farm, heavily mortgaged, and working the ballance ov yure days tew clear oph the mortgages. 3amesf THE UNHAPPY LOT OF MR. KNOTT. PART I. SHOWING HOW HE BUILT HIS HOUSE AND HIS WIFE MOVED INTO IT. MY worthy friend, A. Gordon Knott, From business snug withdrawn, Was much contented with a lot That would contain a Tudor cot Twixt twelve feet square of garden-plot, And twelve feet more of lawn. He had laid business on the shelf To give his taste expansion, And, since no man, retired with pelf, The building mania can shun, Knott, being middle-aged himself, Resolved to build (unhappy elf !) A mediaeval mansion. He called an architect in counsel ; " I want," said he, " a you know what (You are a builder, I am Knott), A thing complete from chimney-pot Down to the very groundsel ; Here 's a half-acre of good land ; Just have it nicely mapped and planned And make your workmen drive on ; Meadow there is, and upland too, And I should like a water-view, D' you think you could contrive one ? (Perhaps the pump and trough would do, If painted a judicious blue ?) The woodland I Ve attended to ; " 246 SELECTIONS OF AMERICAN HUMOUR. (He meant three pines stuck up askew, Two dead ones and a live one.) " A pocket-full of rocks 'twould take To build a house of free-stone, But then it is not hard to make What now-a-days is the stone ; The cunning painter in a trice Your house's outside petrifies, And people think it very gneiss Without inquiring deeper ; My money never shall be thrown Away on such a deal of stone, When stone of deal is cheaper." And so the greenest of antiques Was reared for Knott to dwell in ; The architect worked hard for weeks In venting all his private peaks Upon the roof, whose crop of leaks Had satisfied Fluellen ; Whatever anybody had Out of the common, good or bad, Knott had it all worked well in, A donjon-keep, where clothes might dry, A porter's lodge that was a sty, A campanile slim and high, Too small to hang a bell in ; All up and down and here and there, With Lord-knows-whats of round and square Stuck on at random everywhere, It was a house to make one stare, All corners and all gables ; Like dogs let loose upon a bear, Ten emulous styles staboyed with care, The whole among them seemed to tear ; And all the oddities to spare Were set upon the stables. Knott was delighted with a pile THE UNHAPPY LOT OF MR. KNOTT. 247 Approved by fashion's leaders ; (Only he made the builder smile, By asking every little while, Why that was called the Twodoor style, Which certainly had three doors ?) Yet better for this luckless man If he had put a downright ban Upon the thing in Itmine; For, though to quit affairs his plan, Ere many days, poor Knott began Perforce accepting draughts, that ran All ways except up chimney ; The house, though painted stone to mock, With nice white lines round every block, Some trepidation stood in, When tempests (with petrific shock, So to speak) made it really rock Though not a whit less wooden ; And painted stone, howe'er well done, Will not take in the prodigal sun Whose beams are never quite at one With our terrestrial lumber ; So the wood shrank around the knots, And gaped in disconcerting spots, And there were lots of dots and rots And crannies without number, Wherethrough, as you may well presume, The wind, like water through a flume, Came rushing in ecstatic, Leaving, in all three floors, no room That was not a rheumatic ; And, what with points and squares and rounds Grown shaky on their poises, The house at nights was full of pounds, Thumps, bumps, creaks, scratchings, raps till "Zounds!" Cried Knott, " this goes beyond all bounds. I do not deal in tongues and sounds, 248 SELECTIONS OF AMERICAN HUMOUR. Nor have I let my house and grounds To a family of Noyeses ! " But, though Knott's house was full of airs, He had but one a daughter ; And, as he owned much stocks and shares, Many who wished to render theirs Such vain, unsatisfying cares, And needed wives to sew their tears, In matrimony sought her ; They vowed her gold they wanted not, Their faith would never falter, They longed to tie this single Knott In the Hymenaeal halter ; So daily at the door they rang, Cards for the belle delivering, Or in the choir at her they sang, Achieving such a rapturous twang As set her nerves a shivering. Now Knott had quite made up his mind That Colonel Jones should have her ; No beauty he, but oft we find Sweet kernels 'neath a roughish rind, So hoped his Jenny 'd be resigned And make no more palaver ; Glanced at the fact that love was blind, That girls were ratherish inclined To pet their little crosses, Then nosologically defined The rate at which the system pined In those unfortunates who dined Upon that metaphoric kind Of dish their own proboscis. But she, with many tears and moans, Besought him not to mock her, Said 'twas too much for flesh and bones To marry mortgages and loans, THE UNHAPPY LOT OF MR. KNOTT. 249 That fathers' hearts were stocks and stones, And that she'd go, when Mrs. Jones, To Davy Jones's locker, Then gave her head a little toss That said as plain as ever was, If men are always at a loss Mere womankind to bridle To try the thing on woman cross, Were fifty times as idle ; For she a strict resolve had made And registered in private, That either she would die a maid, Or else be Mrs. Doctor Slade, If woman could contrive it, And, though the wedding-day was set, Jenny was more so, rather, Declaring, in a pretty pet, That, howsoe'er they spread their net, She would out-Jennyral them yet, The colonel and her father. Just at this time the Public's eyes Were keenly on the watch, a stir Beginning slowly to arise About those questions and replies, Those wraps that unwrapped mysteries So rapidly at Rochester, And Knott, already nervous grown By lying much awake alone, And listening, sometimes to a moan, And sometimes to a clatter, Whene'er the wind at night would rouse The gingerbread-work on his house, Or when some hasty-tempered mouse, Behind the plastering, made a towse About a family matter, Began to wonder if his wife, A paralytic half her life, 250 SELECTIONS OF AMERICAN HUMOUR. Which made it more surprising, Might not to rule him from her urn, Have taken a peripatetic turn For want of exorcising. This thought, once nestled in his head, Ere long contagious grew, and spread Infecting all his mind with dread Until at last he lay in bed And heard his wife, with well-known tread, Entering the kitchen through the shed, (Or was't his fancy, mocking ?) Opening the pantry, cutting bread, And then (she'd been some ten years dead/ Closets and drawers unlocking ; Or, in his room (his breath grew thick) He heard the long-familiar click Of slender needles flying quick, As if she knit a stocking ; For whom ? he prayed that years might flit With pains rheumatic shooting, Before those ghostly things she knit Upon his unfleshed sole might fit, He did not fancy it a bit, To stand upon that footing ; . At other times, his frightened hairs Above the bedclothes trusting, He heard her, full of household cares (No dream entrapped in supper's snares, The foal of horrible nightmares, But broad awake, as he declares), Go bustling up and down the stairs, Or setting back last evening's chairs, Or with the poker thrusting The raked-up sea-coal's hardened crust And what ! impossible ! it must ! He knew she had returned to dust, And yet could scarce his senses trust, THE UNHAPPY LOT OF MR. KNOTT. 251 Hearing her as she poked and fussed About the parlour, dusting ! Night after night he strove to sleep And take his ease in spite of it ; But still his flesh would chill and creep And, though two night-lamps he might keep, He could not so make light of it At last, quite desperate, he goes And tells his neighbours all his woes, Which did but their amount enhance ; They made such mockery of his fears That soon his days were of all jeers, His nights of the rueful countenance. " I thought most folks," one neighbour said, " Gave up the ghost when they were dead," Another gravely shook his head, Adding, " From all we hear, it's Quite plain poor Knott is going mad For how can he at once be sad And think he's full of spirits ? " A third declared he knew a knife Would cut this Knott much quicker, " The surest way to end all strife, And lay the spirit of a wife, Is just to take and lick her ! " A temperance man caught up the word, " Ah, yes," he groaned, " I've always heard Our poor friend somewhat slanted Tow'rd taking liquor over-much ; I fear these spirits may be Dutch (A sort of gins, or something such), With which his house is haunted ; I see the thing as clear as light If Knott would give up getting tight, Naught farther would be wanted : " So all his neighbours stood aloof And, that the spirits 'neath his roof 252 SELECTIONS OF AMERICAN HUMOUR. Were not entirely up to proof, Unanimously granted. Knott knew that cocks and sprites were foes, And so bought up, Heaven only knows How many, though he wanted crows To give ghosts caws, as I suppose, To think that day was breaking ; Moreover what he called his park He turned into a kind of ark For dogs, because a little bark Is a good tonic in the dark If one is given to waking ; But things went on from bad to worse, His curs were nothing but a curse, And, what was still more shocking, Foul ghosts of living fowl made scoff And would not think of going off In spite of all his cocking. Shanghais, Bucks counties, Dominiques, Malays (that didn't lay for weeks), Polanders, Bantams, Dorkings (Waiving the cost, no trifling ill, Since each brought in his little bill) By day or night were never still, But every thought of rest would kill With cacklings and with quorkings ; Henry the Eighth of wives got free By a way he had of axing ; But poor Knott's Tudor henery Was not so fortunate, and he Still found his trouble waxing ; As for the dogs, the rows they made, And how they howled, snarled, barked, and bayed, Beyond all human knowledge is ; All night as wide awake as gnats, The terriers rumpused after rats, Or, just for practice, taught their brats THE UNHAPPY LOT OF MR. KNOTT. 253 To worry cast-off shoes and hats, The bull-dogs settled private spats, All chased imaginary cats, Or raved behind the fence's slats At real ones, or, from their mats, With friends, miles off, held pleasant chats, Or, like some folks in white cravats, Contemptuous of sharps and flats, Sat up and sang dogsologies. Meanwhile the cats set up a squall, And safe upon the gar den- wall, All night kept cat-a-walling, As if the feline race were all, In one wild cataleptic sprawl, Into love's tortures falling. PART II. SHOWING WHAT IS MEANT BY A FLOW OF SPIRITS. At first the ghosts were somewhat shy, Coming when none but Knott was nigh, And people said 'twas all their eye (Or rather his), a flam, the sly Digestion's machination ; Some recommended a wet sheet, Some a nice broth of pounded peat, Some a cold flat-iron to the feet, Some a decoction of lamb's bleat, Some a southwesterly grain of wheat ; Meat was by some pronounced unmeet, Others thought fish most indiscreet, And that 'twas worse than all to eat Of vegetables, sour or sweet (Except, perhaps, the skin of beet), In such a concatenation : One quack his button gently plucks And murmurs " Biliary ducks ! " 254 SELECTIONS OF AMERICAN HUMOUR. Says Knott, " I never ate one ; " But all, though brimming full of wrath, Homoeo, Allo, Hydropath, Concurred in this that t'other's path To death's door was the straight one. Still, spite of medical advice, The ghosts came thicker, and a spice Of mischief grew apparent ; Nor did they only come at night, But seemed to fancy broad daylight, Till Knott, in horror and affright, His unoffending hair rent ; Whene'er with handkerchief on lap, He made his elbow-chair a trap, To catch an after-dinner nap, The spirits always on the tap, Would make a sudden rap, rap, rap, The half-spun cord of sleep to snap, (And what is life without its nap But threadbareness and mere mishap ?) As 'twere with a percussion cap The trouble's climax capping ; It seemed a party dried and grim Of mummies had come to visit him, Each getting off from every limb Its multitudinous wrapping ; Scratchings sometimes the walls ran round, The merest penny-weights of sound ; Sometimes 'twas only by the pound They carried on their dealing, A thumping 'neath the parlour floor, Thump-bump-thump-bumping o'er and o'er, As if the vegetables in store (Quiet and orderly before) Were altogether pealing ; You would have thought the thing was done By the spirit of some son of a gun, And that a forty-two pounder, THE UNHAPPY LOT OF MR. KNOTT. 255 Or that the ghost which made such sounds Could be none other than John Pounds, Of Ragged Schools the founder. Through three gradations of affright, The awful noises reached their height ; At first they knocked nocturnally, Then, for some reason, changing quite (As mourners after six months' flight, Turn suddenly from dark to light), Began to knock diurnally, And last, combining all their stocks (Scotland was ne'er so full of Knox) Into one Chaos (father of Nox), Node pluit they showered knocks, And knocked, knocked, knocked eternally ; Ever upon the go, like buoys (Wooden sea-urchins), all Knott's joys They turned to troubles and a noise That preyed on him internally. Soon they grew wider in their scope, Whenever Knott a door would ope, It would ope not, or else elope And fly back (curbless as a trope Once started down a stanza's slope By a bard that gave it too much rope) Like a clap of thunder slamming ; And when kind Jenny brought his hat (She always, when he walked, did that), Just as upon his head it sat, Submitting to his settling pat Some unseen hand would jam it flat, Or give it such a furious bat That eyes and nose went cramming Up out of sight, and consequently As when in life it paddled free, His beaver caused much damning ; 256 SELECTIONS OF AMERICAN HUMOUR. If these things seem o'erstrained to be, Read the account of Doctor Dee, 'Tis in our college library ; Read Wesley's circumstantial plea, And Mrs. Crowe, more like a bee, Sucking the nightshade's honeyed fee, And Selling's Pneumatology ; Consult Scott, Glanvil, grave Wie- rus, and both Mathers ; further, see Webster, Casaubon, James First's trea- tise, a right royal Q. E. D. Writ with the moon in perigee, Bodin de Demonomanie (Accent that last line gingerly) All full of learning as the sea Of fishes, and all disagree, Save in Sathanas apage ! Or, what will surely put a flea In unbelieving ears with glee Out of a paper (sent to me By some friend who forgot to P... A...Y..., I use cryptography Lest I his vengeful pen should dree HisP...O...S...T...A...G...E...) Things to the same effect I cut, About the tantrums of a ghost, Not more than three weeks since, at most, Near Stratford, in Connecticut. Knott's Upas daily spread its roots, Sent up on all sides livelier shoots, And bore more pestilential fruits ; The ghosts behaved like downright brutes, They snipped holes in his Sunday suits, Practised all night on octave flutes, Put peas (not peace) into his boots, Whereof grew corns in season, They scotched his sheets, and, what was worse, Stuck his silk night-cap full of burs, THE UNHAPPY LOT OF MR. KNOTT. 257 Till he, in language plain and terse (But much unlike a Bible-verse), Swore he should lose his reason. The tables took to spinning, too, Perpetual yarns, and arm-chairs grew To prophets and apostles ; One footstool vowed that only he Of law and gospel held the key, That teachers of whate'er degree To whom opinion bows the knee Weren't fit to teach Truth's a.b.c. And were (the whole lot) to a T Mere fogies all and fossils ; A teapoy, late the property Of Knox's Aunt Keziah (Whom Jenny most irreverently Had nicknamed her aunt-tipathy), With tips emphatic claimed to be The prophet Jeremiah ; The tins upon the kitchen-wall, Turned tinntinnabulators all, And things that used to come at call For simple household services, Began to hop and whirl and prance, Fit to put out of countenance The Commis and Grisettes of France Or Turkey's dancing Dervises. Of course such doings, far and wide, With rumours filled the country-side, And (as it is our nation's pride To think a Truth not verified Till with majorities allied) Parties sprung up, affirmed, denied, And candidates with questions plied, Who, like the circus-riders, tried 258 SELECTIONS OF AMERICAN HUMOUR. At once both hobbies to bestride, And each with his opponent vied In being inexplicit. Earnest inquirers multiplied ; Folks, whose tenth cousins lately died, Wrote letters long, and Knott replied ; All who could either walk or ride, Gathered to wonder or deride, And paid the house a visit ; Horses were at his pine-trees tied ; Mourners in every corner sighed, Widows brought children there that cried, Swarms of lean Seekers, eager-eyed (People Knott never could abide), Into each hole and cranny pried With strings of questions cut and dried From the Devout Inquirer's Guide, For the wise spirits to decide As, for example, is it True that the damned are fried or boiled ? Was the Earth's axis greased or oiled ? Who cleaned the moon when it was soiled ? How baldness might be cured or foiled ? How heal diseased potatoes ? Did spirits have the sense of smell ? Where would departed spinsters dwell ? If the late Zenas Smith were well ? If earth were solid or a shell ? Were spirits fond of Doctor Fell ? Did the bull toll Cock-Robin's knell ? What remedy would bugs expel ? If Paine's invention were a sell ? Did spirits by Webster's system spell ? Was it a sin to be a belle ? Did dancing sentence folks to hell ? If so, then where most torture fell- On little toes or great toes ? THE UNHAPPY LOT OF MR, KNOTT. 259 If life's true seat were in the brain ? Did Ensign mean to marry Jane ? By whom, in fact, was Morgan slain ? Could matter ever suffer pain ? What would take out a cherry-stain ? Who picked the pocket of Seth Crane, Of Waldo precinct, State of Maine ? Was Sir John Franklin sought in vain ? Did primitive Christians ever train ? What was the family-name of Cain ? Them spoons, were they by Betty ta'en ? Would earth-worm poultice cure a sprain ? Was Socrates so dreadful plain ? What teamster guided Charles's wain ? Was Uncle Ethan mad or sane, And could his will in force remain ? If not, what counsel to retain ? Did Le Sage steal Gil Bias from Spain ? Was Junius writ by Thomas Paine ? Were ducks discomforted by rain ? How did Britannia rule the main ? Was Jonas coming back again ? Was vital truth upon the wane ? Did ghosts, to scare folks, drag a chain ? Who was our Huldah's chosen swain ? Did none have teeth pulled without payin', Ere ether was invented ? Whether mankind would not agree, If the Universe were tuned in C ? What was it ailed Lucindy's knee ? Whether folks eat folks in Feejee ? Whether his name would end with T ? If Saturn's rings were two or three ? And what bump in Phrenology They truly represented ? These problems dark, wherein they groped Wherewith man's reason vainly coped, Now that the spirit-world was oped, Q 2 260 SELECTIONS OF AMERICAN HUMOUR. In all humility they hoped Would be resolved instanter ; Each of the miscellaneous rout Brought his, or her, own little doubt, And wished to pump the spirits out, Through his, or her, own private spout, Into his, or her, decanter. PART III. WHEREIN IT IS SHOWN THAT THE MOST ARDENT SPIRITS ARE MORE ORNAMENTAL THAN USEFUL. Many a speculating wight Came by express-trains, day and night, To see if Knott would " sell his right," Meaning to make the ghosts a sight What they called a " meenaygerie ; " One threatened, if he would not " trade," His run of custom to invade (He could not these sharp folks persuade That he was not, in some way, paid), And stamp him as a plagiary, By coming down, at one fell swoop, With THE ORIGINAL KNOCKING TROUPE Come recently from Hades, Who (for a quarter-dollar heard) Would ne'er rap out a hasty word Whence any blame might be incurred From the most fastidious ladies ; The late lamented Jesse Soule To stir the ghosts up with a pole And be director of the whole, Who was engaged the rather For the rare merits he'd combine Having been in the spirit line, THE UNHAPPY LOT OF MR. KNOTT. 2 6i Which trade he only did resign With general applause, to shine, Awful in mail of cotton fine, As ghost of Hamlet's father ! Another a fair plan reveals Never yet hit on, which, he feels, To Knott's religious sense appeals " We'll have your house set up on wheels A speculation pious ; For music, we can shortly find A barrel-organ that will grind Psalm tunes an instrument designed For the New England tour refined From secular drosses, and inclined To an unworldly turn (combined With no sectarian bias) ; Then, travelling by stages slow, Under the style of Knott & Co., I would accompany the show As moral lecturer, the foe Of Rationalism ; you could throw The rappings in, and make them go Strict Puritan principles, you know (How do you make 'em ? with your toe ?), And the receipts which thence might flow, We could divide between us ; Still more attractions to combine, Beside these services of mine, I will throw in a very fine (It would do nicely for a sign) Original Titian's Venus." Another offered handsome fees If Knott would get Demosthenes (Nay, his mere knuckles, for more ease), To rap a few short sentences ; Or if, for want of proper keys, His Greek might make confusion, Then just to get a rap from Burke, To recommend a little work On Public Elocution. Meanwhile, the spirits made replies To all the reverent whats and whys, Resolving doubts of every size, And giving seekers grave and wise, Who came to know their destinies, A rap-turous reception ; When unbelievers void of grace Came to investigate the place (Creatures of Sadducistic race, With grovelling intellects and base), They could not find the slightest trace To indicate deception ; Indeed, it is declared by some That spirits (of this sort) are glum, Almost, or wholly, deaf and dumb, And (out of self-respect) quite mum To sceptic natures cold and numb, Who of this kind of Kingdom Come Have not a just conception ; True, there were people who demurred That, though the raps no doubt were heard Both under them and o'er them, Yet, somehow, when a search they made, They found Miss Jenny sore afraid, Or Jenny's lover, Dr. Slade, Equally awe-struck and dismayed, Or Deborah, the chamber-maid, Whose terrors, not to be gainsaid, In laughs hysteric were displayed, Was always there before them ; This had its due effect with some Who straight departed, muttering Hum ! Transparent hoax ! and Gammon ! But these were few : believing souls Came, day by day, in larger shoals, THE UNHAPPY LOT OP MR. KNOTT. 263 As the ancients to the windy holes "Neath Delphi's tripod brought their doles, Or to the shrine of Ammon. The spirits seemed exceeding tame, Call whom you fancied, and he came ; The shades august of eldest fame You summoned with an awful ease ; As grosser spirits gurgled out From chair and table with a spout, In Auerbach's cellar once, to flout The senses of the rabble rout, Where'er the gimlet twirled about Of cunning Mephistopheles So did these spirits seem in store, Behind the wainscot or the door, Ready to thrill the being's core Of every enterprising bore With their astounding glamour ; Whatever ghost one wished to hear, By strange coincidence, was near To make the past or future clear (Sometimes in shocking grammar), By raps and taps, now there, now here It seemed as if the spirit queer Of some departed auctioneer Were doomed to practise by the year With the spirit of his hammer ; Whate'er you asked was answered, yet One could not very deeply get Into the obliging spirits' debt, Because they used the alphabet In all communications, And new revealings (though sublime) Rapped out, one letter at a time, With boggles, hesitations, Stoppings, beginnings o'er again, And getting matters into train, 264 SELECTIONS OF AMERICAN HUMOVR. Could hardly overload the brain With too excessive rations, Since just to ask if two and two Really make four ? or How d'ye do ? And get the fit replies thereto In the tramundane rat-tat-too, Might ask a whole day's patience. 'Twas strange ('mongst other things) to find In what odd sets the ghosts combined, Happy forthwith to thump any Piece of intelligence inspired, The truth whereof had been inquired By some one of the company ; For instance, Fielding, Mirabeau, Orator Henley, Cicero, Paley, John Zisca, Marivaux, Melancthon, Robertson, Junot, Scaliger, Chesterfield, Rousseau, Hakluyt, Boccaccio, South, De Foe, Diaz, Josephus, Richard Roe, Odin, Arminius, Charles le grcs, Tiresias, the late James Crow, Casabianca, Grose, Prideaux, Old Grimes, Young Norval, Swift, Brissot, Maimonides, the Chevalier D'O, Socrates, Fenelon, Job, Stow, The inventor of Elixir pro, Euripides, Spinoza, Poe, Confucius, Hiram Smith, and Fo, Came (as it seemed, somewhat de trap) With a disembodied Esquimaux, To say that it was so and so, With Franklin's expedition ; One testified to ice and snow, One that the mercury was low, One that his progress was quite slow, One that he much desired to go, THE UNHAPPY LOT OF MR. KNOTT. 265 One that the cook had frozen his toe (Dissented from by Dandolo, Wordsworth, Cynaegirus, Boileau, La Hontan, and Sir Thomas Roe), One saw twelve white bears in a row, One saw eleven and a crow, With other things we could not know (Of great statistic value, though) By our mere mortal vision. Sometimes the spirits made mistakes, And seemed to play at ducks and drakes With bold inquiry's heaviest stakes In science or in mystery ; They knew so little (and that wrong), Yet rapped it out so bold and strong, One would have said the entire throng Had been Professors of History ; What made it odder was, that those Who, you would naturally suppose, Could solve a question, if they chose, As easily as count their toes, Were just the ones that blundered ; One day, Ulysses happening down, A reader of Sir Thomas Browne And who (with him) had wondered What song it was the Sirens sang, Asked the shrewd Ithacan bang! bang! With this response the chamber rang, " I guess it was Old Hundred." And Franklin, being asked to name The reason why the lightning came, Replied, " Because it thundered." On one sole point the ghosts agreed, One fearful point, than which, indeed, Nothing could seem absurder ; 266 SELECTIONS OF AMERICAN HUMOUR. Poor Colonel Jones they all abused, And finally downright accused The poor old man of murder ; 'Twas thus ; by dreadful raps was shown Some spirit's longing to make known A bloody fact, which he alone Was privy to (such ghosts more prone In Earth's affairs to meddle are) ; Who are you? with awe-stricken looks, All ask : his airy knuckles he crooks, And raps, " I was Eliab Snooks, That used to be a peddler ; Some on ye still are on my books ! " Whereat, to inconspicuous looks (More fearing this than common spooks), Shrank each indebted meddler ; Further the vengeful ghost declared That while his earthly life was spared, About the country he had fared, A duly licensed follower Of that much-wandering trade that wins Slow profit from the sale of tins And various kinds of hollow- ware ; That Colonel Jones enticed him in, Pretending that he wanted tin, There slew him with a rolling-pin, Hid him in a potato-bin, And (the same night) him ferried Across Great Pond to t'other shore, And there, on land of Widow Moore, Just where you turn to Larkin's store, Under a rock him buried ; Some friends (who happened to be by) He called upon to testify That what he said was not a lie, And that he did not stir this Foul matter, out of any spite But from a simple love of right ; THE UNHAPPY LOT OF MR. KNOTT. 267 Which statements the Nine Worthies, Rabbi Akiba, Charlemagne, Seth, Colley Gibber, General Wayne, Cambyses, Tasso, Tubal-Cain, The owner of a castle in Spain, Jehanghire, and the Widow of Nain (The friends aforesaid), made more plain And by loud raps attested ; To the same purport testified Plato, John Wilkes, and Colonel Pride, Who knew said Snooks, before he died, Had in his wares invested, Thought him entitled to belief, And freely could concur, in brief, In every thing the rest did. Eliab this occasion seized (Distinctly here the spirit sneezed) To say that he should ne'er be eased Till Jenny married whom she pleased, Free from all checks and urgin's (This spirit dropt his final g's), And that, unless Knott quickly sees This done, the spirits to appease,. They would come back his life to tease, As thick as mites in ancient cheese, And let his house on an endless lease To the ghosts (terrific rappers these And veritable Eumenides) Of the Eleven Thousand Virgins ! Knott was perplexed, and shook his head, He did not wish his child to wed With a suspected murderer (For, true or false, the rumour spread), But as for this roiled life he led, " It would not answer," so he said, " To have it go no furderer," 268 SELECTIONS OF AMERICAN HUMOUR. At last, scarce knowing what it meant, Reluctantly he gave consent That Jenny, since 'twas evident That she would follow her own bent, Should make her own election ; For that appeared the only way These frightful noises to allay Which had already turned him grey And plunged him in dejection. Accordingly, this artless maid Her father's ordinance obeyed, And, all in whitest crape arrayed (Miss Pulsifer the dresses made, And wishes here the fact displayed That she still carries on the trade, The third door south from Bagg's Arcade), A very faint "I do " essayed And gave her hand to Hiram Slade, From which time forth the ghosts were laid, And ne'er gave trouble after ; But the Selectmen, be it known, Dug underneath the aforesaid stone Where the poor peddler's corpse was thrown, And found thereunder a jaw-bone, Though when the crowner sat thereon, He nothing hatched, except alone Successive broods of laughter; It was a frail and dingy thing, In which a grinder or two did cling, In colour like molasses, Which surgeons called from far and wide, Upon the horror to decide, Having put on their glasses, Reported thus " To judge by looks These bones, by some queer hooks or crooks May have belonged to Mr. Snooks, But, as men deepest-read in books THE UNHAPPY LOT OF MR. KNOTT. 269 Are perfectly aware, bones, If buried fifty years or so, Lose their identity and grow From human bones to bare bones." Still, if to Jaalam you go down, You '11 find two parties in the town, One headed by Benaiah Brown, And one by Perez Tinkham ; The first believe the ghosts all through And vow that they shall never rue The happy chance by which they knew That people in Jupiter are blue, And very fond of Irish stew, Two curious facts which Prince Lee Boo Rapped clearly to a chosen few Whereas the others think 'em A trick got up by Doctor Slade With Deborah the chamber-maid, And that sly cretur Jenny, That all the revelations wise, At which the Brownites made big eyes, Might have been given by Jared Keyes, A natural fool and ninny, And, last week, didn't Eliab Snooks Come back with never better looks As sharp as new-bought mackerel hooks And bright as a new pin, eh ? Good Parson Wilbur, too, avers (Though to be mixed in parish stirs Is worse than handling chestnut-burs) That no case to his mind occuia Where spirits ever did converse Save in a kind of guttural Erse (So say the best authorities) ; And that a charge by raps conveyed, Should be most scrupulously weighed And searched into, before it is 270 SELECTIONS OF AMERICAN HUMOUR. Made public, since it may give pain That cannot soon be cured again, And one word may infix a stain Which ten cannot gloss over, Though speaking for his private part He is rejoiced with all his heart Miss Knott missed not her lover. CORN COBS. Going tew law, iz like skinning a new milch cow for the hide, and giving the meat tew the lawyers. Death, tew most ov us, iz a kind ov "farewell benefit," " positively our last appearance." Phools are quite often like hornets, very bizzy, but about what, the Lord only knows. Living on Hope, iz like living on wind, a good way tew git phull, but a poor way tew git phatt. Jealousy don't pay, the best it kan do, iz tew diskover what we don't want tew find, nor don't expekt to. Sekrets are a mortgage on friendships. I don't think a bad man iz az dandgerous az a weak one I don't think that a bile that haz cum tew a hed, iz az risky as a hidden one, that may cum tew a dozzen heds. A vivid imaganashun iz like sum glasses, makes things at a distance look twice az big az they am, and cluss to, twice as small az they am. Hope iz a draft on futurity, sumtimes honored, but generally extended. If the world dispizes a hypokrit, what must they think ov him in Heaven. Flattery iz like Colone water, tew be smelt ov, not swallowed. JOSH BILLINGS. Jftarfe Ctoafm "PUNCH, BROTHERS, PUNCH." WILL the reader please to cast his eye over the following verses, and see if he can discover anything harmful in them ? " Conductor, when you receive a fare, Punch in the presence of the passenjare. A blue trip slip for an eight-cent fare, A buff trip slip for a six-cent fare, A pink trip slip for a three-cent fare ; Punch in the presence of the passenjare ! CHORUS. Punch, brothers ! punch with care ! Punch in the presence of the passenjare ! " I came across these jingling rhymes in a newspaper a little while ago, and read them a couple of times. They took instant and entire possession of me. All through breakfast they went waltzing through my brain; and when, at last, I rolled up my napkin, I could not tell whether I had eaten anything or not. I had carefully laid out my day's work the day before a thrilling tragedy in the novel which I am writing. I went to my den to begin my deed of blood. I took up my pen, but all I could get it to say was, " Punch in the presence of the passenjare." I fought hard for an hour, but it was useless. My head kept humming, " A blue trip slip for an eight-cent fare, a buff trip slip for a six-cent fare," and so on and so on, without peace or respite. The day's work was ruined I could see that plainly enough. I gave up, and drifted down town, and presently discovered that my feet were keeping time to that relentless jingle. When I could stand it no longer I altered my step. But it did no good; those rhymes accommodated themselves to the new step, and went on harassing me just as before. I returned home, and suffered all the after- noon ; suffered all through an unconscious and unrefreshing din- ner ; suffered, and cried, and jingled all through the evening ; 272 SELECTIONS OF AMERICAN HUMOUR. went to bed, and rolled, tossed, and jingled right along, the same as ever ; got up at midnight, frantic, and tried to read ; but there was nothing visible upon the whirling page except " Punch ! punch in the presence of the passenjare." By sunrise I was out of my mind, and everybody marvelled and was distressed at the idiotic burden of my ravings " Punch ! oh, punch ! punch in the pre- sence of the passenjare I ' Two days later, on Saturday morning, I arose, a tottering wreck, and went forth to fulfil an engagement with a valued friend, the Rev. Mr. , to walk to the Talcott Tower, ten miles distant He stared at me, but asked no questions. We started. Mr. talked, talked, talked as is his wont. I said nothing ; I heard nothing. At the end of a mile, Mr. said " Mark, are you sick ? I never saw a man look so haggard and worn and absent-minded. Say something ; do ! " Drearily, without enthusiasm, I said : " Punch, brothers, punch with care ! Punch in the presence of the passenjare ! " My friend eyed me blankly, looked perplexed, then said " I do not think I get your drift, Mark. There does not seem to be any relevancy in what you have said, certainly nothing sad ; and yet may-be it was the way you said the words I never heard anything that sounded so pathetic. What is " But I heard no more. I was already far away with my pitiless, heart-breaking " blue trip slip for an eight-cent fare, buff trip slip for a six-cent fare, pink trip slip for a three-cent fare ; punch in the presence of the passenjare." I do not know what occurred during the other nine miles. However, all of a sudden Mr. laid his hand on my shoulder, and shouted " Oh, wake up ! wake up ! wake up ! Don't sleep all day ! Here we are at the Tower, man ! I have talked myself deaf and dumb and blind, and never got a response. Just look at this magnificent autumn landscape ! Look at it ! look at it ! Feast your eyes on it ! You have travelled ; you have seen boasted land- scapes elsewhere. Come, now, deliver an honest opinion. What do you say to this ? " I sighed wearily, and murmured " A buff trip slip for a six-cent fare, a pink trip slip for a three- cent fare ; punch in the presence of the passenjare." BROTHERS, PUNCH." 273 Rev. Mr. stood there, very grave, full of concern, appa- rently, and looked long at me ; then he said " Mark, there is something about this that I cannot understand. Those are about the same words you said before ; there does not seem to be anything in them, and yet they nearly break my heart when you say them. Punch in the how is it they go?" I began at the beginning, and repeated all the lines. My friend's face lighted with interest. He said " Why, what a captivating jingle it is ! It is almost music. It flows along so nicely ! I have nearly caught the rhymes myself. Say them over just once more, and then I'll have them, sure." I said them over. Then Mr. said them. He made one little mistake, which I corrected. The next time, and the next time, he got them right. Now a great burden seemed to tumble from my shoulders. That torturing jingle departed out of my brain, and a grateful sense of rest and peace descended upon me. I was light-hearted enough to sing ; and I did sing for half an hour, straight along, as we went jogging homeward. Then my freed tongue blessed speech again, and the pent talk of many a weary hour began to gush and flow. It flowed on and on, joy- ously, jubilantly, until the fountain was empty and dry. As I wrung my friend's hand at parting, I said " Haven't we had a royal good time ! But now I remember, you haven't said a word for two hours. Come, come, out with something ! " The Rev. Mr. turned a lack-lustre eye upon me, drew a deep sigh, and said, without animation, without apparent conscious- ness " Punch, brothers, punch with care ! Punch in the presence of the passenjare ! " A pang shot through me as I said to myself, " Poor fellow, poor fellow ! he has got it now." I did not see Mr. for two or three days after that. Then, on Tuesday evening, he staggered into my presence, and sank dejectedly into a seat. He was pale, worn ; he was a wreck. He lifted his faded eyes to my face, and said " Ah, Mark, it was a ruinous investment that I made in those heartless rhymes. They have ridden me like a nightmare, day and R 274 SELECTIONS OF AMERICAN HUMOUR. night, hour after hour, to this very moment. Since I saw you I have suffered the torments of the lost. Saturday evening I had a sudden call, by telegraph, and took the night train for Boston. The occasion was the death of a valued old friend, who had requested that I should preach his funeral sermon. I took my seat in the cars, and set myself to framing the discourse. But I never got beyond the opening paragraph ; for then the train started and the car-wheels began their " clack, clack clack-clack-clack ! clack, clack clack-clack-clack ! " and right away those odious rhymes fitted themselves to. that accompaniment. For an hour I sat there, and set a syllable of those rhymes to every separate and distinct clack the car-wheels made. Why, I was as fagged out, then, as if I had been chopping wood all day ! My skull was splitting with headache. It seemed to me that I must go mad if I sat there any longer; so I undressed and went to bed. I stretched myself out in my berth, and well, you know what the result was. The thing went right along, just the same. 'Clack-clack-clack, a blue trip slip, clack-clack-clack, for an eight-cent fare ; clack- clack-clack, a buff trip slip, clack-clack-clack, for a six-cent fare, and so on, and so on, and so on -punch, in the presence of the passenjare ! ' Sleep ? Not a single wink ! I was almost a lunatic when I got to Boston. Don't ask me about the funeral. I did the best I could, but every solemn individual sentence was meshed and tangled and woven in and out with ' Punch, brothers, punch with care, punch in the presence of the passenjare.' And the most distressing thing was that my delivery dropped into the undulating rhythm of those pulsing rhymes, and I could actually catch absent-minded people nodding time to the swing of it with their stupid heads. And, Mark, you may believe it or not, but before I got through, the entire assemblage were placidly bobbing their heads in solemn unison, mourners, undertaker, and all. The moment I had finished, I fled to the ante-room in a state bordering on frenzy. Of course it would be my luck to find a sorrowing and aged maiden aunt of the deceased there, who had arrived from Springfield too late to get into the church. She began to sob, and said " ' Oh, oh, he is gone, he is gone, and I didn't see him before he died!' "Putrcff, BROTHERS, PUNCH" 275 " ' Yes ! ' I said, ' he is gone, he is gone, he is gone on, wil this suffering never cease ! ' " ' You loved him, then ! Oh, you, too, loved him ! ' " ' Loved him ! Loved who ? ' " ' Why, my poor George ! my poor nephew ! ' " ' Oh him ! Yes oh, yes, yes. Certainly certainly. Punch punch oh, this misery will kill me ! ' " ' Bless you ! bless you, sir, for these sweet words ! I, too, suffer in this dear loss. Were you present during his last moments ? ' " ' Yes ! I whose last moments ? ' " ' His. The dear departed's.' "'Yes! Oh, yes yes yes! I suppose so, I think so, / don't know. Oh, certainly I was there / was there ! ' " ' Oh, what a privilege ! what a precious privilege ! And his last words oh, tell me, tell me his last words ! What did he say?' " ' He said he said oh, my head, my head, my head ! He said he said he never said anything but Punch, punch, punch in the presence of the passenjare ! Oh, leave me, madam ! In the name of all that is generous, leave me to my madness, my misery, my despair ! a buff trip slip for a six-cent fare, a pink trip slip for a three-cent fare endurance can no fur-ther go ! PUNCH in the presence of the passenjare ! ' " My friend's hopeless eyes rested upon mine a pregnant minute, and then he said, impressively " Mark, you do not say anything. You do not offer me any hope. But, ah me, it is just as well it is just as well. You could not do me any good. The time has long gone by when words could comfort me. Something tells me that my tongue is doomed to wag for ever to the jigger of that remorseless jingle. There there it is coming on me again : a blue trip slip for an eight-cent fare, a buff trip slip for a " Thus murmuring fainter and fainter, my friend sank into a peaceful trance and forgot his sufferings in a blessed respite. Why did I write this article ? It was for a worthy, even a noble purpose. It was to warn you, reader, if you should come across those merciless rhymes, to avoid them avoid them as you would a pestilence ! K 2 SOLLUM THOUGHTS. THE fear ov God iz the philosophy ov religion ; the love ov God iz the charity of religion. Hope iz a hen that lays more eggs than she kan hatch out. Better leave yure child virtew than money ; but this iz a sekret known only to a few. I honestly beleave it iz better tew know nothing than tew know what ain't so. About the hardest work a phellow kan do iz tew spark two galls at once, and preserve a good average. Prudery iz one ov virtews bastards. A nickname will outlive enny man or thing ; it iz like the crook in a dogg's taile, you may cut it oph, and throw it behind the barn, but the crook iz thare yet, and the stump iz the epitaph. If yu analize what most men kail plezzure, yu will find it com- pozed ov one part humbugg, and two parts pain. When yu haint got nothing tew do, do it at once ; this iz the way to learn to be bizzy. We hav bin told that the best way to overkum misfortunes iz tew fight with them I have tried both ways, and recommend a successful dodge. The art ov becomeing ov importance in the eyes ov others, iz not tew overrate ourself, but tew cauze them tew do it. The true way to understand the judgments ov heaven is to submit to them. Method iz everything, espeshily tew ordinary men ; the few men who kan lift a ton, at plessure, hav a divine right tew take holt ov it tew a disadvantage. The mind ov man iz like a piece ov land that, tew be useful, must be manured with learning, ploughed with energy, sown with virtew, and harvested with ekonemy. Whare religion iz a trade, morality iz a merchandize. Conversashun should be enlivened with wit, not compozed ov it LOBSTIR SALLAD. 277 LOBSTIR SALLAD. A SLANDER iz like a hornet, if yu kant kill it dead the fust bio, yu better not strike at it. Politeness iz a shrewd way folks haz ov flattering themselfs. I make this distinkshun between charakter and reputashun, reputashun iz what the world thinks ov us, charakter iz what the world knows ov us. What a ridikilus farce it iz to be continually on the hunt for peace and quiet. No man ever yet increased hiz reputashun bi contradikting lies. Anxiety alwus steps on itself. Silence, like darkness, iz generally safe. Thare iz only two things that i kno ov that a man wont brag ov, one iz lieing, and tuther iz jealousy. It takes branes tew make a smart man, but good luck often makes a famous one. The less a man knows, the more he will guess at ; and guessing iz nothing more than suspicion. After all there don't seem tew be but this diffrence between the wize men and the phools ; the wize men are all fuss and sum feathers, while the phools are all fuss and no feathers. Opinyuns are like other vegetables, worth just what they will fetch. I think most men had rather be charged with malice than with making a blunder. Love cuts up all sorts ov monkey shines, it makes a fool sober and a wise man frisky. I don't beleave in total depravity, every man haz sumthing in him to show that God made him. I suppoze that one reazon whi the " road to ruin " iz broad, iz tew accomadate the grate amount ov travel in that direkshun. I think i had rather hear a man brag about himself, than tew hear him brag all the time ov some one else for i think i like vanity a leetle better than i do sickofansy. 3$ret fearte, HER LETTER. I 'M sitting alone by the fire, Dressed just as I came from the dance, In a robe even you would admire, It cost a cool thousand in France ; I'm be-diamonded out of all reason, My hair is done up in a cue : In short, sir, '* the belle of the season " Is wasting an hour on you. A dozen engagements I've broken ; I left in the midst of a set ; Likewise a proposal, half spoken, That waits on the stairs for me yet. They say he '11 be rich, when he grows up And then he adores me indeed. And you, sir, are turning your nose up, Three thousand miles off as you read. " And how do I like my position ? " " And what do I think of New York ? " " And now, in my higher ambition, With whom do I waltz, flirt, or talk ? " " And isn't it nice to have riches, And diamonds, and silks, and all that ? " " And aren't it a change to the ditches And tunnels of Poverty Flat ? " Well, yes, if you saw us out driving Each day in the park, four-in-hand, If you saw poor dear mamma contriving To look supernaturally grand, If you saw papa's picture, as taken By Brady, and tinted at that, HER LETTER. 279 You 'd never suspect he sold bacon And flour at Poverty Flat. And yet, just this moment, when sitting In the glare of the grand chandelier, In the bustle and glitter befitting The "finest soiree of the year," In the mists of a gaze de Chamb'ery, And the hum of the smallest of talk, Somehow, Joe, I thought of the " Ferry," And the dance that we had on " The Fork ; " Of Harrison's barn, with its muster Of flags festooned over the wall ; Of the candles that shed their soft lustre And tallow on head-dress and shawl ; Of the steps that we took to one fiddle ; Of the dress of my queer vis-cl-vis; And how I once went down the middle With the man that shot Sandy McGee ; Of the moon that was quietly sleeping On the hill, when the time came to go, Of the few baby peaks that were peeping From under their bedclothes of snow ; Of that ride, that to me was the rarest ; Of the something you said at the gate : Ah, Joe ! then I wasn't an heiress To " the best-paying lead in the State." Well, well, it's all past ; yet it 's funny To think, as I stood in the glare Of fashion and beauty and money, That I should be thinking, right there, Of some one who breasted high water, And swam the North Fork, and all that, Just to dance with old Folinsbee's daughter. The Lily of Poverty Flat ? 280 SELECTIONS OF AMERICAN HUMOUR. But goodness ! what nonsense I'm writing ! (Mamma says my taste still is low,) Instead of my triumphs reciting, I'm spooning on Joseph, heigh-ho ! And I 'm to be " finished " by travel, Whatever 's the meaning of that, Oh ! why did papa strike pay gravel In drifting on Poverty Flat ? Good-night, here 's the end of my paper ; Good-night, if the longitude please For may-be, while wasting my taper, Your sun 's climbing over the trees. But know, if you haven't got riches, And are poor, dearest Joe, and all that, That my heart 's somewhere there in the ditches, And you've struck it, on Poverty Flat. HIS ANSWER TO "HER LETTER." REPORTED BY TRUTHFUL JAMES. BEING asked by an intimate party, Which the same I would term as a friend, Which his health it were vain to call hearty, Since the mind to deceit it might lend ; For his arm it was broken quite recent, And has something gone wrong with his lung, Which it is why it is proper and decent I should write what he runs off his tongue : First, he says, Miss, he's read through your letter To the end, and the end came too soon ; That a slight illness kept him your debtor (Which for weeks he was wild as a loon) ; That his spirits are buoyant as yours is ; That with you, Miss, he challenges Fate His ANSWER TO "HER LETTER" 281 (Which the language that invalid uses At times it were vain to relate). And he says that the mountains are fairer, For once being held in your thought ; That each rock holds a wealth that is rarer Than ever by gold-seeker sought (Which are words he would put in these pages, By a party not given to guile ; Which the same not, at date, paying wages, Might produce in the sinful a smile). He remembers the ball at the Ferry, And the ride, and the gate, and the vow, And the rose that you gave him, that very Same rose he is treasuring now (Which his blanket he 's kicked on his trunk, Miss, And insists on his legs being free ; And his language to me from his bunk, Miss, Is frequent and painful and free) ; He hopes you are wearing no willows, But are happy and gay all the while ; That he knows (which this dodging of pillows Imparts but small ease to the style, And the same you will pardon), he knows, Miss, That though parted by many a mile, Yet were he lying under the snows, Miss, They 'd melt into tears at your smile. And you '11 still think of him in your pleasures, In your brief twilight dreams of the past ; In this green laurel-spray that he treasures, It was plucked where your parting was last ; In this specimen, but a small trifle, It will do for a pin for your shawl (Which the truth not to wickedly stifle Was his last week's " clean up," and his all) 282 SELECTIONS OF AMERICAN HUMOUR. He 's asleep, which the same might seem strange. Miss, Were it not that I scorn to deny That I raised his last dose, for a change, Miss, In view that his fever was high ; But he lies there quite peaceful and pensive. And now, my respects, Miss, to you ; Which my language, although comprehensive, Might seem to be freedom, it 's true. Which I have a small favour to ask you, As concerns a bull-pup, which the same, If the duty would not overtask you, . You would please to procure for me, game; And send per express to the Flat, Miss, Which they say York is famed for the breed, Which though words of deceit may be that, Miss, I'll trust to your taste, Miss, indeed. P.S. Which this same interfering Into other folk's way I despise ; Yet if it so be I was hearing That it 's just empty pockets as lies Betwixt you and Joseph, it follers, That, having no family claims, Here 's my pile ; which it's six hundred dollars, As is yours, with respects, TRUTHFUL JAMES. A HUMBUG iz like a bladder, good for nothing till it is blowed up, and then ain't good for nothing after it iz pricked. A bigg noze iz sed tew be a sighn ov genius if a man's genius lays in hiz noze, i should say the sign waz a good one. Vanity iz seldom malishous. A woman (like an echo), will hav the last word. When a man is squandering hiz estate, even those who are getting it call him a phool. Men mourn for what they hav lost wimmin for what they hain't got. JOSH BILLINGS. THE GHOST-PLAYER. A BALLAD. TOM GOODWIN was an actor man, Old Drury's pride and boast In all the light and sprite-ly parts, Especially the Ghost Now Tom was very fond of drink, Of almost every sort, Comparative and positive, From porter up to port. But grog, like grief, is fatal stuff For any man to sup ; For, when it fails to pull him down, It's sure to blow him up. And so it fared with ghostly Tom, Who day by day was seen A-swelling, till (as lawyers say) He fairly lost his lean. At length the manager observed He'd better leave his post, And said, he played the very deuce Whene'er he played the Ghost. Twas only 'tother night he saw A fellow swing his hat, And heard him cry, " By all the gods 1 The Ghost is getting fat 1 " 284 SELECTIONS OF AMERICAN HUMOUR. 'T would never do, the case was plain ; His eyes he couldn't shut ; Ghosts shouldn't make the people laugh, And Tom was quite a butt. Tom's actor friends said ne'er a word To cheer his drooping heart ; Though more than one was burning up With zeal to " take his part." Tom argued very plausibly ; He said he didn't doubt That Hamlet's father drank, and grew, In years, a little stout. And so, 'twas natural, he said, And quite a proper plan, To have his spirit represent A portly sort of man. 'Twas all in vain ; the manager Said he was not in sport, And, like a general, bade poor Tom Surrender up \i\sforte. He'd do perhaps in heavy parts ; Might answer for a monk, Or porter to the elephant, To carry round his trunk ; But in the ghost his day was past He'd never do for that ; A Ghost might just as well be dead As plethoric and fat ! Alas ! next day poor Tom was found As stiff as any post For he had lost his character, And given up the Ghost ! Harriet Beerfjer [Mrs. Stowe was born in 1812, and achieved her fame by " Uncle Tom's Cabin, ' which ap- peared in a magazine in 1850. The sale of this work was enormous, and its influence on the slavery question was indisputable. Mrs. Stowe has written many other works, amongst the best of which is the one from which the following extract is taken.] THE MINISTER'S WOOING. "WAL, the upshot on 't was, they fussed and fuzzled and wuzzled till they'd drinked up all the tea in the teapot ; and then they went down and called on the parson, and wuzzled him all up talkin' about this, that, and t'other that wanted lookin' to, and that it was no way to leave everything to a young chit like Huldy, and that he ought to be lookin' about for an experienced woman. The parson he thanked 'em kindly, and said he believed their motives was good, but he didn't go no further. He didn't ask Mis' Pipperidge to come and stay there and help him, nor nothin' o' that kind ; but he said he'd attend to matters himself. The fact was, the parson had got such a likin' for havin' Huldy 'round, that he couldn't think o' such a thing as swappin' her off for the Widder Pipperidge. " But he thought to himself, ' Huldy is a good girl ; but I oughtn't to be a leavin' everything to her it's too hard on her. I ought to be instructin' and guidin' and helpin' of her ; 'cause 'tain't everybody could be expected to know and do what Mis' Carryl did ; ' and so at it he went ; and Lordy massy ! didn't Huldy hev a time on 't when the minister began to come out of his study, and wanted to tew 'round and see to things? Huldy, you see, thought all the world of the minister, and she was 'most afraid to laugh ; but she told me she couldn't, for the life of her, help it when his back was turned, for he wuzzled things up in the most singular way. But Huldy, she'd jest say ' Yes, sir,' and get him off into his study, and go on her own way. " ' Huldy,' says the minister one day, ' you ain't experienced out doors ; and, when you want to know anything, you must come to me. 286 SMLKTIOWS OF AMERICAN- HUMOUR. " ' Yes, sir,' says Huldy. " ' Now, Huldy,' says the parson, 'you must be sure to save the turkey eggs, so that we can have a lot of turkeys for Thanks- giving.' " ' Yes, sir,' says Huldy ; and she opened the pantry-door, and showed him a nice dishful she'd been a savin' up. Wai, the very next day the parson's hen-turkey was found killed up to old Jim Scroggs's barn. Folks said Scroggs killed it ; though Scroggs, he stood to it he didn't ; at any rate, the Scroggses, they made a meal on't, and Huldy, she felt bad about it 'cause she'd set her heart on raisin' the turkeys ; and says she, ' Oh, dear ! I don't know what I shall do. I was just ready to set her.' " ' Do, Huldy ? ' says the parson : ' why, there's the other turkey, out there by the door; and a fine bird, too, he is.' " Sure enough, there was the old torn-turkey a struttin' and a sidlin', and a quitterin', and a floutin' his tail-feathers in the sun, like a lively young widower, all ready to begin life over again. " ' But,' says Huldy, ' you know he can't set on eggs.' " ' He can't ? I'd like to know why,' says the parson. ' He shall set on eggs, and hatch 'em too.' " ' O doctor ! ' says Huldy, all in a tremble ; 'cause, you know, she didn't want to contradict the minister, and she was afraid she should laugh ' I never heard that a torn-turkey would set on eggs.' "'Why, they ought to,' said the parson, getting quite 'arnest- ' what else be they good for ? you just bring out the eggs, now, and put 'em in the nest, and I'll make him set on 'em.' " So Huldy, she thought there wern't no way to convince him but to let him try ; so she took the eggs out, and fixed 'em all nice in the nest ; and then she come back and found old Tom a skirmishin' with the parson pretty lively, I tell ye. Ye see, old Tom, he didn't take the idee at all ; and he flopped and gobbled, and fit the parson ; and the parson's wig got 'round so that his cue stuck straight out over his ear, but he'd got his blood up. Ye see, the old doctor was used to carryin' his p'ints o' doctrine ; and he hadn't fit the Arminians and Socinians to be beat by a torn- turkey; and finally he made a dive and ketched him by the neck in spite o' his floppin', and stroked him down, and put Huldy's apron 'round him. THE MINISTER'S WOOING. 287 " ' There, Huldy,' he says, quite red in the face, ' we've got him now ; ' and he travelled off to the barn with him as lively as a cricket. " Huldy came behind, jist chokin' with laugh, and afraid the minister would look 'round and see her. " ' Now, Huldy, we'll crook his legs, and set him down,' says the parson, when they got him to the nest : ' you see he is getting quiet, and he'll set there all right.' " And the parson, he sot him down ; and old Tom, he sot there solemn enough, and held his head down all droopin', as long as the parson sot by him. " ' There : you see how still he sets,' says the parson to Huldy. " Huldy was 'most dyin' for fear she should laugh. ' I'm afraid he'll get up,' says she, ' when you do.' " ' Oh no he won't ! ' says the parson, quite confident. ' There, there,' says he, layin' his hands on him as if pronouncin' a blessin'. But when the parson riz up, old Tom, he riz up too, and began to march over the eggs. " ' Stop, now ! ' says the parson. ' I'll make him get down agin : hand me that corn-basket ; we'll put that over him.' " So he crooked old Tom's legs, and got him down agin ; and they put the corn-basket over him, and then they both stood and waited. " ' That'll do the thing, Huldy,' said the parson. " ' I don't know about it,' says Huldy. " ' Oh, yes, it will, child ! I understand,' says he. "Just as he spoke, the basket riz right up and stood, and they could see old Tom's long legs. " ' I'll make him stay down,' says the parson. " ' You jist hold him a minute, and I'll get something that'll make him stay, I guess ; ' and out he went to the fence, and brought in a long, thin, flat stone, and laid it on old Tom's back. " ' Oh, my eggs ! ' says Huldy. ' I'm afraid he's smashed 'em ! ' " And sure enough, there they was, smashed flat enough under the stone. " ' I'll have him killed,' said the parson, ' we won't have such a critter 'round.' 288 SELECTIONS OF AMERICAN HUMOUR. " Wai, next week Huldy, she jist borrowed the minister's horse and side-saddle, and rode over to South Parish to her Aunt Bascome's, Widder Bascome's, you know, that lives there by the trout-brook, and got a lot o' turkey-eggs o' her, and come back and set a hen on 'em, and said nothin' ; and in good time there was as nice a lot o' turkey-chicks as ever ye see. "Huldy never said a word to the minister about his experi- ment, and he never said a word to her ; but he sort o' kep' more to his books, and didn't take it on him to advise so much. " But not long arter he took it into his head that Huldy ought to have a pig to be a fattin' with the buttermilk. Mis' Pipperidge set him up to it ; and jist then old Tim Bigelow, out to Juniper Hill, told him if he'd call over he'd give him a little pig- " So he sent for a man, and told him to build a pig-pen right out by the well, and have it all ready when he came home with his pig. " Huldy said she wished he might put a curb round the well out there, because in the dark, sometimes, a body might stumble into it ; and the parson he told him he might do that. " Wai, old Aikin, the carpenter, he didn't come till 'most the middle of the arternoon ; and then he sort o' idled, so that he didn't get up the well-curb till sundown ; and then he went off and said he'd come and do the pig-pen next day. " Wai, arter dark, Parson Carryl, he driv into the yard, full chizel, with his pig. " 'There, Huldy, I've got you a nice little pig.' " ' Dear me ! ' says Huldy, ' where have you put him ? ' " ' Why, out there in the pig-pen, to be sure.' " ' Oh dear me ! ' says Huldy : ' that's the well-curb ; there ain't no pig-pen built,' says she. " ' Lordy massy ! ' says the parson : ' then I've thrown the pig in the well ! ' " Wai, Huldy, she worked and worked, and finally she fished piggy out in the bucket, but he was dead as a door-nail ; and she got him out o' the way quietly, and didn't say much; and the parson he took to a great Hebrew book in his study. "Arter that the parson set sich store by Huldy that he come THE MINISTER'S WOOING. 289 to her and asked her about everything, and it was amazin' how everything she put her hand to prospered. Huldy planted mari- golds and larkspurs, pinks and carnations, all up and down the path to the front door, and trained up mornin' glories and scarlet runners round the windows. And she was always gettin' a root here, and a sprig there, and a seed from somebody else : for Huldy was one o' them that has the gift, so that ef you jist give 'em the leastest sprig of anything they make a great bush out of it right away ; so that in six months Huldy had roses and gera- niums and lilies, sich as it would a took a gardener to raise. " Huldy was so sort o' chipper and fair spoken, that she got the hired men all under her thumb : they come to her and took her orders jist as meek as so many calves ; and she traded at the store, and kep' the accounts, and she hed her eyes everywhere, and tied up all the ends so tight that there wa'n't no gettin' 'round her. She wouldn't let nobody put nothin' off on Parson Carryl 'cause he was a minister. Huldy was allers up to anybody that wanted to make a hard bargain ; and, afore he knew jist what he was about, she'd got the best end of it, and everybody said that Huldy was the most capable girl they ever traded with. " Wai, come to the meetin* of the Association, Mis' Deakin Blodgett and Mis' Pipperidge come callin' up to the parson's all in a stew, and offerin' their services to get the house ready ; but the doctor, he jist thanked 'em quite quiet, and turned 'em over to Huldy ; and Huldy she told 'em that she'd got everything ready, and showed 'em her pantries, and her cakes, and her pies, and her puddin's, and took 'em all over the house ; and they went peekin' and pokin', openin' cupboard-doors, and lookin' into drawers; and they couldn't find so much as a thread out o' the way, from garret to cellar, and so they went off quite discontented. Arter that the women set a new trouble a brewin'. They begun to talk that it was a year now since Mb' Carryl died; and it r*ally wasn't proper such a young gal to be staying there, who every- body could see was a settin* her cap for the minister. " Mis' Pipperidge said, that so long as she looked on Huldy as the hired gal, she hadn't thought much about it ; but Huldy was railly takin' on airs as an equal, and appearin' as mistress o' the house in a way that would make talk if it went on. And s 290 SELECTTONS OF AMERICAN HUMOUR. Mis' Pipperidge she driv' 'round up to Deakin Abner Snow's, and down to Mis' 'Lijah Perry's, and asked them if they wasn't afraid that the way the parson and Huldy was a goin" on might make talk. And they said they hadn't thought on't before, but now, come to think on't, they was sure it would ; and they all went and talked with somebody else, and asked them if they didn't think it would make talk. So come Sunday, between meetin's there warn't nothin' else talked about; and Huldy saw folks a noddin' and a winkin', and a lookin' arter her, and she begun to feel drefful sort o' disagreeable. Finally Mis' Sawin she says to her, 'My dear, didn't you never think folk would talk about you and the minister ? ' " ' No : why should they ? ' says Huldy, quite innocent. "'Wai, dear,' says she, 'I think it's a shame; but they say you're tryin' to catch him, and that it's so bold and improper for you to be courtin' of him right in his own house, you know folks will talk, I thought I'd tell you 'cause I think so much of you,' says she. " Huldy was a gal of spirit, and she despised the talk, but it made her drefful uncomfortable ; and when she got home at night she sat down in the mornin'-glory porch, quite quiet, and didn't sing a word. " The minister he had heard the same thing from one of his deakins that day ; and when he saw Huldy so kind o' silent, he says to her, ' Why don't you sing, my child ? ' " He hed a pleasant sort o' way with him, the minister had, and Huldy had got to likin' to be with him ; and it all come over her that perhaps she ought to go away ; and her throat kind o' filled up so she couldn't hardly speak ; and, says she, ' I can't sing to-night' " Says he, ' You don't know how much good your singin' has done me, nor how much good you have done me in all ways, Huldy. I wish I knew how to show my gratitude.' " ' O sir ! ' says Huldy, ' is it improper for me to be here ? ' " ' No, dear,' says the minister, ' but ill-natured folks will talk ; but there is one way we can stop it, Huldy if you'll marry me. You'll make make me very happy, and I'll do all I can to make you happy. Will you ? ' MAXIMS. 291 " Wai, Huldy never told me just what she said to the minister ; gals never does give you the particulars of them 'are things jist as you'd like 'em only I know the upshot, and the hull on't was, that Huldy she did a consid'able lot o' clear starchin' and ironin' the next two days; and the Friday o' next week the minister and she rode over together to Dr. Lothrop's in Oldtown; and the doctor, he jist made 'em man and wife." MAXIMS. I JUDGE ov a man's virtew entirely bi his pashions it iz a grate deal eazier tew be a good dove, than a decent sarpent. Thare are menny ways to find out how brave and how honest a man may be, but thare aint no way to find out the extent ov hiz vanity. A lie iz like a cat, it never cums to yu in a straight line. Natur iz a kind mother. She couldn't well afford to make us perfekt, and so she made us blind to our failings. Studdy the heart if yu want to learn human natur ; there ain't no human natur in a man's head. Friendship iz simply the gallantry of self interest Beware ov the man with half-shut eyes he ain't dreaming. Experience makes more timid men than it duz wise ones. Advice iz a drug in the market ; the supply alwus exceeds the demand. One ov the safest and most successful tallents I kno ov iz to be a good listener. Fools are the whet-stones ov society. Better make a weak man your enemy than your friend. Curiosity iz the instinct ov wisdom. Thoze who becufn disgusted, and withdraw from the world, musn't forgit one thing, that the world will forgit them, a long time before they will forgit the world. JOSH BILLINGS. s 2 THE MUSIC GRINDERS. THERE are three ways in which men take One's money from his purse, And very hard it is to tell Which of the three is worse ; But all of them are bad enough To make a body curse. You're riding out some pleasant day, And counting up your gains ; A fellow jumps from out a bush, And takes your horse's reins. Another hints some words about A bullet in your brains. It's hard to meet such pressing friends In such a lonely spot ; It's very hard to lose your cash, But harder to be shot : And so you take your wallet out, Though you would rather not Perhaps you're going out to dine, Some odious creature begs You'll hear about the cannon-ball That carried off his pegs, And says it is a dreadful thing For men to lose their legs. He tells you of his starving wife, His children to be fed, Poor little, lovely innocents All clamorous for bread, THE Music GRINDERS. 293 And so you kindly help to put A bachelor to bed You're sitting on your window-seat, Beneath a cloudless moon ; You hear a sound that seems to wear The semblance of a tune, As if a broken fife should strive To drown a cracked bassoon. And nearer, nearer still, the tide Of music seems to come, There's something like a human voice, And something like a drum ; You sit in speechless agony, Until your ear is numb. Poor " home, sweet home " should seem to be A very dismal place ; Your " auld acquaintance " all at once Is altered in the face ; Their discords sting through Burns and Moore, Like hedgehogs dressed in lace. You think they are crusaders, sent From some infernal clime, To pluck the eyes of Sentiment, And dock the tail of Rhyme, To crack the voice of Melody, And break the legs of Time. But hark ! the air again is still, The music all is ground, And silence, like a poultice, comes To heal the blows of sound ; It cannot be, it is, it is, A hat is going round ! 294 SELECTIONS OP AMERICAN HUMOUR. No ! pay the dentist when he leaves \ A fracture in your jaw, And pay the owner of the bear That stunned you with his paw, And buy the lobster that has had Your knuckles in his claw ; But if you are a portly man, Put on your fiercest frown, And talk about a constable To turn them out of town ; Then close your sentence with an oath, And shut the window down ! And if you are a slender man, Not big enough for that, Or, if you cannot make a speech, Because you are a flat, Go very quietly and drop A button in the hat ! THE DEMON OF THE STUDY. THE Brownie sits in the Scotchman's room, And eats his meat and drinks his ale, And beats the maid with her unused broom, And the lazy lout with his idle flail ; But he sweeps the floor and threshes the corn, And hies him away before the break of dawn. The shade of Denmark fled from the sun, And the Cock-lane ghost from the barn-loft cheer, The fiend of Faust was a faithful one, Agrippa's demon wrought in fear, And the devil of Martin Luther sat By the stout monk's side in social chat THE DEMON OF THE STUDY. 295 The Old Man of the Sea, on the neck of him Who seven times crossed the deep, Twined closely each lean and withered limb, Like the nightmare in one's sleep. But he drank of the wine, and Sinbad cast The evil weight from his back at last. But the demon that cometh day by day To my quiet room and fireside nook, Where the casement light falls dim and grey On faded painting and ancient book, Is a sorrier one than any whose names Are chronicled well by good king James. No bearer of burdens like Caliban, No runner of errands like Ariel, He comes in the shape of a fat old man, Without rap of knuckle or pull of bell ; And whence he comes, or whither he goes, I know as I do of the wind which blows. A stout old man with a greasy hat Slouched heavily down to his dark red nose, And two grey eyes enveloped in fat, Looking through glasses with iron bows. Read ye, and heed ye, and ye who can Guard well your doors from that old man ! He comes with a careless " How d'ye do ? " And seats himself in my elbow-chair ; And my morning paper and pamphlet new Fall forthwith under his special care ; And he wipes his glasses and clears his throat, And, button by button, unfolds his coat And then he reads from paper and book, In a low and husky asthmatic tone, With the stolid sameness of posture and look Of one who reads to himself alone ; 296 SELECTIONS OF AMERICAN HUMOUR. And hour after hour on my senses come That husky wheeze and that dolorous hum. The price of stocks, the auction sales, The poet's song and the lover's glee, The horrible murders, the seaboard gales, The marriage list, and ihej'eu d 'esprit ', All reach my ear in the selfsame tone, I shudder at each, but the fiend reads on ! Oh, sweet as the lapse of water at noon, O'er the mossy roots of some forest tree, The sigh of the wind in the woods of June, Or sound of flutes o'er a moonlight sea, Or the low soft music, perchance, which seems To float through the slumbering singer's dreams, So sweet, so dear, is the silvery tone Of her in whose features I sometimes look, As I sit at eve by her side alone, And we read by turns from the selfsame book, Some tale perhaps of the olden time, Some lover's romance or quaint old rhyme. Then when the story is one of woe, Some prisoner's plaint through his dungeon-bar, Her blue eye glistens with tears, and low Her voice sinks down like a moan afar ; And I seem to hear that prisoner's wail, And his face looks on me worn and pale. And, when she reads some merrier song, Her voice is glad as an April bird's ; And, when the tale is of war and wrong, A trumpet's summons is in her words, And the rush of the hosts I seem to hear, And see the tossing of plume and spear ! Oh pity me then, when, day by day, The stout fiend darkens my parlour door ; THE DEMON OF THE STUDY. 297 And reads me perchance the selfsame lay Which melted in music, the night before, From lips as the lips of Hylas sweet, And move like twin roses which zephyrs meet ! I cross my floor with a nervous tread, I whistle and laugh and sing and shout, I flourish my cane above his head, And stir up the fire to roast him out ; I topple the chairs, and drum on the pane, And press my hands on my ears, in vain ! I've studied Glanville and James the wise, And wizard black-letter tomes which treat Of demons of every name and size Which a Christian man is presumed to meet, But never a hint and never a line Can I find of a reading fiend like mine. I've crossed the Psalter with Brady and Tate, And laid the Primer above them all, I've nailed a horseshoe over the grate, And hung a wig to my parlour wall, Once worn by a learned Judge, they say, At Salem court in the witchcraft day. " Conjuro /