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 BOOKS BY JAMES M. BAILEY 
 
 England from a Back Window 
 
 Cloth, ^1.00. Paper, 60 cents 
 
 Life in Danbury, Illustrated 
 
 Cloth, $1.00. Paper, 50 cents 
 
 Mr. Phillip's Goneness 
 
 Cloth, $1.00. Paper, 50 cents 
 
 The Danbury Boom, Illustrated 
 
 Cloth, $1.00. Paper, 50 cents 
 
 They All Do It, Illustrated 
 
 Cloth, $1.00. Paper, 50 cents 
 
 LEE AND SHEPARD, Publishers 
 BOSTON
 
 THE 
 
 DANBURY BOOlVr 
 
 8Hitb a JuU '^tmxnt of 
 MRS. COBLEIGH'S ACTION THEREIN ( 
 
 TOGBTHER WITH 
 
 MANY OTHER INTERESTING PHASES IN THE SOCIAL 
 
 AND DOxMESTIC HISTORY OF THAT 
 
 REMARKABLE VILLAGE 
 
 BY 
 
 JAMES M. BAILEY 
 
 "Thb Danbury-Ne*s Man " 
 
 BOSTON 
 LEE AND SHEPARD, PUBLISHERS
 
 Copyright. 3880. 
 
 3Y LEE AND SHEPARDt 
 
 AU rigtits reserved.
 
 A PRELIMINARY FLOURISH. 
 
 The chief (and perhaps the only) advantage of a 
 preface is that an author can talk therein pretty much 
 as he pleases, as there is no one to hear him. Should 
 prefaces ever be read, then they will lose their delightful 
 charm of seclusion, and become so much like the rest 
 of the volume as to be either dropped altogether or 
 incorporated with the body of the work. 
 
 Imagining myself, therercre, alone at the back of the 
 house, I proceed to exoress in oerfect freedom the belief 
 that whatever may be the literary merit of this, my third 
 volume of sketches, it is a deal better than the second, 
 as that was also a deal better than the first. I said as 
 much of the second book when it was published, and 
 the public confirmed the verdict in a most gratifying 
 manner. 
 
 I would bespeak for Mrs. Cobleigh the mantle of 
 charity, if I was sure of being heard, or of her willing- 
 ness to don so unfashionable a garment. An excellent 
 woman at heart is Mrs. Cobleigh, although she may 
 perhaps be too closely confined to her sphere. Possibly 
 this fault is so rare as to be almost a virtue.
 
 6 A PRELIMINARY FLOURISH. 
 
 I cannot forbear to utter a word of advice, although 
 abundantly aware nobody will hear it. There is no 
 plot to this book, and consequently there is no earthly 
 need of hastening through its pages to see how things 
 are going to turn out. Take plenty of time to read it. 
 Go through it leisurely, and get the full benefit of the 
 moral. But don't attempt to take in the whole of it at 
 once ; don't dash headlong at it. It is not a free lunch. 
 
 Having thus eased my mind, I now put on my coat 
 and go around to the front to show you in. 
 Yours sincerely, 
 
 The Author.
 
 MRS. COBLEIGH'S BOOM. 
 
 THE COMING UPRISING. 
 
 There was an active desire for reform in Dan- 
 bury at this time. The entire community ran rife 
 with it. It is a little remarkable, come to look 
 back to the period, that there was sufficient parti- 
 san material in all Danbury to keep either of the 
 two great political parties in an organized condi- 
 tion. But that there was a great deal more than 
 enough for the purpose, was evident from the vio- 
 lent throes the community passed through in the 
 effort then made to shake off party yoke. The 
 party in power had a ring established. The party 
 out of power had a ring to establish. These facts 
 were formidable enough to alarm a less balanced 
 borough than that of Danbury, and to array the 
 best of all citizenship in opposition thereto. 
 
 First, there was a low murmur of dissatisfac- 
 tion, and then followed open expressions of indig- 
 nation. These were carefully noted by the Hon. 
 Mr. Guhll, who was a strong party man, and con- 
 sequently a discerner of the times. The Hon. Mr,
 
 8 MRS. COB LEIGH'S BOOM. 
 
 Guhll was a member of the organization which we 
 shall speak of as the " Outs," to distinguish them 
 from the party then in power, who were the " Ins." 
 He had served the party in the legislature as well 
 as in minor positions of trust. He was a large 
 man, with an impressive chest and a face of flabby 
 frankness. He wore several rings, and a white 
 vest when the season permitted. The rings he 
 wore through all weathers. With the alertness of 
 vision born of the years he had watched the polit- 
 ical vane, he detected "the popular movement" 
 the moment of its inception. He saw that the 
 feeling, while it aimed more particularly against 
 the Ins, threatened the entire political machine as 
 well. He mingled with the masses as became a 
 man of large heart and comprehensive views of 
 the government's necessities. Politics had been 
 his life, his hope, and his solace, and as such he 
 knew the public pulse and the public needs as 
 only a lifelong politician can know them. 
 
 The Hon. Mr. Guhll, making himself assured 
 that the uprising was genuine and deep-seated, 
 and not a superficial spasm, gave his full atten- 
 tion to it, and, naturally enough, gave his unquali- 
 fied support to its objects. There was not a more 
 enthusiastic reformer in all Danbury than was the 
 Hon. Mr. Guhll. If there was, it must have been 
 Mr. Cobleigh. But there was this difference 
 between the two. Mr. Cobleigh lacked the expe- 
 rience that had made the Hon. Mr. Guhll almost 
 perfect in the selection and application of the
 
 MI^S. COBLEIGH'S BOOM. 9 
 
 proper remedies for the disease of the community 
 politic. 
 
 Mr. Cobleigh worked in a large factory where a 
 great many men were employed. He was a good 
 workman, an inoffensive companion, a sympathiz- 
 ing friend, and an opponent of fraud. He was 
 well liked in the factory. He was among the 
 first to hear the mutterings of discontent, and 
 although not a man of political interests, still con- 
 cerned himself in the welfare of his borough. He 
 heard the men all about him talking of the dread- 
 ful corruption in office, and of the equally dread- 
 ful corruption ready to be sprung upon the village 
 should the other party get in, and Mr. Cobleigh 
 felt that his devoted borough was in imminent 
 danger of being swept from the face of the earth. 
 He brooded over this matter considerably, and 
 expressed himself in the factory freely. The 
 result was that his fellow-workmen got to looking 
 up to him as one who saw the danger, and was 
 prepared to battle against it. In other words, 
 Mr. Cobleigh became a sort of leader, and yet 
 without any effort on his own part, and with no 
 self-consciousness of the fact. Thus does the 
 emergency gravitate to the remedy. 
 
 The Hon. Mr. Guhll was not long in finding 
 Mr. Cobleigh. It was natural that the two should 
 instinctively draw together. The Hon. Mr. Guhll 
 must have had more instinct than Mr. Cobleigh 
 possessed. That was apparent enough. 
 
 It is useless to deny that Mr. Cobleigh was
 
 lO MRS. COBLEIGH'S BOOM. 
 
 pleased with the attentions thus bestowed upon 
 him. The Hon. Mr. Guhll was a man of wealth 
 and position, and his friendship, even his society, 
 were not to be ignored. His years of experience, 
 to say nothing of his natural grasp of situations, 
 eminently fitted him to deal with the problem 
 that now confronted Danbury. 
 
 This was in April. The next election for 
 borough officers was to take place the following 
 month. 
 
 n. 
 
 STARTING THE UPRISING. 
 
 In The News, of April 20, appeared the fol- 
 lowing advertisement : — 
 
 RALLY FOR REFORM. 
 In view of the unblushing effrontery of the party in 
 power, of the unmitigated fraud practised iti the adminis- 
 tration of the borough affairs, whereby the honest tax-payer 
 is robbed of his hard-ear7ied subsistence, it is deemed neces- 
 sary that there should be a spontatieous outburst of the 
 people in behalf of an immediate and radical reform. 
 
 To this end a public meetifig of all those interested in a 
 pure and upright government is called at the Opera House, 
 on next Saturday afternoon, at two o'clock, to devise meatts 
 and measures to stay the tide of official corruption now 
 threatening to ingulf our fair village. 
 By order of 
 
 Committee of Citizens.
 
 MRS. COBLEIGH'S BOOM. II 
 
 This call for the " spontaneous outburst of the 
 people" of Danbury was drawn up by the Hon. 
 Mr. Guhll. He had had experience in such mat- 
 ters, and could do it much better than could any 
 other reformer, and so it naturally fell to his lot- 
 It was submitted to the inspection of Mr. Cobleigh 
 before being put in print, the honorable author 
 suggesting that perhaps it could be improved in 
 numerous aspects, — a suggestion that was re- 
 ceived, by Mr. Cobleigh with an inward thrill of 
 horror, and caused him to color as high up as his 
 hair would permit to be seen. With all haste he 
 protested that the document was as perfect as if 
 inspired, and so coincided his fellow-workmen 
 engaged in reform, while they rejoiced that the 
 cause so dear to them had so influential and able 
 a help as the Hon. Mr. Guhll. 
 
 The honorable gentleman certainly showed no 
 lack of enthusiasm. He took everything upon his 
 own shoulders, and shirked no responsibility in 
 the organization of the opposition to the party 
 in power. And no less busy, fortunately, were 
 others of long experience in political matters, and 
 it was equally fortunate that they were of the 
 same party as the Hon. Mr. Guhll, because of the 
 advantage harmony brings. Of these, three were 
 especially prominent, these being Mr. Gagg, Mr. 
 D'Coy, and Mr. Stoohl, three gentlemen who were 
 blessed with an abundance of leisure, if not of 
 means. Mr. Gagg was a red-faced party, with 
 bristling side-whiskers, and bristling hair on the
 
 12 MRS. COBLEIGH'S BOOM. 
 
 top of his head, and a nose that was as suggestive 
 of bristling as a nose can be. Mr. D'Coy was the 
 opposite of Mr. Gagg. There was nothing of a 
 bristling cast to any of his features. He was a 
 man of repose, with an unctuous air that was quite 
 taking. To see Mr. D'Coy draw his left hand 
 along his chin-whisker was worth going some dis- 
 tance, he did it with an air of such intense satis- 
 faction. At the table or the bar this act showed 
 conspicuously, and made everybody in sight envy 
 Mr. D'Coy the enjoyment of his food and drink, 
 while it encouraged them to eat and drink more, 
 in the hope to reach the same degree of pleasure. 
 Mr. Stoohl was a soft-spoken man, of so little 
 appearance anyway as not to be noticeable, cer- 
 tainly not to be cared about, unless he was work- 
 ing in your interests, when he became in a certain 
 degree attractive. 
 
 III. 
 
 MR. COBLEIGH BECOMES A STANDARD-BEARER. 
 
 It was proposed to put a reform ticket in the 
 field, — a ticket that would command the support 
 of every lover of good government, — and it was 
 further proposed to place the name of Mr. Cob- 
 leigh thereon as one of the Burgess. This propo- 
 sition was made to Mr. Cobleigh by the Hon. Mr. 
 Guhll, and was opposed by him with the liveliest
 
 MRS. COBLEIGH'S BOOM. 13 
 
 emotions of a threatened modesty. He blushed 
 all over at the suggestion. The Hon. Mr. Guhll 
 was determined, however, that his name should be 
 used. He said it was a duty he owed to his fellow- 
 citizens and the interests of reform. He went so 
 far as to consult with some of the men in Mr. Cob- 
 leigh's factory, and they were, of course, heartily 
 in favor of it. In fact they had already set their 
 mind upon it, and would have strenuously insisted 
 on the nomination, even if it had not been pro- 
 posed by the Hon. Mr. Guhll. 
 
 So it was fortunate, indeed, that the honorable 
 gentleman happened to hit on one for the ticket 
 who was so popular with the honest sons of toil. 
 
 The result was that Mr. Cobleigh consented to 
 be a standard-bearer, if the uprising of the masses 
 in the Opera House should see fit to select him 
 for that important position. There could be no 
 reasonable doubt of this, and he began to con- 
 sider himself in the important and pleasing 
 light of a candidate. His gratification at this 
 mark of favor could not be denied. It had not 
 been sought, it had not even been expected. 
 There had been times when way down in his 
 heart he felt a desire to figure in the councils of 
 his town. It was a hidden-away ambition, des- 
 tined, he had firmly believed, to perish without 
 fruition. But, now that something definite had 
 taken shape, it rose up with a volume and force 
 that took in his entire nature, and made his quiet 
 past seem like a dreary and forbidden waste.
 
 14 MRS. COB LEIGH'S BOOM. 
 
 The more he pondered over it, the more elated 
 he grew ; and from the moment he gave his con- 
 sent to the use of his name he became a changed 
 man. He felt that he could not continue at his 
 work until this matter was settled for good. He 
 was too full of expectation, of anticipations, of 
 visions of dawning glory, to contain himself at 
 the bench. He started immediately for home to 
 tell his wife of the great crisis that had come into 
 his life. 
 
 Mrs. Cobleigh was engaged in the semi-annual 
 rejuvenation of the vine and fig-tree under which 
 Mr. and Mrs. Cobleigh, and Master Cobleigh, aged 
 eleven, reposed in peace. The insignia of the 
 performance abounded on all sides, and plentifully 
 greeted Mr. Cobleigh on entering the yard. The 
 best set of furniture was piled on the front stoop, 
 the most valuable articles being more easily seen ; 
 the walk around the side was barred in one place 
 by the ice-chest, and in another by a table ; a 
 couple of carpets lay on the grass, and a bed- 
 stead and a barrel had to be moved before he 
 could get across the back stoop, and into the 
 kitchen. 
 
 Mr. Cobleigh moved these obstacles without 
 noting what they were, so absorbed was he in the 
 object of his mission home. Mr. Cobleigh had 
 his dinner-pail in his hand, with the uneaten din- 
 ner inside of it, for the hour was too early for that 
 meal, even if he felt an inclination to consume it, 
 which he did not.
 
 MRS. COB LEIGH'S BOOM. 1 5 
 
 Mrs. Cobleigh heard her lord enter, and looking 
 up saw the dinner-pail somewhat before she saw 
 him, if that were possible. She cast a startled 
 glance at the clock, and seeing it marked scarcely- 
 half past eleven, her face darkened. 
 
 "What on earth possessed' you to come home to 
 your dinner to-day for .-' You know I 've got no 
 time to bother with you ! " 
 
 Mrs. Cobleigh uttered this depressing salutation 
 in an elevated voice. As she stood looking at 
 him there was nothing promising in her aspect, at 
 least nothing to encourage the unfolding of any 
 scheme that did not directly bear on a spring 
 cleaning. Her dress skirt was pinned up, disclos- 
 ing a draggled and dilapidated balmoral, a pair of 
 dishevelled stockings, covered at the feet with a 
 pair of his own rubbers. Her arms were bared to 
 above the elbows, and were very red, so far as they 
 could be seen, but whether from hot water, or the 
 cold air, was not apparent. Her face was mottled 
 with soot and dirt and disgust, and the hair that 
 crowned it looked very much as if the wearer had 
 been used, after the manner of a broom, to rid 
 corners of cobwebs. 
 
 Mr. Cobleigh took in all of this unpromising 
 picture at a glance, and there was the least percep- 
 tible lowering of the barometer of his hope, but 
 only for an instant. Then the realization of the 
 future opening before him flashed before his eyes, 
 and in its light every shadow fled from sight. He 
 said, — --
 
 1 6 MRS. COB LEIGH'S BOOM 
 
 "I ain't thought anything about dinner, and 
 did n't know whether it was noon or midnight. 
 I 've got something to tell you, Matilda Cobleigh, 
 that will take away your appetite for weeks to 
 come, it will fill you so full of joy." Mr. Cob- 
 leigh's face shone as he uttered this. 
 
 "What tomfoolery are you up to now?" she 
 demanded shortly. 
 
 " Tomfoolery, is it ! " he retorted. " Vini will talk 
 tomfoolery on the other side of your mouth when 
 you hear what I 've got to tell you." 
 
 "Let's have it, then, for I've got no time to 
 waste, I can tell you," she encouragingly re- 
 sponded. 
 
 Mr. Cobleigh could n't help staring at her in 
 some degree of amazement. He did not consider 
 that she was as yet in total ignorance of the pend- 
 ing revolution in his life. 
 
 " Why on earth don't you speak V she observed, 
 in further encouragement, " or have you lost your 
 wits .? " 
 
 The first prompting that came to Mr. Cobleigh 
 was to make a reply fully flavored with domestic 
 seasoning, and under almost any other circum- 
 stances this would have been justifiable; but he 
 understood in time to check himself how humil- 
 iated she would feel when she knew what he knew, 
 and to save her this, as much as possible, he for- 
 bore to provoke her into further temper, and sim- 
 ply observed, influenced thereto by the presence 
 of the woman helping, —
 
 MRS. COBLEIGH'S BOOM. 1 7 
 
 " If you will step into the other room for a 
 moment, I will tell you something that will make 
 you open your eyes." 
 
 As Mr. Cobleigh said this he passed into the 
 next room, and Mrs. Cobleigh followed, wonder- 
 ing what could be the matter, and fearing that the 
 vvhitcwashcr had sent word he could not come in 
 the morning. In there, Mr. Cobleigh carefully 
 closed the door, and then confronting his wife, 
 impressively asked, — 
 
 " What do you think .'' " 
 
 "Think what.'" she snapped. 
 
 Mr. Cobleigh winced a grain, but immediately 
 recovered. 
 
 "What do you think of my being elected an 
 officer — of — the — borough — of — Dan bury } " 
 Mr. Cobleigh's eyes glistened as he deliberately 
 paced off the more impressive portion of this 
 important information. 
 
 " What on earth are you talking about, Cobleigh, 
 or don't you know ? " she impatiently cried. 
 
 Mr. Cobleigh smiled. He saw how incredulous 
 she was of so great an honor coming to him, and 
 he could understand how great the shock would 
 be to her when she finally was convinced of it. 
 This made him smile. She said, — 
 
 "If you ain't got anything to do but to stand 
 there grinning like an idiot, I '11 find something for 
 you ! " 
 
 Mr. Cobleigh ceased at once to smile. He felt 
 humiliated by the comparison, and it was only by
 
 1 8 MliS. COBLEIGH*S BOOM. 
 
 a powerful gulp that he succeeded in swallowing 
 back the language that rose to his tongue. Then, 
 by another effort, he forced himself to tell her 
 what had happened, but warmed up into a pleas- 
 ing fervor as he progressed. He told her of what 
 was proposed by the outraged and indignant tax- 
 payers of the village, of the determination to hurl 
 from power the present incompetent and corrupt 
 body of officials, of the call for the uprising of the 
 masses, of the Hon. Mr. Guhll's proposal that he, 
 her husband, should take a most important part 
 and office in the uprising, and, finally, of his con- 
 sent to carry a standard in the great fight. 
 
 During the recital of this glowing summary, 
 Mrs. Cobleigh paid as strict attention as was con- 
 sistent with her duties as a wife and a mother 
 who did n't want to live in a hog-pen all her days. 
 She spoke but twice. Once she expressed the 
 belief that a pail of water on the kitchen stove 
 was boiling over. She thought she could smell it. 
 The other occasion was when, after a moment of 
 intent observation, she had darted to a part of the 
 base-board, got down and rubbed her finger over 
 it, and returned with a sigh of relief. She then 
 said, " I thought that woman had taken off the 
 paint; if she had I would have taken off her head." 
 When he got through she suddenly inquired, — 
 
 " What brought you home at this hour .'' Is the 
 shop shut down .'' " 
 
 "Didn't I come to tell you this.''" he gasped, 
 almost livid in the face.
 
 MRS. COBLEIGH'S BOOM. 1 9 
 
 " Do you mean to say that you left your work 
 when you had your dinner with you to come way 
 home to tell me all that folderol about the gassing 
 of a lot of bummers ? A nice thing for you to go 
 and do, ain't it, mixing yourself up with that 
 rabble, and losing your work and your wits ? If 
 you have got so much time to throw away, you 'd 
 better be at home here helping me clean, instead 
 of gallivanting all over creation with a lot of rum- 
 suckers." 
 
 Having delivered herself of this commicnt, con- 
 clusion, and eulogium all combined, Mrs. Cobleigh 
 dashed out to take care of the water on the kitchen 
 stove, and to see that the woman did not use soap 
 in cleaning the paint on the window-casings. 
 
 Mr. Cobleigh, being left alone, appeared to be 
 making strenuous exertions to catch his breath, in 
 which performance he was greatly aided by forci- 
 bly slapping his brow with first his right hand and 
 then his left. Having in a measure restored him- 
 self by this exercise, he put on his hat, drawing 
 it well down upon his ears and eyes, and strode 
 moodily from the premises, giving his wife, in pass- 
 ing, a look that was calculated to chill her very 
 heart's blood, although we have no evidence that 
 it did.
 
 20 MKS. COBLEIGirS BOOM. 
 
 IV. 
 
 MR. COBLEIGH PREPARES TO DO SOMETHING. 
 
 In the three days that intervened between the 
 publication of the call for the uprising of the 
 masses and the uprising itself, Mr. Cobleigh had 
 ample cause to believe that the road to political 
 preferment was not entirely of roses, and a lament- 
 able reflection was that the thorns were matured, 
 not by enemies, but in his own household. Mr. 
 Cobleigh was not prepared to charge that his wife 
 was determined upon covering him with the igno- 
 miny of defeat, but it was evident to the most 
 dispassionate mind that she was scarcely in har- 
 mony with his ambition, and that she* took no 
 interest whatever in the numerous but necessary 
 details of the situation. Mr. Cobleigh noted this 
 unfortunate disposition on the part of his wife 
 with alternating emotions of despair and indigna- 
 tion, and gave expression to his feelings in rcnarks 
 that were lacking neither in point nor force, 
 however deficient they may have been in dic- 
 tion. 
 
 To the estimable but sadly misguided woman, 
 clear window-glass was more to glory over than a 
 clear official record, and a pound of good scouring
 
 MRS. COBLEIGH'S BOOM. 21 
 
 sand well laid on became of more value than a 
 torch-light procession a mile in length. If she 
 could only get the streak out of the whitewash on 
 the wall of the back bedroom, they might have all 
 the political honors in the world, and welcome to 
 them. 
 
 When Mr. Cobleigh strode from his home, as 
 has just been mentioned, he went straight to those 
 whose active sympathies his starved soul yearned 
 for. In their review of the situation, with con- 
 verse upon topics pertaining thereto, he lost the 
 sense of loneliness that had fallen upon him in 
 his home. 
 
 Returning to his domicile late in the afternoon, 
 he was struck with the idea that a speech in 
 acknowledgment of his nomination, when made, 
 was not only what was due to his fellow-citizens 
 for their courtesy, but would be of great advan- 
 tage to himself in informing them of the excel- 
 lent ability which he knew slumbered in his breast, 
 but of which they had had no evidence, and which 
 they might not suspect had an existence. The 
 more he dwelt upon this idea, the more favorable 
 it appeared to him. 
 
 But he said nothing to his wife about it on 
 reaching home. The bitter experience of a few 
 hours before was still fresh in his memory, and he 
 shrank from risking a repetition. On reaching 
 the premises, he worked his way quietly into the 
 house by the front door, and stole unobserved up 
 stairs, where he expected (and succeeded) to find
 
 22 MRS. COBLE/GH'S BOOM. 
 
 a room not under the devastating touch of mop 
 and brush. 
 
 The room was in a stage of disorder, the table 
 and chairs being occupied with sundry ornaments 
 and knick-knacks from other apartments, but he 
 cleared a chair for himself, and sat down to think, 
 pretty confident that he would be uninterrupted in 
 the process of crystallizing his thoughts into an 
 appropriate address. 
 
 In less than a half-hour he got the start pretty 
 clearly laid out. With this done he went after 
 paper and pencil. This material was kept in a 
 drawer in a bureau that stood in their bedroom 
 down stairs. Mr. Cobleigh slipped quietly to that 
 room, and succeeded in reaching it without attract- 
 ing the attention of his wife, who was undoubtedly 
 laying in ambush for him, ready to spring out with 
 some ignoble duty for him to perform. 
 
 Mr. Cobleigh no sooner got inside the apart- 
 ment than he realized that the getting there was 
 not the most difficult part of the mission. The 
 bureau was intrenched back of barrels and boxes 
 and baskets, and over all was a pile of bedding. 
 He set to work with the utmost caution to remove 
 the bedding, and to open a path to the bureau, and 
 was succeeding admirably when his wife suddenly 
 appeared. 
 
 "Where on earth have you been?" she sharply 
 demanded. " Here 's that stove to bring in, and 
 a hundred other things to do, and you off, the 
 Lord only knows where."
 
 MRS. COBLEIGH'S BOOM. 2^ 
 
 In addition to the sting of this ungracious 
 speech was the shock of being discovered so inop- 
 portunely, Mr. Cobleigh was almost furious. 
 
 " What did I know about your darned old 
 stove.'*" cried the standard-bearer of the reform 
 movement. " Do you suppose I have got nothing 
 to think of but a stove, when the masses are in 
 peril, you grovelling creature .-* " 
 
 " Who is to think of the stove, if you ain't, I 
 want to know ? " she answered. " Did you expect 
 General Grant was to carry it in for you, while 
 you were loafing around some groggery .-* " 
 
 " I don't care a darn who did it. I 've got some- 
 thing of more importance to attend to than that, 
 I guess." 
 
 " Let it alone, then," she spitefully answered. 
 " I 'm sure I don't want you to do anything. / 
 can help the woman bring it in. / can lug my 
 life out. / ain't fit for anything else." 
 
 "Where is the infernal thing.''" he shouted, 
 moving to the door. 
 
 "You need n't touch it. You need n't worry 
 yourself," she soothingly continued, "/ain't fit 
 for nothing else. / can do it." 
 
 Mr. Cobleigh was too exasperated to make any 
 reply to this. He felt that in action alone could 
 his feelings find adequate expression. He dashed 
 into the yard, and caught hold of that stove as if 
 it had been a murderer taken in the act, and it is 
 safe to say no stove ever made better time for the 
 distance than did that piece of furniture. The
 
 24 MRS. COB LEIGH'S BOOM. 
 
 woman who helped carry it had great difficulty to 
 keep her feet, and was full fifteen minutes recov- 
 ering her natural breathing and getting over her 
 surprise. 
 
 " There / " he spitefully observed, as he set the 
 article down. "I hope you are satisfied now!'' 
 And immediately left without waiting to hear if 
 she was. 
 
 The pencil and paper were finally obtained, but 
 the train of thought so rudely broken was not 
 so easily recovered, and by the time the supper 
 was ready, his mind was so muddled with the 
 extraordinary efforts to recover his ideas that he 
 could hardly distinguish his napkin from the salt- 
 cellar. 
 
 He did think he would get his thoughts on paper 
 after tea, and was preparing to convey himself 
 undemonstratively to the room up stairs for that 
 purpose, when Mrs. Cobleigh's query if he was 
 going to leave the sitting-room carpet and ice- 
 chest and other things out in the yard all night, 
 brought him up with unpleasant suddenness. 
 
 " Great heavens ! " cried the standard-bearer in 
 the reform movement, " I might better let the 
 country go to the dogs than to be tortured like 
 this ! " 
 
 "Tortured!" exclaimed Mrs. Cobleigh, indig- 
 nantly. " A great pass things have come to that 
 you can't be asked to do a single thing about the 
 house but what you must talk of being tortured." 
 
 " I 'd like to know what you would call it, to be
 
 MRS. COB LEIGH'S BOOM. 2$ 
 
 eternally shoving an old carpet and an ice-chest 
 under a man's nose when he 's got the interests 
 of the public on his shoulders, and a thousand 
 things to think of, — if it ain't torture." 
 
 "What business," retorted the exasperated 
 woman, "had you got to go mixing yourself up 
 with this bar-room gang at such a time as this, 
 I 'd like to know ? You knew I was cleaning 
 house, and that everything is in a heap, and that 
 I 've got more than my hands full ; but it 's just 
 like you to go to getting up an election and such 
 foolishness, right in the middle of all this mess ! " 
 
 This assertion of Mrs. Cobleigh's was, despite 
 its apparent fairness, unjust to Mr. Cobleigh. 
 The time for holding the borough election had 
 not been determined by him, and, in fact, he had 
 had nothing in any way to do with it. The time 
 was fixed by parties who could have been actuated 
 by no design to interfere with Mrs. Cobleigh's 
 domestic arrangements, as their action took place 
 some considerable time prior to her birth. Still, 
 it was a very good point to make, and the excel- 
 lent woman sniffed in triumph as she delivered it. 
 
 Mr. Cobleigh uttered no word in response to 
 this. He simply stared at her in blank astonish- 
 ment while she was speaking, and when she fin- 
 ished he started out into the yard, as if that was 
 a signal for him to go. He walked up to the 
 carpet as if he was moving in his sleep, without 
 knowledge of where he was going or what he was 
 after. The instant he reached it a great chano-e
 
 26 MRS. COB LEIGH'S BOOM. 
 
 came over him. His appearance of unconscious- 
 ness gave way to one of marvellous activity. With 
 a half-suppressed scream he sprang upon the heap 
 of woof and warp, and jumped up and down on it, 
 and then kicked it viciously with both feet, and 
 then jumped up and down again on it, to the 
 unbounded amazement of his wife, who stood in 
 the door watching him. Then he quietly gathered 
 up the article in his arms and silently marched 
 to the house with it, looking very much like an 
 elephant backing into a circus-ring. 
 
 " What on earth is the matter with you, kicking 
 that carpet about like that .'' " she demanded. 
 
 "None of your business," he snapped back, 
 coloring in the face, and pushing by her into the 
 house. 
 
 " Well, I must say ! " commented Mrs. Cobleigh. 
 
 Throwing down the carpet as if it was a dog, 
 he had suddenly discovered to be inhabited, he 
 dashed out after the ice-chest, and immediately 
 lugged that in, and then seized the bedstead and 
 fairly whizzed it inside. Then he smashed his 
 hat upon his head, and fled down town to collect 
 his scattered and sadly demoralized thoughts.
 
 MRS. COB LEIGH'S BOOM 2/ 
 
 V. 
 
 MR. COBLEIGH DOES IT. 
 
 Late in the evening, when he returned, his 
 faithful wife was in the kitchen stirring up empt- 
 ings for to-morrow's bread, and taking advantage 
 of her occupation, he got his material, and squared 
 himself at the dining-room table in the preparation 
 of a suitable response to the honor his fellow- 
 citizens contemplated bestowing upon him. 
 
 Composition was no light matter with Mr. 
 Cobleigh. He had had no call to venture into it 
 beyoiT^d an occasional letter to some member of 
 the family. But this was something far different 
 from anything in that line, as he presently dis- 
 covered. It seemed to require a great deal of 
 screwing around on the chair, and a violent rub- 
 bing of his head, and a prodigious wrinkling of 
 his brow, to get a start even. 
 
 He was thus engaged when Mrs. Cobleigh came 
 in to prepare for retiring. 
 
 " For land's sake, what are you up to now .'' " 
 was her terse inquiry. 
 
 " I 'm writing a speech, if you want to know," 
 he answered, with some resentment.
 
 28 MRS. COBLEIGWS BOOM. 
 
 "A speech!" Mrs. Cobleigh uttered this in a 
 tone of surprise that was very irritating. 
 
 " Yes, a speech ! What of it ? " 
 
 " What are you going to do with a speech ? " 
 
 Mr. Cobleigh laid down his pencil and looked 
 deliberately at the wife of his bosom. 
 
 "Well!" he finally blurted; "you are the 
 dumbest woman I ever saw. What would I tell 
 the masses when they called on me to lead 
 them } " 
 
 This was calculated to be a poser, and to throw 
 Mrs. Cobleigh into a state of confusion. The 
 calculation was reasonable enough, but it mis- 
 carried. Without an instant's hesitation, she 
 replied, — 
 
 " Tell them they 'd better be about other busi- 
 ness than getting drunk and kicking up a pow- 
 wow over nothing." 
 
 There was something apparently derogatory to 
 Mr. Cobleigh's personal value in the closing word 
 of this unexpected reply, although it is likely she 
 did not so intend it. Unfortunately, Mrs. Cob- 
 leigh had imbibed the strange notion that Politics 
 and Debauchery were twin brothers who always 
 went hand in hand, and was unable to disassociate 
 the twain. 
 
 Mr. Cobleigh was suddenly taken with another 
 season of difficulty to recover his breath, during 
 which he stared at his excellent wife until his 
 eyes fairly bulged. When he got his breath he 
 gasped, —
 
 MRS. COBLEIGH'S BOOM. 29 
 
 "Well, may I be hornswoggled ! " — hornswog- 
 gled was a term Mr. Cobleigh used only in cases 
 of extreme necessity, and his use of it now showed 
 how powerfully he was wrought upon, — "well. 
 may I be hornswoggled if ever I saw such a woman 
 as you are. You 're enough to drive the Devil 
 himself out of his wits." 
 
 " Then I '11 go to bed, and get out of his way," 
 was the ungracious rejoinder. And the lady was 
 as good as her word, leaving her lord and master 
 staring at the door through which she departed, 
 in virtuous indignation. 
 
 When she was gone, Mr. Cobleigh devoted a 
 couple of minutes in striding about the room and 
 kicking over a chair, and setting it on its feet 
 again. Then he smote his head with both of his 
 hands several times in succession, and having 
 thus refreshed himself he went back to his work. 
 
 He was not going to say much, as much was 
 not necessary ; but he was surprised, now that he 
 got down to it, to find how great was a little, 
 when face to face with the paper it was to go on. 
 He screwed around on the chair, and clutched 
 every hair in his head personally, and rubbed his 
 scalp until it was inflamed, during the perform- 
 ance ; and even with all these sources of inspira- 
 tion it was long after midnight when he got 
 through. Then he read it over several times, and 
 liked the sound of it so much that he went to bed 
 with a feeling of satisfaction. 
 
 As has beerf intimated, there was not much in
 
 30 MRS. COBLEIGH'S BOOM. 
 
 length to the speech, but it was full of nuggets of 
 wisdom, sentiment, and eloquence, as the following 
 copy bears abundant testimony : — 
 " Gentlemen and Fellow-Citizens : 
 [Mr. Cobleigh had some doubt as to the consis- 
 tency of this combination, but put it in as a sort of 
 temporary filling. He first contemplated " Ladies 
 and Gentlemen," but subsequent reflection led 
 him to think that perhaps the fair sex would not be 
 present, and, in doubt about this, he made it " Gen- 
 tlemen and Fellow-Citizens," to preserve the sym- 
 metry of its shape until he could know positively 
 about the ladies. It was an admirable precaution.] 
 "The honor you seek to confer upon me comes 
 so unexpected, that I feel totally unprepared to 
 express to you the feelings of my breast." 
 
 [This would not be strictly true, taken at the time 
 of delivery, but the sentiment was so beautiful in 
 itself, and so appropriate to the occasion, that the 
 use of it appeared like an inspiration, and Mr. 
 Cobleigh gladly fastened to it.] 
 
 " It is an honor I never dreamed of, and which 
 I do not feel I am worthy to receive ; and standing 
 before you as I now do, I feel almost dumfounded 
 by what you have done. It comes so sudden and 
 unexpected that I do not know what to tell you 
 about it, only that I thank you very much. The 
 movement you have inaugurated on this occasion 
 has my hearty sympathy, as you all well know. I 
 have felt, as you have all done, the corroding influ- 
 ence of the party in power."
 
 MRS. COBLEIGH'S BOOM. 3 1 
 
 [" Corroding influence " was a term Mr. Cob- 
 leigh once saw in the printed report of a speech 
 delivered in Congress, and it made such an impres- 
 sion upon him at the time that it stayed with him, 
 and it now struck him as being highly desirable in 
 this connection. It was certainly an imposing fig- 
 ure, and calculated to make itself felt.] 
 
 "And I stand ready with you this afternoon to 
 hurl myself, in my feeble way, upon the ramparts 
 of the enemy." 
 
 [Mr. Cobleigh was nearly an hour carving out 
 this bit of pure metal, but he felt amply repaid 
 for his labor The strength of his purpose to hurl 
 himself blended prettily with the modest estimate 
 of the force of the hurl, as indicated in the words, 
 "my feeble way," and made a very striking pic-, 
 ture.] 
 
 " I look around upon the masses before me, 
 and read in your honest faces the undying deter- 
 mination to stand by the right and beat treason 
 down, and I take fresh courage to press onward in 
 the battle, carrying high the standard you have 
 placed in my hands. Again I thank you, gentle- 
 men, for the unexpected and overpowering honor 
 you have thrust upon me, and which I am so 
 unworthy to bear." 
 
 On the whole, this was a very good speech. It 
 was not rambling, it was not airy, it was not a 
 strain after metaphor. It was simply a straight- 
 forward piece of work, which covered the entire 
 ground, and left nothing to be desired, Mr. Cob-
 
 32 MRS. COBLEIGH'S BOOM. 
 
 leigh could picture to himself the thunder of 
 applause that would greet it. 
 
 VI. 
 
 MR. COBLEIGH GETS DOWN TO BUSINESS. 
 
 The next ambition in Mr. Cobleigh's breast 
 was to commit his composition to memory. Even 
 in the state of excitement he was in he could 
 understand that thanking an assembly from man- 
 uscript for an unexpected honor they were con- 
 ferring upon him had its drawbacks ; and so he 
 must commit it fully to memory. The spontaneity 
 of the affair must be preserved, even if everything 
 else was lost. 
 
 This task he undertook the next day. Mrs. 
 Cobleigh was greatly scandalized to learn, on 
 going to put up his dinner at breakfast, that he 
 was not going to the factory, but had determined 
 to stay at home to learn his speech. Poor woman ! 
 she could not understand the imperative necessity 
 of the hour, nor his noble ambition to stay the 
 flood of corruption by interposing his own body in 
 the way. It was simply a matter of dollars and 
 cents to her, and it made her sick to think of the 
 sacrifice of these things which he was going to 
 make. She expressed with freedom and vigor her 
 views of this "folderol," but she could not change
 
 MRS. COBLEIGH'S BOOM. 33 
 
 him from his purpose, and sensibly abandoned 
 the attempt, but compromised with her disappoint- 
 ment by secretly resolving to utilize him in every 
 possible way in the furtherance of her domestic 
 schemes. 
 
 During her preparation of the morning meal, 
 Mr. Cobleigh reread the manuscript to himself, 
 and felt proud of the result. In the freedom from 
 the weariness of producing it the effort shone 
 with increased lustre. Naturally enough, he 
 desired to share this pleasure with the partner of 
 his joys and sorrows. The partner aforesaid was 
 dressed as on the day before. There w^ere the 
 same bare arms, the same torn skirt, the same 
 dishevelled stockings, the same heated, flurried, 
 aggressive countenance. The partner was dart- 
 ing in here and out there, with an air that showed 
 she begrudged every morsel of time consumed in 
 the unnecessary and uncalled-for performance of 
 preparing the table. And yet, as Mr. Cobleigh 
 thought of the beautiful work he had produced, of 
 his marriage vow to cherish and protect her, of 
 the future whose glory was now so far beyond her 
 reach, his heart softened with tender emotions, 
 and he was magnanimously drawn to bless her 
 life, and lift her above the things of earth into 
 the bower of clouds he had arranged for him- 
 self. With this worthy purpose he notified her 
 of what was coming, and straightway began to 
 bless her, not pausing to listen to the grateful 
 expressions his fond heart was confident she
 
 34 MRS. COBLEIGH'S BOOM. 
 
 would shower upon him. And it is just as well he 
 didn't. He read on, and she went on. He put all 
 the impassioned feeling into the reading it was pos- 
 sible to do, while following her from the pantry to 
 the kitchen, and from the kitchen to the dining- 
 room, and keeping from under her feet when she 
 was suddenly retracing her way. When he finished 
 she said, — 
 
 " If you have got through with that stuff we 
 will have breakfast, before everything on the table 
 gets colder than a stone." 
 
 " Stuff ! " In vain the standard-bearer of the 
 party of reform dove down into the very recesses 
 of his vocabulary for language suitable to express 
 himself. It was no use. He reeled from the un- 
 dertaking in the exhaustion of despair, and sank 
 into his place at the table with as much emphasis 
 as if he had been loaded with old iron. Brief 
 though her remark was, volumes could not have 
 flattened him out more effectually. 
 
 This was simply the beginning of a series of 
 shocks that assailed the citadel of reform through 
 that day. With his breakfast ended, Mr. Cobleigh 
 retreated to his sanctuary to begin the operation 
 of transferring his speech to the retina of his 
 mind. Here he was apparently safe, although 
 somewhat trammelled in his movements by the 
 surplus furniture temporarily stored there. He 
 pushed aside the high lamp, and albums, and vases, 
 to make room on the little table for his manuscript, 
 and then fell to work.
 
 MRS. COBLEIGirs BOOM. 35 
 
 The more Mr. Cobleigh repeated the passages 
 to fasten them in his mind, the more fully his na- 
 ture became impregnated with the lofty sentiments 
 therein contained, and the more his body grew in 
 sympathy with the glow. And so from standing 
 still at the table he got to moving about, and to 
 gesticulating with his right arm, by which he would 
 sweep the air as if to indicate the breadth of his 
 views by calling attention to the breadth of the 
 horizon, or would level it straight ahead, as if point- 
 ing with scorn at the unprincipled party in power. 
 As he progressed, he became so absorbed in his 
 subject as to be totally oblivious to his surround- 
 ings, and thus it was not a matter of surprise that, 
 in a movement backward, expressive of embarrass- 
 ment at the unexpected honor of the nomination, 
 he should step on the end of a rocker, and over- 
 turn a chair with a toilet pitcher and bowl thereon, 
 although he appeared to be somewhat surprised 
 himself. In truth, Mr. Cobleigh was so deeply 
 affected as he looked upon the shivered china, 
 that he involuntarily exclaimed, " Holy shortcake ! " 
 and stood for a whole moment staring at the wreck. 
 Then, as if suddenly inspired, he hastily gathered 
 up the pieces, and stowed them back of a cup- 
 board. 
 
 He had scarcely returned to his labor when Mrs. 
 Cobleigh appeared at the door with the announce- 
 ment that the kitchen carpet was ready to beat. 
 
 There was something so entirely at variance be- 
 tween purifying a political atmosphere and sweep-
 
 36 MRS. COBLEIGH'S BOOM. 
 
 ing a carpet, that the standard-bearer of the great 
 reform movement was obhged to have the infor- 
 mation repeated before he could fully credit his 
 senses with having received it. 
 
 Of course there was a violent protest on his part 
 against the carpet operation. The very idea was 
 repulsive to him. What was the matter with his 
 wife ? Was she mentally diseased } Could it be 
 possible that the finer sensibilities of her nature 
 were perfectly dead, so she could no longer discern 
 the difference between the mighty effort of a com- 
 munity to shake off an incubus and that of a man to 
 shake a carpet .-' His first impulse, and reasonable 
 enough it appeared, was to cut his throat where he 
 stood, and end a blighted existence on the spot ; but 
 on her threatening to go out and shake the carpet 
 herself, in full sight of all the neighbors, he modi- 
 fied his views and dashed out at the carpet him- 
 self, taking occasion to announce incidentally, on 
 the way, that after he was dead she would be sorry 
 for this. 
 
 In response, she told him to be careful in beat- 
 ing it, as it was about in pieces already. 
 
 Still later, when once more bathing in the glories 
 of ennobling sentiment, the unhappy woman ap- 
 peared again, and electrified him with the intelli- 
 gence that there was a tub of water to be emptied 
 out. Mr. Cobleigh was but flesh and blood, after 
 all, and his whole nature shrank from this degrad- 
 ing office. 
 
 "What on earth do you mean by coming to
 
 MRS. COB LEIGH'S BOOM. 37 
 
 me with such devilish stuff?" he excitedly de- 
 manded. 
 
 "Well, things have come to a mighty queer pass 
 if you have got above doing anything about your 
 own house," she retorted. 
 
 " Great heavens ! have n't you got any sense at 
 all .-* " he cried, " or don't you know anything what- 
 ever .'' I should think you 'd be ashamed of your- 
 self. You expect I can prepare myself for the 
 responsibilities of a public station, and empty out 
 slops, and do all kinds of bugger-lugging at the 
 same time. Here the people of this community 
 have selected me from a thousand to carry their 
 standard in a desperate fight against corruption 
 and fraud, and you have got such a one-horse idea 
 of the importance of my position that you expect 
 I can empty a tub of suds just the same as if I 
 had n't been picked out to lead the masses to vic- 
 tory. A devilish nice-looking spectacle I 'd make, 
 would n't I, carrying out a big reform and a tub 
 of dirty water at the same time .'' And a nice help 
 to your husband you are, ain't you, expecting him 
 to shine in public life and do your drudgery too .'' 
 I should think you'd be ashamed of yourself." 
 
 Mr. Cobleigh struck the table with his fist as he 
 delivered this, and immediately inquired of Heaven 
 why his life was prolonged under such discour- 
 aging circumstances ; whereupon Mrs. Cobleigh 
 said she would empty the tub herself ; it might 
 cripple her for life in doing it, but she had always 
 had to slave and toil and do the work of two
 
 38 MRS. COB LEIGH'S BOOM. 
 
 women, and she always expected to. And then 
 she started off as if she really entertained a design 
 to carry the tub herself. Whereupon Mr. Cob- 
 leigh smote his two fists together with great vio- 
 lence, and vehemently swore he was half a mind 
 to let the world go to thunder, and finish his exist- 
 ence on some foreign island in a far-off sea. 
 And then he went out and emptied the tub. 
 
 VII. 
 
 THE MASSES PREPARE TO UPRISE. 
 
 Saturday afternoon and two o'clock thereof 
 eventually arrived, and the meeting was con- 
 vened in the Opera House. There was a fair 
 attendance of honest sons of toil and other out- 
 raged tax-payers, eager to hurl from power the 
 party of miscreants who had ruled to ruin for five 
 annual terms. 
 
 The meeting was called to order by Mr. Gagg, 
 who read the call. 
 
 "Gentlemen," said Mr. Gagg, "it is first in or- 
 der to choose a chairman to preside over this 
 intelligent gathering. Our coming together being, 
 as the call hints, an entirely spontaneous matter, 
 produced by the pressure of a serious emergency, 
 there has been, of course, no premeditation, no 
 preparation for organization. It is natural that in 
 the uprising of an outraged constituency the ob-
 
 MRS. COB LEIGH'S BOOM. 39 
 
 ject, rather than the course leading to it, should be 
 primary, but at the same time system is of impor- 
 tance, and I suggest, as being entirely consistent 
 with the object that has brought us together, that 
 a chairman of the meeting be chosen to preside 
 over its deliberations. Gentlemen, will you sig- 
 nify your pleasure in the choice?" 
 
 As Mr. Gagg concluded, his glance uncon- 
 sciously fell upon Mr. Cobleigh. And as he did 
 so that gentleman cried out, — 
 
 " I nominate the Hon. Mr. Guhll as chairman 
 of the meeting." 
 
 " Second the motion," promptly came from an- 
 other part of the hall. 
 
 At this juncture it was evident that the Hon. 
 Mr. Guhll, who was looking very much embar- 
 rassed at the unexpected demonstration in his 
 behalf, was about to rise and protest against the 
 honor. But Mr. Gagg was too quick for such a 
 move, and before the honorable gentleman could 
 get to his legs, the motion was put and car- 
 ried, and carried with a shout that shook the build- 
 ing. 
 
 No one could help being gratified by such an 
 outburst of public favor, and even the well-tried 
 face of the Hon. Mr. Guhll flushed with a nat- 
 ural color as he stepped up to the platform and 
 laid his hat on its crown on the table. There was 
 a hush in the audience. 
 
 " Friends," said the gentleman in a tone of 
 blended affection and dignity, and looking into his
 
 40 MRS. COBLEIGfPS BOOM. 
 
 hat, " I would fail of the noblest attribute of the 
 human heart, that of gratitude, if I were not 
 deeply affected by this mark of esteem that you 
 have shown me. I did not come in here with the 
 expectation of taking any part, unless it was the 
 very humblest, in these proceedings. I was at- 
 tracted here, I must say, by my sympathy with 
 the object that has drawn you together this after- 
 noon (applause), and you can judge of my aston- 
 ishment at hearing my name offered as the chair- 
 man of your convention. Had my emotions been 
 under better control, I would have risen at once 
 and declined the honor I am so unworthy to bear 
 (applause), but before I could recover myself your 
 generous action had made me your chairman ; and 
 as I make it a point to shrink from no duty my 
 fellow-citizens have called me to perform, I shall 
 try to overcome the sense of my own unfitness, 
 and do the best in my humble power to serve your 
 interests on this important occasion. (Applause.) 
 There is no need to assure you of my hearty sym- 
 pathy with the noble purpose that has brought you 
 together. (Tremendous applause.) The masses 
 rising in their might to vindicate their rights and 
 to rebuke a villanous ring (applause) is one of the 
 grandest spectacles vouchsafed to man (applause), 
 and I rejoice to be considered worthy to take a 
 part in this forward movement. (Applause.) Gen- 
 tlemen, again permit me to assure you of my deep 
 gratitude for this manifestation of your generous 
 confidence and esteem. (Vociferous applause.)
 
 MRS. COBLEIGH'S BOOM. 4^ 
 
 " I suppose the first business we must attend to 
 is the choice of a secretary to record the transac- 
 tions of the meeting. Will you please signify 
 your preference? " 
 
 Mr. Gagg's name was moved and seconded, and 
 as promptly carried, and that gentleman blushingly 
 accepted the honor. 
 
 "If I understand the spirit of the call," said the 
 chairman, "which I had the pleasure of perusing 
 in the paper, and which informed me of your hon- 
 orable gathering, this meeting is called to protest 
 against the reprehensible way our borough affairs 
 are administered, and to nominate a ticket favor- 
 able to the interests of the community at large, to 
 be submitted to the suffrages of the people of Dan- 
 bury at the coming election. This being the case, 
 the next business in order, I judge, is the nomina- 
 tion of the ticket. How will you proceed to this 
 business, gentlemen .-' " 
 
 At this Mr. D'Coy sprang to his feet, and pro- 
 posed, as being the most convenient and expedi- 
 tious way, that a committee of five be appointed 
 to select the names for the ticket. Mr. D'Coy's 
 proposition favorably struck the assemblage of 
 indignant tax-payers, and while he was stroking 
 his whisker it was adopted. The selection of the 
 committee was next in order. Mr. Stoohl rose, 
 and gravely suggested, with a propitiatory air to all 
 present, that to save time and useless discussion 
 the chairman appoint the committee. Hereupon 
 the Hon. Mr. Guhll took occasion to thank the
 
 42 MA'S. COBLEfGH'S BOOM. 
 
 gentleman for the honor proposed, but, he said, 
 the appointing of so important a committee was a 
 grave responsibility, requiring wisdom, judgment, 
 and experience in its discharge, and he — 
 
 Mr. Stoohl interrupted to say that he under- 
 stood, as did the meeting, that these qualities 
 were necessary, and that was just the reason he 
 proposed their honored chairman for the office., 
 knowing, when he did so, that he was but echoing 
 the sentiments of the industrious and intelligent 
 gentlemen about him. A murmur of applause 
 followed this announcement, and before it died 
 away Mr. Gagg sprang to his feet and cried, — 
 
 " It is moved and seconded that our noble chair- 
 man select the committee to present a ticket for 
 borough officers. Those in favor of the motion 
 will please signify it by saying aye." 
 
 It was a perfect hurricane of ayes. 
 
 " It is scarcely necessary to call the noes," said 
 Mr. Gagg, with a triumphant smile, in which his 
 fellow-citizens joined. 
 
 The Hon. Mr. Guhll modestly thanked the 
 gentlemen for their confidence; and looking into 
 the crown of his hat, as if he was really reading 
 the names from a list therein, announced the 
 members of the committee. The gentlemen 
 selected retired for deliberation. During their ab- 
 sence the Hon. Mr. Guhll called on Mr. D'Coy for 
 a speech, and that gentleman responded in a 
 vigorous onslaught upon corruption in office and 
 politicians generally, and wound up with a glow-
 
 MRS. COBLEIGH'S BOOM. 43 
 
 ing tribute to the nobility of the masses in their 
 struggles against venality. 
 
 As he closed, and while the building was quiv- 
 ering with the shock of applause, the committee 
 returned and made their report. 
 
 The ticket selected was as follows : — 
 
 For Warden, Joseph Fangs. 
 
 For Burgess, William Bangs, John Hangs, Wil- 
 liam B. Cobleigh, Tollman Dangs, Irwin Spangs. 
 
 For Clerk, Isaiah Richardson. 
 
 For Treasurer, Robert Mangs. 
 
 For Board of Relief, Everett Tangs, Myron 
 Willoughby, Silas Langs. 
 
 For Auditor, Joseph Whangs. 
 
 The reading of the names was greeted with 
 approval, and the ticket entire was adopted amid 
 tumultuous cheering, in which the throats of the 
 reformers were stretched to the utmost. One 
 man, in an obscure position under the gallery, 
 intimated rather broadly that there was a pretty 
 large per cent of ' Angs on the ticket, but he was 
 frowned down summarily, and seeing that he was 
 not sympathized with, he took his departure in a 
 huffy manner. Three or four equally sore-headed 
 persons followed him out. The convention was 
 well rid of this element, which, if retained, was 
 designed to make trouble. The 'Angs were ear- 
 nest laborers in the reform vineyard, or the com- 
 mittee would not have chosen them, and that the 
 committee was of the right sort was guaranteed 
 by the fact that the honorable chairman formed
 
 44 MRS. COBLEIGH'S BOOM, 
 
 it. Then again the 'Angs were from the ranks 
 of the same party that had held the honorable 
 chairman and Messrs. Gagg, D'Coy, and Stoohl, 
 and certainly ought to be well known to them. 
 
 The Hon. Mr. Guhll now rose, and said that 
 while he was pleased with the ticket generally, he 
 was particularly gratified with the selection of one 
 of the standard-bearers in the impending struggle 
 against corruption. He knew him to be a man 
 of unblemished integrity, and one of the most 
 sincere in the great movement they had met to 
 further. He trusted the meeting would have the 
 pleasure of hearing from his honored friend, 
 William B. Cobleigh, Esq. 
 
 The announcement of the name took a trem- 
 ulous hold upon the enthusiasm of the audience, 
 and appeared to be dragging it out by the roots. 
 The name of Cobleigh was cried all over the 
 house, to the great agitation of that excellent 
 gentleman, who was seated in the body of the 
 hall, well up to the front, where he had taken the 
 liveliest interest in all the proceedings. 
 
 He had been over his speech so many times 
 before coming to the hall that he believed it was 
 fully gathered in his mind, and so gave himself 
 up largely to the exercises about him. Still, he 
 occasionally withdrew within himself to gloat over 
 the choice sentences, and to speculate upon the 
 surprise his acquaintances were going to feel when 
 the grand thoughts flowed in streams of graceful 
 expression from his lips. They would little sus-
 
 MA'S. COBLEIGH'S BOOM. 45 
 
 pect that he had previously written and committed 
 t(j memory his speech of acceptance. 
 
 He was in a tremor from the moment his name 
 was read on the ticket until the chairman called for 
 him, — in a tremor of fear that his fellow-citizens 
 might be deterred from calling him out through 
 concern for his embarrassment and fear of his 
 failure, and thus lose the electricity he had pre- 
 pared for them. The reflection made him quite 
 sick, until the Hon. Mr. Guhll put the doubt to 
 flight. Then followed the shouting of his name, 
 and Mr. Cobleigh felt, as he subsequently ex- 
 pressed it, as if a furnace door had been suddenly 
 opened within an inch of his face. How he got 
 to his feet he did not know. He got there, how- 
 ever, and had sufficient presence of mind to turn 
 about and face the audience, but beyond that 
 there was but little intelligent action. He saw 
 the faces — expectant faces, hopeful faces, curious 
 faces — turned upon him. For a flash they were 
 distinct and stationary, and then they whirled 
 around, and rose and fell in an undistinguishable 
 mass. His face felt puffed up to a degree that 
 was threatening to close his eyes, which were at 
 the same time filling with water. There came a 
 relief in the applause that greeted his rising, but 
 when that ceased it seemed as if the silence was 
 a blister that completely covered his remaining 
 confidence and took it from him. It was then he 
 fully comprehended how great is tlie difference 
 between reciting a speech in a room by himself
 
 4^ MJiS. COBLEIGH'S BOOM. 
 
 and delivering it in the midst of a multitude. 
 His knees trembled, his tongue grew to double its 
 usual size, while chills and perspiration fought for 
 the possession of his body. His fellow-laborers in 
 the field of reform appeared to be so many execu- 
 tioners after his life, and he was really obliged to 
 make an effort to keep himself from falling upon 
 his knees there and then, and begging for their 
 mercy. But he must speak — he must get his 
 tongue away from the roof of his mouth — he must 
 do something ; he could not stand there and stare 
 at them another moment without covering himself 
 with eternal ridicule. With a powerful wrench 
 he freed his fettered tongue, and gurgled, — 
 "Ladies, gentlemen, and fellow-citizens — " 
 [Mr. Cobleigh realized at once the blunder thus 
 made, but it was too late to recover, and he hoped, 
 with the self-deception common to immatured 
 orators, that the audience would not discover it, 
 being of the belief that the agitation he experi- 
 enced was epidemic. But with the fondling of 
 this hope occurred the loss of the thread of his 
 discourse. It went from him in a flash, and he 
 immediately found himself in an appalling maze, 
 and fell violently to work to plunge out again, in 
 doing which he brought to the surface the follow- 
 ing fragments : ] 
 
 " The honor you have given me I feel as you 
 have done. And I feel ready to hurl myself on 
 the enemy. I am — I believe, and I know you 
 all do. I — the party in power are corrodmg the
 
 MRS. COBLEIGH'S BOOM. 47 
 
 offices, and that the standard-bearer you have put 
 in my hands." 
 
 [This was perfectly dreadful. He knew every 
 misstep he was making, but there was no help. 
 He was growing blind and crazed, but he pushed 
 madly ahead, making the most frantic plunges in 
 a direction that was presumably toward land.] 
 
 "I see your honest faces, and — and — and 
 when I. Let us take more courage in this unex- 
 pected honor. Let — let us — us — us. Oh!" 
 
 And Mr. Cobleigh, completely undone, sank 
 with a thud into his chair, while great drops of 
 ice-water ran down his face and back. The audi- 
 ence looked at each other for an instant in a 
 bewildered way, and then followed the lead of 
 Messrs. D'Coy and Stoohl in a tremendous burst 
 of applause. 
 
 Their appreciation gratified while it pained him. 
 If the snarled bits of wreck he had brought to the 
 surface impressed them, what would have been 
 their reception of the completed structure ? He 
 groaned as he thought of it. 
 
 It struck him as being phenomenal, that while 
 he was on his feet the points in his discourse 
 deserted him, but now he had sat down they 
 came back to him in distinct form ; and as one 
 after another stood out from the impenetrable 
 gloom into which they had so abruptly disap- 
 peared, he groaned afresh.
 
 4^ MRS. COBLEIGirS DOOM. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 MR. COBLEIGH INFORMS MRS. COBLEIGH. 
 
 The following week was one of activity in the 
 circles of the reform party. As a standard-bearer, 
 Mr. Cobleigh was precipitated on and kept revolv- 
 ing about the middle of it. And it seemed, as he 
 subsequently related with great earnestness, that 
 the very Old Nick himself had taken possession of 
 his long-suffering but grovelling wife. 
 
 This was unfortunate, and greatly to be deplored. 
 Mrs. Cobleigh was not a woman of vicious in- 
 stincts. Far from it. She was, as Mr. Gagg put 
 it to a few choice friends, "infernally busy," and 
 in the necessary rush and worry and care of this 
 industrious state, she lost sight of the grand pur- 
 poses and noble resolves actuating the masses. 
 Mr. Cobleigh's elevation came at an unfavorable 
 time. It found Mrs. Cobleigh up to her shoulders 
 in suds, and over her head in care. Her home 
 was more to her than all the earth beside. It was 
 her heaven. And Mrs. Cobleigh was cleaning 
 heaven just now, and could not submit to the 
 mtroduction of anything so foreign as politics.
 
 MRS. COBLEIGH'S BOOM. 49 
 
 On his return home, late in the afternoon, from 
 the caucus, Mr. Cobleigh was in high spirit, barring, 
 of course, such flashes as reminded him of the 
 oratorical mishap. 
 
 He drew pictures of himself in the councils of 
 the borough government, and seriously acted upon 
 a number of important measures for the good of 
 the community while on the way, and on reaching 
 home his brow was drawn in perplexed thought 
 over a suggestion to add two more lamps to Essex 
 Street. 
 
 So absorbed was he in these matters, that he 
 did not see his wife until he had about stepped 
 into her arms, although it is but just to her to say 
 that she was not contemplating any such embrace. 
 She was coming out the door with a pail, and was 
 looking very much heated and upset, — "draggy," 
 she would call it. 
 
 "Well," she exclaimed, "you have got back at 
 last ! Where on earth have you stuck yourself all 
 the afternoon .'' " 
 
 Mr. Cobleigh was too full of joy and pride to 
 notice the extremely practical aspect of this salu- 
 tation. He hastily cried, — 
 
 "What do you think, Matilda.-' They have 
 really nominated me for one of the burgess of the 
 borough of Danbury. The great reform move- 
 ment has chosen your husband for a standard- 
 bearer !" 
 
 " Well, you 'd better standard-bearer out to that 
 pump, and get a pail of water, if you are going to
 
 50 MRS. COBLE IG//\S BOOM. 
 
 have any supper here to-night," was the somewhat 
 unexpected response. 
 
 "My heavens!" cried Mr. Cobleigh, almost 
 transfixed by this remark, "is that all you care 
 about the great honor given to me.-'" 
 
 " I know there 's supper to get, and that I 've 
 got to get it, and that I 'm all tuckered out," she 
 retorted with spirit. " I suppose you think I 've 
 got nothing to do but to stand here and listen to a 
 lot of political gab. Yoti can leave your work and 
 gad about town with a mess of bummers, and you 
 think / 've got nothing to do but stand here and 
 listen to you when you get back. I guess if I 
 did as you do, you 'd have nothing to cram your 
 stomach with when you got home, or a whole coat 
 on your back when you went out. And if you 'd 
 been to the factory tending to your work, instead 
 of making a spectacle of yourself tramping around 
 the streets with a lot of drunken scalawags, you 'd 
 done something of some account." With this 
 summary of her views of the political situation, 
 Mrs. Cobleigh dropped the pail abruptly at his 
 feet, and retired indoors. 
 
 The first impulse of the standard-bearer of the 
 reform movement was to give the pail a kick that 
 would send it over the fence into the next yard, 
 and heroically go off without his supper ; but he 
 resisted it, and, picking up the pail, strode gloom- 
 ily up to the pump, where he set down the vessel 
 with an emphasis that might have been heard in 
 the street. Had it been an open instead of a cov-
 
 MRS. COBLE/GH'S BOOM. 5 I 
 
 ered well, there is some reason to believe he would 
 have cast himself into it, and ended his unhappy 
 existence and the hopes of the masses at one 
 stroke. 
 
 He was sorely wounded. His expanding mind 
 chafed under the ignominious ofifices his wife's 
 narrow nature put upon him. He thought of 
 Washington and Luther and Cromwell, and other 
 great leaders, and tried to picture them in the 
 humiliating performances he was dragged into. 
 How incongruous to picture Washington helping 
 a red-faced woman to carry a stove, and Cromwell 
 lugging in a carpet, and Luther emptying wash- 
 tubs! It made him groan as he thought of him- 
 self doing all these, and worse. Why was his 
 wife so narrow, so devoid of sympathy, so barren 
 of appreciation, so blind to great things, so thick, 
 headed generally .-' 
 
 To such a degree was he absorbed in these sor- 
 rowing reflections while pumping, that he did not 
 perceive that the pail was full, and that the over- 
 flow was threatening to cut him off from the 
 house, until a sharp interrogation from his wife as 
 to whether he was going to be all night getting 
 that water brought him back to earth and his 
 errand. With a sigh he took up the pail and went 
 into the house. What would the masses, writhing 
 under the harrow of a corrupt government, say, if 
 they saw him lugging a pail of water .■' Was 
 that their idea of the work of a standard-bearer .-' 
 Mr. Cobleigh shrank from the answer.
 
 52 M/iS. COBLE JGH'S BOOM. 
 
 There was a look of reproach in his face as he 
 handed her the pail. It was designed to pierce 
 to her very heart, and melt her into a better life. 
 But she took the pail without trembling, and in 
 a voice whose firmness was remarkable, she 
 said, — 
 
 " Why did n't you stay out there all night and 
 flood the yard } " 
 
 " Go to thunder ! " he passionately cried, losing 
 all control of himself, and passing from the repose 
 of resignation to a condition of almost ferocious 
 activity. " You ain't got any more feeling than a 
 polar bear. It ain't enough that you put every 
 mean thing on me to humble me and crush me 
 down, but you 've got to add abuse on top of it." 
 He strode about the room as he said this, and 
 smote his fists in the intensity of his feeling. 
 
 "Well, I declare!" exclaimed the indignant 
 woman, " if things ain't come to a pretty pass if 
 I can't open my mouth to say a word without 
 your going off in a tantrum. You know you was 
 out at that pump long enough to get forty pails 
 of water, and keep me waiting here when my legs 
 are so tired it seems as if they would drop off, 
 and yet if I go to speak of it you fire up like a 
 dog with a sore head. It's a great pity if it's 
 got so I can't even speak without having my head 
 snapped off. But all you think I 'm fit for is to 
 slave here all day long and drag my life out while 
 you are galloping over town with a lot of loafers, 
 and then, when you condescend to come home, I
 
 MRS. COB LEIGH'S BOOM. 53 
 
 must n't say a word to you but that I 'm sent to 
 thunder ! " 
 
 " For heaven's sake, keep your tongue still, 
 can't you ? " he cried. 
 
 " Of course I can," she retorted " I ain't got 
 any right to speak. All 's I 'm for is to dig and 
 scrub and slave from morning to night." 
 
 "Who's said you couldn't speak.-*" he indig- 
 nantly demanded. " Just because I won't be 
 abused and submit to your injustice you try to 
 claim that you can't speak. It 's got so you can't 
 open your mouth without running somebody 
 down.* Since the very moment you heard the 
 masses were going to rise up in their might against 
 official corruption, and was going to select me to 
 carry a standard, you have tried to see how mean 
 you could talk about everybody in it. I tried to 
 tell you what had been done and what was going 
 on, but you 've got no more idea of a popular 
 uprising than a cat has. Corrupt men might 
 steal the town itself for all you 'd care, and as for 
 me, what do you care if a grateful people wants to 
 elevate me } " 
 
 " Elevate fiddlesticks ! " cried the miserable 
 woman. "What do you suppose Guhll and the 
 rest of 'em care about you or the people, or any- 
 thing else but themselves .'' Anybody with half 
 an eye could see clear through 'em and their 
 tricks, but you and a parcel of other fools are 
 
 * This was not intended by Mr. Cobleigh as a reflection on 
 the size of his wife's mouth.
 
 54 MRS. COB LEIGH'S BOOAf. 
 
 led around by the nose like so many dunces, and 
 you '11 sit in some bar-room and swallow down all 
 their gas about reform, while I can be home here 
 slaving my life out to have a place decenter than 
 a hog-pen, and when you step into the house and 
 are asked to do a single thing, you fly up as mad 
 as a hornet; but if Guhll and his gang wanted 
 you to run your legs off, you 'd do it without a 
 murmur. I would n't be made such a fool of if I 
 was a man, I know." 
 
 All the time Mrs. Cobleigh was delivering this 
 eulogy on the gods of the reform movement, her 
 husband stood transfixed, without the power to 
 utter a word in protest of the blasphemy. When 
 she finished he darted out the door into the yard, 
 and it was not till he had got well inside the 
 wood-shed, at the farther end of it, that he could 
 trust himself to cry out, — 
 
 " Well, may I be hornswoggled ! " 
 
 After that he smote his hands together a num- 
 ber of times, and kicked over the saw-buck, and 
 set it up again, until he got quite calm. Then he 
 went in and got his supper.
 
 MUS. COBLEIGH'S BOOM. 55 
 
 IX. 
 
 WHAT THE " OUTS " DID. 
 
 The " Outs " held their caucus on the Friday 
 night preceding election day. It was believed the 
 ** Outs " would adopt the reform ticket. This 
 would make a sweeping victory, although it was 
 not necessary to success. The fact was, the masses 
 were so fully aroused by the years of oppression 
 from the party wire-pullers that victory was sure 
 any way. Still, it would be pleasant to have their 
 ticket adopted by a class the makers of the ticket 
 despised. So weak is the human side of our 
 nature. 
 
 The " Outs " had a large attendance upon their 
 caucus, accompanied by an enthusiasm that was 
 new and a hopefulness that had not been seen in 
 their gatherings for some time. The Hon. Mr. 
 Guhll was present, and, strange as it may appear 
 in view of the activity he had shown in the move- 
 ment to free the borough government from par- 
 tisan control, was chosen chairman of the meeting. 
 Messrs. D'Coy, Stoohl, and Gagg were also pres- 
 ent. They were undoubtedly anxious to have the 
 caucus adopt their ticket.
 
 56 MRS. COBLEIGH'S BOOM. 
 
 There was live work in the gathering for a half- 
 hour or so, and then the reform ticket, with three 
 exceptions, was adopted as the ticket of the 
 " Outs " in the coming election. Messrs. Cob- 
 leigh, Richardson, and Willoughby, of the reform 
 ticket, were left off, and Messrs. Jangs, Nangs, and 
 Rangs taken in their place. 
 
 Mr. Cobleigh was not seriously grieved by the 
 exception made of himself by the "Outs." The 
 more he reflected upon it, the better he was 
 pleased. His election was sure any way, because 
 of the intense desire for reform among the masses, 
 and so he could afford to do without the support 
 of the " Outs," while being thrown overboard by 
 a partisan caucus was an act of martyrdom which 
 had its attractions and its advantages. 
 
 The Hon. Mr. Guhll, and Messrs. D'Coy, Gagg, 
 and Stoohl were inclined to be grieved at the 
 action of the "Outs" in throwing out Messrs. 
 Cobleigh, Willoughby, and Richardson. If the 
 "Outs" were going to take any of the ticket, 
 they argued, why not take the whole of it } This 
 is what they could not understand, but Mr. Cob- 
 leigh's firm faith in the masses to right all wrong 
 tended much to reconcile them, and they went into 
 the work with the old fervor. As for Mr. Cob- 
 leigh and the other reformers, they redoubled 
 their exertions, and were full of zeal that con- 
 sumed. 
 
 It soon coming to his ears that a serenade was 
 to be given him on election night, the ambition to
 
 MRS. COB LEIGH'S BOOM. S7 
 
 make a dazzling oratorical flight was again aroused, 
 and he at once set about to prepare a suitable re- 
 sponse. By using the parts saved from the wreck 
 of the former effort, with a little additional that 
 was fresh and appropriate, he succeeded in pro- 
 ducing something calculated to electrify his fellow- 
 citizens while it adorned himself. 
 
 He firmly resolved to have f/izs speech so firmly 
 imbedded in the end of his tongue as to preclude 
 the possibility of its getting away without his con- 
 sent, and with this object he impressed his heir 
 into the service as a sort of combined critic and 
 prompter, who held the manuscript, commented 
 upon the points, lifted him over the obstructions, 
 and enjoyed the performance amazingly. It was 
 a beautiful spectacle thus presented by the father 
 and son. It would have nourished the observer 
 to have seen the two in an upper room by them- 
 selves, to have watched the glow of satisfaction on 
 the father's face, as he progressed through the easy 
 passages, change to one of solicitude as he struck 
 the more difficult parts. The color of excitement 
 flaming his countenance, as he mentally clutched 
 space in a desperate endeavor to get hold of the 
 forward end of the next sentence, formed a 
 marked and interesting contrast to the expression 
 of calm waiting on the face of the copy-holder. 
 
 A no less pleasing feature of the little scene 
 was the power of self-control Mr. Cobleigh exer- 
 cised. There were passages of great power into 
 which he wanted to launch himself with thunder-
 
 5 8 AfRS. COB LEIGH'S BOOM. 
 
 ing effect, but he knew if he did it would reveal 
 his presence in the house to his wife, and she 
 would immediately swoop down on him to per- 
 form some menial act. So he held himself in, 
 and was nearly strangled thereby. 
 
 X. 
 
 THE UPRISING OF THE MASSES. 
 
 The election took place on Monday. Mr. Cob- 
 leigh spoke of it with fervor, as " the uprising of 
 the masses to hurl corruption down." It was an 
 eventful day to him, — a day of intense nervous 
 excitement. He did not even go home to dinner. 
 He said he had n't the time, but the truth was 
 there was a lurking fear in his breast that if Mrs. 
 Cobleio;h g-ot hold of him she would find so much 
 for him to do that he could n't get back again. 
 He contented himself with an oyster stew at a 
 restaurant, and while it was cooling, he refreshed 
 his memory with glances at the copy of his speech 
 in response to the serenade. 
 
 The polls were open for four hours. The " Ins " 
 and the " Outs " and the reformers worked hard. 
 Teams w^ere run, tickets were urged, the back- 
 sliders looked up, and everybody got in every- 
 body's way and tried to climb over each other, and 
 did many other things to advance the interests of 
 their respective ambitions.
 
 MRS. COBLEIGfPS BOOM. 59 
 
 Mr. Cobleigh was in a whirl. He peddled tick- 
 ets, and went after voters, and looked after this 
 and that, and fought against a split ticket, which 
 was a clever imitation of the reform ticket, and 
 had the names of Jangs, Nangs, and Rangs in- 
 serted in the place of those of Cobleigh, Richard- 
 son, and VVilloughby. Toward the close of the 
 time allotted for voting, Mr. Cobleigh got so ner- 
 vous he could not stay near the polls, and retreated 
 to the restaurant, leaving Master Cobleigh to as- 
 certain and bring him the result. 
 
 There he remained, drinking innumerable cups 
 of coffee as a motive for staying, until the news 
 came. 
 
 It was an electric shock to him. 
 
 The reform ticket, as adopted by the " Oiits," 
 was victorious, Jangs, Nangs, and Rangs barely 
 getting an election, but getting it just the same. 
 Mr. Cobleigh could not credit the intelligence, but 
 the truth, with its crushing load of humiliation, 
 was finally realized. The "Outs" saved them- 
 selves by adopting the reform ticket, and Jangs, 
 Nangs, and Rangs were squeezed in on the split 
 tickets. The masses that uprose polled one hun- 
 dred and twenty-five " square " votes, and seventy- 
 five "splits," which had been imposed upon their 
 guileless nature by political wolves in the pelts of 
 reformed sheep. 
 
 Mr. Cobleigh had received one hundred and 
 twenty-five votes, out of a poll of eleven hundred ! 
 It made the standard-bearer in the reform move-
 
 6o' MRS. COB LEIGH'S BOOM. 
 
 ment very, very sick. He struck out for home at 
 once. He had no object in view only to get out 
 of sight of everybody, especially of the masses. 
 
 He was almost exhausted when he got there, 
 and wholly crazed. His wife saw him as he came, 
 and with the quick instinct of her sex saw at once 
 the deplorable change in his appearance. 
 
 "What's the matter with you nowf' she de- 
 manded, with the promptness of aroused sympathy. 
 
 He gasped out the calamitous result of the elec- 
 tion. 
 
 "What did I tell you all along.?" she said. 
 "I knew they was fooling you all the time with 
 their gas about reform, and the uprising of the 
 masses — " 
 
 "Cuss the masses!" moaned their standard- 
 bearer. 
 
 "Well, I'm glad it's over," she added, sympa- 
 thetically, " and I hope you have now got through 
 making a fool of yourself, and will act as you 
 oughter. Squat down and get your supper into 
 you as quick as you can, for I want you to put up 
 the parlor curtains, so I can get the rooms to 
 rights before bedtime. You 've been off all day 
 doing nothing, and now I guess it won't hurt you 
 to help me a little." 
 
 And thus the defeated standard-bearer in the 
 great reform movement sank to rest m the sym- 
 pathetic bosom of his family.
 
 THE POWER OF MUSIC. 6 1 
 
 THE POWER OF MUSIC. 
 
 We were in Morris's music store for a few mo- 
 ments, the other afternoon. Young Mr. Dauchy, 
 who is quite a musician, wanted us to hear an 
 adaptation from the " Chimes of Normandy," 
 which he thought was a very neat thing. We 
 love music ; we become absorbed in it, and satu- 
 rated with it. It lifts us above the world, and 
 the things of time, and leaves us floating noise- 
 lessly through the atmosphere of fond hopes and 
 sweet memories. We were glad when young Mr. 
 Dauchy proposed to play this piece. 
 
 Mr, Blowah was in the store at the time. He 
 was telling us of a hunting expedition the day 
 before, in which he had killed three birds in one 
 shot, when the music commenced. He paused 
 then. We turned our full attention to the instru- 
 ment. The player dashed into the overture. The 
 movement was excellent, if not brilliant. We con- 
 centrated every thought upon it. Mr. Blowah 
 said, — 
 
 " You are fond of music .'' " 
 
 We briefly said, " Yes." 
 
 " So 'm I. There ain't nobody fonder of music 
 than I am. I ain't any player myself, but I can 
 tell when a piece is played right as well as any 
 of 'em. They can't fool me on music." 
 
 There was a spirited dash in the overture at
 
 62 THE rOWFR OF MUSIC. 
 
 this juncture. We were charmed. Mr.' Blowah 
 said, — 
 
 " Did you ever hear old Gibbs, of Slawson, play 
 a violin .■* " 
 
 We had not heard Gibbs. In a tone of as little 
 interest as was possible, we said, " No." 
 
 " Is that so .'' Why, I thought everybody had 
 heard him. He can more than shake a bow. He 
 ain't got no equal in these parts, you bet. I wish 
 you could hear him, you 're so fond of music. If 
 you could hear him play the ' Blue Danube,' you 
 would be so taken up with it that you could n't 
 speak a word." 
 
 Mr. Blowah paused about eight seconds, in 
 which space the "Chimes" floated sweetly, when 
 he again observed, — 
 
 " That 's pretty good playing, ain't it .''" 
 
 "Yes," very briefly. 
 
 " I 've got a capital ear for music," he continued. 
 " I can tell in a minute when a piece is played 
 right. There 's a chap up in New Milford who 
 has got a piano that 's one of the best strung I 
 ever saw. He can more than handle it, too. I 
 can't think of his name. Perhaps you know him." 
 
 So perfectly delicious was the strain now given, 
 that we could not speak. We could only shake 
 our head slowly. 
 
 "No.'' Well, that 's odd. It's curious I can't 
 think of his name. It 's Morgan, or Harrigan, or 
 something like that. There 's a. g-an in it, anyway. 
 It does beat all that I can't think of that name.
 
 THE POWER OF MUSIC. 63 
 
 It 's just as familiar to me as yours. I wish you 'd 
 go up there some day and hear him play. He 
 can play the ' Devil's Hornpipe ' and ' Home, 
 Sweet Home' at the same time. He 's a perfect 
 wonder on the piano. Oh, you must go and hear 
 him, if you want to know what music is. I could 
 sit and hear him all day without breathing." 
 
 Grandly beautiful came the air, as he ceased. 
 Our perturbed spirit fell into the sweet harmony 
 and glided — 
 
 "Did you ever hear Thomas's orchestra.'*" in- 
 quired Mr. Blowah. 
 
 A nod of the head, half exhausted at that, was 
 all the response we could make. 
 
 " How 'd you like him .-' " 
 
 With a powerful wrench we tore ourselves 
 from the delicious air long enough to say, " Very 
 much." 
 
 " He 's the boy to handle music, ain't he .-' I 
 heard him in New York when he first began his 
 concerts. I always go to hear the big guns. If 
 there 's one thing I like it 's good music. I could 
 hear good music forever, I believe. It takes right 
 hold of me, an' I 'm all eaten up with it." 
 
 He paused to relight his cigar. A bit of the 
 " Chimes " like a sound of silver bells was being 
 given. The execution was very fine. We rushed 
 to embrace it. 
 
 Mr. Blowah said, — 
 
 "The next time you go to the city let me know. 
 I should like to take you around to a friend of
 
 64 A DIAGNOSIS OF MOVING. 
 
 mine in Fourteenth Street. He has got a two- 
 thousand-dollar piano, and they say it 's the best 
 toned instrument in New York. And he can 
 more 'n handle it. He 's played ever since he 
 was eight years old, and takes to music as natural 
 as a duck to water. You 'd enjoy hearing, him play, 
 I can tell you, and I 'd like to go there with you. 
 What 's the matter .'' Ain't ^'ou feeling well .'' " 
 
 Before we could make any reply to this unex- 
 pected interrogation the " Chimes " ceased. 
 
 " You move around so restless, and look so 
 white in the face." said Mr. Blowah, eying us 
 anxiously, " that I thought you might be sick. 
 You ought to get out more where you can hear 
 music, you 're so fond of it. It will do you good." 
 
 We gratefully thanked him for his kind interest, 
 and crawled back to the office. 
 
 A DIAGNOSIS OF MOVING. 
 
 There appears to be three stages to a moving. 
 In this respect it is something like a disease. First 
 there are the symptoms, then follows the attack, 
 and after that comes the convalescence. 
 
 The symptoms are the evidence of the calamity 
 which in moving are known as "packing." There 
 is no particular time set to "pack up." It depends 
 on the amount of nervous force possessed by the
 
 A DIAGNOSIS OF MOVING. 6$ 
 
 woman of the house. The more nervous she is the 
 earlier the packing commences, and the more 
 thorough it is. 
 
 About two weeks before you move you notice a 
 shrinking in the goblets. The dozen complete 
 ones have shrunk down to a single cracked mem- 
 ber of the order, and you feed your guest lemon- 
 ade from a teacup, while you modestly imbibe 
 yours from the dipper. The whole goblets are 
 packed up. 
 
 Pretty soon the spoons melt away, leaving but 
 one companion to do the stirring for the entire 
 family, with what awkward assistance a knife -han- 
 dle will render. 
 
 Then follow the surplus cups. They go as 
 effectually as if they had been driven into the 
 earth by a trip-hammer, and the desolation they 
 leave behind is great indeed. 
 
 As time advances the symptoms grow more pro- 
 nounced, and just preceding the breaking out of 
 the disease itself they are quite violent. 
 
 The extra plates follow the extra cups, and the 
 knives and forks ditto. Then such trifles as the 
 napkins and salt-cellars go in a lump, and when the 
 last meal is served, with a knuckle of ham which 
 there is no time to dust, and bread which there is 
 no need to butter, the disease has taken a good 
 square hold, and can safely be depended upon to 
 have its run. 
 
 At this juncture one home is broken into two 
 homes, and a man with so much wealth is apt to 
 
 5
 
 66 A DIAGNOSIS OF MOVING. 
 
 lose his head. After losing his head he begins to 
 lose his hide. About the same time the woman 
 loses her reckoning. Then the carman, who is an 
 hour and a half late, comes in and completes the 
 picture. 
 
 The disease rarely runs less than twenty-four 
 hours. But it don't lose a minute of the time. 
 
 As in packing up, so in putting down, the pre- 
 vailing idea is to get everything somewhere, and 
 to get it there in the most direct way possible. 
 This explains why the stove-lifter is put in the 
 bureau drawer, and the picture nails in the tub 
 with the tinware. 
 
 In the new home the kitchen stove is left in the 
 hall. The bedding is piled up on the pictures in 
 the parlor. The best bedstead is placed in the din 
 ing-room, and the extension table in the sitting- 
 room, and between the four apartments are barriers 
 of carpets, knick-knacks, boxes, and the like. 
 
 At night the carman composedly drives off, with 
 a parting look at you, and the debris that surrounds 
 you, that plainly says, " I guess I 've fixed j/(?/^." 
 
 We have come to the belief that a carman never 
 moved his own family. 
 
 Then follows the convalescence. The haste 
 with which a man puts things anywhere just to 
 get them out of the way when moving, is repented 
 of in the leisure of the unpacking and putting to 
 rights. The recovery from the shock of the dis- 
 ease is necessarily slow. It requires days. This 
 is caused by the embarrassment of riches which a
 
 A DIAGNOSIS OF MOVING. 6/ 
 
 man finds himself surrounded with. He is aston- 
 ished at the number and variety of articles that 
 presumably belong to him, and which there is no 
 time nor opportunity to shoulder off on some other 
 family. He almost curses his prosperity. 
 
 He looks over his possessions and then over the 
 amount of room he has got, and wonders where on 
 earth he is going to store his wealth. The light 
 his wife throws on to the subject is so brilliant 
 that it dazzles and confuses rather than clears. 
 
 It frequently happens — so frequently, in fact, 
 that it never occurs any other way — that the two 
 vary in their preference for a place to begin work, 
 and so mutable are things earthly that the two 
 generally reverse the order of procedure, the man 
 bringing up in the woman's position and she fall- 
 ing naturally into his. 
 
 No one thing is persisted in. When a carpet is 
 partly down is the time to begin to put up the 
 bed. And that should be left half finished to give 
 one of the stoves a start. This gives time for 
 reflection, and reflection shows that the base-boards 
 of the half-carpeted room are not clean, and the 
 carpet should not go down until they are. Every- 
 body will admit that it is easier to take up the half 
 of a carpet than the whole of it. 
 
 Moving is like tumbling into a ditch down one 
 bank and crawling out again up the other bank. 
 We go from order into chaos, and from chaos we 
 gradually work, stage by stage, back to order 
 again, but coming out on the opposite side.
 
 68 A DIAGNOSIS OF MOVING. 
 
 Any defects in packing up show up in a glaring 
 light in the unpacking. Fortunately, people who 
 move are married, and so have some one always 
 convenient to lay the blame on. Otherwise, mov- 
 ing would be simply unendurable. 
 
 About the first thing to be done in the new 
 house on the first night is to get a bed up. The 
 next thing is to climb over a variety of articles 
 and get into it. The next day the bed can be 
 taken down so that the carpet may be laid. 
 
 Once in a while a man thinks he will surprise 
 and delight his wife by doing something unex- 
 pected for her. So while she is getting to rights 
 at one end of the house he puts down a carpet all 
 alone by himself at the other end, and gets nearly 
 all the furniture belonging to the room in its 
 place before she discovers what he is doing, and 
 also that he has left the papers from under the 
 carpet. She admires his motive, of course, but 
 is so conservative in the expression of her grati- 
 tude that much of its significance is lost. 
 
 But the convalescence proceeds. The knuckle 
 of ham comes out again, and is finished. The 
 caster is found. The butter-dish appears, and the 
 butter itself is rescued from its perilous surround- 
 ings. The next day the teacups begin to show 
 themselves, and before night most of the knives 
 and forks have got around. On the third day the 
 napkins and salt-cellars, with two or three spoons, 
 fall into the line, and on the fourth day these are 
 joined by the goblets and the rest of the spoonSc
 
 THE PRACTICAL SIDE OF LOVE. 69 
 
 By the time the week is out most of the table 
 articles have put in an appearance, and shortly 
 after the kitchen stove begins to draw, and now 
 matters progress without difficulty, and the con- 
 valescence ends in restored health. 
 
 THE PRACTICAL SIDE OF LOVE. 
 
 For a year or more the two had "kept com- 
 pany." He was a young man with nothing to 
 depend upon but his two arms at his trade. She 
 was the daughter of poor, hard-working parents, 
 pretty well along in life at that. She was a very 
 young and quite fair girl, whose time was devoted 
 to helping her aged mother in the cares of the 
 home. The three lived happily and comfortably 
 together, the man's earnings being just sufficient 
 to keep them in food and clothes, and a roof over 
 their head. When Cyrille's lover came, the old 
 folks fell to planning for the future. In the per- 
 spective was a home provided with a stalwart son, 
 and kept beautiful by an earnest, faithful daughter. 
 At its front was a porch upon which the sunlight 
 ever rested. Under the porch they themselves 
 sat all through the summer day, while about their 
 feet played the happy grandchildren. 
 
 Cyrille herself worked cheerily and hopefully 
 about the house, her glad songs making music
 
 70 THE PRACTICAL SIDE OF LOVE. 
 
 through all the rooms, and charming the birds 
 that swayed to and fro on the maple outside the 
 door, and the bees that gathered the sweets from 
 the blossoms under the window. So happy was 
 Cyrille in her love, her hope, her dream ! Every 
 duty was so light, every effort so easy ; and all 
 out doors, the trees, the flowers, the sunlight, were 
 so much more- beautiful than they had ever been 
 before. 
 
 Cyrille's lover worked steadily at the factory, as 
 full of hope as was the girl he was to marry. It 
 was hard work and long hours, but John did not 
 much mind them, because he was always thinking 
 of what they were leading up to, and that itself 
 was so much better than anything else on earth 
 that it was well worth double the work and double 
 the hours, were it possible to compass them. Not 
 a very handsome man, nor a particularly brilliant 
 man, was John, but he made up in an earnest will- 
 ingness what he lacked in looks and mental devel- 
 opment. More than made it up, thought the old 
 people, while Cyrille never once thought but that 
 John was just as handsome and full as brilliant as 
 any man who walked the earth ; so tenderly char- 
 itable is love, so hopeful of its own. 
 
 But there came a time when work at his factory 
 grew slack. The hours became less and the pay 
 less. Week after week this shortening continued, 
 and John's heart grew faint. But Cyrille did not 
 lose her courage, or, if she did, no one knew it. 
 She sang just the same, and her face, when it
 
 THE PRACTICAL SIDE OF LOVE. 71 
 
 appeared, was just as sunny and hopeful. To John 
 she was the same cheerful, happy body as before. 
 The more discouraged he grew the more hopeful 
 she became, and the cloud could not exist where 
 such a steady flow of sunshine was bearing upon 
 it, and so with her John would take heart despite 
 himself. 
 
 Still the factory grew quieter and quieter, and 
 one day it became very still, — the stillness of one 
 that was dead. In vain John sought work else- 
 where. There was no room for him. He was 
 obliged to give up his boarding-place, and having 
 nowhere else to go, he went to live with Cyrille's 
 people. It was a happy day for Cyrille. Every 
 day she had her lover with her, and when the 
 night came they were not far separated, because 
 the one roof sheltered them. No cloud chilled 
 her dear heart. He was with her, and she was 
 satisfied. 
 
 But John was ill at ease. Daily he sought work 
 here, there, but no work came. The days melted 
 into weeks, and the weeks made months. Three 
 months had passed. Cyrille and her mother went 
 away to spend the afternoon with a friend. Shortly 
 before the hour for tea they returned, and Cyrille 
 found a note on the stand in her room, as she went 
 there to remove her hat and cape. It was directed 
 in pencil, on the outside, to " Cyrille," in John's 
 well-known hand. 
 
 A chill passed over the girl as she picked it up. 
 There was a premonition of a great trouble in
 
 72 THE PRACTICAL SIDE OF LOVE. 
 
 its mysterious appearance. She did not look for 
 a note. She expected to find him at home, or if 
 not there, that he would soon come. There was 
 no reason for a note at all unless he was going 
 away unexpectedly, or was going to — She shiv- 
 ered all over at the dreadful thought. It was full 
 a moment before she could open the paper to read 
 its contents. Her fingers trembled and her face 
 was colorless. Then she opened it. The contents 
 were very brief. They said : — 
 
 Dear Friend, — I 'm sorry for what I 'm going to do, 
 but I can't help myself. I am out of work, and can't see 
 any prospect of getting it, and I have been all over, and it 
 is no good. There 's no chance for me to do anything, and 
 so there 's no sight for our getting married, and so I have 
 concluded to make a change. A woman what keeps a 
 boarding-house wants me to marry her, and we will be 
 married to-night. She 's got a good business, nearly twenty 
 boarders, and she expects more. Hoping you will always be 
 happy, I sign myself. 
 
 Yours forever, 
 
 John. 
 
 Cyrille's venerable father immediately brought 
 suit against John for three months' board, in the 
 hope to save something from the wreck. 
 
 In that hope we join.
 
 GETTING HER HAT. 73 
 
 GETTING HER HAT. 
 
 The house-cleaning being over with, the female 
 mind has taken a full grasp of the millinery prob- 
 lem. It is a very difficult matter to settle, this 
 getting a covering for the female head. Days are 
 devoted to it. Hours of anxious thought are given 
 up to it. There are so many things to consider in 
 connection with it, — things that men do not un- 
 derstand, and consequently can have no sympa- 
 thy with. 
 
 Her comiDlexion is one thing. Is the prevailing 
 color suitable to it } If not, how can a compro- 
 mise with fashion be made, so that the sensi- 
 bility of the public (which is other women) shall 
 not be shocked .-* The shape of her face is another 
 important item. Is the prevailing form of hat 
 adapted to it .'' If not, what style that will do 
 comes the nearest to the leading style } These 
 are very weighty matters, and must be carefully 
 weighed before action is taken. 
 
 Still another important subject is the making 
 over of last season's hat. What trimmings can be 
 used that have been used before .'' Not alone taste, 
 but economy as well, is concerned here. In no 
 place does the economy of women show out as in 
 the working over of an old hat into a new one. 
 Of course it requires time, and close thought, and 
 shrewd judgment, and keen management, but sue-
 
 74 GETTING HER HAT. 
 
 cess is sure to follow, and the pride she takes in 
 exhibiting the triumph of her genius, and compar- 
 ing it with the new hat of a neighbor who never 
 has any tact in making over and saving, is a gen- 
 uine pleasure, and pays for all the trouble, to say 
 nothing of the money saved. We have known a 
 hat thus made, costing about four dollars, to look 
 fully as good as a four-dollar hat which was of new 
 material throughout. 
 
 Then there is still another matter that must not 
 be lost sight of. This is the hat the woman next 
 door is going to have. Her hat must n't conflict 
 with this hat. There is considerable anxiety in- 
 volved. She must know what kind of a hat that 
 woman is going to have before she can get her 
 own. Her hat must n't be like it. She can't copy 
 after her. She must be first, or nothing at all. 
 
 We have come to believe that the woman next 
 door, or any other woman in the neighborhood, 
 never get ahead in any particular, because their 
 hats are so faulty. 
 
 Why are they so unfortunate in their taste ? 
 Why will the broad-faced woman wear a narrow 
 brim } And why does the thin-faced woman affect 
 the very broadest brim } And why does the very 
 florid-faced lady take on so conspicuous a hat ? 
 And why will the pale woman go to such lengths 
 in color, and the dark-faced woman plunge into 
 the brightest yellow.'* 
 
 Then, again, there is the struggle at the milli- 
 ner's. We are not so unsallant as to claim a woman
 
 A FEMALE BASE-BALL CLUB. 75 
 
 doesn't make up her mind as to what sort of hat 
 she will wear before she goes after it. She knows 
 what she wants, of course, but there is a delirious 
 pleasure in trying on all the hats in the shop. 
 And she does it so neatly, and comments so nat- 
 urally on the imperfections or inconsistencies of 
 the wear, that one would think she was really try- 
 ing to be suited with each effort. Such observa- 
 tions as the following are but samples of the many 
 that greet the milliner : " O, I never could wear 
 that!" "There, do you think that's becoming.''" 
 "If it was n't for the frizzes, I could wear a hat set 
 back." "It turns up too much at the side." ''He 
 don't like a hat over my face." " My face is too 
 broad for me to wear a hat ojf my face." Unless 
 the woman is at her own milliner's, the following 
 remark invariably winds up all the others : — 
 
 " If I cannot find anything to suit me better, I 
 will come back." 
 
 She always finds it. 
 
 A FEMALE BASE-BALL CLUB. 
 
 The only attempt on record of Danbury trying 
 to organize a female base-ball club occurred last 
 week. It was a rather incipient affair, but it 
 demonstrated everything necessary, and in that 
 particular answered every purpose. The idea was
 
 7^ A FEMALE BASE- BALL CLUB. 
 
 cogitated and carried out by six young ladies. It 
 was merely designed for an experiment on which 
 to base future action. The young ladies were at 
 the house of one of their number when the subject 
 was brought up. The premises are capacious, and 
 include quite a piece of turf, hidden from the street 
 by several drooping, luxuriant, old-fashioned apple- 
 trees. The young lady of the house has a brother 
 who is fond of base-ball, and has the necessary 
 machinery for a game. This was taken out on the 
 turf under the trees. The ladies assembled, and 
 divided themselves into two nines of three each. 
 The first three took the bat, and the second three 
 went to the bases, one as catcher, one as pitcher, 
 and the other as chaser, or, more technically, 
 fielder. The pitcher was a lively brunette, with 
 eyes full of dead earnestness. The catcher and 
 batter were blondes, with faces aflame with expecta- 
 tion. The pitcher took the ball, braced herself, 
 put her arm straight out from her shoulder, then 
 moved it around to her back without modifying in 
 the least its delightful frigidity, and then threw it. 
 The batter did not catch it. This was owing to 
 the pitcher looking directly at the batter when she 
 aimed it. The fielder got a long pole and soon 
 succeeded in poking the ball from an apple-tree 
 back of the pitcher, where it had lodged. Business 
 was then resumed again, although with a faint 
 semblance of uneasiness generally visible. 
 
 The pitcher was very red in the face, and said 
 " I declare " several times. This time she took a
 
 A FEMALE BASE-BALL CLUB. 77 
 
 more careful aim, but still neglected to look in 
 some other direction than toward the batter, and 
 the ball was presently poked out of another tree. 
 
 "Why, this is dreadful !" said the batter, whose 
 nerves had been kept at a pretty stiff tension. 
 
 " Perfectly dreadful ! " chimed in the catcher, 
 with a long sigh. 
 
 " I think you had better get up in one of the 
 trees," mildly suggested the fielder to the batter. 
 
 The observations somewhat nettled the pitcher, 
 and she declared she would not try again, where- 
 upon a change was made with the fielder. She 
 was certainly more sensible. Just as soon as she 
 was ready to let drive, she shut her eyes so tight 
 as to loosen two of her puffs and pull out her back 
 comb, and madly fired away. The ball flew 
 directly at the batter, which so startled that lady, 
 who had the bat clinched in both hands with des- 
 perate grip, that she involuntarily cried, "Oh, 
 my ! " and let it drop, and ran. This movement 
 uncovered the catcher, who had both hands ex- 
 tended about three feet apart, in readiness for the 
 catch, but being intently absorbed in studying the 
 coil on the back of the batter's head, she was not 
 able to recover in time, and the ball caught her 
 in the bodice with sufficient force to deprive her 
 of all her breath, which left her lips with ear- 
 piercing shrillness. There was a lull in the pro- 
 ceedings for ten minutes, to enable the other mem- 
 bers of the club to arrange their hair. 
 
 The batter again took position, when one of the
 
 78 A FEMALE BASE-BALL CLUB. 
 
 party, discovering that she was holding the bat 
 very much as a woman carries a broom when she 
 is after a cow in the garden, showed her that the 
 tip must rest on the ground and at her side, with 
 her body a trifle inclined in that direction. The 
 suggester took the bat and showed just how it 
 was done, and brought around the bat with such 
 vehemence as to almost carry her from her feet, 
 and to nearly brain the catcher. That party 
 shivered, and moved back some fifteen feet. 
 
 The batter took her place, and laid the tip of 
 the bat on the ground, and the pitcher shut her 
 eyes again as tightly as before, and let drive. 
 The fielder had taken the precaution to get back 
 of a tree, or otherwise she must have been dis- 
 figured for life. The ball was recovered. The 
 pitcher looked heated and vexed. She did n't 
 throw it this time. She just gave it a pitching 
 motion, but not letting go of it in time it went 
 over her head, and caused her to sit down with 
 considerable unexpectedness. 
 
 Thereupon she declared she would never throw 
 another ball as long as she lived, and changed off 
 with the catcher. This young lady was somewhat 
 determined, which augured success. Then she 
 looked in an altogether different direction from 
 that to the batter. 
 
 And this did the business. The batter was 
 ready. She had a tight hold on the bat. Just as 
 soon as she saw the ball start, she made a tremen- 
 dous lunge with the bat, let go of it, and turned
 
 MR. COB LEIGH GETS READY FOR A JOURNEY. 79 
 
 around in time to catch the ball in the small of 
 her back, while the bat being on its own hook, 
 and seeing a stone figure holding a vase of flowers, 
 neatly clipped off its arm at the elbow and let the 
 flowers to the ground. 
 
 There was a chorus of screams, and some con- 
 fusion of skirts, and then the following dialogue 
 took place : — 
 
 No. I. "Let 's give up the nasty thing," 
 
 No. 2. "Let 's." 
 
 No. 3. " So I say." 
 
 No. 4. "It 's just horrid." 
 
 This being a majority, the adjournment was 
 made. 
 
 The game was merely an experiment. And it 
 is just as well it was. Had it been a real game, 
 it is likely that some one would have been killed 
 outright. 
 
 MR. COBLEIGH GETS READY FOR A 
 JOURNEY. 
 
 Mr. Cobleigh was preparing to go away on 
 the early train, Monday morning. Being of a 
 nervous temperament himself, and somewhat 
 crowded for time, shirt-buttons hugged close to 
 the cloth, and button-holes appeared to be turned 
 upside down. Just as he grasped his carpet-bag 
 and was about to start, a strange cat made a dash
 
 So MR. COBLE/GH GETS READY FOR A JOURNEY. 
 
 in through the door which Mrs. Cobleii;h opened 
 to see if the weather looked sufficiently threaten- 
 ing to make an umbrella necessary. The entrance 
 of the cat was a great shock to both Mr. and Mrs. 
 Cobleigh, as both despised cats. Mrs. Cobleigh 
 screamed, " Scat ! " but the animal misunderstood 
 what she said, and instead of climbing over her 
 and running outdoors, it started into the sitting- 
 room. Mr. Cobleigh put after it at once. The 
 cat dodged under the lounge, and Mr. Cobleigh 
 had to shove the lounge around before he could 
 dislodge it. Out from there it put for the front 
 bedroom, the door to which being conveniently 
 open. Mr. Cobleigh hastened after. All this 
 time he retained his hold on the carpet-bag, and 
 the spectacle of a man with a carpet-bag chasing 
 a cat must have been an inspiring one to even so 
 commonplace a woman as Mrs. Cobleigh, had not 
 that lady been too excited to notice it. She had 
 instinctively secured a broom, and had discreetly 
 closed the outside door, and was now prepared to 
 contribute materially to the exodus of the cat. 
 
 At the same time Mr. Cobleigh, with the 
 carpet-bag well in hand, was following the cat 
 amid the diversities of the front-bedroom furni- 
 ture. And the carpet-bag proved a valuable aid. 
 When the animal went under the bed, Mr. Cob- 
 leigh got down on his knees and shook the bag at 
 her, and she departed for a chair. And then Mr. 
 Cobleigh would throw the bag at the chair, and 
 the cat would fly under the bed again, leaving
 
 MR. COB LEIGH GETS READY FOR A JOURNEY. 8 1 
 
 Mr. Cobleigh to pick up the bag himself, which 
 he did. Then Mrs. Cobleigh got in with the 
 broom, and both bag and broom were so effectual 
 that the cat was only too glad to take refuge in 
 the dining-room, and would have bolted outdoors 
 with a heart full of gratitude, without doubt, had 
 there been any means, but seeing none, it departed 
 into the kitchen. 
 
 The remark that Mr. Cobleigh made on seeing 
 that the door was closed we will not record. It 
 was intended particularly for Mrs. Cobleigh's edifi- 
 cation, and would lose its bloom if given to the 
 public. The celerity with which she got the door 
 open was most commendable. 
 
 But the cat was under the kitchen stove, and 
 Mr. Cobleigh dashed in there, the trusty bag still 
 in hand, and his whole appearance denoting that 
 he was about to take a journey. 
 
 The stove was much lower than the bed, and in 
 getting down so he could see under it, and present 
 the bag to the attention of the cat, two suspender 
 buttons on his best pants gave away, and Mr. 
 Cobleigh was forced to stand ignominiously by 
 and hold up the garment, while Mrs. Cobleigh 
 started the cat with the broom. 
 
 The repressed wrath of this performance found 
 expression in the appearance of the cat and its 
 flight to the dining-room ; and the exasperated man, 
 darting in there in time to see the animal going 
 through the door, impulsively shied the carpet-bag 
 after her. 
 
 6
 
 82 
 
 NE W ENGLAND INQ UTSITIVENESS. 
 
 The bag missed the cat, but struck the floor of 
 the stoop with such force, that, striking on one 
 corner, it split apart, and Mr. Cobleigh was elec- 
 trified beyond measure to see its contents shoot 
 out into the street. 
 
 He then gave up all hopes of catching the train. 
 
 NEW ENGLAND INQUISITIVENESS. 
 
 It is remarkable, the amount of inquisitiveness 
 a New-Englander develops in the course of his 
 life. There is nothing awkward or constrained 
 about it. It comes easily, naturally, and grace- 
 fully. In no part of New England is this trait so 
 carefully cultivated as in our own dear Connecticut. 
 Its fruits are shown in the record of the Patent 
 Office. There are other fruits, however, not quite 
 so happy, which never get inside of the Patent 
 Office, and it is just as well they don't. Here is 
 an instance in kind : A Danbury grocery firm 
 have taken the agency for a hammock. One of 
 the articles they have hung at the front in the 
 shade of their porch. They hung it there as a 
 sample and as an advertisement, but numerous 
 people have got into it to see how it worked. 
 It hung so low they could easily sit in it, and 
 undoubtedly the motion was agreeable and com- 
 forting. But the grocers did n't fancy this per-
 
 NEW ENGLAND INQUISITIVENESS. 83 
 
 formance, especially as the hammock sitters were 
 not hammock buyers. Saturday afternoon they 
 removed the loop to one end from the hook, and 
 fastened it by a bit of twine instead. Shortly 
 after a man came in for two quarts of molasses. 
 It was put up in his pail, and a paper tied over 
 the top, as he had forgotten to bring a cover. 
 When he passed out he saw the hammock. His 
 curiosity was aroused at once. The grocers were 
 busy inside, so he thought he would investigate on 
 his own hook. With that keen intuition peculiar 
 to a New England man, he saw at a glance that 
 it was something to get into. He knew it was 
 nothing to wear, and was equally sure it could not 
 be arranged for cooking. He sat down in it. 
 Then he swung backward and lifted his feet up. 
 Then the twine fastening gave away. It was a 
 dreadful affair. He had the pail of molasses sit- 
 ting on his lap, and there was a dog sitting under 
 the hammock. Neither the dog nor the molasses 
 expected anything, any more than the man him- 
 self did. It was a terrible surprise to all of them. 
 The man and the dog lost their presence of mind, 
 and even the pail lost its head. The molasses 
 went into his lap, and ran down his legs, and 
 swashed up under his vest, and insinuated itself 
 some way in between himself and his clothes. And 
 when he went down he hit the dog with his heel 
 on the back, and the dog was so wild with terror 
 and amazement that it set up a head-splitting yell 
 and fled madly down the street, having first taken
 
 84 A LATE FALL. 
 
 the precaution to bite him on the leg and to tip 
 over a tier of wooden water-pails. When the 
 pails went down a lot of hoes were carried over 
 with them, and that started a box of garden seeds 
 mounted on a box, and they in turn brought away 
 a pile of peck measures whose summit was 
 crowned with a pyramid of canned tomatoes. 
 It was a dreadful shock to the man, and fairly 
 paralyzed him with its magnitude ; but when one 
 article following another came avalanching atop 
 of him, he thought the evil one himself had burst 
 loose, and he just screamed as loud as he could. 
 The molasses was all over him, and the garden 
 seeds had adhered to the molasses, and he looked 
 more like a huge gingerbread stuck full of caraways 
 than anything else. In this awful condition he 
 waddled home, and swore every step of the way. 
 
 There has never been anything like it in Dan- 
 bury since the British burned the town. 
 
 A LATE FALL. 
 
 It is a sad thing when the happiness of one be- 
 comes the misery of another. It is still sadder 
 when the good and the beautiful are made instru- 
 ments of torture. The mellow sunshine that lies 
 upon all the earth, the balmy air laden with the 
 scent of late flowers, and the hum of insect life,
 
 A LATE FALL. 85 
 
 are carrying misery into many hearts. To women 
 this is a saddening autumn. Not since the origi- 
 nal fall has there been a fall so disastrous to her 
 as this fall. The sunlight, the warmth, the bud- 
 ding trees and flowering buds cast her down. 
 She feels the days slipping noiselessly but swiftly 
 by, and knows that soon, so soon, it will be too 
 late. 
 
 It is house-cleaning season, but how little like, 
 how unnatural it is. No leaden sky, no chilling 
 air, no flying damp. There is no joy in having 
 the stoves down, nor the carpets up. There is no 
 happiness in having the windows out. 
 
 One cannot clean house without having it an 
 open house from cellar to garret. And what com- 
 fort is there in having a house open, if no man is 
 to be frozen stiff .'* Of what use is having the 
 fires out, if no man is to be chilled to the marrow.^ 
 What pleasure can there be in having a man shak- 
 ing a carpet under a clear sky, or blacking a stov^e- 
 pipe in balmy weather .-* 
 
 Pity your wife now. If ever she needs your 
 sympathy, your patience, your forbearance, it is 
 in this great calamity that has fallen upon her. 
 Help her to look for the line storm. Get up be- 
 fore she does in the morning. Go outdoors and 
 scrutinize the weather. If a cloud comes, if a 
 damp air falls, go tell her. It will comfort her. 
 
 You have the excitement of business, the pleas- 
 urable society of the world, but it is little she has 
 to entertain her and take her out of herself, and
 
 86 
 
 THE NEIGHBORHOOD'S REMEDIES. 
 
 the most of that is comprised in turning the house 
 upside down during the chill days of the line 
 storm. 
 
 She will get discouraged in this golden sunlight 
 and mellow haze ; but lift her up. It is your duty 
 to do it. Tell her not to despair, that a line storm 
 comes every fall, that it must come soon, that per- 
 haps before another day has passed the air will be 
 full of death's chill and death's damp, and every 
 fire can be extinguished, every window be taken 
 out, every carpet taken up, and every door left 
 open. 
 
 THE NEIGHBORHOOD'S REMEDIES. 
 
 We would not have people to be entirely indif- 
 ferent to each other, but there is certainly an 
 interest taken in each other's physical welfare that 
 is frequently apprehensive. Perhaps the cause of 
 this lies in the great excess of supply over demand 
 in the matter of remedies, and there can be no 
 change for the better until this condition is 
 reversed. 
 
 Mr. Womsley, for instance, has a cold. It 
 settles on his lungs or in his throat, and causes 
 him to cough. So he coughs. He can't very 
 well cough without some one hearing him. Some 
 one hears him, and says, — 
 
 " Got a bad cold, eh } Should be taken care of
 
 THE NEIGHBORHOOD'S REMEDIES^ ^7 
 
 or there '11 be trouble. Let me tell you what 
 to do." 
 
 The thing to do in this case is to take a strong 
 draught of composition tea just before retiring, 
 cover up warm, and in the morning the cold is 
 gone. The advice is followed. However, the 
 cold appears to be there just the same, as is 
 evident from the cough. 
 
 He speaks of it to A. A asks him what he is 
 taking. He tells him. A says, — 
 
 "Composition, granny! That stuff maybe all 
 well enough for a little cold, but for such a one as 
 you 've got, you need something entirely different. 
 What foie want is a good square dose of Santa 
 Cruz rum and molasses. If that don't fix you, 
 nothing will." 
 
 Mr. Womsley takes a good square dose, and 
 fortunately goes to bed on it. Otherwise there 
 might have been trouble. He awakes the next 
 morning so hoarse he can scarcely speak. 
 
 The next day the remedies increase. Mr. B's 
 remedies have done remarkable cures that he per- 
 sonally knows of. Mr. C's came from an old 
 Indian who gave it to one of his ancestors, and it 
 had been handed down direct, without being 
 tampered with. Mr. D's cured his aunt of con- 
 sumption after a number of doctors had given 
 her up. Mr. E's is something entirely new. He 
 has been dosed to death himself by all kinds of 
 stuff, and had lost all faith, and was n't going 
 to try this, but was prevailed upon to do it,
 
 88 MASTER COVILLE AS CUPID. 
 
 and now he wouldn't be without it for the 
 world, etc. 
 
 Thus Mr. Womsley is bombarded on the third 
 day of his cold. Is it any wonder that he becomes 
 sensitive on the subject .^ That his illness as- 
 sumes a new phase of horror } That he shrinks 
 from every medicine man and woman in the com- 
 munity .'' And that he uses all means in his 
 power to smother the cough from the hearing of 
 every one .-' These are not wonders, but it would 
 be a very great wonder indeed if he did not 
 descend to deceit and lie about his cough. Mr. 
 Womsley believes he is justified in lying, and 
 deliberately goes to work to do it. 
 
 Now who is to blame for this ? 
 
 MASTER COVILLE AS CUPID. 
 
 Mr. Coville's niece, an estimable as well as a 
 pretty young lady, has been visiting him for some 
 time. Shortly after her coming, a clerk in one 
 of Danbury's leading stores made her acquaint- 
 ance, and became at once her devoted attendant, 
 very much to the delight of young Coville. The 
 clerk is very fond of good tobacco, and smokes 
 an admirable cigar. The portion of it that is not 
 consumed when he reaches the house, he leaves 
 on the porch until he comes out again. The third
 
 MASTER COVILLE AS CUPID. 89 
 
 or fourth time he did this young Coville detected 
 the move, and lost no time in possessing himself 
 of the luxury, with which he retired to an out-of- 
 the-way place. When this had been done several 
 times, and several times the clerk had secretly 
 felt for and missed his cigar, he began to grow 
 suspicious and uneasy. Perceiving this, young 
 Coville awoke to the fact that something must 
 be speedily done to counteract the smoker's dis- 
 cretion, and the best way to do it was to so com- 
 pletely involve him in the meshes of love as to 
 make the loss of an unfinished cigar a matter of 
 no account whatever. With this view he put 
 himself in the young man's way at the store. 
 The bait took. 
 
 " How 's Minnie .''" asked the clerk, anxiously. 
 
 " She 's not very well," said young Coville. 
 
 "Why, what 's the matter .? " 
 
 " I don't know. I guess you know that better 'n 
 I do," answered the youth, with a facetious wink, 
 
 "I know.?" 
 
 " I guess so. Oh, she 's gone on you." 
 
 " Sh ! " cautioned the clerk, looking around to 
 see if they were unobserved. " What do you 
 mean, Billy .'' " And he blushed and looked 
 pleased. 
 
 " Why, you see, she 's as chirk as can be when 
 you 're there, but when you ain't she 's all down 
 the mouth. She don't fix her hair, an' she won't 
 see anyliody, an' she goes around the house sigh 
 ing, an' sets on a chair for an hour without sayin'
 
 90 MASTER COVILLE AS CUPTD. 
 
 a blamed word to nobody, but just lookin' at the 
 wall. Then there 's another thing," added the 
 young man, impressively, " she don't put cologne 
 on her handkerchief, only when you 're coming. 
 Oh, I know a thing or two, you bet!" And he 
 winked again. 
 
 To say that the clerk was too pleased and 
 rejoiced for anything, is but feebly expressing the 
 frame of his mind. In the excitement of emotion 
 he gave young Coville a quarter. That diplo- 
 mat hastened home and immediately sought his 
 cousin. 
 
 " Minnie," he said, " I have been up to Charley's 
 store." 
 
 " Have you } " she said, trying to look very 
 much unconcerned. 
 
 " Yes, and I can tell you, Minnie, he 's just a 
 prime fellow, — way up. But he 's gone on you." 
 
 " What do you mean, Willie } " asked the flushed 
 and agitated girl. 
 
 " I mean just what I say. He 's gone sure. 
 He got me off in one corner, and he just pelted 
 the questions into me about you. By gracious, 
 Minnie, it 's awful to see how he is gone on you. 
 He wanted to know what you 're doin', an' if 
 you 're enjoying yourself, an' if you 're careful 
 about your health. He 'd better be looking for 
 his own, I 'm thinkin'." 
 
 The girl was pleased by these marks of devo- 
 tion from the handsome clerk, but her heart failed 
 her at the last observation.
 
 THE INFLUENCE OF A CIRCUS. 9 1 
 
 " Why, what do you mean, Willie ? " she asked, 
 in considerable apprehension. 
 
 " Oh, nothing, only if he keeps a-goin' down as 
 he is of late, it won't be many months before he 
 is salted down for good," said the young man, 
 gloomily. " He told me that the things of this 
 world wa'n't long for him." 
 
 And young Coville solemnly shook his head 
 and withdrew to invest the quarter. 
 
 A great happiness has come upon Charley and 
 Minnie now. Four times a week he visits her, 
 and four times a week young Coville pensively 
 sits back of the fence, smoking a cigar and specu- 
 lating on the joyful future opening before his 
 cousin and her lover. 
 
 THE INFLUENCE OF A CIRCUS. 
 
 There is nothing that takes a stronger hold 
 upon the public heart than a circus. Can you 
 explain it .'' What is there in the tinsel and saw- 
 dust and gaudy paint that penetrates to every 
 heart in the community and draws it irresistibly 
 out of the regular channels of life 1 What is it in 
 these things that lays a hand of iron upon every 
 branch of trade, and for twenty-four hours holds 
 the industry of a town passive within its power .-' 
 Can you tell this ?
 
 92 rilE INFLUENCE OF A CIRCUS. 
 
 We laugh at people while we pity them for 
 making such an ado over a circus. We relent 
 lessly force our children off to school, and shut 
 our heart stoutly against their every appeal for 
 freedom. We can't abide the folly of this circus 
 going. And then we sneak off to the line of pro- 
 cession (because we like to see what fools people 
 will make of themselves), and if there is aught in 
 the line that we do not take in we should very 
 much like to be informed of it. 
 
 We like a circus, and we don't care to deny it 
 either. We commence to think of it several days 
 before it comes. We awake on that day full of 
 excitable expectations. We would n't miss the 
 procession for the price of a universe. We see 
 beauty in the sawdust of the ring. We find glory 
 in the dash of the performance. We are intoxi- 
 cated with the lights, and the tinsel, and the 
 sounds that come from every side. 
 
 Is n't this so with you .-* 
 
 Don't deny it. Be honest, and confess you 
 were just as delirious as the rest of us. You may 
 have been calm enough the night before. We 
 don't say you were not. You laughed at the fools 
 who talk of a circus. You lost patience wdth 
 their zeal. You deplored the loss of time and 
 money. 
 
 But the next morning! Didn't you know it 
 was a circus morning before you heard a sound .-' 
 Didn't your blood mov^e more rapidly .-' Didn't 
 you feel a sense of restlessness creeping over
 
 THE INFLUENCE OF A CIRCUS. 93 
 
 you ? Of course you did. There was circus in the 
 air. The very atmosphere was full of its electri- 
 city, and you felt it, and passed under its spell, 
 and could not fight it off, 
 
 And you saw that procession. If you didn't 
 you carried on like a pirate, and could snap off 
 the heads of the rest of the family for talking 
 about it. You were right in the thickest of the 
 crowd. You despised them for making such fools 
 of themselves, of course. You got indignant 
 because they jostled you, but you wouldn't have 
 been jostled if you had been at your place of busi- 
 ness, or down cellar sorting over seed potatoes, as 
 the despiser of circuses always flatters hhnself 
 that he will be on circus day But then you had 
 to go down town on an errand at the store, and you 
 couldn't help it if the procession came along just 
 then, and the crowd was so great that you couldn't 
 get off the street until the procession was over. 
 It is a little singular that you didn't think to go 
 way to the rear of the store. You would have 
 found room there, without doubt. 
 
 You did n't go to the circus, of course. But 
 there was no harm in going up to the grounds and 
 looking at the tent. Certainly not. Or going in 
 and seeing the animals. Animals are harmless. 
 Fine lessons may be learned in studying animals. 
 After you saw the animals you came away. And 
 when you came away, the masses came too. 
 
 Which is remarkable. 
 
 They appear to have tired of the ring perform
 
 94 DO WE GROW TIRED ^OF FLOWERS? 
 
 ance at the very moment you finished studying 
 the animals. 
 
 DO WE GROW TIRED OF FLOWERS? 
 
 " Have you noticed that you never grow tired 
 of flowers ? " asked a writer. Flowers are beauti- 
 ful. Even the humble blossoms at the roadside 
 are pretty. It rests one to look at flowers. They 
 are loveliness perfected. There is no flaw in 
 their beauty. In gracefulness, delicacy, coloring, 
 fragrance, flowers are the masterpiece of Nature's 
 handiwork. However plain may be the furnishing 
 of a house, if it is provided with flowers it is an 
 attractive spot. Flowers refine him who cultivates 
 them, and gladden all who come in contact with 
 them. They cost but little, yet how much they 
 improve and beautify a place. And when they 
 come in the springtime, after the frosts and snows, 
 how they revive and delight the beholder. And to 
 have them in the house through the winter, their 
 bright colors and growing green in such contrast 
 to the bleak outdoors, is a well-spring of joy. 
 
 And yet there is something very saddening 
 about flowers. They deck the bride and smile 
 amid the festivities of life, but they also cover the 
 dead. Then they have to be got in in the fall. 
 Women are more attached to flowers than are
 
 DO WE GROW TIRED OF FLOWERS? 95 
 
 men. To them the blossoms speak in a language 
 we cannot comprehend. Between flowers and 
 woman there is a mysterious sympathy. There is 
 something very beautiful in this. To a woman a 
 flower is symbolic of purity, tenderness, delicacy. 
 To a man a flower is suggestive of papers, sheets, 
 overcoats, and even bits of carpet. Men would 
 love flowers more, would better appreciate their 
 delightful lessons, if they did not have to get out 
 at night and cover them up. It is a melancholy 
 performance, covering up flowers to keep them 
 from the frost. One has to take off his slippers 
 and put on his boots to do it. He has to give up 
 interesting reading to attend to it. Then it is 
 very dark outdoors, and he steps into unlooked- 
 for holes, and walks plump against unexpected 
 objects. It is an operation that sorely tries his 
 temper, because of the delays ; the differences of 
 opinion in regard to the plants which should be 
 covered and the size of the article to be used in 
 covering ; the losing of pins, and the uncertainty 
 of the extent of the work. No man knows, when 
 he commences the task, the amount that is to be 
 done, and it is this undecision and delay and 
 changing about while the keen air cuts into his 
 unprotected frame, that is worst of all. Sometimes 
 he will get into the house four or five times under 
 the impression that the work is done, only to be 
 called out again to attend to a new plant, and to 
 be reproached for his haste to shirk duty. The 
 seeds of long, and many times fatal, illness are
 
 9^ DO WE GROW TIRED OF FLOWERS? 
 
 sown on these occasions ; for a man generally 
 miscalculates the time required to cover a lot of 
 plants, and, in the vexation that is upon him, 
 hurries out doors in his shirt sleeves, and perhaps 
 bareheaded. This is caused both by desperation 
 and to make the work brief by creating the im- 
 pression that he expects it to be so. If he went 
 out comfortably bundled up, his wife would take 
 that as an earnest invitation to keep him bobbing 
 around in the dark and frosty air half the night, 
 and would do it, without doubt. A man cannot 
 be too circumspect on such an occasion. 
 
 There are many irritating variances of opinion 
 in the matter of covering up flowers. There are 
 plants of such a hardy nature as to need no cover- 
 ing during the first frosts of the season, but it 
 pains us to say that a woman is not aware of it. 
 Then a man and his wife differ as to the strength 
 of the frost. He knows that if there is to be a 
 frost at all, and its coming is very doubtful, it will 
 be so light as to do no harm whatever. But she, 
 on the contrary, declares that it will be so heavy 
 as to kill every plant and seriously menace the 
 fruit-trees. Her obstinacy causes much unhap- 
 piness. 
 
 Pretty soon the time comes for carrying in the 
 plants. The operation is called carrying them in, 
 but lugging is a much more pertinent term. Night 
 is the popular time for doing it, because in the 
 dark, and with his face full of foliage, the man 
 who does the lugging knows no more where he is
 
 POPULAR WA Y OF BEGINNING THE YEAR. 97 
 
 going than if he were blindfolded in a strange 
 cemetery, and is far more likely to crack his shins 
 than to save them. 
 
 After a man has chilled his vitals in covering 
 up plants, and strained his spine in lugging them 
 into the house, it is very cheering to hear his wife 
 declare that she is sick at heart of all the muss, 
 and it is the last time she will ever bother with 
 the plaguy things. 
 
 And he will hear it. It is just as certain as 
 death. 
 
 THE POPULAR WAY OF BEGINNING 
 THE YEAR. 
 
 There is no day waited for with so much impa- 
 tience as the I St of January. The saint of New 
 Year's day is a Russian. His name is Schwearoff. 
 It is a day when most men throw aside their bad 
 habits, sponge off the record of the past, and begin 
 anew with clean page. As a people we are not so 
 particular how we end, if the beginning is only 
 right. 
 
 It is universally conceded that there is no use 
 in trying to turn a new leaf at any other time than 
 on the first day of the year. Other days have been 
 tried, aiid after a fair and impartial trial have been 
 found wanting There is an indescribable some- 
 thmg in them that prevents them from taking hold, 
 
 7
 
 9^ POPULAR WAY OF BEGINNING THE YEAR. 
 
 and so, one by one, they have been dropped in 
 favor of the first day of January. This is the day 
 that takes hold above all other days. It is chiefly 
 esteemed for its grip. 
 
 So everybody waits for the first day of January 
 to put his best foot forward. And for one day in 
 the year the world is almost perfect. 
 
 The nan who smokes waits for that day to ab- 
 jure smoking forever. He might take the vow on 
 some other day, but he is in earnest and must wait 
 till then, or he would not be able to "hold out." 
 He realizes the power the habit has had over him, 
 and how seriously it is hurting him, and is deter- 
 mined to shake it off. He waits impatiently for 
 the first day of the new year, and smokes to calm 
 his impatience. 
 
 The man who chews waits for that day. Chew- 
 ing is a vile habit, and should be abandoned. 
 Nobody understands this more clearly than he. 
 The 1st of January will fix it. He will break off 
 then as clean as a whistle. It is such a nasty, 
 dirty habit that it should be broken off for good ; 
 so he keeps on in the filth until the New- Year 
 day, that he may have all the advantage of that 
 occasion. 
 
 The man who drinks waits for it. Liquor is 
 hurting him. He feels it every day. It is not 
 only injuring him physically, but mentally also; 
 and it hurts his business, and makes his folks 
 unhappy. Besides, drinking is setting a very bad 
 example for those about him. He must give it
 
 POPULAR WA V OF BEGINNING THE YEAR. 99 
 
 up. It is wrong to indulge the habit. He is very 
 anxious for the ist of January to come, so he can 
 stop the wrong. 
 
 The night of the 31st of December is a grea. 
 event in the lives of these men. They wait impa- 
 tiently until twelve o'clock. It would n't do to stop 
 smoking, chewing, or drinking a minute before 
 that hour. At twelve o'clock the last cigar is put 
 out, the last chew thrown away, the last drink 
 is swallowed. 
 
 What an inspiring spectacle is this ! How sol- 
 emn ! How sublime ! How majestic is the strength 
 of man, when his will is aroused ! What a gran- 
 deur there is in this sacrifice of self upon the altar 
 of duty ! 
 
 It is said that the good once understood will 
 always be followed ; and it is so. These men once 
 having tasted the joys of release from a vicious 
 habit will never again lose the opportunity for 
 swearing off. They will swear off on the first day 
 of every year, as long as they live. 
 
 The first day of January is conspicuous in 
 another way. It is the day when diaries are com- 
 menced. You rarely hear of any one commencing 
 a diary at any other time of the year. Such a one 
 would not be orthodox, and it would not, probably, 
 be kept two weeks. Most people begin to keep a 
 daily record of events on the first day of the year, 
 and so diaries are to be found in nearly all house- 
 holds. They are excellent things to have. They arc 
 good in after years to paste poetry and recipes in.
 
 lOO A COUNTRY VILLAGE ON THE FOURTH. 
 
 The trouble with diaries is that they are too 
 large, altogether too large. Manufacturers try to 
 crowd too much in them. They persist in put- 
 ting in all of the months. The model diary that 
 is yet in the far future will never go beyond the 
 month of January. 
 
 And many of them will be kept faitlif ully. 
 
 A COUNTRY VILLAGE ON THE FOURTH OF 
 JULY. 
 
 There are two conspicuous features which go 
 to distinguish the glorious anniversary of our na- 
 tional independence from any other holiday^ and 
 these are the presence of noise and the absence 
 of cats. The noise commences when the boys 
 wake up. The cats commence when they wake 
 up. We don't know where the cats go. We only 
 know they go. Sometimes we have thought they 
 may dissolve in the air, and ascend into space 
 until the racket is over. But this is merely a spec- 
 ulation. Dogs are unlike cats. Dogs are more 
 like women ; trusting, confiding, and hoping for 
 the best. So dogs stay around to see what 's 
 going on. Quite frequently they find out. 
 
 The Fourth of July was not made for the boys, 
 but they have got hold of it. It is a boy's day as
 
 A COUNTRY VILLAGE ON THE FOURTH. lOI 
 
 completely and thoroughly as if they had Veen 
 measured for it. No man thinks of the day in its 
 true significance. If he ponders on and speaks of 
 the heroism, the devotion, the glory of the men of 
 '76, he is a drinking man, and will be as drunk as 
 a fiddler within an hour, if not already there. No 
 man cares aught for the day, unless he keeps a 
 saloon or makes ice-cream or sells fire-works. If 
 he does n't go on a picnic, he stays home and 
 hoes his garden. 
 
 It is the boy who meets and escorts in the day, 
 who waits upon it while it stays, and sees it off at 
 the last. As long as there are boys there will be 
 a glorious anniversary of our national indepen- 
 dence. When they play out, it .will play out. 
 There is nothing a man forgets so easily and com- 
 pletely as that he was once a boy. The man who 
 is awaked out of a sound sleep at dawn cf the 
 Fourth, and swears at the noise, who is startled 
 by an unexpected cracker, or deafened by an unex- 
 pected cannon, and calls the whole thing a piece 
 of condemned foolishness that ought to be swept 
 from the face of the earth, was once a boy himself, 
 and the noisiest, the earliest, the latest, and the 
 most infernal of all the boys in his gang. But 
 you would n't think so, to hear him fume and fret 
 and scold now. 
 
 It would be amusing if it were not so painful 
 to hear parents advise the boys to go to bed early, 
 on the night of the third, so to get rested by a 
 good sleep.
 
 102 A COUNTRY VILLAGE ON THE EOI^RTLf. 
 
 Sleep! What an insane idea! Sleep on the 
 night of the third! Are parents mad? 
 
 Does a man want to trade off a leg of flesh for 
 one of wood ? Does a cockroach ask for a paper 
 of carpet-tacks ? Does an oyster yearn for a 
 porous plaster ? Then why should a boy want 
 sleep on the night before the Fourth ? What he 
 wants is powder to explode, windows to rattle, 
 and an aged lady in the neighborhood to faint 
 dead away. If he should want anything else he 
 will mention it. If you would have him perfectly 
 happy on this day of all days ask him not to sleep, 
 ask him not to wash himself. 
 
 There are two seasons of the day when, by their 
 li\id contrast to each other, they form epochs. 
 One of these is at lo a. m., the other is at 3 p. m. 
 
 Danbury at 10 a. m. presented a remarkably 
 lively appearance. Many of the stores were 
 closed, but this was not noticeable in the life and 
 animation everywhere about. The main street 
 was full of people. Teams were running to and 
 fro. Boys were busy comparing notes, laying in 
 further supplies, and firing off those already on 
 hand. Folks after cream and lemons, women in 
 white, men with baskets on picnics bent, were 
 hurrying here and there, and the scene they made 
 was a lively one indeed. 
 
 At 3 p. M. a radical change had swept over 
 the village. Both nature and humanity were 
 exhausted, and Danbury lay pulseless in the glare 
 of the sun. The main street was comparatively
 
 MR. COBLEIGH'S DESCENT. IO3 
 
 deserted ; the private streets were entirely so. 
 Here and there an irrepressible boy let off a 
 cracker or a little cannon, but these sounds, by 
 their rarity and brevity, only made the silence the 
 more oppressive. A wandering man, appearing 
 as if he had just been shoved out of a graveyard, 
 was to be seen moving aimlessly about. The 
 stone flags and gutters were full of debris of the 
 burnt crackers, fruit leavings, peanut shells, and 
 cigar stumps. The sun poured straight down in 
 a blinding glare of heat upon blistering stones, 
 gray dust of roads, and yellow gravel of walks. 
 " The town was like a man who had been kicking 
 up Old Ned to his heart's content, and had now 
 laid down, and did n't want anybody to touch him. 
 
 MR. COBLEIGH'S DESCENT. 
 
 Mrs. Cobleigh had been scrubbing the oil-cloth 
 under the kitchen stove. Mr. Cobleigh stood by 
 the stove putting on a clean shirt. At this junc- 
 ture, at the most painful juncture possible, — as 
 Mr. Cobleigh had his head entirely obscured in the 
 garment, — a neighboring woman came upon the 
 back stoop and knocked at the door. It was quite 
 a start to Mr. Cobleigh. He pulled away at the 
 robe to relieve his eyes, and at the same time made 
 a plunge foi: escape. It was a violent plunge.
 
 I04 MR. COB LEIGH'S DESCENT. 
 
 He put all the strength of his physical resources 
 into this leap. He didn't strike against the stove 
 or plunge over a chair. He simply landed with 
 the flying foot upon the piece of soap with which 
 Mrs. Cobleigh had been cleaning the cloth. For 
 a single instant Mr. Cobleigh's body paused, an 
 instant of terrific suspense, and then the soap 
 started off, and Mr. Cobleigh came down upon the 
 floor with a shock that knocked the neig'hboring 
 woman from the stoop and caused Mrs. Cobleigh 
 to sink unconscious where she stood, — a shock 
 that made every plate upon the pantry shelf dance 
 and jingle, and set the knives and forks within 
 their resting-place to leaping over each other, — 
 a shock that caused the heavy kitchen table to 
 rear up on one leg as if in the delirium of a drunk, 
 and made two vases sharing a mantel on the upper 
 floor to nod threateningly at each other across the 
 space that divided them. 
 
 It was a terrific fall. Every timber in the build- 
 ing felt it, and shivered as it came. Even the 
 foundation-stones moved, and the tremor passed 
 from them to adjoining shrubs, and set their tops 
 to shaking as if a wind were passing over them, 
 while the sash within the windows shook and 
 rattled to such a degree as to threaten their com- 
 plete dislodgment. 
 
 It seemed as if every flying bird and whispering 
 wind and nodding leaf knew that Mr. Cobleigh 
 had fallen, and was appalled thereby. 
 
 In the mean time the neierhboring: woman
 
 AN EXTRAORDINARY AFFAIR. 10$ 
 
 recovered herself and sallied home straightway. 
 Mr. Cobleigh clawed his way out of the folds of 
 the shirt and limped off to bed; and Mrs. Cobleigh, 
 coming back to consciousness, immediately pro- 
 ceeded to hunt up the soap. 
 
 AN EXTRAORDINARY AFFAIR. 
 
 It certainly was a most extraordinary affair, 
 and the parties interested will remember it as long 
 as they live. The young lady was shopping in 
 the evening. On her way home she was overtaken 
 by a young man, an acquaintance, who asked the 
 pleasure of escorting her home. The offer was 
 accepted, and the two proceeded, he carrying her 
 bundles, and making himself generally agreeable, 
 as is the custom in such cases. Arriving at her 
 home, she took him direct into the sitting-room, 
 as the parlor stove was not yet up. The father 
 and mother were sitting there, enjoying, evidently, 
 the genial warmth of the fire. On the entrance 
 the young man noticed that the mother blushed 
 deeply, and at the same time her husband laughed 
 outright. It was a most boisterous laugh, without 
 evident premeditation, and« appeared to owe its 
 origin to no assignable cause. The laugher gave 
 no explanation after the explosion, but continued 
 to look very much amused, while the color in his
 
 I 06 AN EX TRA OIWJNA RY A FFA IR. 
 
 wife's face deepened. To the young man this 
 was a most embarrassing reception. Naturally 
 enough he felt that it was something in his appear- 
 ance that excited the mirth of the one and caused 
 the blushes of the other. Involuntarily he took 
 a hasty survey of his appearance as far as the 
 circumstances would allow, but could perceive 
 nothing therein calculated to upset the risibilities 
 of any man or unduly agitate the bosom of any 
 woman. Still he was not at his ease, and the 
 young lady discerning it, and failing to understand 
 the action of her parents, proposed euchre as an 
 offset. So the two played, and the old gentleman 
 continued to look amused, occasionally varying this 
 accomplishment by facetious winks at his wife, 
 whose countenance was alternately red and white. 
 The young man became so absorbed in the game 
 that he forgot the peculiarity of his reception, and 
 the young lady, dividing her attention between 
 the cards and his face, lost sight of the trouble. 
 And so they played and played, while the silence 
 of the parents grew really oppressive, had the 
 players but have known it. But they made no 
 note of it. They played on, and all interests were 
 swallowed up in the game. An hour passed, and 
 then a half-hour more. It was now ten o'clock. 
 As the hour struck the old gentleman looked up 
 from his paper in which he had been absorbed for 
 some little time, glanced at the players, then upon 
 the face of his wife, and immediately went off 
 into such a fit of suppressed laughter that the
 
 AjV extkaordia'ary affair. 107 
 
 effort to control it very nearly precipitated him 
 into a case of apoplexy. Fortunately, or rather 
 unfortunately, the players did not notice this 
 agitation. Had they looked up they could not 
 have failed to have noted the terribly distressed 
 expression of the mother's face, in which case the 
 young man would have understood that some 
 family misfortune made the presence of an out- 
 sider very unpleasant. A half-hour more passed. 
 The young man then threw down the cards and 
 said he must go. The young lady, having thor- 
 oughly enjoyed the game, felt impelled to say to 
 him, •* Don't be in a hurry, it is early yet " ; and 
 had almost uttered the fatal words, when her 
 glance encountered the stony expression upon 
 her mother's face, and the words died upon her 
 lips, while a thrill of fear shot through her heart. 
 The young man took his hat, turned to bid the 
 family a pleasant good-night, when his gaze fell 
 upon the face of the mother, and the same thrill 
 pierced his heart. He withdrew without a word, 
 using all the haste possible, and went up the 
 street to his home in a dazed state of mind. 
 
 He learned accidentally, a few days later, the 
 cause of it all. The old lady, having a severe 
 cold, had taken precaution to soak her feet in 
 hot water before retiring, and her feet were in 
 the pail receiving the proper treatment when the 
 young man was unexpectedly ushered in. As her 
 skirts fell over the vessel, he failed to note the 
 fact, and consequently prolonged his stay two
 
 io8 
 
 MR. COBLEIGirS HOE 
 
 solid hours. What the temi)erature of the water 
 had become at that hour can easily be imagined, 
 but what were the thoughts that passed through 
 the miserable woman's distracted mind during 
 those two hours no one can fathom. Even she 
 finds herself unable to clearly define them, although 
 she has talked of but little else since the awful 
 night. 
 
 MR. COBLEIGH'S HOE. 
 
 Tramps calling at the Cobleigh mansion have 
 received something to eat, if there was anything 
 to give them. Mrs. Cobleigh's mother is visiting 
 her son-in-law. When she discovered that tramps 
 called and were fed, she protested against the 
 extravagance. 
 
 " Why," said she, with a pitying laugh, " I 
 should no more think of feeding tramps for noth- 
 ing than of feeding an army for nothing. The 
 good-for-nothing lazy things, they can work just 
 as well as you can work. They 'd never get any- 
 thing out of me without doing something for it, I 
 can tell you that." 
 
 " Oh, that *s well enough in theory," observed 
 the soft-hearted Cobleigh, "but it is too trouble- 
 some to reduce to practice. It is only a bite we 
 can give 'em any way, and that 's not enough to 
 fool around about."
 
 MR. COb LEIGH'S HOE. IO9 
 
 " That 's the way with all men," retorted his 
 wife's mother, somewhat impatiently. "Anything 
 to save trouble is their motto, it matters not what 
 is the cost. But I don't believe that way. I 
 believe that every penny counts, and that if you 
 get a little something in the way of work out of 
 these vagabonds, it is so much gain for yourself, 
 besides discouraging idleness and vagabondism. 
 Now I '11 take the next tramp in hand, and you '11 
 see the effect." 
 
 Mrs. Cobleigh's mother was as good as her 
 word. The next tramp who came along was a 
 great hulk of a fellow, in quest of victuals. The 
 old lady had found out in the mean time that the 
 front walk needed cleaning, and she told him if he 
 would work there an hour she would give him 
 something to eat. He assented, and she armed 
 him with a hoe. 
 
 She was very much pleased with the success of 
 her plan, and said to her daughter, in an exulting 
 tone, " There, what I did tell you V 
 
 At the end of half an hour she went to the front 
 to see that he was not fooling away the time, and 
 found that he was not. In fact, he had made the 
 very best use of the time, and was nowhere in 
 sight. The old lady hastened to the walk and 
 looked anxiously up and down the street, but the 
 tramp was nowhere to be seen. 
 
 This made her very sick. 
 
 Then she remembered that the hoe was a new 
 one, and the sickness increased.
 
 no A MEMORY. 
 
 Every few minutes she would go to the door 
 and cast an anxious glance to the walk, but the 
 object of her longing did not darken its surface. 
 
 Such a terribly discouraged old lady has not 
 been seen in Danbury in some time, nor one so 
 prone to rubbing her head and silent meditation. 
 
 Mr. Cobleigh has got another hoe, which he has 
 chained to a post in the cellar, — a precaution 
 scarcely necessary. 
 
 A MEMORY. 
 
 It is evident that mops have seen their best 
 days. Mops, like many other dear and familiar 
 objects, have had their vicissitudes, and suc- 
 cumbed to them. The genius of man, when first 
 devoted to mops, was employed exclusively on the 
 handle and fixture. It was some years before it 
 struck the mop itself, and shortly after mop-sticks, 
 which had always stood in bundles in front of the 
 hardware stores, now appeared in barrels with 
 their frowsy heads of cotton-waste thrust heaven- 
 ward. But the advance of the age in the improve- 
 ment of machinery has told on the mops. Car- 
 pets and oil-cloth, which once were confined to the 
 parlor and sitting-room, have been so cheapened 
 by the process of manufacture, that even families 
 in very moderate circumstances can afford to
 
 J MEMORY. Ill 
 
 spread them on about every floor in the house. 
 Then again, this very desire to save the cost of 
 labor has led to a tendency to save labor itself, 
 and sweeping is found to be much easier than 
 washing. Consequently, mops of even the most 
 improved kind are rare, while the mop of our 
 mothers is almost, if not entirely, obsolete. This 
 familiar, useful, and extremely popular article in 
 its time, was composed of various articles of cast- 
 off wearing apparel. It might be a portion of a 
 petticoat, a pantaloon leg, a coat tail, or a vest- 
 front. The latter named was a prominent ingre- 
 dient. That was the time when protuberant brass 
 buttons were in vogue, and it would once in a 
 while happen that in making up the mop one or 
 two of these buttons would be left on the vest, an 
 omission rarely discovered until some offending 
 masculine found it out himself, by a manifestation 
 altogether too clear to be disputed. 
 
 As a weapon, the mop of our mothers was very 
 filling. When a man received a "lick" across the 
 face from it, he felt somewhat as if he had been 
 struck by a torpedo loaded with mud. With the 
 decline of the mop came the rise of the divorce 
 court.
 
 112 AN INTERESTING STUDY, 
 
 AN INTERESTING STUDY. 
 
 We never knew there was anything particularly 
 interesting about salve until last Saturday, when 
 we were being shaved. The salve which we then 
 noticed was embalmed in a roll of muslin on the 
 little finger of the left hand of our barber. Per- 
 haps there is no place where a salve, about to 
 introduce itself to one's closest attention, can bet- 
 ter secure that object than on the little finger of 
 the left hand of one's barber. Even we ourselves 
 were surprised at the amount of interest we took 
 in the matter. It was simply extraordinary. We 
 didn't think it possible that a small spoonful of 
 salve would so engross one in these days of strik- 
 ing and wonderful performances. We did n't learn 
 what was the trouble with his finger. We might 
 have found out by asking, but it was not a time 
 for conversation. We left the imagination to toy 
 with this subject. There was no opportunity to 
 observe the color of the salve, as the rag hid that, 
 but the color did not interest us. No, it was not 
 the color. But the color of the rag was evident 
 enough at a glance. It might be described as a 
 three-days'-old tint. The rag was fastened by 
 thread. One end of the thread dangled to the 
 length of about two inches. When the invalid 
 finger was elevated to within that height, the 
 thread playfully trolled our nose. This tickled
 
 COMMEMORATING OUR NATIONALITY. 113 
 
 that organ amazingly. Then the afflicted finger 
 would descend until it displaced the thread with 
 itself, and this would immediately knock endways 
 all the hilarity created by the titillation of the 
 thread, — thus alternating between the hill-tops 
 of delight and the valleys of gloom. The usual 
 twenty minutes seemed to extend into hours, and 
 a feature of materia medica that never before 
 attracted our least attention was now and forever 
 firmly planted on an orchestral chair in the inner 
 temple of our very existence. 
 
 COMMEMORATING OUR NATIONALITY. 
 
 The Southerners, who make a quiet festival of 
 the Fourth of July, and shoot off fire-works at 
 Christmas, are a trifle more sensible than we. 
 Still, the most of us believe we celebrate in a 
 very happy way, until, at least, the day is done. 
 It appears that the general idea in the North of 
 an appropriate observance of the natal anniver- 
 sary is to dress up, make a noise, or get drunk. 
 The man who does n't get drunk or make a noise 
 goes on a picnic. Once in a while he stays home, 
 darkens the best ventilated room, disrobes to his 
 gauze under-clothing, and smokes away the day. 
 When he does this he is a god on a solid gold pad-
 
 114 COMMEMORATING OUR NATIONALITY 
 
 estal. The four prominent ingredients of a popular 
 Fourth are Starch, Ice-cream, Gin, and Powder. 
 The starch leads off. Between the hours of eight 
 and ten a. m., the starched linen of the men and 
 the starched skirts of the women are seen on their 
 way to the picnic ground. To the lightly attired 
 man on the inside of the window-blind it is a 
 cheerful and hopeful spectacle. The flushed and 
 expectant faces, the quick step, the rustle of the 
 starched goods, blend happily together. There is so 
 much promise of a good time, so much suggestive of 
 portentous events in their appearance, as to make 
 the observation of them an interesting study. 
 Their coming back at night is a contrast of appall- 
 ing magnitude. The starch has gone, the enthu- 
 siasm has oozed out, children that had to be 
 repressed at morn now have to be stimulated to 
 get them ahead ; dissatisfaction, weariness, and 
 disgust predominate. The anxiety to get away is 
 replaced by an anxiety to get back. Their appear- 
 ance is so depressing as to cause the observer to 
 doubt if there ever had been a morning to this 
 day. It is noticeable on the Fourth of July that 
 the size of one's family, and the youthfulness of 
 the members, determine the distance of the picnic. 
 A man with no children stays at home ; with one 
 or two children he goes to a neighboring grove ; 
 with five children he goes off on the cars; with 
 more than that number he includes a steamboat 
 trip wdth the railway excursion. The amount of 
 ice-cream, root beer, soda-water, and lemonade
 
 A GREA T SHOCK. 1 1 S 
 
 disposed of by a temperance family on the Fourth 
 of July is wonderful. The country itself was not 
 in near so frightful a condition on the first Fourth 
 as the American temperance stomach was on the 
 last. 
 
 Early in the dawn of the day following the 
 intemperate man is looking for an eye-opener, and 
 the temperate man is on a dead run for a doctor 
 
 A GREAT SHOCK. 
 
 When the news of the " Adelphi's " explosion 
 reached Danbury, a citizen, whose wife started for 
 New York that morning by way of the boat, took 
 the first train for Norwalk. He was very much ex- 
 cited, and full of the direst apprehension. The pic- 
 ture of the mutilated and lifeless body of his wife 
 was burned upon his heart and brain. They had 
 never, at the best, been a very loving couple, but 
 they were eminently respectable. In fact, so 
 respectable, that neither had seen fit to give up to 
 the other except in cases where it was absolutely 
 necessary. He had pursued his way, and she had 
 gone hers, each finding pleasure in characteristic 
 channels. But now, with the presence of her 
 death upon him, the old tenderness with which 
 he had won her came back to him, and during 
 that long and dreary ride to the seaside his
 
 Il6 A GREAT SHOCK. 
 
 thoughts were busy with the past. He could 
 recall with painful distinctness every help he had 
 refused her, every cross word he had given her, 
 every coldness he had shown her. All the little 
 acts governed by petty selfishness, of which he had 
 been guilty, and which had passed from his mem- 
 ory in the doing, now rose up before him, as deeds 
 of monstrosity in whose presence his heart shrank 
 tremblingly away. 
 
 His mind was torn by these agonizing reflec- 
 tions. He cursed the day he had ever been to her 
 aught but a keenly sympathizing husband. Her 
 own faults were lost sight of in the horror of her 
 tragic fate, and he could only see his own offend- 
 ing. And so the moments dragged along, each 
 one taking him nearer to the dread possibility, and 
 each one increasing the anguish of his heart. 
 
 At last the train reached Norwalk. He hur- 
 ried out on his wretched search, asking here and 
 there for intelligence of her, his white lips and 
 trembling frame testifying most eloquently to his 
 anxiety. At last his search was rewarded, and he 
 found her ; not dead and mutilated, but alive and 
 unharmed. 
 
 It was a happy meeting, — not demonstrative, 
 because both were sorely out of practice in that, 
 but he was relieved of a terrible weight on finding 
 her as he did. 
 
 " So you are all right } " he said. 
 
 "Yes," she answered, "I ain't hurt a bit, but I 
 was terribly frightened."
 
 A GREAT SHOCK. 117 
 
 " You must have been, — horribly so. It was a 
 terribly narrow escape. Where's your satchel.'*" 
 
 " I don't know. I think it must have blown 
 overboard." 
 
 " Did n't you have it with you .' " 
 
 " No, I left it on a bench, and had gone to the 
 front of the boat to look out on the water when 
 the explosion came." 
 
 " That was dreadfully careless. I don't see what 
 you could have been thinking of to have gone off 
 and left your satchel like that." 
 
 "Why, I never had a thought the boat was 
 going to blow up, did I .'' " 
 
 " It don't make any difference," he per.sisted:_ 
 " Some one would have stolen it, as likely as not, 
 if the boat hadn't blown up. There is no sense 
 in it anyway, and it was a foolish thing to do. I 
 don't suppose there's any use to go looking for it 
 now." 
 
 "I know there ain't," she answered, "because 
 I was sitting right where the boat blowed out, 
 because it was warm there." 
 
 " Well, it can't be helped, I suppose, but it is 
 too bad. The next time you go away you '11 show 
 more sense, I hope, than to go gallivanting all 
 over a boat without your satchel."
 
 [l8 A.V JIEIRLOOM. 
 
 AN HEIRLOOM. 
 
 When you were a boy there was a dust brush 
 in common use which is now rarely seen. It was 
 a long brush, one third handle, and the bristle 
 spread out from the back, which was rounding. 
 Mr. Cobleigh's wife's mother has one of these 
 brushes. She was visiting the Cobleighs last 
 week, and she brought it with her to give to her 
 daughter. She told Cobleigh that that brush had 
 been in her family forty years, and was now about 
 as good as new, as Mr. Cobleigh could see by 
 looking at it. Its excellent condition was jointly 
 due to her care and to that honesty in manufacture 
 which so eminently prevailed when our parents 
 were younj. The old lady said that that brush 
 would now outwear four of the new-fangled brushes, 
 and do the work more thoroughly. Mr. Cobleigh 
 obligingly conceded all this, and tried to look 
 agreeable, but there was a gloomy expression 
 which he could not shake off, and which he could 
 not, to save his life, define. That evening Mr. 
 Cobleigh was descending the cellar stairs with a 
 lamp in one hand and a pitcher in the other, 
 when he unexpectedly stepped on the back of this 
 brush, which turning over, as this kind of brush 
 always does, he was escorted into the cellar with 
 appalling celerity. The lamp being extinguished 
 by the shock, Mr. Cobleigh was obliged to pass
 
 AN HEIRLOOM. IIQ 
 
 headlong over two barrels and a box in the dark- 
 ness, but succeeded as well in doing it, and in 
 getting his head and nearly half his body through 
 a step-ladder, as if he had been operating in the 
 glare of a calcium light. For a moment he lay in 
 the warm embrace of the step-ladder, as if in a 
 trance, and in that time his wife and her mother 
 were brought to the scene by the crash. 
 
 What Mrs. Cobleigh said was, — 
 
 " My goodness ! have you hurt you } " 
 
 What her mother said was, — 
 
 " How did you come to do it .'' " 
 
 What Mr. Cobleigh himself said is hardly proper 
 to print. 
 
 He marched up stairs with the step-ladder on 
 him, as it was utterly impossible for the women 
 to free him from it, and it required the efforts of 
 two strong men and a hammer to get the twain 
 apart. It was long toward morning before Mr. 
 Cobleigh spoke again, and then he said to the 
 doctor, — 
 
 "When I first saw that brush I felt a dreadful 
 sick feeling go all over me. Fool that I was, not 
 to remember the devilish nature of that kind of 
 brush ! " 
 
 Mrs. Cobleigh's mother has gone back home 
 and taken the precious heirloom with her.
 
 120 A REJECTED LOVER'S FEARFUL REVENGE. 
 
 A REJECTED LOVER'S FEARFUL REVENGE. 
 
 In spite of all that has been done in the last 
 fifty years to improving the channel, the course of 
 true love is still uncertain in places. An incident 
 indicative of this, although somewhat out of the 
 usual line, occurred in Danbury recently. There 
 were two suitors for a young woman's affections. 
 No. I was first acquainted with her, and had 
 kept pretty steady company Ayith her through the 
 past month, when No. 2 appeared. The latter 
 very soon got the best hold, and this became 
 apparent to the former. The young lady gave 
 herself up to No. i, until the day after the 
 Fourth, when she suddenly and rather decidedly 
 veered about to the stranger, w^ho is new in town, 
 learning the jewelry business. No. i was forgot- 
 ten as easily, apparently, as if he had been an 
 old debt. It was the night of the fifth that this 
 change in feeling dawned upon him. He had pur- 
 chased a quart of new apples, and taken them to 
 her house. There was company present on his 
 arrival, and he requested to see her privately in 
 the hall. She complied with a reluctance that 
 struck him as being singular. 
 
 "Here is something for you, Julia," he whis* 
 pered, extending the package. 
 
 She colored slightly, as she said, — 
 
 " I cannot take it, thank you."
 
 A REJECTED L O VER'S FEA RFUL RE VENCE. 1 2 1 
 
 "But you don't know what it is," he urged. " It 
 is a quart of new apples, just come in market." 
 
 She made no move. 
 
 " Why, Julia, take them. They won't hurt you. 
 They are ripe." 
 
 " No, I must n't," she persisted, keeping her 
 eyes cast down. 
 
 "Why not.?" he pleaded. "You don't think 
 I 'd bring 'em up here if I thought they would 
 hurt you, do you .''" 
 
 She moved uneasily, but said nothing. 
 
 "Julia," he began, in a broken voice, "don't 
 you believe me when I tell you they are ripe .-* " 
 
 She did not answer. 
 
 " Can it be possible," he continued, in a voice 
 of pain, "that you believe that I would try to 
 make you sick .-* that I 'd bring anything up here 
 that would upset you .'' " 
 
 " The company are waiting, and I must go back 
 to them," she said, speaking in a constrained 
 tone, and reaching out to the handle of the parlor 
 door. 
 
 " You won't take them .?" He was very white, 
 and his voice trembled with suppressed passion. 
 
 "No." 
 
 " Then I '11 go home and eat every goldarned 
 one of 'em before I touch my bed, if they kill me 
 deader than Goliar." And with this ferocious 
 threat he bounced out of the house. 
 
 Whether he did as he promised is not known, 
 but as he was around on the street the next day,
 
 122 A REJECTED LOVER'S FEARFUL REVENGE. 
 
 it is more than likely that wiser thoughts pre- 
 vailed. 
 
 That afternoon he started for her house, to see 
 if the dreadful thing was true that that jeweller, 
 whom he designated by the prefix of "pole-legs," 
 had really supplanted him. As he neared the house 
 he saw, with anger, that the jeweller was there, 
 playing croquet with Julia. The sight maddened 
 him. For a moment he looked at them with 
 clinched hands, then he hurried away with a 
 gleam in his eye that denoted a storm. In a 
 quarter of an hour he was again approaching the 
 place. He had both hands in the pockets of 
 his sack, as if he was holding on to something 
 valuable. The dapper young jeweller was still 
 engaged in the game with the fair young Julia, 
 and their laughing remarks grated distastefully 
 upon his ear. He marched straight in to the 
 yard. Julia looked up and saw him, and a frown 
 covered her face. He saw it, and understood its 
 import at once. His own face grew black with 
 wrath. He turned to her. 
 
 "Julia, have you given me up for this cuss .-' " 
 he savagely inquired. 
 
 "What do you mean by such language as 
 that.-*" she angrily demanded. While the party 
 thus indelicately indicated stared at the new- 
 comer as if he very much doubted his own exist- 
 ence. 
 
 "Just what I say," retorted the discarded one. 
 
 "Well, the quicker you leave this yard the
 
 A REJECTED LOVER'S FEARFUL REVENGE 123 
 
 better you '11 please me," was the spiteful re- 
 joinder from the fair one. 
 
 "Then it's true, it's true," he howled, in a 
 voice of anguish. " She has left me for old pole- 
 legs. Oh ! " This with a sudden reversal of tone, 
 as the name brought up a realization of the hated 
 presence. "You are the one that's done it, are 
 you.' " Turning in a rage upon his rival. "You 
 are the scoundrel that left me to buy her things 
 for a whole month, to get her sweetened up for 
 yoii, and then you come in an' take her to yourself. 
 Where were you on the Fourth .' " he screamed 
 with biting sarcasm. "Why did n't you show 
 yourself when there was money to spend, an' 
 things to show her that cost cash down. Where 
 were you when the ice-cream ah' cake was around } 
 Oh, you old gimlet eye ! " he added, suddenly 
 removing one hand from the recesses of a pocket 
 and hurling a raw ^^g full in the face of his rival, 
 which, breaking in the contact, completely trans- 
 formed the entire expression of the jeweller. 
 "Where were you .-^ I say," he yelled, dancing 
 around and drawing forth another Q.g%. At the 
 advent of this awful article. Miss Julia scampered 
 into the house, and the affrighted and almost 
 blinded rival struck out wildly for escape ; but 
 the foe was after him, and not ten feet had been 
 cleared when the second Q.gg caught him between 
 the shoulders, and sprinkled its glowing color 
 over his back. The unfortunate man ran with all 
 his might seeking for escape, but baffled in the
 
 124 A REJECTED LOVER'S FEARFUL REVENGE. 
 
 search. He flew over the vegetables, and darted 
 around the trees, but the avenger kept close to 
 him, plastering him with omelets, and plying him 
 with questions like this : — 
 
 " Where were you on the Fourth ? " 
 
 Egg. 
 
 " Where were you when there was money to be 
 spent ? " 
 
 Egg. 
 
 "Kept away, did you, till the Fourth was over, 
 the costliest day in the year ? " 
 
 Fo-o- 
 
 ■^&&- 
 
 " Knew cream was up that day, did you ? " 
 
 Egg. 
 
 And the eggs flew with all the vengeance an 
 unrequited affection could impart to them. And 
 the unhappy Julia, standing in a trance of horror 
 at the window, saw her favored one pelted in the 
 back, in the side, on the head, and against the 
 legs ; saw him tear through the shrubbery like a 
 winged omelet ; saw the golden liquid stream 
 from his hair, his chin, his coat-tails, and his fin- 
 ger-tips ; saw him shed scrambled eggs, chromos, 
 and circus posters at every jump ; saw him finally 
 bound over the back fence, and sweep across the 
 back lots like a simoon of biliousness, and then 
 she gave a scream and fainted dead away.
 
 BRIGHT TRADE PROSPECTS. 12$ 
 
 BRIGHT TRADE PROSPECTS. 
 
 He is a small man, rather dapper in appearance, 
 with a propitiary air in his clothes, in his face, and 
 even in the fringe of hair which encircles his head 
 without covering it. His wife is a large woman, 
 of course, with a red face and an aggressive air. 
 He went out to the vegetable pedler this morning, 
 with a large tin pan, to make purchases. It was 
 the first time the pedler had seen him come to 
 trade. There were several women, neighbors, at 
 the wagon. He came up to the cart, and looked 
 critically over the array of fruits and vegetables. 
 
 " How much are those cucumbers .'' " he asked. 
 
 " Five cents." 
 
 He lifted one of them, said they were fine-look- 
 ing, and then asked, — 
 
 " How much is that lettuce a head } " 
 
 "Ten cents." 
 
 "That is cheap enough. And now let me see," 
 he said, slowly. "Ah, there's watermelons, eh. !* 
 Why, they are early enough, I 'm sure. How much 
 are they ^ " 
 
 " Seventy-five cents apiece," said the dealer, 
 who, seeing that his customer was no ordinary 
 party, began to stir himself about. "They are 
 fresh melons, just got them last night, and every 
 one of them is fully ripe. I '11 guarantee that."
 
 126 BRIGHT TRADE PROSPECTS. 
 
 "Fully ripe, eh?" said the customer, fondling 
 the article. 
 
 " Yes, sir," said the dealer, getting up on his 
 feet, in the flush of expectation. 
 
 "They look ripe," coincided the customer. 
 Then he looked around and spied another attrac- 
 tive article. 
 
 " Peaches, eh .'' Well, I declare ! How natural 
 and good they look. How much for the peaches } 
 
 " Thirty cents a quart," said the dealer, men- 
 tally figuring up the total of half a dozen cucum- 
 bers, a couple of heads of lettuce, a watermelon, and 
 a quart of peaches, while the women at the cart 
 opened their eyes in wonder, and stood silently 
 by, awed by the magnitude of the transaction. 
 
 " Only thirty cents," mused he. " Why, that 's 
 reasonable enough, I take it, in these times. Let 
 me see, — five cents a piece for the cucumbers, ten 
 cents for the lettuce, seventy-five cents for a 
 watermelon, thirty cents for — " 
 
 "Joseph Malachia ! " came a sharp, loud voice, 
 through a spitefully opened door, " are you going 
 to get what I sent you after, or are you going to 
 stand out there all day .'' " 
 
 "Gimme ten cents' worth new potatoes," gasped 
 the man, nervously opening the hand he had kept 
 shut, and disclosing anew dime. "Quick, please !"
 
 THE MONTH OF ROSES. 127 
 
 THE MONTH OF ROSES. 
 
 June is the month of love, joy, and August 
 that of its agony. In June two hearts knit to- 
 gether and become one. In August two bodies 
 separate. She goes away to see her mother's 
 aunt in the country, and he stays at home, work- 
 ing the treadmill of duty. This comes hard on 
 all men, but its weight is the heaviest on the gro- 
 cery clerk. His heart is not in his work. How 
 can it be .-' Where the treasure is there will the 
 heart be also, and his treasure is far away. He 
 cannot smile on the customer. He cannot coun- 
 terfeit successfully that expression of all-absorbing 
 interest which makes a clerkship a thing of beauty. 
 Certainly his is a most critical task. The variety 
 and diversity of the articles in which he deals 
 require that he should keep his wits about him. 
 In this particular he is in almost as much danger 
 as the drug clerk, while the opportunities for slip- 
 ping are a hundred-fold. A Danbury man who 
 went to a drug store to have a prescription pre- 
 pared, seeing nobody but a clerk present, said, — 
 
 "Young man, are you keeping company with a 
 girl?" 
 
 " Yes, sir," answered the clerk, with a blush. 
 
 " Do you think the world of her?" 
 
 *' I do," said the clerk, firmly, although blushing 
 considerably.
 
 128 THE MONTH OF ROSES. 
 
 "Is she in town?" pursued the customer anx- 
 iously. 
 
 " No, sir, she is away on a visit." 
 
 "That will do," said the man, decisively. "You 
 can't fool around any prescription for me." And 
 he went away. 
 
 But it is the grocery clerk who has to struggle 
 from early morn till late at night with a flood of 
 annoyances. When he dips into the sugar barrel 
 he thinks of her lips, and sighs ; in cutting the 
 cheese he is reminded of the strength of his devo- 
 tion to her ; and when he looks into the butter fir- 
 kin his thoughts stray to her hair. When he 
 would go away by himself and give expression to 
 his emotions, he is obliged to help lift a barrel of 
 corned beef, or roll a cask of salt, or open a case 
 of lard. It is only when he is dealing out mack- 
 erel that he feels as if he had a companion in his 
 sorrow, a sympathizer in grief. There is that soft- 
 ened, subdued light in the eye of a salt mackerel 
 which touches a responsive chord in the heart of 
 suffering, and awakens it to plaintive melody. 
 How tenderly he lifts it from the kit, how lovingly 
 he lingers in wrapping it up. Poor fellow ! He 
 may put up washing starch for baking powder, 
 draw molasses in the kerosene can, and even 
 attempt to palm off various things for tea. He 
 may do this. It is more than likely that he will. 
 But the expression of a mackerel's e)e will not 
 change. The softened, subdued light of sympa- 
 thy still remains.
 
 TfVO SCENES. 129 
 
 TWO SCENES. 
 
 An Ordinary Scene. — A chill strikes him as 
 soon as he enters the yard. There are two lengths 
 of stove-pipe and a roll of oil-cloth on the side stoop. 
 He takes hold of the door to open it, when he 
 finds it resists his act, and, peering through the 
 sash, he sees there is a pile of carpet against it. 
 By steady pushing he moves the mass sufficiently 
 to permit of his squeezing his body through. The 
 noise brings his wife to the scene. She appears 
 in a dress that he had fondly hoped was, ere this, 
 in the carpet rags. It is limpy, and wet, and 
 torn, and bedraggled. The sleeves are rolled up, 
 exposing a pair of very red arms vividly sugges- 
 tive of suds and steam and general wetness. 
 There is a cloth tied about her head, and soot on 
 the face, but nothing in the countenance indic- 
 ative of love, sweetness, or dinner. She having 
 inquired what on earth made him come home so 
 early, and he having replied that he supposed she 
 expected he could live forever without eating, the 
 conversation is dropped, and she returns to the 
 preparation of his dinner, and he looks around. 
 Every step is on a bare floor, and gives forth a 
 gloomy reverberation. The dining-room floor is 
 damp. The table is buried from sight in a mass 
 of knick-knacks and dishes. He passes into the 
 parlor. Everything is gone from it, excepting a
 
 130 riVO SCENES. 
 
 pail of suds and a woman who looks as if she had 
 just been wrung from it. The windows are open, 
 and the air is cold and wet. He falls back from 
 there with a shiver, taking time to note with sur- 
 prise the discolored condition of the walls, and 
 seeks the bedroom for refuge and a wash, but 
 pauses, when inside the door, in dumb amazement, 
 not unmixed with dismay. Seven chairs, myste- 
 riously stacked, bar his way effectually to the 
 washstand. There is the bed, with a picture of 
 Washington laying on his patriotic back, with the 
 family Bible, a saucer of tacks, and a hammer on 
 his stomach, while from amid a collection of books, 
 frames, vases, ornaments, casters, and old papers, 
 his eyes peer upward in helpless astonishment. 
 Then there is the bureau, with its top clear of 
 comb or brush, and the mirror coated with dust. 
 To cap all, the window is open, and the damp, 
 chill air of the season floats in and sets off the 
 general desolation to the best advantage. The 
 miserable man backs away and seeks shelter in 
 the kitchen, where the stove sends up a cloud of 
 steam, and watches his wife as she slices his bread 
 and meat, fills the dipper half full of cold water, 
 slaps a hunk of butter on a cracker — improvised 
 into a plate — and sets the whole on the bread- 
 board over the sink, and tells him to swallow it 
 down as quick as possible, as there are carpets to 
 beat, pipe to clean, a bureau to move, and a stove 
 to set up, before he goes back. Buoyed up by 
 this prospect, he braces up in front of the repast,
 
 TWO SCENES. 131 
 
 and proceeds to worry it down, feeling that every 
 mouthful has an escort of steam and soap. How- 
 ever wretched may look the woman who is grum- 
 bling, and brushing, and slapping all around him, 
 she is dressed appropriately, and consequently is 
 neatly adjusted to. the situation, while he, on the 
 contrary, is an incongruous element in the scene. 
 He feels this as he looks over his neat dress and 
 around the disordered room, and his clothes, in 
 their order, appear to rise up in noisy rebuke to 
 the chaos about him. He feels as if he was in 
 active but helpless rebellion against his surround- 
 ings, and this causes him to grow more submissive 
 as the meal advances, and to swallow every mouth- 
 ful with a sort of apologetic gulp, and an air of 
 general propitiation. 
 
 And yet it is in the springtime, with long im- 
 prisoned nature leaping forth into new life, with 
 opening buds and maturing blossoms ; with sing- 
 ing birds and glad sunshine ; and the air quivering 
 with triumphant song, and full of subtle fragrance. 
 
 However it does n't seem possible. 
 
 An Extraordinary Scene. -^ Second Super- 
 visor Reynolds came into this office a trifle before 
 six o'clock Tuesday evening, and said, — 
 
 " My wife is house-cleaning to-day, and I want 
 you to go to tea with me." 
 
 We could only stare at him with all our might. 
 
 "You don't know what to make of it, eh .'' " he 
 added, pleasantly. " I don't suppose you do, but
 
 132 TIVO SCENES. 
 
 I want to show you something that has never 
 before entered into your philosophy. You have 
 written a great deal of the misery of house-clean- 
 ing, and I have no doubt there is a great deal of 
 misery in it in the most of homes, but not in 
 mine. Now, when I left home this morning the 
 house was in its usual order, and my wife said to 
 me, 'Josiah, I 'm going to clean house to-day,' 
 says she, ' and I want you to get your dinner at a 
 restaurant ; but to-night,' says she, ' you come to 
 tea, and everything will be at rights,' says she. 
 So I am going to tea now, and I 've come after 
 you to show you a light in the gloom, as it 
 were." 
 
 " But are you sane enough to believe that a 
 house can be cleaned in a day, and at night the 
 supper not be served in the sink.-*" 
 
 " Certainly." 
 
 " And that there will not even be a bare, wet 
 floor.?" 
 
 " Certainly." 
 
 " Nor even a teacup half full of tacks on the 
 
 piano 
 
 " Certainly." 
 
 Hardly knowing what we were doing, we got on 
 our coat and hat, and mechanically accompanied 
 Mr. Reynolds home. 
 
 On reaching there he opened the door without 
 hesitation. The hat-rack was in its i^lace. We 
 hung our coats and hats upon it, and passed into 
 the dining-room. The table was ready, and Mrs.
 
 TIFO SCE.VES. 133 
 
 Reynolds, in a blue dress, with a white bibbed 
 apron, was there, smiling most sweetly. 
 
 " Come and see my house," she said. 
 
 We passed into the sitting-room, then into the 
 parlor, and took a look into the bedroom. Every- 
 thing was in shape. Carpets down, pictures and 
 curtains up, and every article of ornament in posi- 
 tion. Except for the bright walls, glistening paint, 
 and clean windows, one would have thought no 
 disarranging hand had ever been there. We were 
 taken into the kitchen, and shown the china closet. 
 Everything was clean and bright, and in its proper 
 place. The rooms on the upper floor were, she 
 assured us, completely rejuvenated, and in shape. 
 
 At the table she explained it all, while she 
 served the tea. She said, — 
 
 " I engaged four women and one man. I knew 
 that with this help properly managed I could get 
 through the work in one day, and I thought it 
 would be much better to hire extra help, and do it 
 all in one day, than with less help to have it spread 
 over three or four days. At 7.30 this morning we 
 were ready to commence. The carpets on this 
 floor were all taken up, and the man took them 
 out into the yard to beat. The furniture and 
 ornaments were piled in this room. At 8.30 that 
 was done. At i r o'clock the windows, walls, and 
 floors were washed. The women then went up 
 stairs and did the same with the bedrooms, get- 
 ting done at 2 o'clock, with an hour for dinner. 
 From that time till 3 o'clock the dishes were
 
 134 HOW TO STOP A HORSE. 
 
 taken down, and the shelves and the dishes 
 cleaned. At 3.30 the kitchen floor and windows 
 were taken care of. At 5 o'clock the carpets on 
 this floor were put down, the pictures and curtains 
 up, and the furniture arranged by the women. 
 The man, at the same time, was to work up stairs. 
 They then went up there to help him, and at a 
 quarter to six I paid the five people two dollars, 
 each, and discharged them. And that 's all." 
 
 "Yes, that's all, thank heaven!" added Mr 
 Reynolds, reverently. 
 
 HOW TO STOP A HORSE. 
 
 One of Danbury's peculiar features is the elas- 
 ticity of the legs and the uncertainty of the tem- 
 per of its horses. It is safe to affirm that there 
 are more runaway horses to the square inch in 
 Danbury, than to the square inch elsewhere. It 
 follows, therefore, that any device looking to the 
 mitigation of the evfl, is readily seized upon by the 
 excellent people of Danbury. A short time ago 
 there appeared in a public print an account of a 
 serious runaway which was broken up by the sud- 
 den opening of an umbrella by a daring woman in 
 the very faces of the mad beasts. On Friday of 
 last week there was a violent agitation on Nelson 
 Street. A team, belonging to a lumberman, was
 
 /lOlV TO STOP A NORSE. I3S 
 
 dashing through that thoroughfare at a terrible 
 pace. The driver had been thrown to the ground, 
 leaving the horses without the slightest restraint 
 upon their mad course. Coming in at the lower 
 end of the street, as the flying team appeared at 
 the upper end, was a citizen who was carrying an 
 umbrella. In addition to the umbrella he possessed 
 a knowledge of the article that had appeared in 
 a public print. It took but a second to think. 
 Then he dashed out into the roadway, firmly 
 braced himself, and just as the team reached him 
 spread open the alpaca. That was all in one 
 instant. The next instant there was a crash, a 
 thrilling blending of horses, umbrella, and man, and 
 a yell. And then the crazed horses and the jump- 
 ing wagon swept on, and a half-dozen horrified 
 spectators went out into the roadway and picked 
 up a lot of cloth and blood and whalebones, and 
 reverently conveyed them into a neighboring 
 house. The man's life was saved, and his 
 wounds satisfactorily dressed, but the parachute 
 was a complete wreck. Why the experiment 
 proved to be so unfortunate is not known, but 
 there is a vague impression in the experimenter's 
 fuddled head that perhaps it was not the right 
 kind of umbrella.
 
 136 A SPRING PICTURE, 
 
 A SPRING PICTURE. 
 
 As glorious as was the dawn of Wednesday, 
 April 30, 1879, a cloud arose and cast the chill 
 of its shadow upon it. It was an imperceptible 
 cloud to many, but to others it was as plain as the 
 day itself, — ay, plainer, because it obscured the 
 day. 
 
 There had been showers of rain through the 
 night. The falling drops purified the close air, 
 and moistened the parched earth. 
 
 When the sun arose its rays were reflected in 
 millions of tiny water-drops, clustering in dia- 
 monds upon every twig of tree and blade of grass. 
 What a grand day it was ! How full of healing 
 was the balmy air ! How intense the pleasure 
 which filled every heart to overflowing ! 
 
 All through the day the sun shone, the birds 
 sang, the buds throbbed, and blossoms laughed 
 themselves into glorious life. But the shadow came 
 and grew, and scattered its bitterness over all. 
 
 Windows came out, carpets up, and stoves down. 
 Soap and water saturated all indoors, while the 
 dust from scores of carpets wooded over all out- 
 doors. 
 
 Man went out among the buds and blossoms 
 and birds. 
 
 Of course the weather changed in the night. 
 It always does. Tiiere was no sun the next morn-
 
 A SPR/iYG PICTURE. 137 
 
 ing. There was no glad song of birds, no laughing 
 blossoms, no lambent air. A chill rested upon 
 everything outdoors. 
 
 Indoors there were no carpets, no stoves, no 
 order, but plenty of dampness and chill. 
 
 There are times when cleanliness is next to 
 ungodliness, — so next, in fact, as to be distin- 
 guished with the greatest difficulty, if one care to 
 distinguish it at all. 
 
 There was a great deal of ungodliness in Dan- 
 bury on Thursday, May i, 1879. ^^ permeated 
 every quarter of the village. Men, chilled to the 
 marrow, walking over bare floors which gave back 
 dismal echoes, finding nothing where it belonged, 
 forcing down half-prepared victuals, saturated with 
 the odor of soap, were in a humor that was dan- 
 gerous to themselves and most uncomfortable to 
 those about them. 
 
 There were colds taken on that day that will 
 weaken and annoy for months. There were seeds 
 of disease sown that will never be rooted out. 
 Tempers were soured, heartburnings born, and 
 evils begun whose influence will reach to the 
 grave. 
 
 There is nothing funny about this. There is 
 nothing excusable in it. House-cleaning can 
 never, of course,^ be made a delight, unless it is 
 to a woman ; but there is no need of making it 
 a curse. There is no more sense in cleaning a 
 house in the spring than there is in cleaning a 
 shad in a golden chariot.
 
 13^ A WEAK STRANGER. 
 
 A WEAK STRANGER. 
 
 He was a rather peacefully inclined appearing 
 party, standing in front of Danbury's best hotel, 
 with his hands crossed in front of him, and look- 
 ing benignantly upon the sleighing parties. The 
 other party in this drama was a much differently 
 appearing man. He wore rubber boots, whose 
 tremendous legs went up his own nearly to the 
 thigh. His hair was cropped very short to his 
 head, and he wore a slouched hat very much to 
 one side, which gave him a gamy appearance. 
 He was drawing a cutter along on the walk, and 
 he was going at a pretty good rate, and hallooing 
 defiantly and offensively for everybody to " clear 
 the track." It was a spirit of mischief of the 
 worst kind that prompted him to buck up against 
 the peaceful man and rudely disturb his pleasant 
 contemplation. 
 
 " You should not be so rude, my friend," expos- 
 tulated the stranger, mildly. 
 
 It was a gentle remonstrance, so gentle that it 
 stirred up every bit of the ferocious courage in the 
 carcass of the gamy individual. 
 
 " Oh, I 'm rude, am I } " he sarcastically uttered 
 in a piping voice, assumed for the occasion. "I 'm 
 rude to the delicate child. Ha, ha, ha ! ho, ho, ho ! 
 Where 's your ma, old Beeswax } " 
 
 The peaceful man turned his back upon him.
 
 A WEAK STRANGER. 139 
 
 " What er you doing that for, you old rip ? 
 Don't you know any better than to turn your 
 back on a gentleman ? Who be ye, anj-way ? " 
 
 The speaker dropped the thills of the cutter, and 
 stepped around to the front of the quiet party. 
 It was evident he meant mischief. He winked to 
 the loungers who were eagerly and expectantly 
 looking on, and if ever a wink said, " Now just 
 keep your eyes open if you want to see me dress 
 him," that wink thus gave utterance. 
 
 The peaceful man gave no reply to the rude 
 query. 
 
 •' What 's the matter with you } Is your tongue 
 locked, or don't you know enough to talk when you 
 are spoken to } " 
 
 " You had better go along and attend to your 
 own business," said the other. 
 
 " I had, had I .' Well, I want you to understand, 
 you old rip, that this is my business at present, 
 and I 'm going to attend to it at once." 
 
 And thus saying, he reached out to take hold of 
 the other's collar. What his object was in thus 
 doing is not known, and perhaps never will be, 
 for at the same instant the right arm of the quiet 
 man swung suddenly and swiftly from his body, 
 and the gamy individual left the walk, and flew 
 in a heap into the road, where he arrived in a sit- 
 ting posture, and with an expression of appalling 
 uncertainty covering his face. 
 
 The peaceful man stepped to his help, and said. 
 in a tone of commiseration, —
 
 I40 A SNOIV PICTURE. 
 
 " I am truly sorry I should have been so hasty. 
 I ought not to be so weak." 
 
 " Weak!'' gasped the gamy man with great 
 indignation, rubbing himself as if in doubt as to 
 what portion of his anatomy needed attention 
 first, — "weak! It ain't enough, is it, to fetch a 
 man such an onchristian lick, without lyin' about 
 it.?" 
 
 A SNOW PICTURE. 
 
 Falling snow greeted Danbury as it awoke 
 and came out after the milk Friday morning. It 
 was quiet, unobtrusive snow, and it sank softly 
 into the swarthy arms of the village mud. The 
 air was full of the white flakes, as if an army of 
 foxes were chasing a host of geese across the 
 heavens. All day long the gentle fall continued. 
 It was steady snow that sank down just where it 
 fell, and moved not, and affectionate snow that 
 wrapped its embrace about every twig and branch, 
 and clung there. 
 
 In the gray of the declining afternoon the mas- 
 sive elms of Main Street formed an arch of silver, 
 and against the background of the sky made a 
 tracery so delicate in its lines, and exquisite in its 
 loveliness, as to hold every mind with wonder. 
 
 And then when the street lamps were lighted 
 the silver became precious stones, and a jewelled
 
 A CALENDARED APRIL. I4I 
 
 dome spanned the street. Through the greater 
 part of the night the silent work went on, and 
 when the dawn came every branch and twig, 
 every post and rail, every line and wire, was 
 clothed with spotless purity. 
 
 Then the sun came and transformed the silver 
 into gold, and the gold fell away, and dropped 
 silently into the necks of the wondering people, 
 and the people ceased to wonder and began to 
 sv;ear. 
 
 And the battle of the sun and the snow went 
 on, and the life-blood of the snow ran through the 
 streets, and men who had no rubbers swore also. 
 
 And the streets threw off their white robes, 
 and returned to their wallow again. 
 
 A CALENDARED APRIL. 
 
 This is April, 1880. Three calendars in sight 
 unite their authority in proclaiming the fact. We 
 are grateful to calendars for the information, and 
 on the strength of it we go out into the country 
 and listen to the birds, and watch the growing 
 life and smell the grateful odors of wood and 
 earth. 
 
 What a delicious listlessness pervades humanity! 
 Nature alone is struggling, and yet its labor is a 
 gentle unfolding and developing rather than a
 
 142 A CALENDARED APRIL. 
 
 struggle. How balmy the air ? How graceful 
 the cloud specks ! How refreshing the showers ! 
 How blissfully peaceful are all things ! 
 
 We need not to be told that the earth is awak- 
 ing from its long slumber, and lazily coming out 
 into life, that the birds and blossoms and zephyrs 
 are here. VVe do not need to be told this, for we 
 can see it on the calendars, the bright, handsome 
 calendars, with their showy lines and gallant 
 figures. 
 
 People are appearing on the streets as the birds 
 are filling the fields. They do not walk ; they 
 lounge. They do not look ; they glance. They 
 are as listless as the sunlight that falls indolently 
 upon and about them. They might be so many 
 motes floating in it. 
 
 The store-doors stand invitingly open under 
 the awnings, revealing cool shadows and quiet 
 recesses. The goods loll on the shelves, the 
 barrels lean against the walls. The passer-by 
 must needs step in, — not so much to trade, as to 
 get into the atmosphere where the storekeeper 
 and his clerks look so cool and comfortable. 
 
 School-children trundle their hoops along the 
 walk, and ripple the ambient air with their blessed 
 laughter. Those who love the memory of Wash- 
 ington can entertain no better hope of him than 
 that he was in all his life as happy as the school- 
 children in this dear, delightful April sunshine. 
 
 Here comes the oldest inhabitant. April has 
 come with healing on its wings to him. There is
 
 A CALENDARED APRIL. 143 
 
 a quiet, peaceful light in the eyes half closed, 
 because of the brightness in the air about him. 
 He walks slowly, as if he were absorbing the pre- 
 cious warmth, and his cane falls in gentle pats 
 upon the pavement. 
 
 A breeze springs softly up from out the west, 
 laden with the delicate perfume of opening bud 
 and springing grass, and delightful with the moist- 
 ure of shaded glens. It toys gently with the chil- 
 dren's hair, and coquets, as it passes, with the 
 fringe of the awnings, and turns round the pen- 
 dent tiers of chip hats, as if it were about to select 
 one for its own giddy head ; but in a flash it is off 
 again, and up in the trees, as can be seen by 
 the tremor among the budding twigs. Wherever 
 it goes it is followed by the blessing of him who 
 has bared his brow to its cooling touch, and felt 
 the grateful thrill along every nerve. 
 
 All the beauty and glory of these April days, 
 shining upon us through their tears, would not be 
 known to us were it not for the calendars. From 
 the walls of every office in the land they mutely 
 point to April's presence and the beautiful treas- 
 ures in blossom at her feet. Otherwise we would 
 think it was the middle of March.
 
 144 THE DANBURY (ESOPHAGUS. 
 
 THE DANBURY CESOPHAGUS IN A DEATH- 
 STRUGGLE. 
 
 One of the most exciting contests on record 
 occurred in the Danbury and Norwalk Railway 
 shops last Thursday. It was a fight against time, 
 and was productive of intense interest. The day 
 before, the wager was made that one of the em- 
 ployes could not eat ten soda-crackers in ten min- 
 utes. He immediately closed in with the proposi- 
 tion. The amount involved in this trial of the 
 oesophagus was one dollar's worth of cigars. The 
 time selected was Thursday noon. The contest- 
 ant loaded his dinner-pail the next morning with 
 ten soda-crackers, to the great astonishment of 
 his wife, who had prepared the usual dinner, and 
 was sure ten crackers would afford him no nourish- 
 ment. He made no explanation, however, of his 
 purpose. He wanted to astonish and delight her 
 with the result when he got home. 
 
 Just before the noon hour he examined the 
 crackers, and, finding they were rather moist, he 
 put them near the fire to dry them thoroughly so 
 as to reduce their size. At the time called he was 
 ready. A watch was brought forth and the 
 moment marked. There was a breathless silence 
 among the observers who crowded about him. 
 He sat down on a chair, with the pail held
 
 THE DAiVBURY (ESOPHAGUS. 145 
 
 between his legs, and one of the crackers in his 
 hand. 
 
 " Ready ! " was called. 
 
 The first cracker passed between his teeth, 
 was hastily chewed and swallowed, and the sec- 
 ond followed on its heels. His jaws moved rap- 
 idly. Closing with the second began the third 
 cracker. The interest increased. The third 
 cracker seemed to contain more than its prede- 
 cessor, and the jaws moved with less regularity, 
 although with none the less zeal. But it went 
 down, at just two minutes and thirty seconds. 
 He was -now a half-minute ahead, and passed 
 in the fourth cracker with a face full of hope. 
 It dropped to its place at precisely four minutes, 
 and the lead of the fifth was close behind it. 
 
 The interest was now intense. The fifth cracker 
 seemed to fill his entire mouth. His jaws moved 
 up and down laboriously. His eyes commenced 
 to increase in size, and the veins on the sides of 
 his face stood out prominently. 
 
 At five minutes the cracker was not yet down. 
 Several times it started and fell back. Even with 
 the additional force of the coming sixth it moved 
 with great difficulty. At six and a quarter minutes 
 its rear column, blended with the advance of No. 
 6, disappeared. 
 
 No. 6 cracker seemed to be four times as large 
 as any that went before. It filled his mouth to 
 such a degree as to extend his cheeks until they 
 seemed ready to burst, while every motion of his
 
 146 THE DANBURY (ESOPHAGUS. 
 
 jaws gave his face an appearance oi floundering lYidX 
 was dreadful to contemplate. 
 
 He stood upon his feet. He got up on his toes,- 
 and settled down upon his haunches. He reached 
 after the back end of that cracker as a dying man 
 reaches out for life. 
 
 Seven minutes ! 
 
 His jaws moved with the greatest difficulty. No 
 longer did they go up and down, but from side to 
 side, and a sort of moaning sound came therefrom. 
 His eyes seemed to be leaving their sockets. 
 
 Seven and a half minutes ! 
 
 In desperation he clutched the seventh cracker 
 and jammed it into the mass already there. The 
 effect was frightful. His mouth was already 
 spread apart nearly unto his ears. The last 
 charge appeared to be endeavoring to lift the 
 top of his head. 
 
 Eight minutes ! 
 
 The crowd were breathless with interest. The 
 contestant was making herculean efforts to free 
 his mouth. His throat worked convulsively. His 
 distended eyes glared at vacancy, while his opened 
 mouth and now almost powerless jaws revealed a 
 mass of broken pastry, rolling and tumbling there- 
 in like the heaving of mighty waters. 
 
 Nine minutes ! 
 
 There was nc particular change in the struggle, 
 only that the face was almost motionless. 
 
 In another minute time was called By a vio- 
 lent effort the contestant freed his mouth in the
 
 A SUCCESSFUL DEVICE. 147 
 
 air and sank exhausted upon his chair, while his 
 face began slowly to relax, and the various features 
 to fall back into their place And thus closed one 
 of the most exciting and instructive contests on 
 record in the history of our beautiful village. 
 
 A SUCCESSFUL DEVICE. 
 
 The following novel way of getting rid of a 
 book canvasser is valuable to know. Besides this, 
 there is a pleasant feeling in seeing a photographer 
 annoyed, even if it is of a revengeful cast. 
 
 The subject is a Danbury photographer. The 
 canvasser is a woman. The work is valuable, as a 
 matter of course. She said she came to sell him 
 a copy. He told her he did n't want to buy. She 
 said the book was just adapted to him in his busi- 
 ness, and he would gain its value a hundred times 
 over. He told her that he had no time to read it. 
 She suggested that he buy it for his wife. It was 
 just the work for a woman. A woman would be 
 benefited by it to a degree beyond computation. 
 He answered that his wife had more books now 
 than she could read. She asked him if he had a 
 son. He said yes. She told him that if this 
 book was chiefly noted for one thing above 
 another, it was in shaping and inspiring the mind 
 of a young man.
 
 1 48 AN EVEN EXCHANGE NO ROBBERY. 
 
 Several customers had now arrived, and the 
 artist was plainly showing marks of exhaustion. 
 
 "Madam," he said, "what is the price of your 
 book ? " 
 
 " One dollar and a half." 
 
 "You sell these books to make a living.^ " 
 
 "Yes, sir." 
 
 " Well, madam, I don't want the book. I have 
 no use for it, and I can spare no more time talk- 
 ing about the matter. All your object in selling 
 the book, I suppose, is to get the percentage 
 allowed you by the publisher ? " 
 
 "Yes, sir." 
 
 "Well, here," he said, handing her a bill, "is a 
 dollar. Take your profit on the sale out of that, 
 and let that end the matter." 
 
 "Thank you," she said, rolling up the money 
 and storing it in her pocket-book, "that is just 
 the profit." And she departed with a very grate- 
 ful expression on her face. 
 
 AN EVEN EXCHANGE NO ROBBERY. 
 
 Mrs. Goode and Mrs. Meller are next-door 
 neighbors on a Danbury street, and there is a 
 frequent interchange of calls between them ; but 
 no evil results therefrom, because both are excel- 
 lent women.
 
 AN EVEN EXCHANGE NO ROBBERY. 149 
 
 Mrs. Goode called on Mrs. Meller the other 
 morning to speak to her about some emptings 
 which acted as if they were not going to rise 
 properly. Mrs. Meller hastened back with Mrs. 
 Goode to look at them. After the matter had 
 been discussed with the gravity demanded by the 
 importance of the subject, Mrs Goode said, — 
 
 " Did you hear that story about the Ransoms } " 
 
 "Yes; It was awful, wasn't it? Who told 
 you?" 
 
 "Mrs Liebig." 
 
 " She told me, too. I think that woman might 
 be better engaged than in telling stories about 
 people." Mrs. Meller spoke with some warmth. 
 
 " I should say as much," returned Mrs. Goode. 
 " If there is anything I despise it is tattling. I 
 don't see anything Christian about it. I abominate 
 it myself If there was more charity in this world 
 it would be better for all of us." 
 
 " I know it," added Mrs. Meller, " but people 
 won't be charitable. They will talk and talk and 
 talk, I don't suppose that Mrs. Liebig is without 
 a story about somebody a single day. She has 
 got a fearful tongue, and she don't care who she 
 wags it against. I think she had better look to 
 home." 
 
 " If she did she 'd have to give up her care of 
 her neighbors, for she 'd have her hands full of 
 her own. But that 's the way with that class. 
 There 's Mrs. Hook, you know. Her tongue is 
 always pitching into somebody, and it was only
 
 150 AN EVEN EXCHANGE NO ROBBERY. 
 
 night before last that my man saw her John carried 
 home dead drunk." 
 
 "Why, Mrs. Goode ! you don't say so." 
 
 "Indeed I do." 
 
 " Carried home drunk ! " repeated the shocked 
 Mrs. Meller. 
 
 " Yes, carried home drunk. And Goode says 
 it 's not an uncommon affair, either." 
 
 "Well, I declare, if I ever thought that. I 
 always believed John was a model boy. I suppose 
 he gets it from his father." 
 
 " His father } Why ! did her husband drink } " 
 
 " Drink ! Did n't you know that } But I forgot, 
 he died before you came here." 
 
 "Well, I declare!" ejaculated Mrs. Goode. 
 " That 's news to me." 
 
 " Oh, yes, he was a drinker. He kept full of 
 rum two thirds of the time. In fact," here Mrs. 
 Meller lovvered her voice, " there 's good reason to 
 believe that he died in a drunken fit." 
 
 " Heavens ! " gasped the shocked listener, while 
 her eyes sparkled. 
 
 " Yes, Joe Hook died in a drunken fit if ever 
 there was one. But don't speak of it, please." 
 
 "Oh, I sha'n't say anything about it. You know 
 well enough that I ain't one of the tattling kind," 
 promptly answered Mrs. Goode. " But who would 
 have thought it. Well, well, well ! If I ain't 
 completely stumped. I don't see how she can bear 
 to sail around in the style she does with that awful 
 memory on her."
 
 CHARACTERISTICS OF FALLING. 15 I 
 
 " Oh, she thinks people don't know it. And 
 now, you say, her boy is going the same way. Do 
 you know, Mrs. Goode," said Mrs. Meller, impres- 
 sively, " that I believe these slanderers have a 
 judgment sent upon them .-' " 
 
 "Believe it .-• " exclaimed Mrs. Goode, vigor- 
 ously, " I hiow it." 
 
 CHARACTERISTICS OF FALLING. 
 
 People fall differently as well as they walk dif- 
 ferently, eat differently, or think differently. The 
 particular characteristics of a nature will show 
 out in an emergency as well as in the routine of 
 life. Nearly everybody falls at this season of the 
 year ; yet there are those who never fall at all, 
 while there are others who fall frequently. This 
 is, perhaps, to preserve the equipose. Then there 
 is the heavy faller, the light faller, the mad faller, 
 the smiling faller, the mortified faller, the fright- 
 ened faller. Some people will pass safely over 
 what other men will slip and fall upon, just as in 
 food one man's meat becomes another's poison. 
 
 There was a bit of very smooth ice under a thin 
 sprinkling of snow on the walk at the corner of 
 Main and Munson Streets, Saturday morning. 
 Mr. Merrill's grocery is on this corner, and the 
 place has facilities, when the sun shines brightly,
 
 152 CHARACTERISTICS OF FALLING. 
 
 for the standing of a number of the populace who 
 admire sleighing, bright faces, or anything not 
 suggestive of steady, oppressive toil. This bit of 
 ice, like a trembling blossom hidden in the cleft 
 of a rock, or a bright shell embedded in the sands 
 of a desolate coast, had its lesson to teach to 
 humanity. And a deeply impressive lesson it 
 was, too. 
 
 There were a number of people who walked 
 over this bit of ice without knowing of its exist- 
 ence, just as there are numbers who trod upon 
 fragrant woodland blossoms, or by exquisite scenes, 
 or over finer feelings, without knowing at all of 
 their existence. They were hurrying, careless 
 people, with minds bent on the things of this 
 world. 
 
 Once in a while there would come along an 
 appreciative party, one whose soul was alive to 
 little things. The first of these was an elderly 
 lady, of stocky form. She sat right down in a 
 heap, and her lips formed into the shape of the 
 letter O. 
 
 She simply ejaculated, "O my! this is dread- 
 ful." 
 
 The next was a man gifted in the way of legs. 
 He was walking swiftly. The right foot touched 
 this bit of ice. The right foot then shot off to 
 that side, the left foot left its mooring and flew 
 around in the same direction. This completely 
 reversed the position of the man, he coming down 
 on his hands and knees, and looking up the other
 
 CHARACTERISTICS OF FALL/iVG. 153 
 
 way of the street. He turned very scarlet in the 
 face, but said nothing. 
 
 He who followed him was also a slim man. It 
 was the beloved pastor of the Third Church. 
 The shock threw him forward at first, but he 
 recovered himself in time to go down on his back 
 at once, A pail full of molasses which he held 
 in his right hand added to the general interest. 
 He simply said, — 
 
 " Mercy on us ! " which evidently included the 
 molasses. 
 
 The fourth person was a stocky-built party, 
 muffled up to his nose, and trotting along lightly 
 under the inspiration of agreeable thought. Both 
 of his chubby feet gave away almost simulta- 
 neously, and in the effort to save himself his feet 
 smote the ice seven times in rapid succession, and 
 then he went down on his side, very red in the face 
 and very low and vulgar in his conversation. 
 
 Fifteen minutes later a boy came along on a 
 dead run. His left foot struck the deceptive sur- 
 face, and he curled up in a heap against a post, 
 without saying anything. He got up and hit a 
 boy in the neck who had laughed at him, and then 
 passed peacefully on. 
 
 The next man to fall sat down squarely on the 
 walk with both legs spread out, and a lower set 
 of teeth laying on the hard snow between them. 
 He hastily shoved the teeth in his pocket, jumped 
 up and hurried away, looking very much embar- 
 rassed.
 
 154 A MISPLACED JUDGMENT. 
 
 Following him was a man who was evidently 
 a teamster, judging from his rough exterior. He 
 had his pants in his boots, and wore a devil may- 
 care look upon his face. The shock turned him 
 completely over, and dropped him on his face, 
 leaving him merely time to say, " O. L." 
 
 Mr. Merrill, seeing the series of casualties, told 
 his clerk to pour ashes on the treacherous spot. 
 While that party was getting them a red-faced 
 man, full of life and vigor, stepped on the place, 
 threw both of his legs wildly into the air, and 
 came down on the back of his head with a dread- 
 ful thud, madly clutching a barrel of brooms in 
 the descent. On getting him to his feet it was 
 discovered that he had split his coat the length 
 of his back, seriously damaged one of his under- 
 garments, and had said, " Great gaud ! " 
 
 A MISPLACED JUDGMENT. 
 
 Some one living on the second floor of the 
 double tenement on Nelson Street placed a pan 
 of baked beans in a window to cool. A few min- 
 utes later the horse attached to a coal cart backed 
 in front of the place, and refused to go The 
 driver laid on the lash, but the animal would not 
 move on. It winced and jumped about in the 
 agony from the blows, but it would not advance.
 
 A MISPLACED JUDGMENT. 155 
 
 A portly gentleman passing on the walk, saw the 
 trouble, and stopped. He was in sympathy with 
 the animal, and indignant with the man. He 
 expostulated with him, told him to use mild means, 
 to try suasion, that he ought to be ashamed of 
 himself for treating a dumb beast in that manner ; 
 that if he did not relent, and cease his brutal con- 
 duct, a fearful judgment would overtake him. 
 
 At this juncture a little girl came to the window 
 to see what was the matter, and she must have 
 hit against the pan of beans, for almost immedi- 
 ately it slid from the window, and while the 
 benevolent gentleman was telling the coal man 
 of the judgment to come, the pan descended 
 bottom upwards on his own devoted head, del- 
 uging him with its contents, taking his breath, 
 and knocking him down on his hands and knees. 
 The shock was so great and so unexpected that the 
 unfortunate man was completely bewildered, and 
 crawled away as fast as he could, knowing not 
 where he was going, but instinctively seeking to 
 get out of danger. He was a dreadful looking 
 spectacle when he got up. He was beans the 
 entire length of his person. They streamed down 
 his back and legs, and the oily substance dripped 
 from the brmi of his hat, while riding securely on 
 the crown was a pound piece of pork, clotted with 
 beans. 
 
 The driver silently watched him until he got 
 on his feet, and then shouted at him, — 
 
 " If you had n't stuck your nose in other people's
 
 15^ DOMESTIC STRATEGY. 
 
 business I 'd come there an' help scrape you off, 
 but now, cuss you, you can scrape yourself." 
 
 A woman who saw the accident invited the 
 unhappy victim into her yard, where she helped 
 him get off his coat, removed his hat and emptied 
 it, and gave him a shingle to scrape off his pants 
 with, and performed other kind offices suggested 
 by her sweet, womanly nature. 
 
 It is pleasant to see such things, to find those 
 whose hearts are full of tender sympathy, and 
 whose hands turn to helpful acts. 
 
 The little girl did n't come down after the pan 
 until the portly gentleman had got out of the 
 neighborhood. 
 
 DOMESTIC STRATEGY. 
 
 Domestic exigencies and the means for meet- 
 ing them scarcely ever form a perfect fit. Open- 
 ing clams with a poker, driving nails with a flat- 
 iron, and lifting tacks with a razor, are but a few 
 of the extraordinary performances a household is 
 forced into. Bruises and ill-temper are the nat- 
 ural outcome. Perhaps the time may come when 
 a bridal dowry will include a chest of tools, with a 
 carefully prepared manual for the use thereof. At 
 any rate, it is well to believe that the ever-active 
 spirit of progress which is abroad will, in time,
 
 DOMESTIC STRATEGY. 1 57 
 
 evolve a way out of the trouble. If all the suffer- 
 ing which has sprung from these domestic infelici- 
 ties were put in print, the array would appall the 
 world. The latest instance occurred in New 
 Haven. A citizen desired to remove a door-knob. 
 He had no screw-driver, of course. He didn't go 
 and buy one. Neither did he attempt to borrow 
 one. You all understand this. He got his butcher 
 knife. If he had had a scythe he would have 
 taken that, as a scythe is even more awkward 
 than a butcher knife. However, the butcher 
 knife did very well for removing the screws and 
 prying off the plate. It had a blade thirteen 
 inches in length, undoubtedly. He set to work. 
 The longer he worked, and the more apparent it 
 became that the butcher knife was miles outside 
 its sphere, the more muscle and zeal he brought 
 to bear upon it. Of course the knife slipped. It 
 could n't help it. It was bound to do it. And 
 when it slipped it carried away something. That 
 was to be expected, of course. But the some- 
 thing on this occasion must have been entirely 
 unexpected to the citizen, as it certainly is to the 
 public. It was the entire end of the citizen's 
 nose. 
 
 The blade had shot across it like a meteor, tak- 
 ing it off as clean as it could possibly be done, 
 and giving him a sort of unfinished appearance, as 
 he dashed into the bosom of his family, that must 
 have been exceedingly painful to the startled 
 beholder.
 
 158 THE CHARM OF GIRLHOOD. 
 
 THE CHARM OF GIRLHOOD. 
 
 Perhaps the complaint embodied in the appended 
 communication to the editor may be entertained by 
 many of our readers. Certainly the scene he 
 speaks of is common enough in this fair land : — 
 
 Mr. Bailey, — There is a matter, the solution of which 
 is a great social anxiety. I have tried my very best, time and 
 time again, to solve it, but have failed. It may be that you 
 can give me an explanation. I allude to the custom among 
 young ladies in company of getting together on a sofa, or in 
 a corner, and whispering and laughing. I have noticed that 
 at every remark made by one or another, all would laugh 
 right out or snicker behind their hands, or make efforts to 
 suppress what are apparently gigantic convulsions of merri- 
 ment. What strikes me as remarkable in this connection is, 
 that these same young ladies, capable of saying the wittiest 
 of things under their breath, seem to be incapable of saying 
 anything at all aloud. If this is not a phenomenon, I don't 
 know what a phenomenon is ; and if you can explain it, you 
 
 will greatly oblige 
 
 A Puzzled Youth. 
 
 The custom was a universal mystery until nearly 
 two years ago, when a young lady, resident of Dan- 
 bury, much addicted to the unfortunate habi^, being 
 on her death-bed, confessed that the whisperings 
 had no significance whatever. They were merely 
 little nothings passed from one to another to 
 occupy themselves, and laughed over with a view 
 to attract the attention of the young men who
 
 A MECHANICAL PROCESS. 159 
 
 might be present. The physician who attended 
 her made a careful study of the matter then and 
 since, and he is of the opinion that the tendency 
 to these scenes arises from a nervousness pecuhar 
 to females, but more strongly developed in the 
 more sentimental, and awakened only when in 
 presence of the other sex. In corroboration of 
 these two declarations, it is well known that the 
 exhibition is never made by men, and in a com- 
 pany formed exclusively of females none of the 
 members show the least inclination to engage 
 in it. 
 
 A MECHANICAL PROCESS. 
 
 It is very rarely a plumber is approached by 
 any other tradesman. He has always held a 
 monopoly in a certain science, and perhaps always 
 will ; but his throne was considerably shaken in 
 Danbury one day last week. 
 
 A gentleman living on Main Street desired to 
 have a basin set in a room on an upper floor. He 
 engaged a plumber to do the work, and also a car- 
 penter to cut the necessary openmgs through the 
 floors for the pipe which was to run into the cel- 
 lar. The work was to be done in the afternoon, 
 and the plumber was told that the carpenter would 
 be on hand. 
 
 At one o'clock the plumber was there. He
 
 l60 A MECHANICAL PROCESS. 
 
 went to the room which was to receive the basin, 
 and sat reluctantly down on a step-ladder to wait 
 for the carpenter. 
 
 This was not an agreeable performance, but as 
 he was paid for it he could not very well refuse to 
 do it. He sat there and eyed the opposite wall 
 for some little time. Then there was a sort of 
 kaleidoscope of basins, carpenters, railway bonds, 
 and summer excursions, for a moment, and then 
 came unconsciousness. 
 
 At the end of two hours he opened his eyes, 
 rubbed them, and looked about. There was no 
 carpenter in sight. He consulted his watch. It 
 was now nearly four o'clock. It was very surpris- 
 ing indeed. He V\^ent to the window, and looked 
 out. Did his eyes deceive him } Could it be pos- 
 sible ! He looked again. Yes, there was the 
 carpenter standing at the gate and looking down 
 the street with that vigor of expression common to 
 a man who works by the day. 
 
 " Hello ! " cried the plumber. 
 
 "Hello!" responded the carpenter, after locat- 
 ing his compeer. 
 
 " I thought you were coming around here to 
 work at one o'clock," said the plumber, indig- 
 nantly. 
 
 " So I did," said the carpenter, " but you were n't 
 here." 
 
 "Wasn't here, hey .-^ " repeated the plumber, 
 nearly losing all his temper. "I 've been up here 
 waiting for you since one o'clock."
 
 AN ITALIAN'S VIEW OF WINTER. i6i 
 
 " And I have been down cellar waiting for you 
 since one o'clock," retorted the carpenter. 
 
 As extraordinary as it ma}' appear, it was the 
 truth. And the two men growing confidential in 
 the phenomena of the coincidence, it presently 
 transpired that while the plumber was held on a 
 step-ladder in the arms of Morpheus on an upper 
 floor, the carpenter was wooing the beautiful god- 
 dess on an ice-chest in the cellar. Each at thirty- 
 five cents an hour. 
 
 Moral. — Honest toil will make an ice-chest, 
 likewise a step-ladder, as soft as downy pillows 
 are. 
 
 AN ITALIAN'S VIEW OF A NEW ENGLAND 
 WINTER. 
 
 There was a burst in a tin conductor leading 
 from the roof of the house on the corner of Rose 
 and Myrtle Streets the other afternoon, and the 
 water thus escaping ran across the walk. Toward 
 night the weather stiffened up and the loose water 
 became a sheet of ice. About four o'clock the 
 next morning there was a slight fall of snow. Jn 
 the basement of the building an Italian gentleman 
 has a fruit store. Shortly after six o'clock this 
 morning he had his outside wares in a line of dis- 
 play. Peanuts being a specialty with him, two or
 
 i62 AjV ITALIAN'S VIEW OF WINTER. 
 
 three bushels of that article made a tempting pile 
 on a large stand. While he was making this 
 arrangement a carpenter with a tool-box on his 
 shoulder came around the corner, and, stepping on 
 the concealed ice, immediately threw his tool-box 
 into the street, got up himself, looked around to 
 see what had happened, and then picked up his 
 tools. This so amused the Italian that he felt 
 obliged to rush into the shelter of the basement 
 to conceal his delight. Had he been a native of 
 this country, it might have suggested itself to him 
 to sweep the thin guise of snow from the ice and 
 to sprinkle salt or ashes upon it, but being a 
 foreigner, and not very well acquainted with our 
 language, he did not think of this, but instead he 
 posted himself in a position to give him a good 
 view of the corner, and patiently waited for devel- 
 opments. He saw them. If his object was to 
 get an idea of the fulness and flexibility of the 
 English language, he could not have possibly 
 adopted a better course. 
 
 Scarcely had the carpenter gathered up his 
 things and limped off, when a man smoking came 
 hurrying along. When he reached the ice he 
 suddenly turned part way around, bit a brier-wood 
 pipe completely in twain, and slid on his breast 
 off from the walk into the gutter. He got up, 
 cautiously recovered his pipe, and melted away. 
 The Italian shook all over. 
 
 Following closely after this mishap was a laborer 
 with a dinner-kettle. When he touched the ice
 
 AN ITALIAN'S VIEW OF WINTER. 1 63 
 
 it was difficult for the fruit merchant to determine 
 whether it was his feet or another part of his 
 person, — it was done so quick. The new-comer 
 appeared to suddenly come apart and shut up at 
 the middle, and in the same flash the tin pail 
 described a circle of lightning rapidity, and was 
 then slapped against the pavement with terrific 
 force. At the same instant the Italian saw a 
 piece of pie, several half-slices of buttered bread, 
 two hard-boiled eggs, a piece of cold beef, and a 
 fork and spoon fly off in different directions, while 
 a pint tin of coffee made its appearance, and 
 emptied its contents in the prostrate man's lap. 
 While this individual was getting up to his feet, 
 and securing his pail and cutlery, the Italian man- 
 aged to blend considerable instruction with the 
 amusement. 
 
 Then there came a man with a board on his 
 shoulder. He laid down on the board, with one 
 of his hands under the board. Then he got up, 
 and put the injured hand between his knees, where 
 he pressed it tightly, while he used the most dread- 
 ful language the Italian ever heard, and he did n't 
 hear it all either, being so convulsed with laughter 
 as to necessarily divide his attention. 
 
 And thus the performance went on until af- 
 ter eight o'clock. Scarcely ten minutes elapsed 
 between the acts. Sometimes a boy would be 
 the hero, then again a couple of merchants, or 
 perhaps somebody connected with a bank. Who- 
 ever it might be, he went down, and went down
 
 164 AjV ITALIAN'S VIEW OF WINTER. 
 
 hard, and the Italian watched and improved his 
 mind, and began to think that this country had its 
 advantages as well as its disadvantages. It was 
 eleven minutes past eight when the final catas- 
 trophe occurred. This was consummated in the 
 person of a long, slim man with a picture under his 
 arm, and a very large woman carrying a basket. 
 The long, slim man was somewhat in advance. 
 The Italian, being impressed with the conviction 
 that something of an extraordinary nature was 
 about to transpire, stared with fairly bulging eyes 
 at the coming figure. No sooner did the tall, 
 slim man touch the treacherous spot, than the 
 venturing foot kicked out most savagely at the 
 atmosphere, and his body shot around like fire- 
 works. The picture flew from his possession at 
 the same moment, and being thus freed he made 
 a spasmodic clutch with all his limbs at once for a 
 place of refuge, and in a flash his legs whipped 
 about a corner leg of the inoffensive peanut stand, 
 and the great shining yellow pyramid followed 
 him to the pavement. The horrified Italian, 
 stunned for an instant by the enormity of the 
 catastrophe, sought to plunge out to the rescue 
 of his goods, but was too late. The fleshy woman, 
 having rushed to the aid of the tall, slim man, who 
 was her husband, was caught herself by the sub- 
 tle foe, and in her descent, which was by far the 
 most vigorous of the series, she took in two thirds 
 of the peanuts, and the crash of the demolished 
 fruit, as she pinned it to the walk, might ha\e 
 been heard four squares away.
 
 cnuRcir FRO. XT sk'fR.^rrsHF.Rs. 165 
 
 The unhappy \'cnder reached the place in time 
 to be taken in himself, and the addition of one 
 hundred and thirty })ounds of macaroni-fed Italian 
 added to the dismal proportions of the scene. 
 How they got disentangled and on their feet no 
 one seems able to explain, but the result was 
 reached amid an appalling uproar of Italian, Eng- 
 lish, and feminine noises. 
 
 What a great matter a little fire kindleth. Ten 
 cents' worth of salt would have saved all the 
 misery and distress. As it is, Danbury has some 
 twenty persons with damaged backs or legs, the 
 owner of the building has four suits on hand for 
 damages, the tall, slim man and his wife are con- 
 fined to their beds, and on Saturday last the Ital- 
 ian was morosely squatted alongside of the funnel 
 of a steamer bound for Italy, 
 
 CHURCH FRONT SKIRMISHERS. 
 
 Not a very elevated opinion of the members of 
 the phalanx which concentrates in front of a 
 country church on the close of the service on a 
 Sunday evening is entertained by the public. 
 And sometimes hard things are said against the 
 band. But the public knows not the time, care, 
 expense, self-denial, and discouragement which the 
 novice at the business must go through with before
 
 1 66 CHURCIT FROXT SKTRMTSHERS. 
 
 he can become a finished expert. It takes time 
 to do this, and it takes a strong will, to say nothing 
 of a naturally good constitution. In fact many a 
 young man has lost his life in his devotion to th'S 
 cause, and many another has been discouraged on 
 the way, and fallen out to be seen no more. A 
 reformed member of this body has lately given 
 his experience, and it throws much valuable light 
 on the subject. He says that he made his begin- 
 ning when he was seventeen. Being a new mem- 
 ber, he took his place at the foot of the line. 
 When the ladies came out he fastened his eyes 
 upon them all in a general way, and on a few 
 whom he particularly favored in a special way. 
 He was fairly on fire with a desire to go home 
 with some one of them, but he could not get his 
 courage up to the proper point. Those at the 
 head of the line slid up to the desired partner, 
 sent in a smile as a sort of skirmisher, and sailed 
 off with the prize at once. A half-dozen times 
 he would be just about to make a dash, would 
 then hesitate, and in the pause the fair one would 
 get too far by, or would be snapped up by some 
 more expert brother. After they were all gone 
 he found himself alone in front of the church, 
 gloomily watching the sexton closing the doors. 
 For half that night he walked the deserted street 
 a prey to the most distressing emotions. During 
 the week he spent every spare hour in the seclu- 
 sion of his room, where he practised assiduously 
 on the step forward, and the skirmishing smile.
 
 CHURCH FRONT SKIRMJSHERS. 1 6/ 
 
 During that time he " saw home " some seven 
 hundred imaginary young ladies, of all styles and 
 circumstances, in an eminently satisfactory man- 
 ner. Sunday night found him again at his post, 
 with a new courage in his heart. It was raining 
 slightly, and he had on a pair of very thin boots, 
 but an umbrella kept his hat dry. He was quite 
 confident he had now conquered his diffidence, 
 and would have no trouble, but when the congre- 
 gation came out, and bright eyes flashed into his, 
 he felt his strength oozing rapidly away. 
 
 He let the first opportunity pass, because he 
 was a trifle too nervous to make an attempt. 
 The next he was about to close in with, when the 
 thought came to him that she might refuse. The 
 pitiable condition he would thus be left in made 
 him so sick, that before he could recover therefrom 
 she had been closed in by her sisters, and was 
 gone. The third chance then occurred, and he 
 was about to lift up his leg in advance and start 
 out his smile, when the same sickening possibility 
 again threw its deadly embrace about his heart, 
 and he fell back aghast, and just then her brother 
 came along and walked her off. With the fourth 
 he had no different experience, except that she 
 was scooped up by a party who suddenly and 
 unexpectedly appeared on the opposite side, just 
 as he got his foot pushed forward and his smile 
 well started. He looked so white and helpless at 
 the end that the sexton sympathizingly asked him 
 if he was subject to fits. The depression of this
 
 1 68 CHURCH FROivr skirmishers, 
 
 night, together with the dampness which struck 
 through his boots, prostrated him on a bed of sick- 
 ness from which he was at last raised only by the 
 most careful nursing. The Sunday night after 
 his recovery he again took his place. The same 
 luck attended his efforts. His brain grew dizzy, 
 and his heart sick, from the repeated failures. 
 Just as he was about to give up in despair, a very 
 young lady, being somewhat detached from the 
 main body, was thrown exactly in his way, and, 
 taking advantage of her isolated condition, he 
 hysterically pounced on and secured her. But 
 the effort so exhausted him that he found he was 
 not equal to anything else, and she being a very 
 young maiden, the two proceeded onward in the 
 most dignified silence. Not a word was spoken 
 by either until they reached her gate, when she 
 bashfully observed, — 
 
 " Good night." 
 
 And he faintly replied, — 
 
 "Goo — good night," and stood staring after 
 her until she disappeared in the house. Then 
 he mechanically wended his own way homeward, 
 softly rubbing the back of his head every little 
 while. He says it was fully three months before 
 he became sufficiently accomplished to see even 
 an ordinary girl home with any degree of what 
 you might call comfort.
 
 MR. COVILLE AS A SPIGOT. 1 69 
 
 MR. COVILLE AS A SPIGOT. 
 
 Mrs. Coville has been ailing ever since last 
 summer. She was not down sick so as to demand 
 the attention of the doctor, but was debilitated. 
 A general weakness seemed to envelop her like 
 a cloud, holding her muscles in abeyance, making 
 her feel to a degree helpless, but giving her no 
 pain. She did her household work without help, 
 but there was no love for the work, and she carried 
 no spirit into it. A week ago a German friend of 
 Mr. Coville told him that if his wife drank a glass 
 of lager beer before each meal, she would soon 
 derive a decided benefit. Mr. Coville lost no time 
 in getting a keg of the article, and in forty-eight 
 hours after had it in his cellar. The German told 
 him how to tap it ; viz., drive the spigot against 
 the cork in the bung, and thus force the cork 
 inside while the spigot filled the bung-hole. After 
 dinner Mr. Coville attended to this matter. He 
 put the spigot against the cork, hit two smart 
 raps with a hammer, and the cork was driven in, 
 but, unfortunately, he let go of the spigot before 
 it was well settled, and there being a very heavy 
 pressure to the beer, it was thrown from the barrel 
 and carried to the other end of the cellar, while 
 the liquor shot vehemently forth. The first 
 thought of Mr. Coville was to save the beer, and
 
 I/O MR. COVILLE AS A SPIGOT. 
 
 with that object he thrust his thumb into the 
 opening, after getting his sleeve to the armpit, 
 and his bosom, face, and hair deluged with the 
 fluid. This was a success, and for a moment 
 Mr. Coville plumed himself upon it. Then came 
 the realization that while the beer was safe it was 
 only at his personal inconvenience in the character 
 of a spigot, a light he had never before considered 
 himself in, and which did not now bring him the 
 most elevating of emotions. On the contrary, 
 Mr. Coville was inclined to resent his situation 
 as something forced upon him against his will, 
 and as being entirely foreign to his hopes and 
 plans in this life. He was down in the cellar 
 alone, — at one end of the cellar, while the spigot 
 was at the other, in sight, but as far removed from 
 him as if it floated in the middle of the Caspian 
 Sea. He could hear some movement up stairs, 
 and a sort of rumbling sound like the movement 
 of a body over the floor, and he shouted aloud 
 for aid. 
 
 Now it is a singular fact that while one can 
 hear a voice ordinarily delivered in another room, 
 the loudest scream from him will not reach the 
 owner of the voice. If Mr. Coville was not before 
 aware of this fact, he was made to realize it now. 
 Shout after shout ascended from the cellar, while 
 the pain in his thumb crept up his arm, and the 
 beer oozed from his hair and dripped silently from 
 his face. It was a time to think, and Mr. Coville 
 tried to think calmly and dispassionately, but as
 
 MR. COVILLE AS A SPIGOT. I'jl 
 
 the sounds from above assumed a more definite 
 shape, and gradually communicated to his mind 
 that his son and heir was making a rapid circuit 
 of the dining-room astraddle of a chair or some 
 other object, which improvised animal he was 
 stimulating to the highest possible speed by sun- 
 dry cries of an encouraging nature, his mind lost 
 its power of concentration, and the atmosphere 
 of the cellar became sensible of being disturbed 
 by other sounds than those directly appealing for 
 help. In fact, Mr. Coville was mad ; stark, staring, 
 raving mad. In so far as the role of a spigot 
 would permit, Mr. Coville jumped up and down, 
 and wiggled his body, and contorted his face_ 
 Finally the strength of purpose, hitherto nour- 
 ished by the contemplative cost of the beer, ex- 
 hausted the nourishment, and thus exhausted 
 itself, and wrenching his thumb from the barrel, 
 the unhappy man started for the stairs, being 
 materially aided therein by the force of the escap- 
 ing beer, which caught him fairly in the back of 
 the legs as he turned to go. Mr. Coville may not 
 have had any definite purpose in view when he 
 clawed his way up the stairs, but on reaching the 
 dining-room and discovering the hope of his life 
 prancing about on the back of a prostrate chair, 
 with a face shining with wholesome delight, his 
 struggling and tortured mind fastened on this 
 circumstance with electric speed. 
 
 The flavor of camphor which is distilled from 
 young Coville as he moves about since then,
 
 1/2 A FEW HINTS FOR THE TABLE. 
 
 would lead a stranger to infer that a ferocious 
 attack from an army of moths was momentarily 
 threatening the unfortunate youth, and was averted 
 only through the united efforts of fifteen alert and 
 uncompromising druggists. 
 
 A FEW HINTS FOR THE TABLE. 
 
 We are sorry to see a disposition on the part 
 of some of our exchanges to make jests of aspar- 
 agus eating. It is by nature a delicious vegetable, 
 but in build it is designed to prove a decided 
 injury to people of infirm digestion, that is, when 
 cooked in the whole, which is the popular way. 
 A man unused to table etiquette should, when 
 invited out, or when at a hotel table, decline such 
 articles that he is confident he cannot dispose of 
 with ease. These are, principally, asparagus, 
 green corn on the cob, chipped potatoes, small 
 game, oranges, and stewed fruits whose pits are 
 too large to be swallowed with safety. However, 
 he does not always use this firmness, and his plate 
 comes to be filled or surrounded by things which 
 are designed to build him up, but which threaten 
 to tear him down, and before them he quails in 
 fear and confusion. If he does not have the 
 strength to decline them when passed, he must 
 either leave them about his plate as embo.ssed
 
 A FEW H/.VTS FOR THE TABLE. 173 
 
 monuments of his folly, or risk his life, and the 
 garments of his neighbor, in their disposal. To 
 the uninitiated a stalk of asparagus is a formidable 
 object. To get it into his mouth without drop- 
 ping it inside of his vest requires tact. He 
 observes that the popular way is to use it as a 
 bow with his mouth as the fiddle. It is rarely he 
 ventures on this plan, from an exaggerated opinion 
 of its magnitude. And the caution is proper 
 enough, perhaps, as in applying the bow he may 
 miscalculate the exact location of the fiddle ; and 
 to offend in this respect, even in the smallest 
 degree, is to disarrange one's nose or mar one's 
 chin. Then, again, there is another danger. The 
 stalk may lop down, causing an entirely new 
 effect to be made ; or it may part in the middle 
 from too great an enthusiasm in closing upon it, 
 leaving a very small particle in the mouth, with 
 the handle in the fingers, and the most palatable 
 and larger part inside the vest. If taken up as 
 a whole on the fork, and we find that new begin- 
 ners generally pursue this course, it has to be 
 coaxed and crowded into the mouth with as much 
 demonstration as though it was a dog being put 
 out of doors. And when safely housed there is the 
 indigestible end or handle to be disposed of. It 
 cannot be returned to the plate. To be swallowed 
 at all, it must be chewed very fine, and in this 
 process all the delicacy and rich flavor of the 
 balance of the stalk is lost in the depraved taste 
 of the tough fibres. A man should become thor-
 
 174 A FEW HINTS FOR THE TABLE. 
 
 oughly familiar with asparagus before going into 
 society with it. Corn on the cob is rather diffi- 
 cult to manage. Perhaps the better way is to 
 cut off the corn, but to the beginner very unsatis- 
 factory results quite frequently attend this opera- 
 tion. If he bears too hard, and he invariably 
 will, on the top of the cob, the lower end, resting 
 on the plate, will suddenly slip from its place, 
 and plough through the small dishes with awful 
 ferocity, leaving ruin and desolation in its train. 
 Stone fruits should be prepared without the pits, 
 except in the case of cherries, whose pits are so 
 small as to readily permit of their being bolted 
 into the system in great quantities. But with 
 prunes and peaches it is an altogether different 
 matter, and unless a man's oesophagus is of a most 
 accommodating nature, a less alarming disposition 
 of the pits than swallowing them must be discov- 
 ered. This is a serious dilemma to the diffident 
 man. In the home circle they may be spilled out 
 on the cloth or thrown under the table. But in 
 society these simple means of escape are frowned 
 upon. If a man has a goodly number of hollow 
 teeth, they can be quietly conveyed to such re- 
 ceptacles for the time being, but in absence of 
 this he must either eject them into a spoon and 
 thence to the plate, as society demands, or carry 
 them banked under his tongue until he can get 
 away from the table and slip them back of the 
 ottoman. Next to asparagus, chipped potatoes 
 are a source of well-grounded apprehension in the
 
 IVJLL HAVE IT ALWAYS ON IIAXD. 1/5 
 
 mind of the man who has given no study to table 
 etiquette. Of a strikingly tempting appearance, 
 he takes them on his plate without realizing the 
 awful danger he is rushing upon. He does under- 
 stand that a knife is tabooed in lifting food to the 
 mouth, and he resorts to his fork, and begins to 
 think that there are some things which are more 
 easily lifted with the latter than with the former 
 article. A chipped potato is such a thing in 
 appearance only. It cannot be speared without 
 breaking it, and to get one across the tines is 
 only to follow it four times around the circum- 
 ference of the plate, and to have it roll off nine- 
 teen out of every twenty times it is secured. A 
 slice of chipped potato, if untrammelled in its 
 movements, will weaken the most powerful intel- 
 lect, unsupported by experience. So, really, there 
 is nothing in these things to make sport of, but 
 very much indeed to deplore and grieve over. 
 
 WILL HAVE IT ALWAYS ON HAND. 
 
 The action of the Danbury authorities in build- 
 ing a pen wherein tramps can break stone for their 
 food and lodging comes none too soon. The aw- 
 ful evil of irrepressible pedestrianism overshadows 
 this fair land with the darkest cloud that has come 
 upon us since 1861. The papers teem with chron-
 
 176 WILL HAVE IT ALWAYS ON IIAiVD. 
 
 icles of brutal acts by tramps, and Danbury itself, 
 more conservative than any part of America, 
 added, in the past week, its mite to the general 
 horror. The tramp in question was a bandaged 
 piece of moral and physical rottenness, held to- 
 gether by the bandages. Blear-eyed, red-faced, 
 low-browed, he presented a spectacle far from in- 
 spiring. He entered the drug store and demanded 
 ten cents' worth of alcohol. The clerk saw the 
 danger of letting him have it, and told him it was 
 not kept there, but could be obtained at a grocery 
 across the street, pointing to that place of busi- 
 ness. The tramp stalked over there, and asked 
 for the stuff. The grocer and his assistant, and a 
 pompous man of great breadth of beam (as most 
 pompous men have), were present. The grocer 
 said he did not keep alcohol. The tramp knew 
 better. The young man across the way had said 
 that alcohol could be got there, and he was going 
 to get it. He glared around upon the three au- 
 ditors in a most uncompromising manner. The 
 grocer again repeated that he did not keep alco- 
 hol, never kept it, had no occasion to, and, with a 
 deprecatory flourish of his hands, suggested that 
 perhaps some one would come along and maintain 
 that he kept mahogany grape-vines on sale. The 
 clerk, a young person with a colorless face, was 
 eating a piece of cheese. He suggested that the 
 customer might possibly be drunk. But it was 
 the pompous person who was the most seriously 
 affected. He had been talking about the country,
 
 WILL HAVE IT ALWAYS ON HAND. 177 
 
 and how it ought to be managed, and what he 
 would do if he were the President. And so he 
 had been interrupted. He looked through his 
 spectacles upon the bold-faced tramp in a way cal- 
 culated to drive him into the uttermost corners of 
 the earth, but, owing to some unknown defect, 
 failed to perform that service. For a moment he 
 was dumb with amazement at the temerity of the 
 new-comer, but finally recovering his senses, he 
 indicated the great depth of his feelings by a long- 
 drawn, sonorous breath. 
 
 " Look at me, you wretch ! " he thundered. 
 
 The tramp looked at him. There was not a 
 quiver in the bloated face, not a waver in the 
 bleared eyes. 
 
 " How dare you come here into the company of 
 respectable people with your tainted — " 
 
 "Whoop!" 
 
 That was all, but it was a cry that started the 
 ceiling, made the boxes on the sheh'es fairly jump, 
 and caused the clerk to bolt in an eminently dan- 
 gerous manner a full ounce of cheese. 
 
 It came from the tramp, suddenly, without 
 warning. And then he spread himself. The 
 grocer v/ent down in a flash. The clerk spun 
 around like a top, with a feeling back of his ear as 
 if a freight train had passed through his skull. 
 And the man for alcohol was gone, and in an 
 empty barrel stuck the pompous citizen, with a 
 slit in his nose, his chin whiskers full of blood, 
 his spectacles nowhere in sight, and a look of the 
 
 12
 
 178 A STABLE POEM. 
 
 utmost consternation petrifying every feature of 
 his appalled countenance. The barrel had to be 
 taken apart. But the tramp was not found. 
 And the grocer has ordered a tank of alcohol. 
 
 A STABLE POEM. 
 
 A DECIDED change has taken place in Slim Jim. 
 Slim Jim is the help at Marshall's livery stables. 
 He is a young man twenty-six years old. He has 
 been in the stables for four years, and is admirably 
 qualified to perform the multifarious duties belong- 
 ing to the situation. From association and sym- 
 pathy he has mastered all the details of the busi- 
 ness, and is really invaluable to Mr. Marshall. He 
 knows every horse in Danbury, knows its weak- 
 nesses, can tell a defect as soon as he sees the 
 possessor of it, and has a very good idea of horse 
 medicines. Slim Jim wears loud colors, his hair 
 cut short, no beard, no suspenders, the finest of 
 fine boots with high heels, and the pantaloon legs 
 rolled tastefully at the bottoms. Slim Jim is 
 rather proud of his boots, and rests in comfort as 
 to the rest of his form. He is a fair hand at 
 cards, proficient in profanity, rather graceful in 
 lounging, and when not on duty is adorning some 
 neighboring bar. Wherever Jim is, he talks horse. 
 Horse is his hobby. He is the most masculine of
 
 A STABLE POEM. 1/9 
 
 men. He quite frequently drives out ladies, but 
 it is evident to the most casual observer that the 
 horses, not the load, engross his whole attention. 
 He apparently has none of the finer qualities of 
 mind and heart. He never notices flowers, nor 
 birds, nor cloud formations ; neither does he speak 
 of running brooks, or mossy dells, or science, or 
 poetry. Even his cards and drinking and loung- 
 ing and figure are all subordinate to this one sub- 
 ject, the horse. He has no sympathies beyond 
 this. He has had no life separate from it. 
 Although young in years, he is old in feelings, 
 old in expression of those feelings. Whatever he 
 does to display himself is done to gain the admi- 
 ration of his own sex. He drinks, and drives, and 
 talks, and dresses, and postures for the sake of 
 exciting their envy. The last woman might be in 
 the cratur of Vesuvius, painting birds on dust-pan 
 handles, so far as he was concerned. 
 
 But a change has come over Slim Jim. He is 
 not so much in bar-rooms as in front of them now. 
 There is a dreamy, far-away look in his eyes. He 
 puts on his coat when leaving the stables, and 
 unless talking strictly horse, is subject to spells of 
 absent-mindedness. He is less coarse, less blus- 
 tering, and more subdued in his profanity. He 
 drinks less, and differently ; not throwing it down 
 with the careless indifference of a veteran, but 
 rather sipping it thoughtfully, like as one who 
 may be preoccupied by far weightier matters. He 
 is gentler, too, in his work, and closely attentive
 
 l80 A STABLE POEM. 
 
 to the ladies who come in his care, and more 
 observant of lawns, and stores, and the style as 
 affected by the better classes. A new world has 
 opened up to Slim Jim, — a world that, until 
 recently, has been veiled in a great darkness 
 before his eyes. The cause of this marvellous 
 change in Slim Jim works in one of our hat fac- 
 tories. She is seventeen years old, apparently, 
 and a spry-looking, bright-eyed girl. We saw her 
 go by the office the other day, and we saw Jim 
 with her, and then we understood at a glance the 
 secret of the great change which has fallen upon 
 our horse friend. There was something very 
 interesting in this spectacle, and something beau- 
 tiful in the conduct of Slim Jim, it was so tender 
 and respectful. There were about four feet of 
 space between them, but if it had been miles 
 instead, there was a light in his eye which showed 
 that his heart spanned the distance. She walked 
 with her head slightly bent, but not so much so as 
 to hide the pleased expression of her face. His 
 face was radiant. It was not much he was say- 
 ing, as his lips moved but little, but it was evident 
 that he was seriously impairing the strength of 
 his eyes, in trying to take in all the glory of her 
 fresh young face, with those organs looking 
 straight ahead. If anything, there was more 
 color in his face than in hers, but he undoubt- 
 edly believed the public was unaware of it. When 
 he got opposite the stables, he left her to cross 
 the street, and almost pushed her over in his trep-
 
 MRS. COB LEIGH'S D/SH- WATER. l8l 
 
 idation. Slim Jim is submerged in a sweet dream, 
 and amid its golden glories he is losing his iden- 
 tity. He almost went to church with her last 
 Sunday night. That is, he casually overtook her 
 on her return, a short distance from the door of 
 the temple, and accompanied her home. In a 
 very short time he will be standing in the porch 
 waiting for the close of the service, and later still 
 will be found holding a hymn-book with her in a 
 back pew. 
 
 MRS. COBLEIGH'S DISH-WATER. 
 
 Mr. Cobleigh went up stairs into a bedroom 
 the other noon, after dinner, to move a heavy 
 clothes-press for his wife. He worked away at it 
 some five minutes, and was getting it about where 
 he wanted it, when the awful affair tipped over 
 and came down so suddenly that Mr. Cobleigh 
 was unable to get out of the way in time, and 
 being knocked over a chair, he fell in such a way 
 as to have one of his legs pinned in between the 
 clothes-press and the chair. As he was on his 
 breast, he found himself powerless to get away, 
 and so he screamed to his wife to come to his aid. 
 He knew he could make her hear if she was down 
 stairs, and he had heard her moving about but a 
 moment before. But there was no response to 
 his cries. He shouted till he was hoarse, but
 
 1 82 MI^S. COBLE/G/rS DTSH-WATER. 
 
 Still no answer. Five minutes passed, — ten, fif- 
 teen. A half-hour was gone. It seemed almost 
 a century to the imprisoned man, with his nose 
 so close to the rag carpet that it seemed as if he 
 would never get the odor out of his system. 
 Soon he heard a door open and shut, down stairs, 
 and gathering up his remaining energies he gave 
 a final yell. In a moment his wife had reached 
 him. Her first prompting was to ask him how 
 he came in such a plight, but a glance at his 
 inflamed face checked the prompting, and she 
 speedily set to work to rescue him from his un- 
 happy position. When he got out he wanted to 
 know where in thunder she 'd been, leaving him 
 to die under a clothes-press. She said she had 
 just stepped over to Mrs. Murray's "for a minute 
 while her dish-water was cooling." Mr. Cobleigh 
 did n't receive this explanation with a very good 
 grace, and appeared somewhat disposed to reflect 
 on the qualities of dish-water for cooling. Mrs. 
 Cobleigh had been gone nearly three quarters of 
 an hour, but the time had not been lost. During 
 that brief conference with Mrs. Murray she had 
 learned a new style of knife-plaiting, how many 
 yards of material it took for a dolman, what was 
 going to be worn in the way of an overskirt, what 
 Mrs. Murray's hat would cost, besides a thorough 
 canvass of what she had better have for a summer 
 dress just to wear afternoons. All this informa- 
 tion Mrs. Cobleigh acquired while Mr. Cobleigh 
 was closeted with the clothes-press, but she pru- 
 dently kept it to herself.
 
 AUTUMN TINTS. 
 
 MR. COVILLE TAPS HIS CIDER. 
 
 When Mr. Coville got home at teatime Satur- 
 day evening, he found that an ordered barrel of 
 cider had been delivered, and was now in the 
 cellar. After supper he went down to tap it. 
 His wife carried the light, and Master Coville 
 added the attractions of his personal appearance 
 to the procession. Mr. Coville, armed with a 
 faucet and a hammer, approached the barrel. 
 Mrs. Coville held the light in the usual manner, 
 that is, so as to shut out everybody's view but her 
 own from the desired point. Master Coville stood 
 by the side of his mother, hanging to her dress, 
 and greedily taking in the proceedings. It was 
 a delicate operation, removing a plug and insert- 
 ing a faucet into a barrel of new cider. As the 
 head of the house proceeded in the task, the 
 attention of the observers grew more and more 
 intense. Gentle taps with the hammer, alternat- 
 ing on each side of the plug, loosened it gradually, 
 but surely. When it was sufficiently loosed to be 
 drawn out by a sharp wrench of the hand, Mr.
 
 184 AUTUMN TINTS. 
 
 Coville proceeded to give it the wrench in ques- 
 tion, but was somewhat anticipated by the plug 
 itself, which, suddenly leaving the barrel and 
 plunging into Mr. Coville's waistband, was imme- 
 diately followed by a tremendous burst of cider. 
 As the plug struck him, Mr. Coville was inclined 
 to double forward, but was at once diverted from 
 this purpose by the cider, and went over on his 
 back instead, throwing the hammer impulsively, 
 and dragging down Mrs. Coville spasmodically. 
 The extinguishing of the light in the descent left 
 the family in total darkness, relieved only by the 
 gasping sounds of Mr. Coville, the moans of Mrs. 
 Coville, and the indignant cries of Master Coville, 
 who, being caught under his mother in the over- 
 throw, was madly endeavoring to extricate him- 
 self, and vociferating the awful things he would 
 do if he was not at once relieved. The whole 
 effect was most appallingly heightened by the hiss 
 and splash of the escaping cider. In a moment 
 the unhappy family were on their feet, and drag- 
 ging their dripping and somewhat ruffled plumage 
 up the stairs and into the light. Another lamp 
 was secured, and Mr. Coville hastened down stairs, 
 when he not only discovered that the cider was 
 entirely gone, but that the hammer, in its flight, 
 had taken in the hanging shelf on which had 
 reposed twenty-two glass jars of preserves, and 
 rendered nineteen of them, with their contents, 
 a heap of ruins. The remarks Mr. Coville de- 
 signed delivering in a high key of voice on discov-
 
 AUTUMN TINTS. 1 85 
 
 ering the loss of his cider were utterly submerged 
 in the horror of the subsequent discovery, and he 
 hastily hurried up stairs and passed silently to 
 bed. The next morning he did not wait for break- 
 fast, but was earlier at the store than he had been 
 in seven years, and remained there until night. 
 He rightly conjectured that his wife's feelings, on 
 viewing the preserve wreck, would be too sacred 
 for observation. 
 
 A WRETCHED CUSTOM. 
 
 Come, now, what infernal barbarity is this, 
 leaving a clothes-line out after dark ! A great 
 deal of funny comment has been made upon the 
 custom by thoughtless people, but it is a most 
 serious matter, and it is high time the tomfoolery 
 was abolished. We are just as ready as anybody 
 to see the funny side of a thing, but we have 
 ceased to observe anything amusing in being 
 unexpectedly sawed across the neck, or rasped 
 across the face, by a clothes-line. It is time there 
 was a legislative enactment to either hang clothes- 
 lines sixty feet above the earth, or make leaving 
 them out after nightfall a State-prison offence. It 
 is a most incomprehensible fact that a clothes-line 
 is always hung across the garden path. 
 
 If the yard was ten miles square, and a path
 
 1 86 AUTUMN TINTS. 
 
 two feet wide crept along close to the fence, and 
 the woman had but eight feet of line, she would 
 manage to cover the path. Whether this is be- 
 cause she is perverse, or cannot help it, we do not 
 know. We only know that it is so, and that it is 
 an appalling evil; No home circle is safe where 
 this custom prevails. It matters not how good- 
 natured a man is, it matters not how carefully he 
 has been educated, it matters not how lofty and 
 noble are his aspirations, the moment a clothes- 
 line catches him under the chin, especially if he 
 has a pan of ashes in his arms, that moment he 
 sinks with awful velocity to the level of a brute, 
 and proceeds to act out the conditions thereof at 
 once. In its proper place, a clothes-line is a val- 
 uable companion, but across a path after dark, it 
 is simply a brutalizing force. 
 
 A MELANCHOLY EPISODE. 
 
 It was at this season of the year, just seven 
 years ago, that an extraordinary scene occurred in 
 Danbury. It was in the evening, and a couple 
 were bringing in several pots of plants from the 
 yard to save them from the frost, which the tem- 
 perature of outdoors threatened. While thus en- 
 gaged she spoke, referring to a geranium she had 
 in her hand : —
 
 AUTUMN TINTS. 1 87 
 
 " I would n't lose this for a great deal, as mother 
 gave it to me." 
 
 He looked at it. 
 
 "Your mother gave it to you? Guess not. I 
 bought that plant myself." 
 
 "Why, it's no such thing!" 
 
 " I tell you I did ! " speaking with much warmth, 
 
 "And I tell you you did n't," she firmly assev- 
 erated, " Do you suppose I don't know what was 
 given to me .''" 
 
 " Do you suppose I don't know what I bought 
 with my own money .'" 
 
 "If you say you bought that geranium," she 
 said, speaking very slowly, and with white lips, 
 "you say what you know to be false." 
 
 " Do you mean to say I lie .-• " he hissed, 
 
 " If you say that, I do." 
 
 " You shall be sorry for this," he threatened, 
 
 " Never ! " she retorted. 
 
 He put on his hat and coat, and left the house. 
 
 That was seven years ago this fall. She never 
 saw him again, nor heard from him in all that 
 seven years. What must have been the thoughts, 
 the agony of mind, endured by that wretched wife 
 in that time, no one on earth knows. She kept 
 her thoughts to herself, and patiently, as far as 
 outward appearance went, bore the burden put 
 upon her. 
 
 On Friday evening of last week her door opened, 
 and a man walked into her presence. There was 
 a look, a cry, and she was in the arms of her hus-
 
 loo AUTUMN TINTS. 
 
 band. What a happy home was that ! All the 
 agony of the seven long years was forgotten in 
 that hour of reconciliation and reunion. A hearty 
 supper was spread, and with tears and smiles she 
 hovered about him, ministering to every want. 
 After supper there was a long talk of the past. 
 
 " It is so singular," she said, speaking in one of 
 the pauses, " that it should have happened as it 
 did. I can scarcely comprehend it all. It seems 
 like an awful dream. We both lost our tempers, 
 and we have both suffered for it. The miserable 
 geranium ! Do you know that I cannot bear to 
 see one of those plants } I told mother to come 
 and take it back, for I would n't have it in sight." 
 
 " What !" he ejaculated. "Do you still persist 
 in saying that she gave it to you .-^ " . 
 
 "Why, John, of course she did. Haven't you 
 got over that idea yet 1 " 
 
 "No, I haven't," he persisted, his face darken- 
 ing. " I bought that geranium just as sure as I 'm 
 a living man." 
 
 She thought of his years of cruel desertion, of 
 all he had caused her to suffer, because of his 
 obstinacy, and her heart hardened and her face 
 flushed. 
 
 " You are mean to say that, when you know it 
 is false." 
 
 " It is n't false. It 's heaven's truth." 
 
 " It 's no such thing. It 's a mean, contempt- 
 ible lie." 
 
 He jumped up from the chair, seized his hat and
 
 AUTUMN TINTS. 1 89 
 
 coat, and shot out of the house in a flash, and she 
 never uttered a word in protest. She sat there with 
 chnched hands and a white face, and let him go. 
 
 And so he is gone. And to-day she is alone 
 again with the old burden and the old pain. 
 
 MRS. SNIPKINS'S PLUMS. 
 
 Mr. Snipkins, a little man with wiry side- 
 whiskers and a bald head, is very fond of a social 
 time. The other day he invited several of his 
 fellow-clerks to spend the evening at his house, 
 the programme embracing euchre and " hot stuff." 
 The boys were to be up to the house at eight 
 o'clock. Mr. Snipkins went home to get his tea, 
 and prepare for them by working Mrs. Snipkins 
 into the proper mood for the occasion. He was 
 aware that unless that excellent lady was in a 
 pliable humor, the possibility of working a half- 
 dozen men into the house was the most chimerical 
 of all chimeras. At eight o'clock the invited 
 guests, with two decks of cards and a quart bottle, 
 approached the house. They found Mr. Snipkins 
 at the gate. He had been waiting for them. 
 There was a troubled look on his face. 
 
 " It 's too bad, boys," he said, apologetically, 
 "but I'm afraid that — that we'll have to post- 
 pone our little affair until another evening."
 
 190 AUTUMN TINTS. 
 
 *' Why, what 's the row ?" 
 
 "Well, you see," said Snipkins, hesitatingly, 
 and with an apprehensive look to the house, "it 's 
 the old lady. I 'm sorry, boys, but it can't be 
 helped, — it really can't be helped. I did n't know 
 she was doing it, of course, when I invited you 
 for to-night, or I would n't 'a' done it." 
 
 "Doing what.'*" asked the man who had the 
 bottle. 
 
 " Doing grapes," replied Snipkins. " You see 
 the man came with them this afternoon, an' she 
 skinned them an' had them on a b'iling when I 
 got home ; an' they 've been b'iling ever since, 
 but they don't jell. No, no," Mr. Snipkins shook 
 his head despondently, "they don't jell worth a 
 cent. She 's got a roaring old fire, an' she 's red 
 as a beet in the face, an' she whips around there 
 without saying a word, but looking volumes. I 
 tell you, boys, I 'm mighty sorry, but it won't do. 
 There 's no use talking party when grapes act 
 like them. We '11 have to put it off another 
 night." Mr. Snipkins spoke with so much feel- 
 ing, and cast so many apprehensive glances to- 
 ward the house, that the party were convinced 
 of the futility of their plans for the evening, and 
 at once retired. 
 
 Several million people have been trying this 
 month of October to get the best of a stove-pipe. 
 But they have n't done it ; they never have done
 
 AUTUMN- TINTS. I9I 
 
 it; they never will. However well they may have 
 matched last year, no two lengths of pipe will 
 match this year. You may put marks a foot 
 long ujDon them, but this will not do. You may 
 lock up each length in a room by itself, but yet 
 when they come to be used you will find they 
 will not come together as they came apart. We 
 can't tell in what way it was done, but we are 
 certain those lengths came out of that room in 
 some way, and exchanged places with each. If 
 not, why are they so unfitted to each other .-' It is 
 utterly impossible to get the best of a stove-pipe. 
 What will expand one length will contract another, 
 and even a single length has been known to ex- 
 pand at one end while it contracted at the other. 
 There is a subtle influence in the atmosphere 
 which causes this. No one has as yet been able 
 to discover what this is, and until it is made 
 known there is no use expecting to get a stove- 
 pipe safely together, even if you should set on the 
 lengths all summer, and have your meals brought 
 to you. 
 
 The most melancholy aspect of this melancholy 
 season of the year is not in the evidences of a 
 dying nature, but is manifest in that part of the 
 home known as the kitchen. There is a damp, dis- 
 mal, exhausted air about the kitchen these morn, 
 ings, which gives it an appearance of having been 
 wrung out. The flies have gone, but they have left
 
 192 AUTUMN TINTS. 
 
 sufficient indications of their sojourn on the wii- 
 dow-glass, the casings, and walls, and also on the 
 several dishes which are brought out from the re- 
 cesses of the pantry and deposited on the breakfast- 
 table to be washed. The temperature of the room, 
 owing to the escaping steam, the fact that the door 
 opens either outdoors or into a passageway, and 
 a raised window, is chilling and depressing. The 
 temper of the genius presiding over the whole is 
 somewhat similar. Dabs of breakfast refuse raise 
 their mournful heads here- and there. The dirt 
 from the floor is huddled up on the zinc, and show- 
 ing a disposition to resist being shoved out of 
 sight under the stove. But the most depressing 
 feature of the scene is a part of the last watermelon 
 of the season, tasteless and flabby, as if it had ab- 
 sorbed within itself a portion of the scents, flavor, 
 and characteristics of its surroundings ; and when 
 the man of the house looks over the room and its 
 contents, and feels his heart sink within him, he 
 is confident that without the melon the general 
 desolation would be without a fitting climax. 
 
 Mr. Whipple, who is a clerk in a dry-goods 
 store, has been requested by Mrs. Whipple to 
 bring home a box to keep potatoes in. Her 
 father, who is a farmer, had promised to bring 
 her a bushel of potatoes, and she was expecting 
 him in every day with them. There was no place 
 to put them, unless they were laid on the cellar
 
 AUTUMN TINTS. 193 
 
 floor, which was not considered desirable in domes- 
 tic economy. Mr. Whipple was a good man. He 
 promised to bring up the box. He honestly meant 
 to do so. There can be no doubt of that. Satur- 
 day Mrs. Whipple's father came with the potatoes, 
 but there was no box to receive them, so he 
 dumped them in a heap on the floor. That night 
 at tea Mrs. Whipple, seeing Mr. Whipple without 
 the box, told him, with deep feelings, the result. 
 Mr. Whipple was contrite, but he said that he 
 could n't think of everything, and spoke with 
 some resentment. Late in the evening he went 
 down in the cellar, with a lamp and a pitcher, for 
 cider, and stepping on the potatoes which he did 
 not notice, and which he had forgotten all about, 
 he was struck with the impression that the entire 
 cellar was slipping away from him, and seeking 
 to save himself he smashed the lamp on the floor 
 at one side, and smashed the pitcher on the other 
 side. Then he struck tfie back of his head against 
 a post with a view to illuminating the cellar (in 
 which he succeeded). Then he rolled over, and 
 got on his knees, and crawled slowly and painfully 
 up stairs, the whole performance taking scarcely 
 ten minutes.
 
 194 AUTUMN TINTS. 
 
 A NOVEMBER FROLIC. 
 
 To-day is a genuine November day. The air 
 is keenly cold, the sky is clear of clouds ; the sun 
 shines as clear as a diamond, its rays yielding the 
 same amount of heat ; the roads are hard and gray ; 
 the wind comes in overpowering gusts, taking up 
 the dust and sending it in flying volumes through 
 every street. It has all the peculiarities which 
 have distinguished this wind above the wind of 
 any other month since time began. Chief among 
 these is the quality of not appearing* when ex- 
 pected, and of not being expected when it does 
 appear. This wind is holding high carnival 
 to-day. It is rattling the windows, and trying 
 the doors, and investigating ash-heaps, and carry- 
 ing pails from the back stoops. It is playing all 
 sorts of strange music around the corners and 
 through the trees. It is thundering over the 
 meadows, and dancing giddily through the streets. 
 It is such a free-and-easy wind, such an impu- 
 dent trifler with the property of others. 
 
 We hardly dare say how many hats have crossed 
 the perspective from our window and gone rolling 
 down the street in the last half-hour, but it seems 
 as if there had been an almost unbroken proces- 
 sion of them. 
 
 There is a dreadful fascination in observing them, 
 — in seeing a hat appear, and immediately behind
 
 AUTUMN TINTS. 195 
 
 it the owner. So closely does he follow upon it 
 that there is bare chance from seeing the hat to 
 speculate as to what sort of a person the wearer 
 must be, when he appears on the scene himself. 
 
 The first hat belonged to a boy. It was a little 
 hat with a very round crown and a stiff brim, and 
 it sailed along on the brim. The owner thereof was 
 close upon it, putting in his very best, and making 
 both of his legs appear like twenty legs in the 
 rapidity of their movements. He finally captured 
 it by the ingenious device of jumping on it with 
 both feet. Then he picked it up, brushed it off 
 with his elbow, slapped it on to his head, and 
 immediately put after another boy on whose face 
 he just then detected a dishonest smile. 
 
 Then came a large soft hat, whirling swiftly, 
 and following it was a cloud of dust, and in the 
 cloud, like some improved allegory, was the owner 
 of the hat. He was a farmer in appearance, and 
 wore a coat so long in its skirts as to greatly 
 impede the free and graceful action of his limbs. 
 His lips were tight together, and his hands 
 clinched, as if he were completely immersed in 
 intense thought, as he undoubtedly was. The hat 
 struck against a post and settled there, and he 
 made a spiteful dive for it, and then it lifted up 
 and moved on, and he started off after it, and 
 both passed out of sight. Perhaps the wind may 
 go down with the sun. 
 
 It is just as well he got away as he did, for 
 immediately after two hats came rolling along
 
 196 AUTUMN TINTS. 
 
 over and over, and two men, puffing and blowing, 
 and very mad, as every motion indicated, came 
 dashing after them. Just then a boy's hat ap- 
 peared, and being either lighter, or more favorable 
 to the wind, than the others, speedily overtook 
 them, and the boy himself made such remarkable 
 headway that he was soon up to the men, very 
 much to their disgust, as his wild appearance and 
 yells added none whatever to the dignity of their 
 position. For an instant the three were abreast, 
 and then the boy went ahead, and at the same 
 time his hat rolled over and stopped. One more 
 bound and he was to it, and throwing himself down 
 to secure it, threw himself exactly in the way of the 
 two flying men. There was no time to stop ; there 
 was no time to think. In a flash the two went 
 over him, a fierce gust of dust enveloped them, 
 and through the maze, on which the clear sunlit 
 fell and transformed the atoms into gold, there 
 appeared an incredible number of arms and legs 
 cutting the air and smiting at each other in hope- 
 less confusion. Then the scramble being over 
 the two men got up on their feet and glared at 
 each other with inflamed passion distorting their 
 faces, in absence of any opportunity to vent their 
 wrath on the boy, who, by that mysterious process 
 peculiar to boys, had secured his hat and prudently 
 retired to a safe distance. What the two men 
 would have done unto each other had there been 
 the chance, is not known, but the loss of their hats 
 happening to strike them simultaneously, they at
 
 AUTUMN TINTS. 197 
 
 once put off aft-er them, running' side by side with 
 delightful harmony. 
 
 As we close this little sketch we glance again 
 out of the window. A silk hat is rolling by. 
 Like a porpoise it rolls from side to side, and 
 tumbles ahead. In active pursuit is a tall man 
 with elongated face. He is dressed in the extreme 
 of fashion. He is a city man, and his clothes are 
 city made. He did not come here to show them, 
 but now that he is here he is glad to display them, 
 and is satisfied to bask in the sunshine of the 
 peasantry's admiration. At this present moment 
 he is not basking, although the sunshine is in 
 abundance, as the peasantry are on the corners, 
 on the hotel porch, in the post-office door, before 
 the salocn, looking upon him with all the eyes 
 they possess, and admiring and enjoying him as 
 he can never hope to be admired and enjoyed 
 again in his life. And his flushed face shows that 
 he knows he is doing something that interests 
 and comforts them. He has a very red face, and 
 very staring eyes, and a very murderous expres- 
 sion generally. The cruel wind has wrenched his 
 hair from its pomade fastenings and thrown it 
 over his eyes and across his ears, and wrong way 
 up the back of his head. It has sent the tails of 
 his coat to the front in a very undignified manner. 
 It has blown his trousers legs to the front also, 
 filling them out like bellying sails, and leaving at 
 the back an unexpected thinness of shank to the 
 astonished view of the beholder.
 
 19^ AUTUMN TINTS. 
 
 He ran with all his strength, and while he ran 
 the peasantry cheered and shouted and laughed. 
 Every few strides he would pause and invite the 
 peasantry to step out in the road and have their 
 several heads knocked off. Then he would go on 
 again. And so he has passed from sight and 
 from the town, with life before him and the grand 
 Atlantic but twenty-two miles ahead.
 
 THE SMALL BOY. 
 
 A MISERABLE SON. 
 
 She was a Nelson Street woman with more than 
 the usual amount of cares cast to her lot. Her 
 husband was very sick, with no hope whatever of 
 his recovery. She sat in the kitchen, alone by 
 herself, the other evening, trying to rest herself, 
 when the silence was broken by a scuffling and 
 shouting and howling in the street. She paused 
 a moment in an effort to distinguish the nature of 
 the trouble by the sounds it was sending forth. 
 As she listened, one cry rose above another. At 
 its coming her cheeks flushed, and hastily throw- 
 ing a shawl over her head, she went out to the 
 front just in time to receive her own son, and to 
 see the son of the excellent woman ne.xt door 
 being led into the house, weeping and moaning, 
 by his mother. She took in this situation in a 
 glance, and then the color entirely left her face. 
 
 " Come here ! " The fury of a century was 
 compressed in that command. The youth was on 
 the point of dodging around the house when these 
 two words smote his purpose and clove it in twain.
 
 200 THE SMALL BOY. 
 
 She took him by the collar, and fairly skimmed 
 him through the hall and to the kitchen. There 
 was a nameless fear in her heart. Her face was 
 very white, and the fingers which grasped the 
 collar of his jacket worked with a spasmodic 
 twitching. 
 
 " What 's the matter out there } " she demanded, 
 in a low, concentrated voice. 
 
 " Nothin'." 
 
 " What was you doing, I say .-' " 
 
 "Well," snuffled the pinned-down youth, "Bill, 
 he took an' kicked over my wagon, an' I just let 
 him have one across the snoot." 
 
 "You struck him, you good-for-nothing imp .-• " 
 she hissed. 
 
 "Well, he'd no right to kick my — " He 
 stopped just there. There was a look in his 
 mother's face that choked off his utterance. The 
 eyes that looked down in his were ablaze with pas- 
 sion. It seemed as if their fire would burn into 
 his very soul. She drove him down to the floor, 
 and held him there as if he had been pinned by 
 iron bands. 
 
 "What do you mean," she hissed, "by making 
 this row.'' (Shake.) Don't you know what you 
 are doing .'' Can I never keep you out of deviltry .'' 
 (Shake.) I '11 learn you better, or I '11 smash every 
 bone in your body, you miserable brat! (Shake.) 
 How dare you strike that woman's boy, when your 
 father 's here at death's door, and she has the best 
 chairs in the neighborhood ? Oh ! " she added,
 
 THE SMALL BOY. ' 20I 
 
 with a passionate sob, "that heaven should curse 
 me with such an unfeeling brute for a son ! " And 
 throwing him from her, she dropped in a chair, 
 and buried her face in her apron to hide the tears 
 of bitter shame. 
 
 WHAT SHE DIED OF, 
 
 A CURIOUS animal is the boy. Two of them 
 were gomg through Pine Street the other morn- 
 ing, when, as they were about passing each other, 
 one of them said, — 
 
 "You don't know who 's dead at the baker's ? " 
 
 "Yes, I do, too." 
 
 They had now passed each other, and were 
 walking backwards so as to confront one another 
 
 " Who is it ? " 
 
 " It 's the baker's wife." 
 
 "Ho, ho!" laughed the other, derisively, "that 
 shows all you know about it. It ain't the baker's 
 wife at all ; it is his wife's sister." 
 
 The advocate of the wife flushed deeply at this. 
 
 " Smart, ain't you } " he shouted, for the dis- 
 tance between them had grown considerable. " I 
 bjt you don't know what she died of." 
 
 "'■ What '11 you bet } " yelled the other. 
 
 " I '11 bet you anything." 
 
 " I bet you don't know yourself what she died 
 of."
 
 202 THE SMALL BOY. 
 
 "Yes, I do!' 
 
 " What was it, now ? " 
 
 " Well, I know, and you don't." 
 
 " Yes, I do, too. She died of consumption," 
 said the other in desperation. 
 
 " Ho, ho, ho ! what a greeny," shouted the 
 other, in a burst of joyful triumph. " Consump- 
 tion ! Ho, ho, he, he ! Well, if I did n't know 
 more than that I 'd go put my head to soak." 
 
 Redder than fire grew the face of the defeated 
 boy. 
 
 " If you know so much, what was it she died 
 of .? " 
 
 " She died of typhoid fever! " shouted the victor, 
 his features radiant with the reflection. 
 
 " Huh ! " responded the other boy, " I knew 
 that all the time. I was only codding you with 
 consumption." 
 
 And they both turned and pursued their respec- 
 tive ways, neither being quite satisfied with the 
 result. 
 
 THE BOY BARNACLE. 
 
 He was a street Arab, and walking down town 
 ahead of us the other morning. We had a good 
 view of him, and fell to studying his clothes. 
 There was a mossy grayness to his garments. 
 His shoes were broken at the tops and at the
 
 THE SMALL BOY. 203 
 
 sides, and run over at the heels ; they were very 
 gray. The stockings which showed above the 
 tops seemed to be but a continuation of the shoes. 
 His pants were broken in places, and had been 
 patched and fallen away again. The same of his 
 jacket, which exhibited, in addition, feeble green- 
 ish-yellow patches, frayed out at the edges, and 
 worn into a glossy shimmer in the centre. His 
 shirt collar was as brown as the neck which it 
 guarded. His hair, stumpy and unkempt, was held 
 down by a brimless hat, as gray and as old as the 
 rest of his apparel. It was a spirit of repose 
 resting upon the whole which made this boy con- 
 spicuous. Age showed in every lineament of 
 the fabrics. Wrinkles had become ridges. From 
 the crown of his head to the sole of his feet the 
 boy and the clothes looked as if they were one 
 solid piece, undivided and inseparable. It did not 
 seem as if the garments had ever been off of him 
 since they were fitted to him. This was early in 
 the morning, but they appeared no different late 
 last night, nor will they look different late to- 
 night. It must have required time to have given 
 the shoes and the stockings, and the pants and 
 the jacket, that appearance of eternal rest and rust 
 which envelops them. Did he take them off last 
 night, and put them on fresh this morning '^. 
 Impossible ! He could not have removed and 
 returned them again without their showing in 
 some particular that they had been disturbed. 
 But they do not show it. The rust, the dirt, the
 
 204 THE SMALL BOY. 
 
 caking, the wrinkles, and the mossy repose are 
 the same to-day as they were yesterday, and as 
 they will be to-morrow. And yet they do not 
 look as if he had been abed in them. We know 
 he never undresses. Mu'St we believe that he 
 never sleeps ? 
 
 A PAIR OF MORTIFYING BREECHES. 
 
 It was Monday morning, the first day of school. 
 He was on his way there with a companion. He 
 wore blue breeches. A most startling blue they 
 were, — not this navy blue so common to clothes, 
 but a light dazzling blue, seen only in those toys 
 made up for the enjoyment of young folks. These 
 breeches fitted close to his fat limbs. They were 
 very beautful, and added largely to the scenery of 
 White Street as he bounded along that picturesque 
 avenue. We never saw such breeches as these in 
 all our long and active life. The color was so 
 bright, the fit so snug, that to see them was to 
 soothe and nourish the mind. He and his com- 
 panion were "chasing," — that is, they were run- 
 ning without any particular object in view. It 
 was the exuberance of youth that sent their legs 
 flying. He wore a coat with tails, and every time 
 his legs flew up the tails flew up, and the blue 
 fairly filled the air. The beauty of the scene was 
 almost suffocating. It must have been a great
 
 THE SMALL BOY. 205 
 
 joy to the other boy to be with him. Pretty soon 
 they came upon a party of other boys somewhat 
 younger than they, and one of these — a very 
 depraved nature he must have had — derisively 
 yelled out, — 
 
 " Blue breeches ! Oh, blue breeches ! Ki, yi ! 
 See blue breeches ! " 
 
 It was an awful blow. The owner of the ceru- 
 lean garment lost the color in his face, and it 
 was only by a mighty effort that he summoned 
 the strength to appear indifferent. It was no 
 use. 
 
 " Ho, ho, ho ! Look at the blue breeches ! " 
 again shouted the offender. 
 
 Like a flash, the wearer of the adornment rushed 
 upon him to crush him into the earth. It was a 
 fatal move. 
 
 " Blue breeches, blue breeches ! " screamed an- 
 other miscreant. 
 
 He turned upon the second offender. 
 
 It was a feeling of mutual defence that prompted 
 another to take up the cry, and then a fourth, and 
 so on. 
 
 He went at one only to be called to another, 
 and the air fairly quivered with the cry which 
 now became a roar. He was about wild with the 
 din, — 
 
 "Blue breeches! blue breeches! blue breeches!" 
 
 It was no use to fight them. They were like 
 wasps. The bombardment was so terrible that 
 he was glad to beat an ignominious retreat, and
 
 206 THE SMALL BOY. 
 
 the once proud garment disappeared in humiliating 
 flight. 
 
 Poor boy ! He may be obliged to wear those 
 breeches for months, to suffer day by day a torture 
 worse than death. How can parents be so cruel ? 
 How can they, when the spring has come, the 
 tender buds are opening, and the songs of the 
 birds fill the air with sweet melody, put on 
 the dye-kettle and color a pair of breeches like 
 that ? 
 
 It is simply infernal. 
 
 THE BOY AT CHURCH. 
 
 Mr. and Mrs. Pryden took their little boy to 
 church Sunday. It was his first day in pants, and 
 his first time in church. For the first half of the 
 service he was fully absorbed in things about him, 
 and the novelty of the situation. After that his 
 mind turned in upon himself, and he began to pay 
 exclusive attention to his own wants, and Mr. and 
 Mrs. Pryden, from an exulting feeling of pride, 
 gradually slipped down an inclined plane of anx- 
 iety which emptied into an abyss of despair. The 
 number of positions the youth got into, and the 
 wants he manifested, would seem incredible were 
 they not actually witnessed by a full score of 
 respectable people. As soon as he took in a real
 
 THE SMALL BOY. 20/ 
 
 izing sense of his own identity, Master Pryden 
 began to comprehend and respond to the demands 
 of his nature. He got upon his knees on the seat, 
 and stared at the choir. He twisted back again 
 to the front, and was only saved from falling to 
 the floor by the alertness of his pa. The floor 
 being thus suggested to him, he got down on it. 
 Then he got up on the seat again. From this 
 place he desired to change to a position between 
 his pa and ma. He was accommodated. After 
 resting quietly there for twenty seconds, he 
 changed to the other side of his pa. Thence he 
 moved to his pa's lap. From there he went to 
 the other side of his ma. This was evidently a 
 mistake, for he immediately expressed a wish to 
 get back to the other side of his pa, and on 
 their attempting to lift him there he kicked and 
 cried, and was only silenced by being allowed to 
 walk the distance, which he did at once. The 
 motion so pleased him that he went straightway 
 back again, and tried it over. Also for the second 
 and third time. Then he got up again between 
 his ma and pa. After that, to the other side of 
 his pa. Then he espied a gilt-backed book in the 
 rack of the next pew, and, reaching over to get it, 
 came within an ace of depositing his entire carcass 
 on the other side, but was clutched in time by 
 both of his parents, and hauled safely back, very 
 red in the face and very indignant. Disappointed 
 in this venture, he turned his attention to the rack 
 in his own pew, and possessed himself of the
 
 208 7 HE SMALL BOY. 
 
 books therein, which, being taken away fro»n him, 
 made it necessary that he should get them again. 
 These he dropped on the floor one at a time, and 
 smiled the guileless smile of infancy as they were 
 picked up by his embarrassed parents. Pretty well 
 exhausted, he now prepared for sleep, and rested 
 his head upon his mother's breast and closed his 
 eyes. His parents sighed. Then he slipped 
 down on the floor, sliding in such a way as to 
 leave quite an expanse of white goods between his 
 pants and jacket, and to roll the collar of the 
 jacket up on the back of his head. The clothing 
 was adjusted, his ma whispered in his ear for the 
 fortieth time, and his pa scowled so hard as to 
 nearly dislodge his own scalp. He saw the scowl, 
 and sullenly sank down on the floor, from which 
 he had to be lifted by main force. Then he took 
 out the hymn-books again, and was going to drop 
 them as before, when his pa interfered and 
 rescued them. He resented the liberty by throw- 
 ing back his head, which, coming in sharp con- 
 tact with the back of the seat, wrenched from his 
 lips a shrill cry. The unhappy mother endeav- 
 ored to stifle in her shawl, so much of the wail 
 she could not whisper away, while his pa's face 
 was full of great drops of perspiration, of which 
 pa himself was unconscious. The wail not abat- 
 ing, pa's knife, containing four blades, was brought 
 into service, and then the cry hushed. For a full 
 moment he was absorbed in contemplation of this 
 object. And then he let it drop. There was no
 
 THE SMALL BOY. 209 
 
 carpet in the pew. Two thirds of the congrega- 
 tain raised from their seats, and Mr. Pryden him- 
 self came almost to a perpendicular. Then the 
 hymn was given out and sung, and the benedic- 
 tion pronounced, and Mr. and Mrs. Pryden, with 
 their heir between them, started for home, Mr, 
 Pryden being so warm that he took off his over- 
 coat, and gave a boy ten cents to carry it home for 
 him.
 
 THE MAN NEXT DOOR, 
 
 AND OTHER ESSAYS. 
 
 No. I.— A NEW ENGLAND THANKSGIVING. 
 
 To-morrow is Thanksgiving day, and as I sit 
 by my window looking out into the yard of The 
 Man Next Door, I wonder to myself how he will 
 celebrate the day ; and my mind running out to 
 him from the contemplation of a series of papers 
 I have been wanting for some time to prepare for 
 you, on a variety of topics connected with life in 
 our village, it is suggested to me that a good name 
 for the papers will be the name by which he is 
 more familiarly known in our household, viz., 
 "The Man Next Door." One reason, perhaps, 
 for this designation of him is the fact that he is 
 the only man who lives next door to us, a street 
 being on the other side of us. Again, his name 
 is so awkward that it does not come easy to speak. 
 So he has come to be known principally in my 
 family as The Man Next Door. And a very good 
 man he is, too, although a queer man in some 
 respects.
 
 THE MAN NEXT DOOR, 2 I I 
 
 The Man Next Door has a store, in which he 
 sells music, books, stationery, jewelry, watches, 
 clocks, etc. He is a sort of genius whose brain, 
 like his place of business, is adapted to various 
 ramifications. He is a large man, with a beard on 
 his face, but none on the top of his head. He is 
 more nerve than fat, large as he is, and as "touchy " 
 as powder itself, and as quickly over it. He is a 
 reformer, a man of powerful but clouded intellect, 
 and a conceiver of vast enterprises, and keeps a 
 retail store of various branches. I don't know 
 that he ever thought out any great thing to a 
 clear conclusion, but he has thought over many of 
 them, and I have come to believe that the little 
 petty details of his business and domestic life 
 have chafed his mighty spirit until it is as sore as 
 a boil ; and this is what makes him so "touchy." 
 
 Yesterday afternoon his boy brought up with 
 the horse two or three boxes, and dumped them in 
 the yard by the barn. I have just been looking 
 from my window at these boxes. I know they are 
 to be used in building something to-morrow, for 
 The Man Next Door is one of that great majority 
 of New-Englanders who devote religious days to 
 "puttering about the place," as my wife calls it. 
 
 Last year he built a house for his boy's dog. It 
 was a clear, cold day, as is proper for a Thanks- 
 giving day to be. I sat indoors and watched him 
 at his work, from my window. 
 
 It was about nine a. m. when he began. At that 
 hour my wife directed my attention to the fact
 
 212 THE MAN NEXT DOOR, 
 
 that something was going on next door, and I 
 went to the window. The man, with a hammer in 
 his hand, was there, and so, also, were the boy and 
 the dog. The boy is about fourteen years old, 
 small for his age, with a face so white as to lead 
 the casual observer to infer that he is an invalid. 
 But he is n't Not by a long sight. He got the 
 dog the day before. The animal was a shaggy- 
 haired dog, that incessantly wagged its tail, and 
 crouched low to the ground when spoken to, and 
 turned over on its back when patted. It was a 
 very propitiatory dog. 
 
 The Man Next Door was in the best of spirits. 
 He patted the dog, and laughed, and his whole 
 expression was one of great satisfaction. He had 
 a hammer, and a saw, and a saucer of nails. It 
 was the regular family collection of nails, — four 
 straight ones and forty crooked ones. 
 
 He had plenty of material for the building of 
 the dog-house. There were two dry-goods boxes, 
 just such boxes as his boy brought up yesterday. 
 He knocked them apart, and was careful in doing 
 it to save the nails. After he had got the pieces 
 thus separated, he began to lay out the plan for 
 the house. It was going to be quite an elaborate 
 affair, judging from the care with which he shut 
 one eye, and the number of times ha stepped back 
 and looked at the idea. Once, v/hen he stepped 
 back, he stepped on the dog, and the dog yelped 
 and verged so suddenly and so unexpectedly that 
 The Man Next Door lost his balance, and abruptly
 
 AND OTHER ESSAYS. 213 
 
 sat down on the saucer of nails. He got up with- 
 out smiling, and mechanically looked around for 
 the dog, with the hammer still in his hand. The 
 dog had continued to verge, however, and was now 
 out of sight, the boy being in sympathetic pur- 
 suit. Pretty soon The Man Next Door ceased 
 to rub himself, and returned to the work of con- 
 struction. He worked vigorously. He drove four 
 stakes into the earth, and built up four walls to 
 them. He called for his wife, and she came out 
 ostensibly to hold the boards as he nailed them, 
 but really to tell him how to do it. He knew how 
 to do it himself, however, and lost no time in con- 
 vincing her of the fact. Still she did n't let go of 
 her idea. She held two boards for him, and was 
 holding the third, when a carriage drove by, in 
 which was a woman that had on a new kind of 
 dolman. The wife of The Man Next Door was so 
 startled by this appearance, which must have been 
 entirely unexpected to her, that she dropped the 
 end of the board she was holding to run out to the 
 other side of the house, where a much better view 
 could be obtained. It was an unfortunate time to 
 select for the purpose. He had a nail partly set, 
 and was about to give it a climaxing blow — in 
 fact the hammer was already descending — when 
 she dropped her end. 
 
 I was n't exactly where I could see the whole 
 performance. I saw the hammer go down, how- 
 ever, and then I saw it some thirty feet in the air 
 travelling in a circle, and The Man Next Door
 
 214 THE MAN NEXT DOOR, 
 
 was bending over and straightening up again, and 
 holding on to one hand as if it was all he had on 
 earth. 
 
 I could see by the movement of her eyes that 
 she was talking to him, and I looked at his lips to 
 see if they were moving in response, but they 
 were not. They were tightly clinched ; and after 
 he had kicked down what he had built up, and 
 jumped up and down on the saucer of nails until 
 he had driven them into the earth, he went into 
 the house. 
 
 Later in the day my wife saw his wife, and 
 asked her what was the matter. She said her 
 husband hit his thumb with the hammer, and that 
 he ought not to drive nails anyway, because he 
 did n't understand how to do it. 
 
 No. 2. — HOW FAR TWENTY CENTS WILL GO. 
 
 The wife of The Man Next Door has a fertile 
 brain, which is kept actively employed in a variety 
 of directions. Among her household gods are a 
 dozen plants in pots, and a variety of these in a 
 box mounted on a pedestal. The box she got at 
 the store ; the pedestal she and the boy together 
 made. After it was done, she wanted it painted. 
 
 She might have sent it to the painter for that 
 purpose, but he would charge more than it was 
 worth. To save the extra cost she determined to 
 do the work herself. She could get a pound of
 
 AND OTHER ESSAYS. 2l5 
 
 paint, all mixed in a pot, with a brush, for twenty 
 cents, — the pot and brush to be returned after 
 the work was done. It was a simple thing to 
 paint, and she could put it on as easily and nicely 
 as a trained hand could do it. The Man Next 
 Door did n't think much about it. It was not in 
 his line, but he got the paint. 
 
 The paint was green, and when the box and 
 pedestal took that color, and the vines got to 
 growing, the effect was going to be real nice. 
 He brought up the pot of paint on coming to 
 dinner, and she did the painting in the afternoon. 
 It was a great surprise to the wife of The Man 
 Next Door to see how little of the paint was re- 
 quired to color the box and pedestal, and how 
 much was left after the work was done. What 
 should she do with it .-' Not return it, of course, 
 for she would not be allowed anything for it. 
 Now that she had it she might as well use it. 
 There was undoubtedly something it could be 
 used on. 
 
 She looked around for the object in question, 
 and was not long in finding it. There are more 
 or less dingy, battered articles about a house 
 which a coat of paint would improve. Her house 
 was no exception. Her eye lighted on a box 
 holding her scouring-sand. In a few moments 
 it was a delightful green. 
 
 Then she looked around for other fields to con- 
 quer, and presently found them, and continued to 
 find them as long as the presence of paint made
 
 2l6 . THE MAN NEXT DOOR, 
 
 it necessary to search for them. She was nearly 
 the whole afternoon using up that pot of paint, 
 but it was time well employed. 
 
 And it was amazing, as she admitted to herself, 
 how far twenty cents' worth of paint would go, 
 judiciously applied. She knew her husband would 
 be surprised when he came home at night at all 
 she had done. 
 
 And he was. 
 
 When he observed the green clock-case, and 
 looked at the green paper-rack, and found he had 
 a green writing-desk, and contemplated the green 
 footstool, and saw the green coal-scuttle, and got 
 against the green clothes-horse, he was too full 
 to say a word. 
 
 Then he picked up his green bootjack, and 
 when he did that he gave a wild, scared look 
 about the room, sank down in a chair, and found 
 his voice. 
 
 He said, " Holy fish-hooks !" 
 
 No. 3. — THE GOOD EFFECTS OF A LITTLE 
 COMMON-SENSE. 
 
 The other day, you will remember, it rained in 
 a drizzling sort of way from morning until night, 
 and froze as it fell. The next morning every- 
 thing, especially back stoops, was covered with 
 ice. One of our neighbors went out early into 
 the back yard with a pan of ashes in his arms.
 
 AND OTHER ESSAYS. 21/ 
 
 The instant he stepped from the door upon the 
 stoop that foot flew out from under him in a flash, 
 and he went down the steps with the same foot 
 sticking straight ahead and the other sticking 
 straight out behind, with the pan still in his arms. 
 It was a great wonder he was n't killed ; as it was, 
 he was so fearfully wrenched through the hips 
 that he had to be lifted up and carried into the 
 house, being almost blinded, too, by the ashes. 
 I understand that nearly one hundred persons 
 went off their stoops in a similar unpremeditated 
 way that morning. My wife had no sympathy for 
 these people. She said to me, on hearing of our 
 neighbor's mishap, — 
 
 " It will learn him to use his head after this. 
 There was no need at all of his falling off that 
 stoop, and if he had n't been so stupid it would 
 not have happened." 
 
 " It was a stupid performance," I said, dreamily. 
 
 " Of course it was," she went on. " He knew it 
 rained all day yesterday, and he knew it froze, and 
 he knew that everything was a glare of ice last 
 night, and so it must be this morning. And he 
 ought to have had on rubbers when he went out 
 there, or been careful where he stepped. And if 
 he had done that he would n't have made such a 
 spectacle of himself, and hurt himself so, and be 
 laid up, perhaps, for several days. I have n't my- 
 self got any sympathy for him, or for any one that 
 ain't got any more sense than to do that." 
 
 Upon that my wife went back to the kitchen to
 
 2l8 THE MAN NEXT DOOR, 
 
 her work, and I fell to musing upon what she had 
 said. I confess there was some wisdom in it. 
 The spectacle of a hundred people in a New Eng- 
 land town — that New England so well known 
 for its hard, sterling sense — sliding off back 
 stoops with pans of ashes in their arms, and 
 screaming and swearing in their rage, is not a 
 pleasant one to contemplate, especially when, as 
 my wife says, the performance could be avoided 
 by the exercise of a little common-sense. And 
 yet how many casualties could be saved by this 
 same exercise ! It is not only by stepping from 
 back stoops, but in a hundred matters a little 
 wisdom would — Great heavens, what is that ! 
 
 It is nearly half an hour since this writing was 
 interrupted at the exclamation, and even now I 
 cannot understand, I can scarcely comprehend, 
 what has happened. 
 
 There was a short, sharp scream from a woman. 
 It came from the rear of the house. I went into 
 the kitchen, thence to the back door, and, — well ! 
 You would not believe it, but there at the foot of 
 the stoop, struggling to get on her feet, and with 
 an overturned pan of potato parings about her, 
 was my wife. 
 
 I stood transfixed by the sight, with all the 
 power of motion gone from me, and while I stared 
 at her she reached her feet, and marched deliber- 
 ately up the steps, and by me into the house, 
 with the lines of her face drawn tight and hard. 
 I mechanically followed.
 
 AND OTHER ESSAYS. 2ig 
 
 *' How on earth came you down there ? " I 
 managed to ask. 
 
 "How do you suppose I came there?" she 
 retorted. 
 
 " I 'm sure you did n't fall there, because you 
 were just talking about that, and you said — " 
 
 " For heaven's sake stop your noise," she an- 
 grily cried. " You are enough to drive a saint 
 mad with your talk. I fell, and you know I fell, 
 and if you had any gumption about you, or cared 
 for me one bit, you would have shovelled the ice 
 from that stoop an hour ago." 
 
 And then she darted out of the room, shutting 
 the door as if it required all her strength to do it, 
 and I came back to this writing, and am trying my 
 best to reconcile the several elements of the situ- 
 ation. 
 
 No. 4. — GOING HOME TO REST. 
 
 My wife said yesterday she guessed The Man 
 Next Door was sick. She saw him come back 
 from down street about nine o'clock. He was 
 walking slowly, and appeared to be tired and worn 
 out. Knowing him to be of a very nervous tem- 
 perament, and that he had some severe financial 
 difficulties to contend with in the past month, I 
 supposed he had given up for the time being. 
 Shortly before the dinner hour he came in, and 
 then I saw he was not feeling well, and spoke to
 
 220 . THE MAN NEXT DOOR, 
 
 him about it. He said he was only tired through 
 want of sleep, and had come home to rest, just as 
 I supposed. 
 
 After he said this he laid back in a chair and 
 showed no disposition to talk further. I busied 
 myself about some work I had in hand, and left 
 him to his ease. It was, perhaps, fifteen minutes 
 later when he said, — 
 
 " Would you be kind enough to step this way a 
 moment .'' I think that is my wife sitting there," 
 pointing to one of his windows opposite ; " I am 
 not positive. I would n't want to swear to it, but 
 it looks very much like her." 
 
 I glanced over there. It was she, plainly 
 enough. He sat and watched her for some 
 moments in silence. Then he exclaimed, as if he 
 had been slowly endeavoring to fathom some in- 
 tricate maze, — 
 
 "It is most extraordinary! It is most astound- 
 ing!" 
 
 "What is that.? " I asked, 
 
 " I cannot understand it a bit," he continued, 
 with a sigh. "It is far beyond me. Now just 
 think of it. There is my wife — you can see her 
 for yourself — sitting there as calm and self- 
 possessed as a baby in a spittoon. That was just 
 the way she was sitting when I came home this 
 morning. I feel all played out, as I told you. My 
 head don't ache, but it feels sort of numb, as if 
 there was n't any life to it. I came home because 
 I was sick of the sight of the store and everything
 
 AND OTHER ESSAYS. 221 
 
 belonging to it, and wanted rest. I did n't want 
 to see anybody ; I did n't want to talk ; I did n't 
 want to be interfered with ; I wanted to lay off 
 and think of nothing at all. My wife saw what I 
 wanted, and although I came home for no purpose 
 at all, she prevailed on me to stay and rest myself. 
 Rest was what I wanted, she said, and nowhere 
 could I get it so well as at home ; and when I 
 looked around, and saw how quiet and peaceful it 
 was, I knew she was right. Then she fixed the 
 easy-chair for me, and told me to keep perfectly 
 quiet, and she would n't let any company m, and 
 I 'd be as cosey as a bug in a rug. 
 
 " So I took off my coat, and put on my slippers, 
 and laid back in my chair, and shut my eyes, and 
 just thought of nothing. And, I tell you, it was 
 just as delicious as the first cucumber. I lay there 
 like one dead, you know. I did n't think of any- 
 thing at all ; I did n't move, I did n't speak. By 
 gracious ! I can't tell when I 've had such a per- 
 fect sense of rest as I did then. I felt as if I 
 did n't care if all creation lit out from sight at 
 once, if they did n't disturb me in the going. I 
 laid there like that about fifteen minutes or so, 
 when I thought I heard some one moving. I 
 opened my eyes to see. I did n't snap them open, 
 but just let them drift apart, for I felt too lazy to 
 take any interest in the matter anyway. When I 
 got them open enough, I saw my wife standing 
 among the flowers in the bay-window, looking at 
 them. I did n't see anything further than that.
 
 222 THE MAN NEXT DOOR, 
 
 and hardly that ; and then I kinder drifted off into 
 nothing again. I was glad she was not doing any- 
 thing, though, because I was so tired that I could 
 not bear to see work going on. It would have 
 tired me to have thought of it even. By and by 
 I heard her walking quick like across the room. 
 I swear, it made me shiver. I opened my eyes ; 
 she was going into the kitchen with a fiower-pot 
 in her arms. In a minute she was back again. 
 
 " ' What are you doing } ' I asked. 
 
 " ' I 'm only taking the flowers into the kitchen 
 to wash them,' says she, ' but you need n't mind 
 it,' says she, 'because it won't be in your way, 
 and I '11 be through in a few minutes.' 
 
 " I did n't say any more, but I did mind it, and 
 I could n't help it. I could n't bear to see any- 
 body doing anything ; and then the kitchen door 
 was open, and that made a draft on my legs, and 
 I could n't go into another room on account of 
 the fire. 
 
 " * I 'm sorry you 're doing it,' says I. 
 
 "'Why, what's the harm.?' says she. 'You 
 don't have to do anything, you know,' says she. 
 
 " This was calculated to assure me, but it 
 did n't. But I tried not to complain, and got as 
 far out of the draft as I could, and close up to the 
 stove. But it broke me up for a few minutes. 
 
 " I 'd got partly quieted down, when I heard her 
 say, — 
 
 "'Oh, dear!' 
 
 " I looked up before I thought, and saw her
 
 AND OTHER ESSAYS. 223 
 
 trying to take down a pot from the bracket, where 
 it was too high for her to reach. She looked over 
 to me, and kind of shamed like, said, says she, — 
 
 "■ 'I wish you would reach that for me. I know 
 you are tired,' says she, 'but I can't get it, and if 
 you '11 only reach it,' says she, ' I won't bother 
 you again,' says she. 
 
 " I did n't want to get up, for I hated awfully to 
 move, but I did n't see any help for it. I thought 
 it would n't do to say nothing, for then she would 
 think it was making no sacrifice, so I said it was 
 too bad a man could n't come home and rest with- 
 out the whole place being turned topsyturvy 
 about his ears, and be dragged off to do this and 
 that when he did n't feel able to move. 
 
 "What on earth induced her to go to work at 
 those plants just then is one of those mysteries 
 that I cannot explain, and I swear I don't believe 
 she can. That pot I got down was the beginning 
 of the evil. She wanted to know, as long as I 
 was up, if I would n't lift a big geranium in the 
 kitchen, as it was too much for her. No sooner 
 had I done that than there were two more pots 
 for me to lift, and when I had carried them out, 
 there was another to take down from the bracket ; 
 and in less than five minutes she had me carrying 
 unwashed pots into the kitchen, and wet pots and 
 dripping plants back into the room. Then she 
 asked me to lift them into their places, and wanted 
 to know if I would n't tack the ivy in the arch, 
 and go down cellar after a board for a bench.
 
 224 THE MAN NEXT DOOR, 
 
 And there was the table and chair full of wet pots, 
 and the floor littered with dead leaves and twigs, 
 with the air full of damp and draughts. And she 
 had her sleeves rolled up, an old dress on, and 
 the whole front was wet with the water that had 
 splashed on, and begrimed with the dirt from 
 the pots. Such a wretched, dismal, distressing 
 state of things no man ever looked on, and I had 
 come home so tired and exhausted I did n't care 
 to live another minute ! I had come home to find 
 peace, quiet, and rest ! I, her own husband ! And 
 there she sits, as serene and composed as an angel 
 in Paradise. By heaven," he cried, "it is most 
 extraordinary." 
 
 Then after a moment he impressively added, — 
 " If you are ever tired and worn out, and feel 
 as if you must have rest and quiet or die, don't 
 go home. Go to some political caucus, or a boiler 
 factory where they are working over-time, or sit 
 down under a railroad bridge where extra trains 
 are being run. But don't go home. God bless 
 you. Good day." 
 
 And he went back to his store. 
 
 No. 5.— THE FASCINATION OF AN ILL WIND. 
 
 One of the precious enjoyments of this life is 
 startling people. Bad news travels fast, because 
 everybody helps it along. Sidney Smith says 
 that next to the pleasure of telling evil news is
 
 AND OTHER ESSAYS. 225 
 
 hearing it. Again, there is no disappointment 
 keener than that of being cheated out of a morsel 
 of shocking news, — to have it snatched from your 
 possession just as you are getting ready to roll it 
 under your tongue. Some people think a paper 
 does n't amount to anything if it does not contain 
 an announcement of the death of an acquaintance. 
 And when we are suitably shocked by a dreadful 
 happening to a neighbor, to learn that the story is 
 untrue, — well, it is very gratifying, without doubt. 
 
 The story they tell of Coleridge, aptly illus- 
 trates the general weakness. He was busy with 
 his writing at a late hour in the night, when the 
 cry of fire startled him. Opening the window he 
 hallooed to a passer-by to learn where the fire 
 was, and was told that it was a shoemaker's shop, 
 and that the shoemaker's family were burned up. 
 Inexpressibly shocked by the news, and full of 
 sympathy for the unfortunate man, he put on his 
 coat and ran with all his speed to the scene of the 
 horror. When he got there, and saw the shoe- 
 maker's family, unharmed, sitting on their goods 
 in the street, and learned the story was false, he 
 impulsively said, " D — n the fire ! " and went back 
 home. 
 
 There is an ecstasy of delight in imparting start- 
 ling news of an evil nature. We try to conceal it ; 
 we make herculean efforts to carry the treasure 
 about and distribute it calmly and dispassionately, 
 but we fail. If it is very bad news, and concerns 
 some neighbor, we are very much shocked, of
 
 226 THE MAN NEXT DOOR, 
 
 course. Still we are kind of grateful to heaven 
 for being permitted to be the first to tell the 
 wretched affair. 
 
 I started out to speak of Mr. Henderson. It 
 was a shocking accident. His horse ran away 
 with him, and he was thrown to the ground and 
 instantly killed. This occurred in the morning. 
 Mr. A, who is an irrepressible man, heard the 
 news almost as soon as it occurred, and started 
 off up the street, all in a tremble, to tell it. 
 
 The first man he met was B. He said, making 
 a tremendous effort to keep calm, — 
 
 "Good morning, Mr. B." 
 
 "Good morning," said Mr. B. 
 
 " You know Henderson, don't you ? " 
 
 " What, the grocer } " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " Yes, I know him well." 
 
 " He was thrown out of his wagon a few minutes 
 ago, and killed." 
 
 " What, killed > " 
 
 "Yes. Head all smashed in." 
 
 " Why, that is horrible ! " 
 
 "Yes, indeed, it is dreadful." 
 
 Mr. B would ask more particulars, but while he 
 is recovering from the excitement the intelligence 
 throws him into, Mr. A hurries on his disastrous 
 way. 
 
 In a few yards he meets C. 
 
 "Good morning, Mr. C." 
 
 "Good morning, Mr. A."
 
 AXD OTHER ESSAYS. 22/ 
 
 " You know Henderson, don't you ? " 
 
 " The grocer, you mean ? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " Guess I do know him. What of it ? " 
 
 " He was thrown out of his wagon a little while 
 ago, and was killed." 
 
 " Great heavens ! you don't mean it t " gasps C. 
 
 " It 's so. Head was all smashed in," adds Mr. 
 A, as composedly as if smashed heads were the 
 commonest of occurrences. And then he hurries 
 on. Mrs. D was coming out of the market with 
 a parcel of meat as he was passing. He hailed 
 her at once. 
 
 "Good morning, Mrs. D." 
 
 "Good morning, Mr. A." 
 
 "You know Henderson, the grocer, don't you.-"" 
 
 " Indeed I do. Many is the dollar's worth I 've 
 traded with him. Yes, I know Mr. Henderson." 
 
 " He was thrown out of his wagon only a few 
 minutes ago, and was killed," said Mr. A, watch- 
 ing her face for the effect, and feeling his heart 
 thrill at the look of horror that overspread it. 
 
 " Mercy on us, Killed, do you say .-' " 
 
 "Yes, killed at once. Head all stove in," 
 
 "Why, this is horrible. I must hurry home and 
 tell the folks! " she exclaimed. 
 
 As Mrs. D lives in Mr. A's neighborhood, this 
 announcement alarms him. It won't do to have 
 her get ahead of him with the dreadful intelli- 
 gence. He quickens his pace to almost a trot. 
 Full of eager expectation, he hurries on. Shortly
 
 228 THE MAN NEXT DOOR, 
 
 he overtakes Mr. E. He comes up to him rather 
 short of breath. 
 
 " Good morning, Mr. E," 
 
 "Good mornin','' responds E. 
 
 "You know Henderson.''" 
 
 "Yes, I knowed him well." 
 
 Mr. A looks sideways at Mr. E's face for the 
 result, and says, — 
 
 " He was throwed out of his wagon just now, 
 and killed." 
 
 "Yes, I heard so," gently says Mr. E. " It was 
 an awful affair." 
 
 Mr. A is so shocked by this anticipation of his 
 news that he fails to confirm Mr. E's opinion, and 
 hurries on, somewhat sobered. 
 
 Presently he saw Mr. F coming out of his door. 
 His spirits raised again, and he hastened ahead, 
 diving into Mr. F's yard, and reaching the stoop 
 as that gentleman was leaving it. Mr. F is a very 
 stolid man, with mind principally upon his busi- 
 ness interests. 
 
 "Good morning, Mr. F," cried Mr. A, nearly 
 out of breath. 
 
 "Mornin'," responded F. 
 
 "You know Mr. Henderson.?" interrogates A, 
 with the air of a man who is approaching a sweep- 
 ing victory. 
 
 " What Henderson .?" 
 
 Mr. A's heart felt as if some one had stepped 
 on it. 
 
 " Why, — why, the grocer, you know."
 
 AND OTHER ESSAYS. 229 
 
 "Don't know him. What of it ?" 
 
 "He's — he's dead," gasped A, feeling some 
 way or other very small and uncomfortable. 
 
 " Relative of yours .-* " 
 
 "No, oh, no!" answered A, wishing that he 
 was well out the yard. 
 
 " Anything else you want to say to me .-'" 
 
 Mr. A did want to tell him that Mr. Henderson 
 had his head smashed in; but the fact had now 
 grown so insignificant that he did n't have the 
 heart to mention it, and was only too glad to con- 
 fess that there was nothing more, and make his 
 escape. 
 
 No. 6.— THE THEOLOGY OF A SHIRT-BUTTON. 
 
 Deacon Stoughton is one of my neighbors. 
 The deacon is a magnificent specimen of what a 
 great many people believe a deacon should be. 
 He is straight and stiff and thin. Come to think 
 it over, I don't believe I ever saw a real fat, 
 chunky deacon, although I believe they are pick- 
 ing up in this particular throughout the country, 
 and that there is a growing belief that more meat 
 on their bones would not seriously interfere with 
 their filling the ofiice. Deacon Stoughton is thin, 
 and built just right for visiting people in an offi- 
 cial capacity, as his body, you can see at a glance, 
 would be perfectly at home in a straight-backed, 
 weak-lesfged chair. The deacon has no color in
 
 230 THE MAN NEXT DOOR, 
 
 his face. Color is too suggestive of good living 
 and good digestion, neither of which would become 
 a deacon. The deacon's clothes are as void of lev- 
 ity as his face and form, and must be a great com- 
 fort to him. They are black, so far as the outer 
 garments are concerned, and as austere as a 
 hearse. His linen is as white as his coat is black. 
 It is of his linen that I now wish to speak partic- 
 ularly. 
 
 Last Sunday morning the deacon changed his 
 shirt, as is his custom. On buttoning it at the 
 back (for he has made a concession in favor of 
 the open-backed article) he discovered that the 
 button was off. There was no other shirt avail- 
 able at the time, and the deacon was in a fix. 
 
 When his wife learned the trouble, she briskly 
 said that she would sew on a button at once. 
 This announcement nearly threw the deacon into 
 a fit. As it was, he was petrified with horror. It 
 was Sunday, the day set apart for rest and medi- 
 tation, wherein should be performed no worldly 
 labor, and here was a woman, the wife of a dea- 
 con, unblushingly proposing to get out her work- 
 basket and other carnal matters, and sew on that 
 button. It seemed incredible. He wanted to 
 believe it was but the offshoot of a disordered 
 fancy, which would dissolve into space when he 
 awoke. But it was an actual fact, distasteful as 
 it was to admit it, and the deacon was forced to 
 believe that his wife had really proposed the 
 sacrilege.
 
 AND OTHER ESSAYS ^3^ 
 
 Aside from the offence of the act, it was morti- 
 fying to the deacon's pride that his wife, who had 
 enjoyed so many years of his edifying example, 
 had profited so little by it. It was painfully evi- 
 dent that there was a very large screw loose some- 
 where in the moral fabric he had been rearing. 
 
 When he got his breath, and had in a measure 
 regained his ordinary composure, he declined the 
 shirt-button, and rebuked her who had suggested 
 it. There was plenty of time in the six days of 
 the week to sew on buttons without desecrating 
 the seventh with that service. He hoped he 
 knew his duty, and as long as he retained his 
 reason he would never be guilty of such a sin. 
 
 A highly respectable pin was made to hold the 
 shirt together and the collar in its place, and the 
 deacon went to church, very much pleased with 
 his own righteousness, however he may have felt 
 in regard to his wife's. At any rate, his firmness 
 in the right must have a salutary effect upon her, 
 acting somewhat in the nature of a moral astrin- 
 gent upon her loose idea of rectitude. 
 
 But a pin is not always a good substitute for a 
 button, however useful it may be in other ways, 
 or however good may have been its intentions in 
 this. The deacon's pin was moral, but restless. 
 This last quality began to manifest itself seriously 
 before the sermon had fairly started. The point 
 got into his flesh and smarted. Not severely, to 
 be sure, but in a small manner that was exceed- 
 ingly annoying, and sufficient in itself to draw his
 
 232 THE MAN NEXT DOOR, 
 
 attention from the discourse, despite his desper- 
 ate endeavors to keep his mind upon it. 
 
 A pin is a very trifling affair, to be sure, but 
 it succeeded in completely filling the deacon's 
 thoughts before the sermon was done, and the 
 various things he thought of in regard to that pin 
 would have astonished and pained him beyond 
 measure had he seen them mirrored in another's 
 mind. 
 
 After the service several sought to engage him 
 in pleasant and edifying converse on church work, 
 but the pin had the upper hand, and the answers 
 of the deacon were so unusual, and his lack of 
 sympathy was so manifest, that the brethren aban- 
 doned their efforts, and retired with grave fore- 
 bodings. 
 
 In the Sunday school, where he serves as super- 
 intendent, nothing went smoothly that noon. He 
 thought his officials were never so stupid, the 
 teachers never so negligent, the scholars never so 
 noisy and ungodly generally, as they were then, 
 and he had to speak in severe rebuke to a number 
 of them. 
 
 But it was not the deacon who was doing this. 
 It was that pin, that highly respectable pin. When 
 he was asked by the collector what amount he was 
 going to give this year for foreign missions, the 
 pin spoke up at once, and said it guessed enough 
 had been done for the heathen already, and that 
 it was about time they looked after themselves. 
 The collector, who did not see the pin, thought
 
 AND OTHER ESSAYS. 233 
 
 it was the deacon who spoke, and went away half 
 stunned. 
 
 It was the pin that answered a call to visit a sick 
 neighbor with the remark that he had something 
 else to do. It was the pin that forbade books 
 being given out to the school that day, because 
 the children were unruly, and should be punished. 
 It was the pin that caused him to meet pleasant 
 salutations with such stiffness as to disperse the 
 sunshine from the faces he met. It was the pin 
 that made him stalk home in advance of his wife, 
 and leave her to get there alone. And it was the 
 pin that showed him how cold was his dining-room, 
 how late was his dinner, how unfeeling and irrev. 
 erent were his children, how much that was dis- 
 satisfying and uncomfortable and annoying all 
 about him. 
 
 Despite its pretensions, that pin was almost as 
 wicked as a button would have been in its place, 
 and the deacon was glad indeed when Monday 
 came, and the button could return without sin. 
 
 No. 7. — MR. FERGUSON'S GRAVEYARD. 
 
 An old gentleman named Hutchings, who lives 
 in Hudson, N. Y., was at my house the other even- 
 ing. He was full of reminiscences of the past 
 of our village, and told many interesting stories. 
 One of them I have thought best to preserve in 
 this column, as a picture of a phase of human
 
 234 THE MAN NEXT DOOR, 
 
 weakness that is not, I am thankful to say, com- 
 mon. 
 
 The time of the incident was the building of 
 our railroad, some twenty years ago. A man 
 named Ferguson lived then in Perkinsto\v;i, on 
 the route. He was a farmer, and owned a piece 
 of land in a ravine through which the road was 
 to run. This piece was so situated that the com- 
 pany could not avoid crossing it with their line, 
 unless making a turn at a very great expense. 
 There was scarcely a half-acre in the piece, and 
 it was a mass of rocks. It might have been 
 worth to the company about forty dollars. If any 
 one else had offered twentv-five dollars for it, the 
 Perkinstowners would have thought that he was 
 going to put up an asylum for the insane, and 
 stock it himself. 
 
 The commissioner who was instructed to deal 
 with Mr. Ferguson made him the liberal offer of 
 fifty dollars for the land. Mr. Ferguson declined 
 it. He had his own ideas of the matter. Rail- 
 roads were not common. They did not even 
 come once a year, and it was very reasonable to 
 believe that another would not take in Perkins- 
 town during Mr. Ferguson's lifetime. It was 
 his idea to make the most of this one. 
 
 Mr, Ferguson said he would see the commis- 
 sioner the next day. He wanted to sleep on the 
 matter over night. But he did n't sleep much 
 that night. Mrs. Ferguson was dead. She had 
 been dead a couple of years or thereabouts. She
 
 AND OTHER ESSAYS. 235 
 
 had been a sickly woman for the last years of her 
 life, and not exactly a helpmeet to Mr. Ferguson, 
 who had been obliged to hire a woman to do the 
 work that would have otherwise been done by the 
 late lamented. Mr. Ferguson fell to thinking of 
 that while brooding over the railroad matter, and 
 looking out of his kitchen window upon the clump 
 of peach-trees beneath which reposed his dead 
 wife. 
 
 The result of his ruminations was that " Martha 
 would 'a' done better if she 'd had the chance ; 
 but she was n't able." He believed that an 
 opportunity for her to be useful had now arrived, 
 and knowing well her willing disposition, he felt 
 it would be a downright favor to her to put her 
 in the way of using the chance. 
 
 That night, with the aid of his hired man, he 
 dug her up and transplanted her on the rocky bit 
 of land in the ravine. Then he was ready for 
 the commissioner when that individual appeared. 
 
 He told the commissioner that he had been 
 thinking of the matter very carefully, weighed all 
 the phases of it, and he had come to the conclu- 
 sion that he could not give up that piece of land 
 for less than a thousand dollars. The shock was 
 so great to the commissioner that he fell over in 
 his chair, and the place where his head struck the 
 door jamb was shown for years after. When he 
 got his feet and his breath, he told Mr. Ferguson 
 that the demand was preposterous, that the com- 
 pany would not entertain it for an instant, that
 
 236 THE MAN NEXT DOOR, 
 
 fifty dollars was a tremendous price for the 
 piece. 
 
 "I admit," said Mr. Ferguson, gently, "that 
 fifty dollars is a good price for an ordinary piece 
 of land like that, but this is a far different case. 
 That is a private graveyard, and that makes a 
 great difference." 
 
 " A graveyard ! What 's buried there .■* " bluntly 
 inquired the incredulous commissioner. 
 
 "My wife, sir," gravely answered Mr. Ferguson, 
 "my late lamented and dearly beloved wife lies 
 resting there." And Mr. Ferguson wiped from his 
 eyes a moisture that did credit to his heart. " My 
 long-suffering wife's remains repose in that spot." 
 
 " Why, I did not know that," said the somewhat 
 bewildered railroad man. 
 
 " It is a fact, sir. I laid her in that retired spot 
 because she loved it so much. Her last words to 
 me were, * Husband, bury me there ! ' I did. Her 
 wish was sacred to me. That spot is sacred to 
 me. The railroad cannot run over her poor body. 
 I should have to move her if the company take 
 the land. It is not a pleasant matter to disturb 
 the dead. You are a husband yourself, perhaps. 
 You can understand this, sir." 
 
 The commissioner said he was not prepared to 
 deal with the question in this new light, and would 
 have to consult the company ; with that he retired. 
 
 Before negotiations were renewed the affair 
 came to the knowledge of the neighbors, and they 
 started up such an uproar about Mr. Ferguson's
 
 AND OTHER ESSAYS. 23/ 
 
 ears, vhat that bereaved man took up his wife, and 
 put her back under the peach-trees without charg- 
 ing the railroad company a cent. 
 
 And yet when they came to settle for the land, 
 that ungrateful company would not allow him but 
 thirty dollars for it, and he had to take it. 
 
 Truly, corporations have no souls. 
 
 No. 8. — THE VALUE OF STYLE. 
 
 It is a little singular that however many styles 
 of hats a man may buy, any one of them will do 
 on a pinch. It is different with the other sex. A 
 hat must be in the style, and the style must be 
 clearly defined, or the hat itself cannot be worn. 
 This matter has come to me in a vague form for 
 several years, but on Saturday night it was brought 
 very vividly to my notice. Miss Houniker, of our 
 street, is a vivacious young lady and a friendly 
 neighbor. She came in to see my wife last Satur- 
 day night I was in the next room, grating horse- 
 radish. I overheard a conversation between the 
 two which opened my eyes considerably, and fur- 
 nished me with an explanation of some things I 
 had not before understood. 
 
 The Sunday before I was surprised to hear my 
 wife say she was not going to church. Pressing 
 her for an explanation, I learned that her hat was 
 out of style. 
 
 " But I thought," I said, " that you got a hat 
 but a few weeks ago."
 
 238 THE MAN NEXT DOOR, 
 
 She admitted this, but that was a fall hat. This 
 set me to thinking, but not in a definite way. I 
 said, rather bewildered, " What does that matter .'' 
 You wore it last Sunday." 
 
 " I know I did," she answered. 
 
 "Well, then," I added, still in the dark, and 
 getting further into the mire, " what is to hinder 
 your wearing it to-day .'' " 
 
 "Because it ain't in the style," she answered. 
 
 " But, great heavens ! " I answered, " if one week 
 ago it was all right, what is to hinder it from being 
 all right to-day ? " 
 
 Then she burst into tears, and I dropped the 
 matter. 
 
 The conversation between her and Miss Houn- 
 iker, Saturday night, was in regard to attending a 
 sociable on the Wednesday evening of this week. 
 My wife did not know certainly whether she could 
 go. Miss Houniker was sure she could not go. 
 The reason, mainly, that led Miss Houniker to 
 this conclusion was that while her silk was a 
 brown — the silk she designed to wear — her hat 
 was gray. My wife could not go, also. Her hat 
 was an autumn hat, full as warm to the head as 
 could be a winter hat. But it was an autumn 
 hat, and she felt that it was not right for a Chris- 
 tian, one who belonged to the church, and tried 
 to be regular, to wear a liat in the winter that 
 was especially designed for the fall. She didn't 
 think the angels in heaven would approve of 
 that.
 
 AND OTHER ESSAYS 239 
 
 She did not say so, of course, but I knew that 
 must be the feeling by the way she spoke. 
 I am sorry for the angels in heaven. 
 
 No. 9. — AN UNEXPECTED ARGUMENT. 
 
 The Man Next Door and his wife were in to see 
 us last evening. He came in to show me some 
 chilblains he had on his heel. She came in to 
 bear him company, I presume. 
 
 While he and I were engaged in discussing his 
 heel, she and my wife fell into a conversation on 
 the subject of servants. When the chilblains light- 
 ened up somewhat in its pressure on my attention, 
 I was enabled to learn that she was deploring the 
 general inefficiency of servants. One of her origi- 
 nal remarks was to the effect that it was more of 
 a task to look after a girl than it was to do the 
 work herself. In a spirit of self-sacrifice which 
 cannot be too greatly regretted, she persisted in 
 keeping the girl. 
 
 The Man Next Door has one child, a boy. 
 This makes a family of three. She has a girl to 
 help her do the work, and, as I gleaned from her 
 remarks, even then had difficulty in getting 
 through on time, and was all fagged out when 
 night came. Her husband caught upon her sub- 
 ject after a while, and drifted into it. Presently 
 he said, speaking more particularly to me, — 
 
 " Blamed if I understand this business. Here
 
 240 THE MAN NEXT DOOR, 
 
 a couple get married, and go to keeping house. 
 After they 've got a child the woman must have 
 a girl. She can't go along after that without 
 help. She must have a girl, even if she goes 
 without something else. I don't understand it 
 at all, unless the sex have mightily changed in 
 the past thirty years, and have grown considerably 
 weaker. Thirty years ago you didn't hear of 
 such things. There were eight of us in our fam- 
 ily, and mother did all the work for the entire lot, 
 and did n't seem to be put out much by it either. 
 And then I remember the families in our neigh- 
 borhood, when I was a boy, a number of them 
 that had several children apiece, and the women 
 did the work. They may have had the washing 
 done, something like that, but the work itself 
 they tended to themselves. But nowadays, as 
 soon as a child has come, then the work must 
 be done by a girl. Women ain't what they were 
 thirty years ago, by a long shot." 
 
 *' What if there were eight of your family, they 
 were n't all little children, were they .'* " put in his 
 wife. 
 
 "No, but three or four of them were small." 
 
 I was wondering what his wife would say to 
 this, and was confident it would be some sort of 
 feminine logic which did n't apply to the case. 
 
 " A man knows a great deal about a woman's 
 work," she said. I laughed inwardly. " A wo- 
 man," she continued, " did n't have half so much 
 to attend to thirty years ago that she has now."
 
 AND OTHER ESSAYS. 24 1 
 
 " Did n't, hey ? What 's the reason, I 'd like to 
 know. Ain't a family of eight as much work as 
 a family of three ? " he asked. 
 
 " Yes, and more, but not as things were done 
 then. I remember your house well. There was 
 a kitchen and a parlor. There was no dining- 
 room to keep in order, nor any sitting-room. 
 The parlor was shut up all the week, and rarely 
 opened only when it was dusted. There was a 
 recess off from the kitchen where your mother 
 slept, and the bed just filled that, so there was no 
 room there to sweep, with a dresser and toilet 
 stand to keep in order. Up stairs there were two 
 bedrooms and a store-room. Both of them were 
 plain and uncarpeted. Really there were but 
 three rooms in the house to keep in order." 
 
 " Well, I don't see as that makes so much 
 difference," said The Man Next Door, in a 
 slightly faltering voice. 
 
 " If you did the work you 'd see it quick enough. 
 A family in the same circumstances, nowadays, 
 has a kitchen (carpeted at that), dining-room, and 
 parlor, and perhaps a sitting-room, too. All these 
 rooms are well furnished with a variety of knick. 
 knacks that would not have been in use thirty 
 years ago, and to keep them in order requires 
 considerable care. Then there is scarcely a week 
 but that the parlor is occupied, and every time it 
 is used it has to be swept, and everything in it 
 dusted. Then there are one or more bedrooms, 
 nicely furnished, and requiring work to keep them
 
 242 THE MAN NEXT DOOR, 
 
 looking decent. The five or six rooms in constant 
 use by the family nowadays require more than 
 double the work to take care of them than did 
 the same number of rooms thirty years ago. Then 
 there is the visiting. That of itself is a far 
 greater item than it was when you lived at home. 
 When I was a girl at home, mother used to think 
 she was sufficiently dressed with a clean calico on 
 in the afternoon. She sat in the kitchen, and there 
 did her sewing, when she got through the other 
 work ; and if a neighbor came in, no change was 
 made. Now the fashion is to make calls, and you 
 have got to make them and receive them, — not in 
 the kitchen, in a calico dress, but in the parlor, or 
 sitting-room, and in a company dress. No woman 
 can go around in a calico dress in the afternoon. 
 She must be dressed, either to receive her visitors 
 or to make return calls, and all that takes time. 
 I guess you '11 find that a woman now, who has a 
 family, has far more to do than the woman of 
 thirty years ago." 
 
 "Come on, if you 're going home," said The 
 Man Next Door, as he got up and reached for his 
 hat. 
 
 No. lo. — CHARITY AND THE MULTITUDE. 
 
 One of my neighbors is an elderly lady. She 
 and I go to the same church. She is an active 
 member, — active in feeling, at any rate, as her 
 sympathies are with the church's various projects
 
 AND OTHER ESSAYS. 243 
 
 and its condition. Near to her lives a woman with 
 whom she has been at variance for some time. 
 They were once close friends, each making as 
 free in the house of the other as in her own, as 
 is quite frequently the case between congenial 
 neighbors in a small village like ours. It was 
 a very convenient condition of affairs, too, on 
 numerous occasions, when one family ran short 
 of some article of culinary use, and had no oppor- 
 tunity to send to the store. Thus, in the course 
 of several years, many cups of milk, and drawings 
 of tea, and lumps of butter and the like, passed to 
 and fro. 
 
 But this came to an end after a while, and 
 domestic and social interchange was dropped, 
 and dropped with sufficient force to smash it. 
 
 But that is not what I started out to write 
 about. 
 
 I was in the old lady's house yesterday after- 
 noon on an errand, and after the transaction of 
 the matter she asked me if I was at church 
 Sunday. I told her I was not ; a very severe cold 
 had kept me at home. 
 
 "You had oughter been there," she went on 
 to observe. "You missed one of the best ser- 
 mons you ever heard. It was a powerful one, I 
 can tell you. It was the gospel clean through. 
 I don't think I ever knowed Mr. Highdecker to 
 do so well as he did Sunday." 
 
 "I am glad to hear you were so well pleased 
 with the sermon ; what was it about .■' " I asked.
 
 :244 THE MAN NEXT DOOR, 
 
 "It was about charity, and I tell you he just 
 give it to 'em. His text he took from Paul, 
 where Paul says that if a man does this or that, 
 or whatever he does, or how good it may be, yet 
 if there ain't charity in his heart, all the good he 
 does don't amount to a row of pins. I 've been 
 thinking of it all the week, and I tell you them 
 are the sermons that count that keep you a-think- 
 ing of 'em. Them things you hear so much about 
 in the pulpits nowadays — all about science and 
 such folderol — go in one ear and out of the 
 other, and you 'd better heard nothing at all in 
 the first place. That 's just what I think about 
 it." 
 
 I fully agreed with my friend on this head, and 
 then asked her what sort of point Mr. Highdecker 
 had made of the text. 
 
 "He went on to say," she continued, "that 
 there was too much talk, and too little done in 
 the way of charity. And I could see who he 
 was slapping there. He said that thinking good, 
 and then doing nothing to bring it about, did n't 
 amount to anything, and of course it don't. He 
 said that we 'd better not think good at all if we 
 was agoing to let it stop right there. I never 
 thought of it in that light, but I can see that he 
 is right ; for, as he said, if we think we will do 
 something for somebody, or if we feel real sorry 
 for somebody, and don't go and act on it, we just 
 weaken ourselves, and ain't done a mite of good 
 to anybody."
 
 AND OTHER ESSAYS. 245 
 
 The old lady paused and sighed, and presently 
 continued, as the tears filled her eyes, — 
 
 " He talked so beautifully of our love for each 
 other, how patient we should be, how much of 
 suffering there was in the hearts of people, how 
 much of good there was in those about us if we 'd 
 only take the trouble to find it out, but we go on 
 our own way, wrapped up in self, and never take 
 notice of the aches, and trials, and burdens all 
 around us. I could n't keep from crying all the 
 while he was talking, I felt so bad, and all the 
 week I 've been thinking it over. I tell you we ain't 
 got charity enough for other folks, we ain't patient 
 enough, we don't have the sympathy we had 
 oughter ; we just go right along thinking the very 
 worst of them, when all the time they may be 
 enduring things that would make us no better 
 than they are." 
 
 The old lady wiped her eyes, and turned them 
 to the window. 
 
 "Just see that brazen-faced hussy!" she sud- 
 denly and unexpectedly exclaimed. 
 
 And looking hastily through the window, I was 
 in time to see the offending neighbor go by. 
 
 "If there's a body I despise on this earth,' 
 energetically observed Mr. Highdecker's admirer 
 "it is that bold-faced thing." 
 
 I then withdrew.
 
 246 THE MAN NEXT DOOR, 
 
 No. II. — ENUMERATING CHICKENS. 
 
 Mr. and Mrs. Potts live on our street. They 
 are a young married couple ; that is, they have 
 been married but seven or eight years. 
 
 Mr. Potts is a workman in our only factory. 
 He is a very good mechanic, and as such has his 
 aspirations to better himself. Mrs. Potts is an 
 ordinary woman, somewhat fond of making what 
 show is possible with the means she has at her 
 command. 
 
 A short time ago he invested with a fellow- 
 workman in a lottery. The prize he had set his 
 heart on was of the value of ;? 10,000. By draw- 
 ing this he would come into one half of it, which 
 would be $5,000. 
 
 With so much money as that there was no end 
 to the things he could accomplish. He told his 
 wife about it, and they had a long talk over the 
 future as this amount was to shape it. In the 
 mean time they both built their own plans for 
 the disposal of the amount, — the chief of these 
 was a house of their own. They picked out a 
 desirable lot in the village, on one of the best 
 streets, and drew plans of the style of house they 
 would put up. Twice they walked over to the 
 lot, and carefully examined it in the moonlight. 
 
 The night before they were to receive the 
 results of the drawing they harmonized on a plan
 
 AND OTHER ESSAYS. 247 
 
 for the house, and got it satisfactorily furnished 
 throughout, with the exception of the sitting-room 
 and parlor. 
 
 She said nothing but a Brussels carpet would 
 do for the floors of those apartments. He be- 
 lieved three-ply ingrain would look fully as well, 
 besides being much cheaper. He could n't put 
 all the money in the house. He wanted some to 
 spare for several mechanical experiments he had 
 in view. 
 
 " But ingrain carpets are so common," she 
 interposed. 
 
 "The best kinds ain't," he answered. "I saw 
 some the other day that looked just like Brussels. 
 You could n't tell 'em from the real Brussels." 
 
 " But they ain't Brussels, and folks would find 
 it out mighty quick." 
 
 " What if they did .■' Are we obliged to put 
 down carpets to suit other people, whether we can 
 afford it or not.-'" he inquired. 
 
 " Afford it : What are you going to do with all 
 the money, then, I 'd like to know .-* And how 
 much more is Brussels carpeting going to cost 
 than first-class ingrain .'' Twenty-five dollars would 
 cover the whole difference, and I 'd like to know 
 how twenty-five dollars could be spent to better 
 advantage. It would make the rooms look fifty 
 dollars better." 
 
 "But what's the reason a nice ingrain carpet 
 would not do just as well .'' " he persisted. 
 
 " Because ingrain ain't as stylish as Brussels.
 
 248 THE MAN NEXT DOOR, 
 
 Everybody knows that, and if we are going to 
 have things in style, we have got to have Brus- 
 sels carpet on those floors. Ingrain would only 
 make fools of the other things." 
 
 "I tell you a first-class ingrain carpet is just as 
 well, and, at any rate, there ain't enough differ- 
 ence to amount to twenty-five dollars. Mother 
 had ingrain on her parlor, and if it is good enough 
 for her it is good enough for me." 
 
 "I don't care if she did," returned Mrs. Potts; 
 " her house was n't like this, and if she was a 
 mind to put up with an ingrain carpet, that is n't 
 to say that I should." 
 
 " She might have had a Brussels if she 'd wanted 
 it," he answered back, ''but she had some sense 
 about the matter." 
 
 "Which means, I suppose, that I *ve got none," 
 she indiscreetly observed. 
 
 " You can take it as you please," was his gruff 
 permission. 
 
 " I hope you are polite enough," she said, flush- 
 ing slightly. 
 
 He made no answer. It was that sort of stub- 
 born silence some people fall into on inappropri- 
 ate occasions. 
 
 " There shall be a Brussels carpet in those rooms 
 if I can have anything to say in the matter," she 
 asserted. 
 
 "There won't if I know myself," he obstinately 
 responded. 
 
 " I would n't be a brute," said she.
 
 AND OTHER ESSAYS. 249 
 
 "I wouldn't be a fool," he retorted. 
 
 Then she burst into tears, and went off to bed, 
 and he sat there alone brooding over her ill-temper 
 and nursing his own. 
 
 What misery may have grown out of this 
 unpleasant affair will never be known, as the 
 prize was drawn by somebody out West, and too 
 far West far a Brussels carpet to go. 
 
 No. 12. — MARTHA'S IDEAL. 
 
 When I was a boy Martha was twenty years of 
 age. She was an almost constant companion of 
 my sisters, and a very familiar object to me. Mar- 
 tha was peculiar. I did n't know anything about 
 this, but I used to hear my sisters speak of it. I 
 knew she was a quiet girl, and imagined she was 
 somewhat of a dreamer. I believed, without know- 
 ing much about it, or reasoning over it, that she 
 was particular. Perhaps her peculiarities arose 
 from her nature to be particular. But that is 
 neither here nor there. 
 
 Martha was a dreamer. She had an ideal, not 
 of life, which we all should have, but of a husband ; 
 the man who was some time to come to her out of 
 the future, and lay his all at her feet. Time has 
 developed that the husband in question was pretty 
 deep into the future at that period. This picture
 
 250' THE MAN NEXT DOOR, 
 
 of the Ideal was carried so long in Martha's heart, 
 that it became a constant thought with her, and 
 eventually it was confided to the admiring gaze of 
 my sisters. Of course she found plenty of sym- 
 pathy with them. I suppose Martha must have 
 taken a great deal of comfort in dreaming of the 
 Ideal, and wondering when he v/ould come, and 
 under what circumstances he would appear. 
 
 Martha had selected a model for her Ideal. The 
 Ideal was to have black hair and eyes. The Ideal 
 was to have a dark complexion. The Ideal was to 
 be faultless in dress and manners. I remember 
 one thing particular about the Ideal. He was not 
 to smoke. I never heard Martha say so exactly, 
 but I once heard her say that no gentleman would 
 smoke in the presence of a lady, even on the street, 
 and this implied as much. The Ideal was a gen- 
 tleman, of course. The use of tobacco, Martha 
 said, was nasty and vulgar. The Ideal was cer- 
 tainly not vulgar. 
 
 Martha went on cherishing her Ideal, and eigh- 
 teen years after my acquaintance with her began, 
 she married. A greater part of that time the two 
 families were separated, and I rarely saw Martha. 
 Since her marriage I have seen her less than for- 
 merly. It was a year after that event that I first 
 saw her husband. He is a mason, sober, indus- 
 trious, and frugal ; a very good man, indeed. They 
 have been married three years or more. 
 
 This afternoon I was looking aimlessly from my 
 window, when I saw Martha's husband coming
 
 AND OTHER ESSAYS. ^5 1 
 
 across the street. I was looking at him carelessly 
 when the far-away past suddenly flashed before 
 me. 
 
 This was not Martha's husband alone, coming 
 toward me ; it was the Ideal as well. Here was a 
 fulfilled dream, a hope come to fruition. I looked 
 at him closely. 
 
 The Ideal, clothed with real flesh and blood, is 
 a man about forty-five years old. In height he is 
 five feet seven or eight. He weighs about two 
 hundred and ten pounds. He has got a round 
 face, and wears short side whiskers (round-faced 
 men should always wear side whiskers). His hair 
 is sandy, thick, and curls outward where it curls 
 at all. He wears a soft hat, and there are marks 
 of mortar on it. On his legs are a pair of brown 
 overalls, the ends of which are stuck in his boots. 
 I noticed, as he passes the window, that the Ideal 
 runs over his boots at the heel. A thick, heavy 
 coat, with the original color burned out of the 
 shoulder by the sun, is on the Ideal's back. About 
 the Ideal's neck, loosely wound, and with the knot 
 located in an unpleasantly suggestive manner 
 under his left ear, is a red and green and yelloi::' 
 comforter. The Ideal carries a whitewash brush 
 in one hand, and the other hand is housed in his 
 coat pocket. In the Ideal's mouth is a short- 
 stemmed clay pipe. 
 
 I cannot help but wish that I had not seen this ; 
 or, having seen it, that I might believe it was got 
 for the formation of soap bubbles, but a delicate
 
 252 THE MAN NEX7 DOOR, 
 
 column of smoke curls upward from it, and carries 
 the desired illusion skyward. 
 
 No. 13. — SPECULATIONS ON A CUSTOM. 
 
 Much is said of leap year, the gist of which 
 appears to reflect on the gentler sex. The rare 
 privilege is accorded to them to do just as the 
 men do, and I trust they are sufficiently grateful 
 for the same, although I cannot say that I ever 
 knew of a woman availing herself of the same. 
 Still, it must be a comfort to them to know that 
 for a whole year they are not obliged to wait for 
 the man, but can pitch in for themselves. It is 
 harder to wait than to do. Action brings relief to 
 the pressure on brain and head, but waiting has no 
 relief. This is, I suspect, the reason a woman is 
 more patient than a man. I am led, in the con- 
 sideration of this aspect of the case, to realize 
 how hard is the lot of the female of our specie. 
 
 At church, for instance, she is not sure of an 
 escort home unless provided for beforehand. And 
 if an offer comes, it is more than likely it will be 
 from one she cares nothing about. A man has his 
 choice in these matters. A woman is subject to 
 the choice of another, or compelled to go without. 
 I am afraid man don't fully comprehend his 
 blessings.
 
 AND OTHER ESSAYS. 253 
 
 On the other hand, there is a good deal of wear 
 and tear the woman escapes, and before she con- 
 ckides to take advantage of leap year she should 
 consider the ground fully. To take the man's 
 place and do the courting, she is obliged to do 
 many things. She must be indifferent to the 
 weather. The true lover goes at all times. 
 
 She has got to take her stand in a line of not 
 very particular young men before the church door 
 every Sunday evening, and risk a refusal for an 
 escort from the one she admires, and submit to 
 the raillery of the gang if the refusal comes. 
 There is no avoiding this. If she goes a piece 
 away from the church and the glare of light to 
 wait for her object, she is either certain, in the 
 dark, to miss him, or to find that he has been 
 gobbled up by some less sensitive rival. 
 
 She has got to have legs like those of an ante- 
 lope, to enable her to climb over people in the 
 pursuit of her prey. 
 
 She has either got to have an umbrella of her 
 own, or know where she can borrow one without 
 the loss of any time. 
 
 She has got to have the money to buy, and the 
 judgment to select, candy, fruit, and nuts. 
 
 She has got to have a constitution to stand a 
 lunch of pickles and cake after midnight, three or 
 more times a week. 
 
 She has got to do most of the kissing and about 
 all the talking, — that is, the talk that bears most 
 directly on the subject.
 
 254 THE MAN NEXT DOOR, 
 
 She has got to hold him from three to five hours 
 at a stretch, even if he should weigh half a ton. 
 
 She has got to give him two thirds of the 
 umbrella. 
 
 She has got to carry his basket to the picnic, 
 and fight the wasps away from him. 
 
 She has got to wade into the lake after pond 
 lilies. 
 
 She has got to take the outside of the walk, and 
 bully everybody, from the usher in the opera-house 
 to the waiter in the ice-cream saloon. 
 
 These brief outlines convey but a sample of 
 what she has got to do to "be a man" in love. 
 If she is really going to attempt it, she can have 
 all the particulars by addressing me. 
 
 Please enclose a stamp. 
 
 THE MIGGSES' THANKSGIVING. 
 
 Mr. Miggs is a painter. It is not the business 
 Mr. Miggs's father designed him to follow, but 
 under that peculiar combination of influences 
 which serves to so form the circumstances of the 
 unfortunate in this world's goods as to drift them 
 that way, Mr. Miggs became a painter. There 
 is a fatality about this that no man can any more 
 explain than the victim himself can resist. When 
 a man commences to run down at the heel, as the
 
 AND OTHER ESSAYS. 255 
 
 saying is, it is safe to predict that he will become 
 a painter. We do not mean, by this, that the paint- 
 pot is a depot for the housing alone of the shift- 
 ing ventures in the business world. We are of 
 the belief that, as a trade, it requires careful 
 study, intelligence, and application, and that to 
 be a good painter is just as much a task and an 
 honor as to be a good carpenter. But people 
 unfortunate in their plans eventually become 
 painters. Mr. Miggs was apprenticed to a hatter, 
 but gave up when midway in the trade, and 
 resolved to become a carriage-trimmer, as being 
 a much more genteel as well as easier mode of 
 earning a living. The attractions of the business 
 were, at a later period, entirely eclipsed by the 
 glittering generalities of fish peddling, and Mr. 
 Miggs speedily lost himself in the voluptuous 
 surroundings of a fish market. It was easy 
 enough, after this, to approach painting, and be- 
 fore Mr. Miggs himself hardly realized it he was 
 a painter, with a pair of overalls of his own, and a 
 glaze cap, which latter is generally admitted to be 
 of incalculable advantage in painting. Four weeks 
 of patient study, and Mr. Miggs was smearing 
 barns, fences, and unpretentious houses on his 
 own account. More than that, he had aspirations, 
 including painting the lily and gilding refined 
 gold, and was given to devoting whole hours to 
 studying public buildings, or to silence so impen- 
 etrable as to be oppressively significant. Mr. 
 Miggs's friends soon got the impression that he
 
 256 THE MAN NEXT DOOR, 
 
 was on the verge of doing an immense business, 
 and would not have been surprised to have heard 
 any day that he had an order for touching up the 
 universe in three colors. Pretty soon Mr. Miggs 
 went back to the fish market, in order to occupy 
 his time while leading citizens, contemplating 
 improvements in their residences, were making 
 up their minds. And so between the fish-horn 
 and the paint-brush, Mr. Miggs and his overalls 
 and glaze cap went through the years, and an 
 atmosphere of decided odors impartially contrib- 
 uted by fish and paint. 
 
 And now Thanksgiving day, 1877, has ap- 
 proached, and Mr. Miggs, with his heart full of 
 patriotism, because he can look at the day in no 
 other light than that of patriotic glow, sets to 
 work to appropriately celebrate the occasion. 
 From painting to fish vending, Mr. Miggs has 
 succeeded in accumulating, in the past ten years, 
 three living children, together with a limited 
 amount of furniture, and an unlimited area of 
 prospects. To observe a Thanksgiving without 
 a turkey could not be thought of. There are 
 people who work through the day on roast pork 
 or chicken, but it is an incongruous spectacle to a 
 broad and comprehensive mind with national ten- 
 dencies. Mr. Miggs determined, of course, to 
 have a turkey. As this religious bird does not 
 grow on every bush, the getting of it, in the cir- 
 cumstances which a long stress of idleness had 
 woven about Mr. Miggs, was a matter of some
 
 AND OTHER ESSAYS. 257 
 
 difficulty ; in fact, to an uninitiated intellect it 
 would seem an utter impossibility. 
 
 To Mr. Miggs it came as a matter of course. 
 Years of battling with fate in the persons of many 
 and indignant provision dealers had materially 
 sharpened his wits to a degree that was almost pre- 
 ternatural. There is a way provided for this class 
 of people to make progress in this life. With 
 every emergency comes the strength to climb over 
 it. Mr. Miggs not only climbed over, but inva- 
 riably struck squarely and safely on his feet on the 
 other side. An unfeeling populace were inclined 
 to believe that Mr. Miggs was shiftless, although 
 admitting that he did not belong to that branch of 
 the shiftless who were lucky in fishing, hunting, 
 and raffling. Mr. Miggs never went fishing, never 
 won anything at a raffle, and only once went hunt- 
 ing, when the premature discharge of a gun for- 
 ever destroyed his interest in this exhilarating 
 sport, and the contour of his nose, giving that 
 feature an uncomfortable-looking twist. 
 
 The afternoon before Thanksgiving, Mr. Miggs 
 was on the street with a red tippet swathing his 
 neck, a battered and buttonless gray coat cover- 
 ing his body, and a pair of dyed-brown pants con- 
 cealing his legs from the icJle curiosity of the 
 world. On his feet were a pair of brand new 
 rubbers, whose shiny surface was pleasantly con- 
 spicuous. Mr. Miggs walked up and down the 
 street, pausing to look at the turkeys displayed by 
 the provision dealers, and to cast still more 
 
 17
 
 258 THE MAN NEXT DOOR, 
 
 searching glances into the faces of the owners. 
 They might have been as one man, as far as the 
 expression was concerned. It was an uncompro- 
 mising cast of countenance that confronted Mr. 
 Miggs at every stand. Still he walked up and 
 down, and stopped and looked, and spoke admir- 
 ingly of the birds, and hopefully of his prospects. 
 There was no bitterness in his heart, no mark of 
 care on his brow, but it is perfectly safe to 
 believe that not for one instant was the need of 
 a turkey out of his mind. 
 
 One hour later Mr. Miggs marched triumph- 
 antly into his home, and laid a ten-pound turkey 
 on the table, and alongside of it a bunch of 
 celery, and said, "There!" to his wife. And 
 that was all he did say, for it would not do to 
 treat as phenomenal what was simply a matter of 
 course. By what process Mr. Miggs possessed 
 himself of that turkey and that celery, when he 
 did not have a single penny on his person to 
 negotiate with, is one of those mysteries that 
 occasionally drop into this life, and confound to 
 the furtherest degree the clearest and ablest 
 intellects. It is doubtful if to Mr. Miggs him- 
 self it would appear as a remarkable transaction. 
 He merely recognized it as one of those things 
 that had got to come. And come it did. 
 
 Thanksgiving day came in wet and despondent, 
 but it did not affect Mr. Miggs's feelings. Having 
 secured the material for an appropriate observa- 
 tion of the day, and thus honorably responded to
 
 AND OTHER ESSAYS. 259 
 
 the patriotic demands of his nature, Mr. Miggs 
 was not disturbed by the eccentricities of the 
 weather. He went up street in the forenoon to 
 look at the provision dealers again, and about 
 noon he returned home ostensibly to fix a bureau 
 which wanted mending, but hurting his finger by 
 the slipping of a screw-driver, he went to a neigh- 
 bor's for a better tool, and stayed there about an 
 hour to talk about the financial outcome of the 
 country, and how many houses he could paint in 
 an hour, or in some equally improbable length of 
 time, — if they were passed out to him. 
 
 In the mean time Mrs. Miggs busied herself 
 with her household cares. These consisted of 
 making ready the turkey and cuffing the young 
 Miggses, who, being shut in from outdoors by the 
 state of the weather, were disposed to make them- 
 selves uncommonly officious in retaliation. To 
 this end they appeared in unexpected places at 
 unexpected times, and got before her, or in under 
 her, and kept open the doors, and upset dishes, 
 and knocked over the furniture, and performed a 
 variety of other acts appropriate to the condition 
 of the weather and the consequent condition of 
 their spirits. 
 
 In this vortex of sound and annoyance Mrs. 
 Miggs stuffed the turkey, and basted it, and the 
 turkey itself simmered and browned, and the 
 unhappy woman declared over and over again 
 that there was not another such a set of noisy, 
 wilful brats on the surface of the earth as her 
 life was pestered with.
 
 26o THE MAN NEXT DOOR, 
 
 About one o'clock Mr. Miggs apppeared, and 
 seemed somewhat surprised to learn that dinner 
 was not ready, although there was no precedent 
 for believing that it would be. But as he had 
 come, Mrs. Miggs took advantage of it to enlighten 
 him on the fact that her life was that of a slave, 
 that she never had been and never could be like 
 other women, that it was toil from sunrise to 
 sunset, and never to see anything accomplished, 
 not to have anything to wear, nor to go anywhere 
 like other people ; and she never got any thanks, 
 and she might work till she dropped dead with- 
 out a hand being lifted to help her. This caused 
 Mr. Miggs to start up as if the harangue had been 
 entirely new to him, and to inquire in the spirit 
 of the day what in the jimblety jam was the 
 matter, that he could n't step foot into that house 
 without being grumbled at and groaned at till he 
 was sicker'npizen of living. Whereupon Mrs. 
 Miggs said she did n't want her head snapped off; 
 it was bad enough to get along with a mess of 
 screaming, meddlesome brats, without this. The 
 reference to the children proved a timely safety- 
 valve to Mr. Miggs's sorely tried patience, and he 
 at once walked in among them, carrying consterna- 
 tion and dismay into the inmost recesses of their 
 turbulent natures. 
 
 And thus matters progressed until the dinner 
 came on to the table, which it did at that hour 
 when the reason of the waiting ones begins to 
 totter, as is the custom in all families on Thanks-
 
 AND OTHER ESSAYS. 26 1 
 
 giving day. Mrs. Miggs planked the turkey down 
 in the centre of the table, and looking around on 
 the children, who had already scrambled into 
 place, and were making that snuffing noise peculiar 
 to uninformed children when eagerly expectant, 
 she exclaimed, — 
 
 " There ! Now stuff yourself to death, if you 
 want to." 
 
 And with this maternal injunction, in addition 
 to an injunction from the paternal side not to 
 make hogs of themselves, the Thanksgiving dinner 
 got under way. Whatever of gratitude there 
 might have been in Mr. Miggs's heart, it remained 
 sequestered there. His face showed no symptoms 
 of it. There was a certain degree of pride in 
 having secured such a turkey in the face of so 
 many circumstances discouraging to such an in- 
 vestment, but that was natural enough, and Mr. 
 Miggs would have been much less than human 
 had he not experienced it. 
 
 In such spaces of time as were not devoted to in- 
 dignantly swooping down on the boys, and rescuing 
 the celery from their piratical incursions, or pas- 
 sionately calling upon heaven (his only reference 
 in that direction) to just make a note of the 
 extraordinary hollowness of their anatomy, he 
 would proudly observe, referring to the turkey, 
 "That 's a buster, an' no mistake," "I guess some 
 folks can have turkey as well as some other 
 folks," " I '11 bet there ain't one man in fifty who 
 could pick out a turkey like that," and othor
 
 262 THE MAN NEXT DOOR, 
 
 observations of a like comforting and instructive 
 nature. 
 
 After dinner Mr, Miggs put on his tippet, and 
 went off to see the member of the legislature 
 from Danbury, who, it was understood, desired 
 to confer with him in regard to frescoing the 
 Capitol, and Mrs. Miggs sat down with a book 
 entitled "True Love," leaving the table standing. 
 The three boys adjourned into the back shed, 
 where the oldest two, failing to dispossess the 
 youngest of the wish-bone by the transfer of a 
 piece of green glass, immediately fell upon him 
 with a view to accomplishing their purpose by 
 violence, in which process a shelf containing a 
 variety of articles was brought down with its 
 contents, and in turn brought out the half-crazed 
 mother, v/ho pulled her progeny from under the 
 wreck by such portions of their persons as ap- 
 peared to view, and having cuffed them impar- 
 tially on both sides of the head, sat them on chairs 
 as far apart as the size of the room would admit. 
 And there they remained in misery's highest 
 estate, nursing their wounded persons and feel- 
 ings, and scowling gloomily upon their mother 
 whenever her turned back permitted. 
 
 When night closed in, the full significance of 
 the glad festival was summed up by Mrs. Miggs 
 in one sentence, — 
 
 " Thank heaven, this day is over with ! "
 
 AND OTHER ESSAYS. 263 
 
 YOUNG MR. BOBBS. 
 
 There is a marvellous variety in human nature. 
 We are not all alike, and it is just as well, per- 
 haps, that we are not. Some people are endowed 
 with a propensity for what they call fun, that 
 sometimes overbalances and controls every other 
 attribute. Fun, as a general thing, is the suffer- 
 ing of one man enjoyed by another. No fun of 
 this kind can be produced without cost, and the 
 greater the cost the greater the fun. The more 
 thoroughly a man enjoys fun, the more active, it 
 will be found, is that portion of his mind devoted 
 to evolving it. Such a man will bring to his 
 object a keenness of perception, a profundity 
 of cogitation, and a fertility of resource, that, if 
 devoted to some legitimate result, would hasten 
 the millennium amazingly. Young Mr. Bobbs, 
 clerk for Merrills, the grocer, is one of this kind. 
 The economy of nature finds its best exponent in 
 young Bobbs. His face is of that expression 
 which invites confidence, being colorless, while 
 his ready manner, and anxiety to be agreeable, 
 make him a charming person to deal with, and 
 one who would quickly and most favorably impress 
 a stranger. Young Bobbs is popular with elderly 
 people and ladies, because of his cheerful readi- 
 ness to oblige them, but to those of his own sex 
 and age he is an object of considerable distrust.
 
 264 THE MAN NEXT DOOR, 
 
 The immovable expression of his quiet and sub- 
 dued face would make his fortune on the stage ; 
 off the stage, we are inclined to believe, it will 
 prove his death. 
 
 It was in the middle of the afternoon, in the 
 middle of the week. A dull day in the grocery. 
 Mr. Merrills was out in the country buying prod- 
 uce. Young Bobbs was alone in the store, and, 
 having nothing better to do, was eating crackers 
 and sugar, in the proportion of four ounces of 
 sugar to one ounce of cracker, as is customary 
 with grocery clerks. While thus engaged, a man 
 came in. He was an ordinary-looking party, but 
 he was a stranger, and young Bobbs put down a 
 well-loaded cracker to attend to him. 
 
 The stranger did not want to trade. He was 
 the owner of a valuable new paint for roofs. He 
 called to see if he could get a contract to apply it 
 to this building. Young Bobbs's sympathy was 
 aroused. He inquired into the merits of the 
 paint, and soon learned it stood unparalleled in 
 excellence. Young Bobbs was delighted. He 
 had no doubt that the stranger would be emi- 
 nently successful in prosecuting his business in 
 Danbury. The various roofs were fairly yelling 
 out for paint. He was sorry that the owner of 
 this building was not at home, but he was certain 
 that he would have it painted the moment he got 
 back. 
 
 Young Bobbs was looking out of the window 
 as he said this, and his eyes caught the large and
 
 AND OTHER ESSAYS. 265 
 
 fair proportions of the Wooster House. The 
 glance that rested upon it brightened. 
 
 " Come to think," he suddenly said, " there 's 
 the hotel. I have no doubt father would have 
 the roof painted. I know there has been consid- 
 erable trouble from its leaking." 
 
 " Oh, that 's your father's, is it } " said the man 
 with the paint, and his eyes also brightened. 
 "Well, I've no doubt my stuff will fix it. If it 
 don't, you know, I don't ask any pay." 
 
 "Certainly." 
 
 "Where is your father .-*" 
 
 " He 's gone away to-day, but will be back 
 to-morrow," explained young Bobbs, while his 
 face beamed with ineffable purity. " What would 
 it cost to paint the roof .-' " 
 
 The man said he could n't tell until he knew 
 its dimensions. He supposed he could go over 
 and measure it now. Young Bobbs said he could 
 see no objection to that, so the man went. Pretty 
 soon he came back, and told young Bobbs that, 
 owing to the numerous angles, he could n't get 
 the number of square feet to any degree of nicety. 
 Was there a surveyor in town ? There was, 
 and young Bobbs kindly gave him the address. 
 Then the owner of the extraordinary paint hunted 
 up the surv^eyor, and they both proceeded to the 
 roof and got the exact measure. The stranger 
 paid the surveyor three dollars for the job, and 
 reported back to young Bobbs the full and exact 
 figures, which that young gentleman took down
 
 266 THE MAN NEXT DOOR, 
 
 in a little book with due solemnity, thereby mak- 
 ing a most favorable impression upon the paint 
 party. 
 
 At this juncture it occurred to young Bobbs to 
 indicate a substantial residence in sight of the 
 store door as the place of abode of his parents. 
 There was a trouble with its roof, and it was only 
 the day before that young Bobbs had heard his 
 father say that that roof must have a coat of paint 
 if it was to be saved at all. The stranger said 
 if there was no objection he would go right over 
 and measure it. Young Bobbs thought it was an 
 admirable idea. So he went. He was in excel- 
 lent spirits. He was having the best of luck, and 
 was not sure but that he had struck a complete 
 bonanza. He found the doors of the house locked, 
 so, after an unsuccessful search over the premises, 
 he went across the way to a livery stable and 
 borrowed a ladder. By a great effort he got it to 
 the house and up the roof, and ascended thereto. 
 It was a gable roof, and not an easy one to go 
 around on with a tape line. Once he came within 
 an ace of going off and dashing upon the hard 
 ground below, but he saved himself by a sharp 
 wrench of the body, which nearly dislocated his 
 spine. 
 
 The wife of the old gentleman who owned the 
 property was taking a nap on the lounge inside, 
 when the noise made by the ladder awakened her. 
 She looked about the rooms for the cause of the 
 disturbance, but not finding it, went outside, when
 
 AND OTHER ESSAYS. 26y 
 
 she saw the ladder and the pair of strange legs 
 disappearing on the roof. 
 
 Puzzled by this spectacle, she went farther into 
 the yard to get a glimpse of the roof, and then 
 observed the owner of the marvellous paint busily 
 engaged with his tape line. At the same time 
 her husband came upon the scene. 
 
 " What 's that man doing up there ^ " he asked. 
 
 That was what she wanted explained. 
 
 " Hello, there ! " he shouted. 
 
 The painter looked down, and seeing what he 
 believed to be the owner of the place, he smiled, 
 and said, — 
 
 " Hello ! I could n't find any one at home, so 
 I took the liberty of borrowing a ladder to get up 
 here. I have had a talk about it with your son." 
 
 The painter here smiled pleasantly. 
 
 " My son ! " exclaimed the old gentleman, star- 
 ing from the paint man to his wife, and then back 
 to the paint man again. 
 
 " Yes, your boy in the grocery over there," said 
 the painter, still smiling, and indicating Merrills's 
 place with his finger. 
 
 " I ain't got any boy in the grocery over there," 
 protested the old gentleman, very much perplexed. 
 
 The paint man cut down his smile one half, as 
 he observed, "Then you ain't the proprietor of 
 this house .-* " 
 
 "Yes, I am." 
 
 " How 's this ? " demanded the man on the roof, 
 while the light, airy look went out of his face,
 
 268 THE MAN NEXT DOOR, 
 
 and left it of a deathly and most disagreeable 
 color. " The young man over at the grocery 
 said his father lived here, and that the roof 
 wanted painting, and I am the agent of a new 
 paint for roofs, and so I came over here, at his 
 suggestion, to take the measure of the roof, so as 
 to give the figures." 
 
 As the paint man said this, he looked at the 
 ladder, and mechanically took in its might and 
 size. 
 
 The owner of the house looked at his wife. 
 
 " It 's young Bobbs, over at the grocery; but it 
 can't be him'' she said. 
 
 Her husband turned to the paint man. 
 
 "That young man over there is not my son." 
 
 " Don't his father own the hotel } " gasped the 
 owner of the extraordinary paint. 
 
 "Certainly not. He ain't got any father ; he 's 
 been dead ten years." 
 
 What the introducer of a new and valuable roof 
 paint thought, as he strained his tendons in lug- 
 ging that ladder back home, was awful ; what he 
 said was simply appalling. It is more than likely 
 that had he not been a stranger, with the timidity 
 inseparable from that relationship, young Bobbs 
 would have been ground into an indistinguishable 
 pulp.
 
 ^ND OTHER ESSAYS. 269 
 
 RAILWAY STATION SIGHTS. 
 
 The position which a plug hat occupies in a 
 
 railway station late at night is no sinecure. Not 
 
 by any means. A January midnight in the winter 
 
 of 1877 found a plug hat thus situated, in the 
 
 station at Milwaukee. The owner of this hat 
 
 was a little man in rusty black clothes, just as 
 
 rusty as the hat itself. He was short in legs, 
 
 short in body, and short in neck ; but he had 
 
 long hair, and a long nose, and a long chin. His 
 
 hair was a pepper and salt, straight, thick, and 
 
 undressed. It was a short plug hat, with a rather 
 
 rakish brim of some width. It was almost one 
 
 o'clock. Some twenty people were waiting for 
 
 the train, in that peculiarly aimless way in which 
 
 people wait for a train late in the night. There 
 
 were men cramped upon the seats, and trying in 
 
 their sleep to do what they never could succeed 
 
 in doing if awake, to keep comfortable in them. 
 
 There was a man who had a husky voice which 
 
 found no expression, but I knew by his clothes, 
 
 and the hairy appearance of his neck, that his 
 
 voice was husky ; he had a big bundle on the 
 
 seat beside him, and an humble valise between 
 
 his legs. He looked straight ahead, and neither 
 
 turned his eyes to the right nor to the left. There 
 
 was a youth with long, uncombed hair, and a timid, 
 
 expressionless face, and a valise. He did not sit
 
 2/0 THE MAN NEXT DOOR, 
 
 down, but moved around staring at the time-tables 
 and advertisements. In a corner with a lantern 
 between them were three tobacco chewers in 
 coarse clothes, who were attachees of the railway, 
 and who were talking in whispers about some- 
 thing of the most trivial nature, but which pos- 
 sessed a deep and natural significance to three 
 passengers who were straining their ears to catch 
 every word, as is common with men when they 
 have got nothing of their own to interest them. 
 Every few minutes some one would come in, and 
 by so doing attract the liveliest attention of every 
 one awake, and would then go out again. At reg- 
 ular periods a man would come in, — a man smell- 
 ing of oil, — set down a lantern, draw off a pair 
 of gloves, deliberately look about the room, put 
 on his gloves again, take up his lantern, and dis- 
 appear. At about the same interval a tall, slim 
 young man in a straight, long, black overcoat 
 buttoned up to his neck, with a light growth of 
 side whiskers on his face, a straight, emotional 
 mouth, and calculating eyes, — a man about 
 twenty-eight years old, but with a face that will 
 look no different when he is sixty-four, — would 
 appear, stalk deliberately around the room, and 
 then disappear, his antics making one nervous by 
 their muffled precision. Then a short, thick-set 
 man in a short-tailed coat came in, went through 
 a side door, and presently a glass slide, over which 
 were the words "Ticket Office," flew up, and the 
 well-kept face of the short, thick-set man appeared
 
 AND OTHER ESSAYS. 2/1 
 
 at the opening, and looked over the assembled 
 passengers very much as a well-to-do farmer 
 would look over a flock of his sheep. 
 
 All this time the plug hat was at work. The 
 owner of the plug, not contemplating taking a 
 sleeper on the coming train, had time by the fore- 
 lock, and was doing his level best to keep hold. 
 Being a little man, he got out as far as possible on 
 the edge of the seat, and being a man of digni- 
 fied proclivities, he instinctively crossed his legs- 
 Thus laying back, he sought sleep. The part 
 which the plug hat took in the performance was 
 most creditable. It was perched across his fore- 
 head, with a view, I think, to shut out the glare 
 of the gaslight from his eyes. A more uneasy 
 plug hat never went travelling with a well-disposed 
 man. No sooner would he get it located just 
 right, and proceed to close his eyes, when it would 
 instantly tilt over to one side, calling forth the 
 most surprising activity on his part to save it from 
 going to the floor. He never lost his faith, or his 
 courage, or his hope. After every failure he 
 would patiently replace it, close his eyes, and im- 
 mediately dart after it again. And thus he rested 
 and refreshed himself. 
 
 Some people are not fit to travel by themselves. 
 I think the time will come when railway stations 
 will be placarded to the effect that " No nervous 
 person shall be allowed to pass over this road ex- 
 cept when properly checked as luggage, unless 
 accompanied by some competent person as keep-
 
 2/2 THE MAN NEXT DOOR, 
 
 er." This feeling of not knowing which is your 
 train, and, when discovered, not knowing when it 
 is to start, is the refinement of distress, I will ad- 
 mit, — especially to helpless outsiders. But peo- 
 ple permit them to grow upon them. They ask 
 questions before the questions are ready, and thus 
 they come in such a shape as not to be understood 
 by the party inquired of. And they have so many 
 queries to propound that they cannot possibly keep 
 track of the answers, even if the answers should 
 be correct. Consequently there is confusion, and 
 distress, and distemper, and dyspepsia, and other 
 consequences still more disastrous. Every train 
 hauled into the station at Cleveland near meal- 
 hour stops there twenty minutes for refreshment. 
 Every man who travels craves refreshment. Eat- 
 ing is an excellent way to pass the time, and the 
 cars are very much like the Sabbath in this re- 
 spect. I do not think the human stomach is able 
 to distinguish a train of cars from Sunday. 
 
 On the particular evening of which I write, a 
 train from the East drew into the Cleveland station. 
 On the front platform of the first passenger car 
 stood a man with a monstrous valise grasped in 
 his right hand, while the left hand clutched the 
 rail. There was a look of anxiety blended with 
 expectation in his face. Just before the train 
 stopped he jumped down, and hurried across to 
 the refreshment-room and disappeared in the door. 
 The next instant I saw through the window that 
 he was ranged in front of the counter, plying his
 
 AND OTHER ESSAYS 2/3 
 
 eyes across the spread, and fumbling in his 
 pockets. Other passengers leisurely got down 
 from the cars, went into the dining-room, and sat 
 down to a comfortable supper. Some three min- 
 utes passed when the locomotive bell smote the 
 air with its dreadful sound. The nervous passen- 
 ger with the monstrous valise appeared at the door 
 with a promptness that unpleasantly suggested he 
 was attached to the bell, and was controlled by its 
 action. One glance showed him that the train 
 was moving. With a look of horror overspreading 
 that part of his countenance not occupied by a 
 generous bite of ham sandwich, he flew across the 
 intervening space at a speed that was simply mar- 
 vellous, the valise making time on his legs at every 
 leap. Reaching the car platform he clutched the 
 rail with the hand containing the unfinished sand- 
 wich, and clambered upon his knees on the plat- 
 form, and darted into the car, leaving that part of 
 the rail which he had grasped neatly incrusted with 
 a mixture of bread, ham, butter, and mustard. He 
 settled down into the seat with a shiver of horror, 
 somewhat modified by a sigh of relief, and hugged 
 the valise into his lap. Then the train stopped, 
 the locomiotive moved away, the passengers finished 
 their supper, came outside and lighted their cigars, 
 and sauntered up and down the platform, while 
 the man of the sandwich sat in the car and looked 
 out of the window upon those people, and the 
 railroad officials, and the general scenery, with 
 feelings too deep and intense to permit of any 
 adequate expression.
 
 274 THE MAN NEXT DOOR, 
 
 THE BOOK FIEND AT HOME. 
 
 It was in the kitchen on the second floor of a 
 Danbury house. The occupants of the room 
 itself indicated that it was not an abode of wealth. 
 
 The husband and father was a mechanic two 
 months out of work, with no immediate prospects 
 of a resumption at his trade. He was a light- 
 faced man with rounded shoulders, thin, straight 
 brown hair, and light blue eyes, with a careworn 
 expression, not entirely hidden by the look of 
 expectation which now filled them. The woman, 
 his wife, had black hair, a pale, thin face, and 
 preternaturally large black eyes, — handsome eyes, 
 but very tired looking. They were sitting in this 
 room because of its fire, as the night was damp, 
 raw, and chilly. On the table between them were 
 a pile of circulars of an advertising nature, which 
 the two children were admiring because of their 
 large type and illustrations. The man ran his 
 hands through his very thin hair on his head for 
 the twentieth time, and said, — 
 
 "Yes, sir, every book I sell fetches me a dollar. 
 If I only sell five a day, that will be five dollars. 
 Of course, there can be no doubt of selling five." 
 
 Of course not. His mind contemplated a day's 
 round among his townspeople. He saw that he 
 could in that time visit at least forty families, and 
 one of every eight taking a book — a book so
 
 AND OTHER ESSAYS. 2/5 
 
 generally and cordially recommended — was not 
 an exaggerative freak of the imagination. On 
 the contrary — looking again over the formidable 
 array of recommends — this was a strikingly mild 
 computation. There was a twinge of regret that 
 he had not taken the project in hand long ago. 
 
 "But even three books," said his wife, hope- 
 fully, " would pay well. Or two books. Two 
 dollars a day is a good sum." 
 
 The tired eyes looked around the scantily fur- 
 nished room, over the threadbare clothes on her 
 family, down at her own rusty garments, and then 
 grew rested again as they contemplated the two 
 dollars. It was a very good sum indeed. 
 
 Still, he did not so consider it. His eyes again 
 sought the list of recommends, and his mind roved 
 along the route he should take, including forty 
 visits, and he began to think that in fixing on five 
 sales a day he had done an injurious thing. What 
 if there were ten .-* It was a pretty good leap. 
 But was it unreasonable .'' If there were fifteen 
 it would be better. It would be a good joke if 
 he was, in his highest flight, getting way below 
 the mark. And it might possibly be so. A 
 smile unconsciously crept into his face as these 
 thoughts filled his mind. 
 
 " I ain't felt so encouraged in months," he said 
 to his wife. "We have bemoaned our ill-luck, 
 but how do we know but that my being thrown 
 out of work was the best thing that could happen 
 me :
 
 2^6 THE MAN NEXT DOOR, 
 
 " I hope so," said his wife. Poor woman ! She 
 had need of encouragement. And it was a good 
 thing to see the tired eyes brighten. It was a long 
 time since they had. He looked into her expect- 
 ant face, and his own grew brighter under the 
 inspiration. Presently he aroused himself with 
 the remark, — 
 
 "Well, I must get abroad early to-morrow 
 morning, as I '11 have a long day's work." 
 
 Whereupon his wife prepared the children for 
 bed, and pretty sooii the father and mother retired, 
 but hardly to sleep. 
 
 At nine o'clock the next morning he was 
 ready to start. There was not as much enthu- 
 siasm as on the evening before, but that could 
 not be expected. Daylight is eminently more 
 practical than lamplight. His patient wife had 
 made his old suit look really presentable, and 
 had prepared him a lunch of bread and butter to 
 eat at noon, for he expected to be too busy to 
 come home to dinner. The lunch he carefully 
 stowed away in his pocket, and his canvassing 
 books he put under his arm. He was hopeful, 
 having just stimulated himself by another careful 
 glance at the recommends. Still, the expression 
 of weariness was there, and the faithful woman 
 who stood before- him looking into his face saw it 
 more plainly than was good for her. His features 
 showed thinner with the sunlight streaming upon 
 them. She saw in all their lines the effects of a 
 long sickness that had taken all the earnings, and
 
 AND OTHER ESSAYS. 2/7 
 
 of a brooding and worry that had come from days 
 of unsuccessful search for work. From this her 
 mind went back over the years of their wedded 
 life, and she saw in their record a steady, uncom- 
 plaining fight, and a constant, tender love for her. 
 Then she looked quickly into the careworn face 
 again, and by an impluse which she could not 
 control, threw her arms about his neck and sobbed 
 aloud. 
 
 "Lizzie !" he cried, dropping the books to fold 
 his arms about her. 
 
 She made no reply, but only clung the tighter 
 to him. 
 
 With that delicacy of feeling, occasionally found 
 among the poor even, he stroked her hair in silence, 
 waiting patiently for the paroxysm to pass away. 
 He had no need to ask her w^hy she cried. Every 
 sob that convulsed her weak frame was eloquent of 
 a past full of bitter struggling. But it hurt him to 
 hear her, not that he minded the memory, as far as 
 it affected himself, but only as it told of her suf- 
 fering. 
 
 " Oh, John," she murmured in a broken voice, 
 " we are so poor, we are so poor. God help us ! " 
 
 Then she lifted her head, wiped away the tears 
 from her face, and smiled as she did it, to show 
 him that she w^as herself again. 
 
 Thus reassured, he took his books again, and 
 sallied forth. And the pitying husband was left 
 behind, and a book-canvasser appeared instead. 
 Striking off to another part of the town, his malig-
 
 2/8 THE MAN NEXT DOOR, 
 
 nant presence soon darkened a doorway. The 
 servant appeared in answer to the summons. She 
 looked into his lean face, which, to a prejudiced 
 person, had a somewhat sharkish aspect, and then 
 at the parcel under his arm, and shook her head 
 in a very depressing manner. 
 
 "We don't want nothing," she said, and care- 
 fully closed the door. Owing to lack of presence 
 of mind on his part, he neglected to put his foot 
 in the way and prevent the door from being closed, 
 until he had had his own say, and thus the first 
 opportunity was lost. He sighed, and went to the 
 next door. 
 
 Here he rang the bell twice, but there was no 
 response. The occupants had seen him approach. 
 
 Somewhat w^eakened in faith, he went to the 
 third house. The family received him, thumbed 
 over the specimen book, admired the pictures, and 
 said they were not prepared to subscribe now, but 
 could tell better in the spring. He had received 
 considerable strength and hope from this recep- 
 tion, but he left it behind when he withdrew. 
 He thought of his waiting wife and children, and 
 instinctively wiped something from his eye, which, 
 were he not a book-canvasser, might have done 
 very well for a tear. 
 
 At the fourth house a woman came to the door, 
 gave him a hard look, and immediately shut her- 
 self in. Not a word had been exchanged. He 
 slowly retired. The next building was a lumber- 
 office. A man wdth spectacles was bent over some
 
 AND OTHER ESSAYS, 279 
 
 papers at a desk. He looked up, and hearing the 
 canvasser, detected at a glance his mission, and 
 stared coldly at him. Our friend began, in a fal- 
 tering voice, — 
 
 " I have called to solicit your — " 
 
 " That '11 do," said the lumber-man, in a stern 
 voice, resuming his inspection of the papers on the 
 desk. 
 
 The canvasser gave him a look as if he would 
 like to knock him endways, and then withdrew. 
 Outside the building he paused a moment, as if 
 undecided what to do. He was strongly tempted 
 to go home, and give up in despair, but the 
 thought of his poverty checked this impulse. He 
 looked up and down the almost deserted street, on 
 which the sun lay in a glare of heat. Not a ray 
 of hope did he detect in the buildings or in the 
 air. He passed three houses without the courage 
 to call on any of them. Those who saw him pass 
 must have wondered if he was not ill, or deranged. 
 At the fourth house he stopped. A little girl 
 answered his call. She saw the books under his 
 arm, and, taking the cue from his appearance, 
 said, — 
 
 "We don't want anything." And she, too, 
 closed the door in his face. Smarting under the 
 humiliation of his defeat, he passed several houses 
 without calling, and brought up at a factory. He 
 went through the building to the office, his feet 
 feeling as if full of lead, and his heart scarcely 
 lighter. It was only a picture of the pale-faced,
 
 286 THE MAN NEXT DOOR, 
 
 sobbing woman at home that gave him the strength 
 to step at all. There were several men busy in 
 the long room through which he passed. They 
 saw his mission, and turned up their noses in de- 
 rision. They worked for their living, and could 
 afford to despise the lank shirk who went about 
 selling books and living on the fat of the land. 
 Their looks were not undetected by the miserable 
 man with the picture of the crying woman in his 
 heart, and he went into the office with an air of 
 humiliation not calculated to command the respect 
 of the three young clerks at work there. He en- 
 tered, and removed his hat. The three clerks 
 stared at him, but said nothing about his being 
 seated. 
 
 "I have called, gentlemen," he commenced, in 
 a voice he strove to make firm, but which trembled 
 in spite of himself, " to see if you would like to 
 subscribe to a new book." 
 
 An expression of dislike showed so plainly on 
 their faces, that he stopped short. The three 
 young men enjoyed this very much. They came 
 very near to being the victims themselves, but by 
 showing an uncompromising front they had saved 
 themselves, and overcome a nuisance and a bore. 
 Highly satisfied with their success, they placidly 
 returned to their work, leaving him standing bare- 
 headed, with an uninterrupted view of their backs. 
 For a moment he remained there, confused and 
 sick at heart, not wanting to remain, and still not 
 having the courage to go. But the young men
 
 AA^D OTHER ESSAYS. 28 1 
 
 paid no more attention to him, and, his position 
 becoming unbearable, he replaced his hat and slunk 
 out of the building. With a heavy heart and a 
 tortured mind he went his way, stopping here and 
 there with more or less luck, but no sales. The 
 noon passed without his lunch. He had not the 
 heart to eat it. Had it been three yards of lead 
 pipe, he could not have felt less like bolting it 
 down. There was a lump in his throat by which 
 a cambric needle would have found difficulty in 
 forcing its way. He began to notice that the peo- 
 ple whom he passed were eying him with dislike, 
 and giving him the greater share of the walk. It 
 was hard to be poor, it was hard to be so unsuc- 
 cessful, but it was ten times harder to bean object 
 of derision, scorn, distrust, and contempt. He 
 started for home with an aching heart. It was 
 going back to a full contemplation of his miser- 
 able condition, but there were love and sympathy 
 there, with all the distress, and the miserable man 
 stood sorely in need of them. 
 
 When he went in his wife heard him, and came 
 into the room where he was. The look of hopeful 
 expectation died out of her pale face in a flash. 
 One glance at him told the whole story more elo- 
 quently than words could have done. He laid 
 down his books, shivering as he did so. When he 
 went to turn toward her, the loving arms were 
 about his neck, and the tired head, with the sobbing 
 voice, was pressed upon his shoulder. 
 
 "Oh, Lizzie, it was all so dreadful!" he whis- 
 pered.
 
 282 THE MAN NEXT DOOR, 
 
 She drew her arms tighter about his neck. 
 
 "Don't talk of it, John, You did the best you 
 could, I know, and if you have failed you cannot 
 help it. We have got each other, and the children, 
 John." 
 
 "Yes, Lizzie, but I am not the man I was when 
 I left you this morning. Then I was respected, if 
 I was poor." 
 
 "John !" she cried in an affrighted voice, looking 
 him in the face. "What have you done .-* " 
 
 "Nothing, my dear wife, but to try to get bread. 
 But I have been made to feel that I was a scal- 
 awag, a leper, an outcast, a scoundrel, and a thief. 
 I have been shut out of houses, bullied from shops, 
 and shunned in the street." He quivered in 
 every nerve as he spoke. 
 
 "All for my sake and the children's, dear John," 
 she spoke up, with her eyes full of tears. " God 
 bless you!" 
 
 And in that benediction, so lovingly pronounced, 
 the burden fell from his shoulders. 
 
 The next day he gave up the agency, and the 
 following week a man with a soiled shirt-front and 
 a breast-pin took up the work, and in three days 
 had sold sixty volumes and gained two pounds in 
 flesh.
 
 AND OTHER ESSAYS. 2^1 
 
 MR. SILVERNAIL'S TRAGIC FATE. 
 
 A RATHER remarkable affair occurred in the 
 western part of this State last week. Mr. Silver- 
 nail was the hero. Mr. Silvernail hired a horse to 
 take a pleasure-ride. He drove out into the 
 country. He wanted the companionship of the 
 hills. He thirsted to hold converse with the 
 whispering trees. He hungered for the cooling 
 breeze laden with the reviving fragrance of herb 
 and blossom. It was an escape from care for Mr. 
 Silvernail. He bathed his soul in the delicious 
 ether. His entire being became saturated with 
 the nectar distilled from every swaying leaf of 
 tree and blade of grass. The horse was a spirited 
 animal, the carriage glistened with a new lustre, 
 the harness was silver-plated. There was the 
 blessed consciousness in Mr. Silvernail's bosom 
 that he was approaching nature with no mean 
 pomp. He drove many miles in a delicious trance 
 of delight. He passed through the shadow of 
 mountains, and into the sunshine of the plains. 
 He feasted his eyes on glistening sheets of water, 
 cosey, homelike farm-houses, and fields of whisper- 
 ing corn. 
 
 The road skirted a ledge. Mr. Silvernail looked 
 up to its summit, and felt a desire stir his bosom 
 to climb up there for a view. It was rarely, 
 indeed, that Mr. Silvernail afforded the luxury of
 
 284 THE MAN NEXT DOOR, 
 
 a livery team for a drive into the country, and he 
 felt like taking in all that could be obtained. He 
 stopped the horse, and got out of the carriage. 
 He took down the bars to drive the horse into the 
 lot at the foot of the ledge, for safety. The lower 
 bar did not give away easily at one end. Mr. 
 Silvernail worked it from side to side, with a 
 view to starting it. This exercise, with the fric- 
 tion of the rough wood on his hands, caused Mr. 
 Silvernail's blood to warm unpleasantly. The 
 warmth of the blood inflamed the brain, imparting 
 to Mr. Silvernail's mind a feeling of impatience. 
 The more impatient Mr Silvernail grew, the 
 more it became apparent to him that it was not 
 an accidental catch, but a deliberate design on 
 the part of the rail to resist him. When this 
 plausible conviction took complete possession of 
 his mind, Mr. Silvernail grasped his end of the 
 rail with a strong clutch, and gave it a vigorous 
 jerk. 
 
 As a matter of course, it came then. It came 
 all at once, and with an enthusiasm so much 
 beyond Mr. Silvernail's most sanguine expecta- 
 tions, that he was entirely unprepared for it, and 
 went over on his back, and across the loose stones 
 and gravel, with the rail clasped in both arms, 
 before he could recover himself. 
 
 The horse started nervously. 
 
 "Whoa!" yelled Mr. Silvernail, scrambling to 
 his feet, his face both red with passion and white 
 with fear.
 
 AND OTHER ESSAYS. 285 
 
 The cry completed the fear of the horse, and it 
 dashed away at once, a seventy-five dollar harness 
 upon its back and a two hundred and fifty dollar 
 carriage in its train. 
 
 The horrified Mr. Silvernail put after it. He 
 strained every nerve. He ran as he never ran 
 before, as he ever thought it possible he could 
 run. He could see only the top of the carriage, 
 but across that, in characters of blood it seemed, 
 was marked the price of the establishment. 
 
 How he ran ! His face was almost purple. 
 On its surface formed little lumps ; around them, 
 and even over them, great drops of perspiration 
 coursed and leaped. Down upon the road, upon 
 all the earth, upon his bared head, lay the sun- 
 light in billows of molten gold. In his heart was 
 the chill of a deadly fear. Through his brain 
 ploughed the flame of a frenzied purpose. 
 
 How he reached out ! How he strained and 
 strove ! How madly he fought the cruel air that 
 lay between him and the flying prize ! 
 
 The water in the glen trickled and gurgled like 
 a merry child. The trembling silver maples whis- 
 pered softly to each other. The birds sang. The 
 hum of insect and drone of bee mingled with the 
 rustling of the briers and blossoming weeds. 
 
 Still he tore on. He threw the gravel of the 
 road on high, and heard not the soft, sweet music 
 all about him. He puffed and clutched the air 
 with murderous grasp, — the air that had him by 
 the throat, and was fighting him back with all its 
 strength.
 
 286 THE MAN NEXT DOOR, 
 
 He saw not the golden-rod smiling brightly in 
 the sun. He noticed not the star-eyed blossom 
 which from New England soil lifts its face heaven- 
 ward. He heard not the singing of the birds or 
 the whisper of the leaves. He heard nothing but 
 the clatter of the heartless hoofs. He saw noth- 
 ing but the reeling top of the flying carriage. 
 
 And he saw that not long. It passed over a 
 hill and out of sight. He struggled madly up the 
 slope. He reached the summit. Beyond him flew 
 the maddened animal with the shafts of the car- 
 riage slapping the ground behind at every leap. 
 The carriage itself lay almost at his feet, an awful 
 wreck of its former self. 
 
 Mr. Silvernail stopped dead still just where this 
 terrible sight burst upon him. His face was whit- 
 ish purple. His eyes were inflamed. His clothing 
 was torn, and where the perspiration had broken 
 through it was splotched with dust. He shook all 
 over. His heart throbbed like the pulsation of 
 gigantic machinery. He looked up to the heavens, 
 and then around upon the earth. If, in that last 
 wild look, his burning brain sought shelter from 
 the fire beating upon it, if, in that half-crazed 
 stare into the heavens above and down upon the 
 earth that lay beneath, his torn, distracted spirit 
 sought an opening for its escape, he found it not. 
 
 All of life shut in upon him and crowded him in 
 upon himself. 
 
 Then Mr. Silvernail reached around to the 
 pocket on his hip, and placed the hand withdrawn
 
 A. YD OTHER ESSAYS. 287 
 
 against his burning, throbbing temple. Instantly 
 there was a sharp report, but no cry, and the 
 drenched, palpitating figure dropped from the val- 
 ley's perspective. 
 
 An hour later, an old farmer, jogging comfort- 
 ably along with his wife, was startled by her 
 scream, and following hurriedly her horrified 
 glance, saw, looking up to him from the road, 
 a purple face, and in the dust at its side a pool 
 of human blood. 
 
 Mr. Silvernail had left the livery-stable keeper 
 to gather up the remnants of the property, and his 
 heirs to fight the livery-stable keeper. 
 
 LIFE AT THE TABLE. 
 
 A WRITER in one of the magazines advocates a 
 reform in the home circle. He says there are 
 parents who are the life of every company they 
 enter, but at home are dull and silent. If they 
 have not mental stores sufficient for both places, 
 he recommends that they give home the prefer- 
 ence. A silent home, he says, is a dull place for 
 young people, from which they will escape if they 
 can ; but how much of unconscious but excellent 
 mental training is given in lively, social argument ! 
 
 The magazine containing this essay fell into the 
 hands of Mr. Barbary, the other morning. Mr.
 
 288 THE MAN NEXT DOOR, 
 
 Barbary keeps a store, and has a family consisting 
 of a wife and two children, equally divided among 
 the sexes. It was a rainy, sloppy, dreary day, and 
 the store was empty of customers. Mr. Barbary 
 sat at his desk, with the open book before him, 
 and his mind pondering over the article. Busi- 
 ness cares had pressed heavily upon him in the 
 past year, tending to dull his entertaining facul- 
 ties by turning every channel of thought into 
 his business. He had been quick at his meals, 
 absorbed in store matters, and filled with gloom of 
 anticipated trouble. As he read and pondered 
 over this article, its truth was forced upon him. 
 He had been wrong in the past. He was not just 
 to himself, and certainly not to his children. 
 These were not pleasant reflections fo Mr. Bar- 
 bary, for he was very proud of his children. They 
 were growing up in a depressing atmosphere. He 
 was making a dull home for them. He looked 
 around the empty store and through the window 
 into the dark, deserted street. It was a gloomy 
 spectacle. He felt its influence weighing upon 
 his spirits, and then came the thought to him that 
 this was but a type of what he was making his 
 home day by day. Mr. Barbary shivered. 
 
 "I'll do different than this," he said, smiting 
 his hands together. " I '11 commence this very 
 day." 
 
 As he said it the noon whistles sounded, and he 
 prepared to go to his dinner. 
 
 On the way home he conned over in his mind a
 
 AND OTHER ESSAYS. 289 
 
 suitable subject for a lively, soci^ ar<^ument with 
 his wife. There was an abundance of topics sug- 
 gested, but they were not all suitable for the men- 
 tal sustenance of his boy and girl. It must be 
 something that could be taken within the calibre 
 of their minds, and something that would improve 
 as well as entertain. Mr. Barbary thought very 
 hard upon this matter. There were the Silver 
 Bill, and the Indian business, and the civil service, 
 and temperance, and ceramics, and a host of other 
 things, — political, social, and scientific, — but noth- 
 ing that struck him just right. Mr. Barbary grew 
 more and more absorbed, and bent his brain rig- 
 idly toward the point in hand, but nothing would 
 come of it. As Mr. Barbary had a note for three 
 hundred and eighteen dollars due at the bank at 
 three o'clock, and had but seventy-eight dollars 
 and ninety-two cents toward it, perhaps the prob- 
 lem as to where the two hundred and forty dollars 
 and eight cents were to come from may have had 
 a tendency to impair the free flow of his thought. 
 However this might be, he approached his home 
 without having selected a proper subject for lively, 
 social argument. Mr. Barbary need not have taken 
 all this trouble in preparation. A subject was in 
 waiting in embryo for him. There was no lack 
 of subjects, as it afterward transpired. As in 
 many other pursuits, that which we have looked 
 for afar off is subsequently discovered to have 
 been right under our hand. 
 
 Mr. Barbary entered the house with a strong 
 
 19
 
 290 THE MAN NEXT DOOR, 
 
 determination to inaugurate a reform, although he 
 was not at all certain as to the steps leading up to 
 it. Mrs. Barbary was laying the table as he en- 
 tered. There was a smile on his face. A smile 
 got up for the occasion, and quite a success in its 
 way. Mrs. Barbary saw the smile on her hus. 
 band's face. At the same time she detected 
 something else. In fact, it may be said that Mrs. 
 Barbary took in both extremes of his person at 
 once. She was a tired woman, as women are apt 
 to be at this hour. She said, — 
 
 " What on earth do you mean, lugging in a 
 bushel of mud into the house .-* Can't you see the 
 mat, or are you blind .''" 
 
 Now Mr. Barbary could have seen the mat, and 
 would have seen and used it, had not his mind been 
 so closely engrossed in seeking for a topic for a lively 
 social argument. He was conscious that he had done 
 no wrong ; still he felt that he might consistently 
 give up the smile, as it appeared to be of no par- 
 ticular use at the present juncture. So his face 
 straightened as he stepped hastily back on the 
 stoop to cleanse his boots. 
 
 " Sakes alive ! why don't you shut that door .-' " 
 screamed Mrs. Barbary. 
 
 "What's the use of yelling like that.''" he 
 demanded, as he stepped inside and closed the 
 door. 
 
 "What 's the use of being so stupid, then } " she 
 retorted. 
 
 Mr. Barbary made no reply. The smile had
 
 AND OTIfER ESSAYS. 29 1 
 
 gone entirely from his face. Her eyes snapped. 
 Mr. Barbary looked at her, and silently rubbed 
 his head. He was evidently reaching out for 
 something suitable for a lively, social argument, 
 without being strongly buoyed up with a hope of 
 securing it. The boy and girl were sitting back 
 of the stove looking stolidly at nothing in partic- 
 ular. Their young lives were drifting slowly but 
 surely into an arid waste. Mr. Barbary sighed. 
 If he could only think of something ! He fell to 
 thinking of the railroad, and this led his mind on 
 to New York. There, like many another comer, 
 it lost itself in the whirl of sounds and the multi- 
 plicity of objects, finally to emerge with great 
 suddenness. Mr. Barbary had struck a subject, — 
 something for a lively, social argument. Float- 
 ing over the city, diving through here and out of 
 there, Mr. Barbary's mind ran against East River 
 Bridge. His face brightened up at once. 
 
 " Matilda ! " he exclaimed, addressing his wife. 
 
 " Well." 
 
 It was a very simple word, but it came from his 
 wife's lips so short and hard, that Mr. Barbary felt 
 as if it were a trip-hammer under which he had 
 mysteriously got himself. His courage sank, but 
 a glance at the blank faces of his children nerved 
 him up for the trial. 
 
 " Do you know what I was just thinking of .'' " 
 
 "I know what you wa'n't thinking of, and that 's 
 of more consequence," she said. "You wa'n't 
 thinking that there 's a scuttle of coal to get."
 
 292 THE MAN NEXT DOOR, 
 
 With a groan, Mr. Barbary seized the scuttle 
 and bolted down to the cellar after the coal. The 
 occupation served, in a measure, to restore his 
 composure, and when he returned he was ready, 
 although in a modified spirit, to take up the topic. 
 
 "I was thinking, Matilda — " 
 
 "Well, get down to the table, and let's finish 
 dinner," unceremoniously broke in Mrs. Barbary. 
 " I 've got a pile of work to do this afternoon." 
 
 Mr. Barbary stumbled into his place in a sort of 
 maze, as if the East River Bridge had suddenly 
 risen and hit him on the back of the head. He 
 actually gasped as he dropped into the chair. But 
 Mrs. Barbary did not notice him. She poured the 
 coffee in a spiteful way, and when this was done, 
 she said, — 
 
 " Did you order the kindlings V 
 
 " I declare, I forgot all about it." 
 
 "Humph! you'd forget your head if it was n't 
 screwed on," commented Mrs. Barbary. 
 
 This stung Mr. Barbary. For a moment he laid 
 down the East River Bridge, and faced the emer- 
 gency. 
 
 " Don't you suppose I 've got something else to 
 think of besides kindlings.'" 
 
 "There, lose your temper, why don't you ! " re- 
 torted the injured companion of his joys and sor- 
 rows. 
 
 "Well, what 's the use of your throwing things 
 in my face.-*" Mr. Barbary was thinking of his 
 note, and he felt goaded unto desperation. " You 've
 
 AND OTHER ESSAYS. 293 
 
 always got something to jaw over. I never saw 
 such a spitfire as you are getting to be." This 
 was a grave reflection to cast, but Mr. Barbary 
 was getting frenzied. He cared no more for the 
 East River Bridge than he did for a one-eyed 
 Hottentot. 
 
 " Well, you 're polite, I must say," observed 
 Mrs. Barbary, with lofty sarcasm 
 
 Mr. Barbary started up from the table, exasper- 
 ated beyond the bounds of reason. 
 
 "A man might as well eat in Tophet, as to eat 
 here," he savagely asserted, as he got into his coat. 
 " I was going to tell you about something, but now 
 I '11 be hanged if I do, and the children may drift 
 into idiocy, for all I care ! " 
 
 And he rushed out of the house, slammmg the 
 door with such force as to make the dishes rattle, 
 and leaving Mrs. Barbary appalled by the dark 
 mystery of his closing words. 
 
 There is no doubt that Mr. Barbary meant well. 
 His mistake was, we think, in failing to secure in 
 advance the co-operation of his wife. 
 
 HOW MR. COVILLE TOOK IN THE PICNIC. 
 
 The Sunday school of the church which the 
 Covilles attend had its picnic Thursday. Mr. 
 Coville did not care to go, and would have refused
 
 294 THE MAN NEXT DOOR, 
 
 his presence on the occasion, had not Mrs. Coville 
 bitterly asserted that she never went anywhere, 
 but had always slaved her life out, and was always 
 opposed when she wanted to take the least enjoy- 
 ment, as if she was nothing but a common drudge, 
 as she had been all her days, and expected to be 
 as long as she lived, but thanked heaven there was 
 rest in the grave. Then Mr. Coville collapsed, and 
 said he would go. And all during the day before 
 the picnic Mrs. Coville baked and roasted, fumed 
 and perspired, and when night came she had 
 cake, pudding, pie, biscuit, and meats in tempt- 
 ing array for the excursion of the morrow. She 
 went to bed early that night, so as to get up early, 
 and at the first streak of daylight she bounced out 
 of bed, and notified her sleeping husband that it 
 was broad daylight, and if he did not turn out at 
 once they would miss the train. As it was then 
 not five o'clock, and the excursion did not start till 
 ten, the necessity for intemperate haste did not 
 become immediately clear to the half-awakened 
 man, and in a moment he was sound asleep. 
 There were four distinct awakenings before he 
 could be got out of bed, and by that time Mrs. 
 Coville was in a condition, using her own beauti- 
 ful figure of speech, "to flood the house with 
 lears." When Mr. Coville got dressed, he found 
 that he had just two and a half hours to eat his 
 breakfast, go down town to arrange business 
 for the day, and get several articles for the 
 picnic, which should have been procured the night
 
 AND OTHER ESSAYS. 295 
 
 before, but which had been pleasantly left to this 
 time. 
 
 After breakfast he went to the store. Mr. 
 Coville is so constructed physically, as to easily 
 perspire. This he wished to avoid on this day. 
 He knew by experience that sweaty underclothing 
 is a deplorable sensation, and that a starched shirt- 
 front wilted under the juices of the body is about 
 as desirable an object under one's coat as a fresh 
 eel would be. Calmness was to be his watchword 
 to-day. Danbury will never forget the sultriness 
 of that Thursday. The heat was oppressive. It 
 came down in layers, each succeeding layer being 
 thicker and heavier than its predecessor. Mr. 
 Coville hastened to his store, found more to do 
 than he anticipated (as invariably happens), and 
 by the time he was ready for the errands he was in 
 an advanced state of melting. He was surprised 
 at the number of things to get, and at the progress 
 of time, which always moves faster when one is not 
 looking at it. 
 
 By the time he got home he felt the starch in 
 his shirt begin to give, and this created a feeling 
 of uneasiness which was somewhat deepened by 
 the aspect of the two huge baskets which stood 
 in waiting for them. 
 
 There was no time for general remarks; so 
 merely observing, — 
 
 "Thunder and lightning, Hanner ! we a'n't going 
 to Nicsic!" he picked up the baskets and hastened 
 to the depot, reaching there just in time to get
 
 296 THE MAN NEXT DOOR, 
 
 aboard of the train. The cars were crowded. Mr. 
 Coville could get no seat, and in this particular he 
 had plenty of company. He put a basket under 
 each of two seats, and then taking a strong grip 
 on the ice-water tank (which, singularly enough, 
 contained water of no kind), braced himself for 
 the ride. In this position he was pinned in back 
 of the door by the voluminous skirts of a fleshy 
 lady, and every time the door was opened, which 
 was about twice a minute, he was jammed farther 
 into the corner. Mrs. Coville was, unfortunately, 
 located at the farther end of the car. We say 
 unfortunately, because having much to communi- 
 cate to Mr. Coville in regard to the location of 
 the baskets, the condition of his shirt, the loca- 
 tion of William, who had not been seen since the 
 start, the possibilities of ever getting to the 
 grounds without an accident, the dreadful heat in 
 the air, and much more of equal importance, it 
 necessitated considerable impotent pantomime and 
 extraordinary exertion on her part to convey it to 
 him over such distance. 
 
 And it may be doubted if Mr. Coville compre- 
 hended enough of this information to have paid 
 for its outlay. What with holding on to the ice- 
 water tank, and dodging the door, and restraining 
 himself' from tumbling flat upon the fleshy lady, 
 and staring vindictively at the back of the heads 
 of the openers of the door, Mr. Coville had his 
 mind and muscle fully occupied. To add to the 
 intense interest of the occasion, the perspiration
 
 AND OTHER ESSAYS. ^97 
 
 rolled in cantinuous drops from his face ana down 
 his neck, and he having no unemployed hand by 
 which with a handkerchief to stay the current, the 
 same slipped quietly inside his collar and went 
 crawling down the sensitive surface of his body. 
 
 In the mean time William, having provided him- 
 self with a bladder attached to a tube, which, when 
 blown up, collapsed with a most dismal sound, 
 was in the baggage-car with the peaches and an- 
 other boy, where the bladder and the inviting 
 openings to the crates made the hours golden with 
 sunshine to his appreciative soul. This was a 
 much different disposition of his person than his 
 mother imagined, who, having become confident 
 that he had got under the cars in the start, was 
 now firmly convinced that he had been run over 
 by the wheels, and that portions of his mangled 
 body might now be observed along the track by 
 any one taking the trouble to look for them. This 
 was a dreadful frame of mind to go to a picnic in, 
 yet, after all, it was much better than to have no 
 feeling at all, and so Mrs. Coville hugged the ap- 
 palling delusion with as much tenacity as if it had 
 been Mr. Colville himself, before marriage. 
 
 Arriving at the grounds, Mr. Coville found that 
 his anxiety to get there was replaced by a most 
 unaccountable regret that he had got there. The 
 movement of the passengers, to say nothing of 
 the movement of Mrs. Coville's sunshade, which 
 she was vigorously shaking at him over the heads 
 of the people, awakened him to the propriety of
 
 298 THE MAN NEXT DOOR, 
 
 immediatc-y securing his baskets. He made a 
 dive for the same, but owing to the rush, at the 
 same time, of the passengers, he was considerably 
 retarded, and it was with the greatest difficulty 
 that he succeeded in getting hold of his charge. 
 With a basket in each hand, he found himself 
 hemmed in by the masses, who pressed his refresh- 
 ments against his legs, and came very near to up- 
 setting him entirely several times. Panting, but- 
 ting, struggling, and squeezing, he finally found 
 himself on the platform outside, but so bruised 
 and wet, and heated and exasperated, that he 
 hardly knew whether he was escorting two baskets 
 or two buzz-saws. Under the guidance of Mrs. 
 Coville, who had been greatly relieved, although 
 very much astonished, by a view of William in a 
 single unbroken piece, Mr. Coville pierced the 
 grounds, and got to a table, where he was per- 
 mitted to deposit his load. 
 
 The worry, bother, and annoyance being over, 
 the full enjoyment of the day began. It was a 
 happy sight. The children romped and laughed 
 and holloed ; the older people moved quickly here 
 and there, distributing the food upon the tables, 
 and making arrangements for cooking tea and 
 coffee ; lovers paired off, and strolled away in 
 happy oblivion. It was a scene of unalloyed 
 enjoyment ; and as Mr. Coville looked about him 
 and sighed for a dry shirt, he thought of his child- 
 hood. 
 
 Presently he was sent after a pail of water.
 
 AND OTHEB ESSAYS. 299 
 
 Even he admitted that water was a prime neces- 
 sity in the performance, but was not as clear in 
 regard to where it was to come from, being an en- 
 tire stranger to the place. But after a long search, 
 complicated by the advice of parties equally ig- 
 norant with himself, he hit upon the happy idea 
 of secluding himself for a suitable length of time, 
 and then returning after some one else had done 
 the errand. With this view Mr. Coville looked 
 about, and soon found a little dell in a clump of 
 evergreens, where he was pretty sure to be free 
 from observation. Here he secluded himself and 
 the pail, and removing his hat, coat, and vest, 
 calmly and peacefully waited for the necessary 
 time to elapse. 
 
 In the general excitement his absence was not 
 noted, and his plan worked admirably. Other 
 parties, sent out on a similar errand, returned 
 with a supply, and this tended to obliterate from 
 even Mrs. Coville's mind the cause of her hus- 
 band's absence. Otherwise she might have come 
 to suspect that he had found a well, and was sit- 
 ting on its bottom with a view to holding it for 
 the exclusive use of his church. 
 
 So while the preparations were going actively 
 forward for dinner, he was lying on his back, 
 looking up into the dense mass of green, listening 
 to the soft sound of the swaying branches, and 
 smiling kindly but firmly to himself. 
 
 Mrs. Coville was very busy in setting the tables. 
 Occasionally she caught a glimpse of her hopeful
 
 300 THE MAN NEXT DOOR, 
 
 son, who swooped down upon her so frequently 
 with either some new kind of eatable in his fist, or 
 in quest of something of the kind, that his mother 
 began to apprehend that he not only had a tape- 
 worm of his own, but had borrowed a much larger 
 and more active one of some other boy for the 
 occasion. 
 
 Mr. Coville was looking up to the overhanging 
 branches of his retreat. There was no smile on 
 his face. The eyes, directed upward, had a 
 strange, startled appearance. He jumped to his 
 feet, rubbed his eyes, then his head, and stared 
 about him in a very hard manner. He snatched 
 up his hat, coat, and vest, and the pail, and started 
 out into the open air. Here he paused a moment, 
 to look around, as if to get the bearings of the 
 place. In reaching the dell he had gone in nu- 
 merous directions, and was now at a loss to deter- 
 mine the right way back. There was a feeling in 
 the atmosphere as if something of morhent had 
 taken place, or was about to be precipitated. 
 Oppressed by a fear that he could scarcely define, 
 he hurried forward. Despite this nameless dread 
 in his heart, he was aware that the cravings of 
 unappeased hunger were strong upon him, and he 
 felt a tinge of reproach for having murmured at 
 the supply of food his faithful wife had prepared. 
 As fast as his size would permit he hurried for- 
 ward, without thinking to put on the coat and vest. 
 Suddenly he came upon the tables, but they were 
 bare. A shooting sensation of pain passed through
 
 AND OTHER ESSAYS. 30 1 
 
 his soul, while the pit of his stomach experienced 
 a shock which nearly deprived him of all power of 
 motion. Rallying in a moment, he dashed madly 
 to the front, dropping the pail in his fright, and 
 came out of the grove in sight of the railroad, and 
 at the same time in sight of the loaded train mov- 
 ing slowly away. 
 
 Then the dreadful truth flashed upon him with 
 sickening force. The change in the atmosphere, 
 which he had experienced on coming out of the 
 dell, was due to the advance of the day. It was 
 now six o'clock, and he had been asleep all the 
 afternoon. 
 
 Yelling with all the strength his breath would 
 permit, he tore down the path. No one heard him. 
 The momentum of the train was increasing. His 
 agony was dreadful. The atmosphere threatened 
 to suffocate him. The perspiration nearly blinded 
 him. Yell after yell he emitted, as he plunged 
 after the excursion. When about to give up in 
 despair, his cry was heard. The train was stopped, 
 and the unhappy man, more than two thirds ex- 
 pired, reached the hind car, and was dragged up 
 into it a pulpy, gasping, shrinking mass of flesh. 
 
 What Mrs. Coviile thought, and what the pas- 
 sengers thought as they stared at him, was evi- 
 dent enough from the expressions of their faces 
 and their speech ; but what Mr. Coviile himself 
 thought, as he shrank into a corner of the car, was 
 difficult to determine, although there must have 
 been a great deal of it. He said nothing, but
 
 302 THE MAN NEXT BOOK, 
 
 there was a look of sickening apprehension to his 
 face, giving it a greenish hue, which color remained 
 unchanged during the journey, except when Wil- 
 liam unexpectedly observed to his mother, in that 
 penetrating whisper adopted by a boy who has 
 something of a confidential and highly disagree- 
 able nature to impart, "■ Dont pa look hungry?" 
 Then the tint visibly deepened. 
 
 With a discretion that did her infinite credit, 
 Mrs, Coville made no response. 
 
 RAILWAY FEATURES IN THE WEST. 
 
 Did you ever notice how rarely it is that a rail- 
 way employe, always excepting the brakeman, 
 loses his life in an accident ? I believe it is not on 
 record that a train-boy was ever injured. When, 
 at the station at Buffalo, a gentleman pointed out 
 a boy with an assuring face as the train-boy on the 
 fatal Ashtabula train, I was not surprised that 
 he showed no evidence of the accident, although 
 he went down in the smoking-car, and was sitting 
 by the stove at the time. When the debris struck 
 the ice he smashed out a light of glass, and spirit- 
 edly ejected himself from the burning car. And 
 here he was now, taking offensive liberties with the 
 passengers. 
 
 A train-boy on an Illinois road found a rather
 
 AND OTHER ESSAYS. 303 
 
 tough customer in an old gentleman of composed 
 mien, who received all shots as if he was bullet- 
 proof. The boy bombarded him with papers, and 
 pamphlets, and candies, and bound books, and 
 nuts, and fruits of one kind and another. But it 
 was no good. Had the elderly party been lined 
 inside with brass he could not have shown greater 
 indifference. The boy fretted under this treat- 
 ment, as was plain to be seen. He had passed 
 the cigars some thirty times, and without success, 
 when he said, in a tone of desperation, — 
 
 "Try some of these cigars, and if they don't 
 kill you within a month I '11 give you the money 
 back." 
 
 The man was somewhat amused by that, but he 
 had the boy. He said, — 
 
 " If I 'm dead how can you give me the 
 money .'* " 
 
 "I'll give it to your family, then." 
 
 " But I ain't got no family." 
 
 "Well, I '11 give it to the family next door," per- 
 sisted the boy. 
 
 "But there ain't no family living next door," 
 said the man, with the smile lengthening on his 
 face. 
 
 " Oh, there '11 be one move in when they hear 
 you are dead," was the quick reply. 
 
 The elderly passenger shut up like a borrowed 
 knife. 
 
 I think a train-boy on a Minnesota road, in 
 whose company I recently whiled away seven
 
 304 THE MAN NEXT DOOR, 
 
 hours, is the most enterprising boy I have yet met 
 in this country. He had a wonderful variety of 
 things to sell, and, being active on his legs, and 
 there being but two cars to the train, he got 
 around with startling frequency. He had an in- 
 sinuating way, and a somewhat impaired breath, 
 to say nothing of several front teeth which had 
 evidently gone out of business years ago, and 
 were now enriching the soil for another growth. 
 
 At one of the Mississippi towns there got in a 
 passenger who appeared to be disposed to mind 
 his own business, and had that in his presence 
 which might induce thoughtful companions to at- 
 tend to theirs. He took a seat opposite mine, and 
 cast his eyes down upon his knees. We were in 
 the smoking-car. The train-boy was at his box at 
 the end of the car. The lid to the box was up, 
 and he was head-first in the box, the two back but- 
 tons to his coat, the cloth being worn from the 
 metallic bases, looming up above the lid like a pair 
 of all-devouring eyes. He saw the stranger, of 
 course, when he came in and took his seat, and 
 every two or three seconds he would lift his head 
 from the box, peer over the lid at him with a hun- 
 gering glance, and, smacking his lips anticipatively, 
 would dip down again to arrange his ammunition. 
 I watched the preparation with lively interest, not 
 unmingled with sympathy for the stranger, who 
 was sitting as when he took the seat. The train- 
 boy got his artillery arranged, and deployed off with 
 the light guns. These consisted of a basket of
 
 AND OTHER ESSAYS. 305 
 
 figs. He approached, confident of his prey. Just 
 then the stranger looked up and saw him coming. 
 Opening his coat, he reached under its folds and 
 drew forth a rather heavy revolver. Laying it on 
 the seat beside him in full view of the enemy, he 
 looked him steadily in the face and said, — 
 
 "I don't want to buy a thing, not a single arti- 
 cle, my friend." 
 
 His "friend" gave a quick, sudden gulp, as if 
 swallowing something particularly difficult, and 
 slid by. 
 
 The stranger dropped his eyes again upon his 
 knees, and had no occasion to raise them until 
 leaving the train. 
 
 The travelling lunk-head in the East has an 
 older and much more fully developed brother in 
 the West. He is generally to be found on slow 
 trains ; such, for instance, as consist of freight 
 with a passenger-car attached. You would think 
 he had travelled for the greater part of his life, to 
 hear him talk. He is full of facetious observa- 
 tions on the speed, which he discharges in the 
 presence of the conductor, and which are heartily 
 laughed at by the lunk-head family. He should 
 be taken by the heels and used to drive piles in a 
 quagmire, and would be, had he anything of a 
 head. 
 
 You can pretty generally tell when you have 
 skipped outside the conventionalities of life, by 
 the appearance of the railway officials. The uni- 
 form is dropped, and the conductor appears like an
 
 306 THE MAN NEXT DOOR, 
 
 angel divested of wings. Yesterday I had for a 
 conductor a man whose dress would, under other 
 circumstances, indicate that he was a well-to-do 
 drinker and a grocery politician. 
 
 To-day I have been under the charge of a fine- 
 looking man in a business suit, blue shirt, loose 
 black neckerchief, and a slouch hat. He was a 
 sociable man with the brakemen, and when not 
 going through the car was in animated conversa- 
 tion with them upon the merits of a fighting dog 
 which he was going to purchase, if it took every 
 cent he could rake up. When we went in to 
 dinner at a way station, he preceded us, and sat 
 down to the table without removing his hat, which 
 informality tended to place everybody on easy 
 terms. 
 
 Oh, by the way, did you ever have a man come 
 around to your room in the night to borrow a 
 couple of pills .-• One such man came on that 
 errand last night, and took occasion to mention 
 an incident which occurred in his boyhood. His 
 mother gave him four pills to take, which he did n't 
 want to take, of course, and left him a small plate 
 of plum jam to escort the pills. He got one down 
 after considerable hard work, and the balance he 
 put in the jam to await a more convenient season. 
 Shortly after his father came in, and noticing the 
 preserve, calmly disposed of it. He chewed it 
 some, and after a while swallowed it, but it was 
 supposed that the flavor was not exactly pleasing 
 to him, for he was heard to hollo up the stairs 
 to his wife, —
 
 AND OTHER ESSAYS. 307 
 
 "Mary Jane, you '11 have to bile that plum sass 
 over again. It 's beginning to work, I think." 
 An hour or so later he could have sworn to it. 
 
 TRUE NOBILITY. 
 
 It was conceded by all who heard it, that Miss 
 Woodby's essay was an excellent production, and 
 at the graduation exercises there were a great 
 many listeners, — attentive listeners, too, with the 
 power of discrimination in such matters. Miss 
 Woodby honestly earned the credit. In preparing 
 the essay she had worked conscientiously and 
 hard, and under difficulties that the public could 
 not have appreciated. 
 
 Fortunately we are in possession of the facts 
 in this connection, that we now propose to lay 
 before our readers, that they may judge for them- 
 selves of the number of thorns which not only 
 lay in Miss Woodby's road, but which beset every 
 path to true excellence. 
 
 Miss Woodby having devoted a week to revolv- 
 ing over in her mind the variety of subjects pre- 
 senting themselves, with a view to the selection 
 of a suitable topic, chose under the head of moral 
 improvement. On a Monday morning she re- 
 solved to begin the work that day as soon as she 
 reached home from school. The title selected
 
 308 THE MAN NEXT BOOK, 
 
 was "True Nobility." Having a few minutes to 
 spare at noon, she got out the paper and wrote 
 down the head, with some pretty flourishes be- 
 neath it. It was an unpropitious day for the 
 beginning, being washing-day, and the house in 
 the consequent disorder attendant thereon. The 
 washerwoman's child, never at the best a rugged 
 child, was to-day suffering from the excessive heat, 
 and its little body was broken out with blotches, 
 and its little voice piped forth in pitiful protest. 
 The washerwoman herself was more or less 
 influenced by the suffering of her child, and the 
 effect of the heat upon her own body. She was 
 a little woman with a thin face, from which had 
 apparently been wrung every hopeful expectation, 
 as though it had passed through a great moral 
 wringer, and had come out in a condition most 
 complimentary to the thoroughness of the process. 
 It was a waiting face, with the shadow of a cross 
 resting constantly upon it. 
 
 The crying of the child was a decided annoyance, 
 especially to one striving to get her mind into an 
 even frame for thought. To Miss Woodby the 
 sounds were most irritating. She said to her 
 mother, — 
 
 "What on earth is the matter with that imp 
 to-day .'' " 
 
 Her mother, having her own hands full, vouch- 
 safed no explanation. 
 
 "I declare," she ejaculated a moment later, "if 
 I had a brat like that i would choke it."
 
 AND OTHER ESSAYS. 3^9 
 
 And she hurried away to school to get out of 
 the sound of the noise, leaving her mother to 
 attend to the dinner dishes. 
 
 In the afternoon she brought out her paper, 
 founli a cool place at the window for her desk, 
 and began : — 
 
 "true nobility. 
 
 "There is the nobility of blood and the nobility 
 of life. The former is but an accident of birth ; 
 the latter is the result of development. The 
 former is but for the few ; the latter is for the 
 many. True nobility is a life nobly lived. It 
 comes neither from birth nor from circumstances. 
 It springs alone from the heart. Money cannot 
 purchase it ; education cannot bring it ; talent will 
 not produce it. It is a treasure which every man 
 may possess, and yet its price is above rubies." 
 
 At this juncture Miss Woodby was obliged to 
 take a long pause to rearrange her thoughts, and 
 while thus engaged her little brother appeared at 
 the door. Miss Woodby looked up impatiently. 
 
 "Don't come in here," she commanded. 
 
 "But I want my hat." 
 
 " Well, get it and leave at once ! " 
 
 " You need n't be so cross," he said. 
 
 " If you don't leave at once 1 '11 make you," 
 she declared. 
 
 He got his hat with all the speed possible, but 
 on leaving had the satisfaction of screaming out, 
 "Mean thing!" and slamming the door with all 
 his might. It was fully fifteen minutes before Miss
 
 3IO THE MAN NEXT DOOR, 
 
 Woodby was sufficiently composed to renew her 
 work. Then she wrote : — 
 
 " It is a jewel, whose lustre grows brighter with 
 every day of its use. It is a possession that time 
 cannot wear ; that misfortune cannot diminish ;" that 
 no combination of circumstances can rob us of. 
 The hardest battle is the fight against self. The 
 grandest victory is the triumph over self. There 
 can be no true education where self-denial is not 
 accomplished. Self deadens — " 
 
 Just here Miss Woodby's mother came to the 
 room, to tell her to put away her clothes that had 
 just been ironed. 
 
 " I can't bother about that now," said Miss 
 Woodby. 
 
 "But they are in my way." 
 
 "Gracious! how can I write or do anything if 
 I've got to be jumping up every minute.''" de- 
 manded the young authoress, in a tone of very 
 proper resentment. 
 
 Mrs. Woodby withdrew her tired body, and went 
 back to her work with a sigh. 
 
 " I don't see what makes ma act so contrary," 
 murmured Miss Woodby to herself. " She could 
 have put away those things herself, if she cared to 
 be any way accommodating." Then she bent her 
 mind again to the task of composition. Before 
 she could get in order to commit matter to the 
 page, tea was announced. After tea her mother 
 asked her to clear the table and wash the dishes, 
 but she had to think, and could not do this. She
 
 AND OTHER ESSAYS. SH 
 
 inquired, with considerable reason, if she was 
 expected to do everything on earth, and get an 
 essay ready too ? She went out and sat under a 
 tree until the table was cleared, and then she 
 brought out her manuscript, and continued: — 
 
 " Self deadens the better instincts, and makes 
 him who yields thereto a torture to himself and a 
 burden to those about him. True nobility is to 
 care for others, to give up self, to lose your own 
 will in the will of those depending upon you. He 
 who is without self will be patient in trouble, calm 
 in trial, trusting in adversity, temperate in pros- 
 perity. His heart is ever open to the cry of the 
 burdened, his hand ever ready to minister to the 
 afflicted. No thought of himself, no care for his 
 own advancement, is ever allowed to stand in the 
 way of others. ' In honor preferring one another,' 
 is the motto of his life, the guide to every act." 
 
 At this juncture the baby sister of Miss Wood- 
 by climbed upon a chair at the table to see what 
 she was doing. The child was afflicted by the 
 heat ; she had no amusement, no company, and 
 she climbed up to see what was going on. The 
 white paper and moving pen interested her; more 
 than that, they absorbed her very soul. 
 
 "Oh!" she exclaimed in a paroxysm of excite- 
 ment. 
 
 "What are you doing up here.-'" explosively 
 cried Miss Woodby. " Get down from that table 
 this instant, and take yourself out of sight." 
 
 The great round eyes filled with tears, and the 
 Up of the girl baby trembled.
 
 3 1 2 THE MAN NEXT DOOR, 
 
 Miss Woodby could have cried with vexation. 
 
 "What, for pity's sake, can ma be thinking of to 
 let you come here to bother the life out of me ? 
 Go away this minute, or I '11 slap you." 
 
 The child scrambled down and toddled away to 
 find her mother, crying aloud with the pain of dis- 
 appointment. The mother, being out on the front 
 stoop to catch a breath of fresh air, heard the cry, 
 and hurried to meet and comfort the child. In 
 her wearied lap she took the baby, and listened to 
 its story, and kissed it back to a quiet broken 
 only by occasional half-suppressed sobs from its 
 quivering lips. 
 
 Miss Woodby, being left undisturbed, started 
 her pen. 
 
 " No storm can reach him. He stands immov- 
 able before every onslaught from the world. True 
 to himself, true to his God, true to every prompt- 
 ing of duty, his inner life is like the mountain 
 lake in the sunshine of a midsummer day ; reflect- 
 ing within its pure, unruffled bosom, the bright 
 heaven above." 
 
 This was a very fine passage, and Miss Woodby 
 was nearly an hour perfecting it, including the op- 
 eration of getting a light, as her mother was not 
 present to do it for her. She was reading this 
 paragraph over foi the fourth time, with abound- 
 ing satisfaction, when her brother, with a neigh- 
 boring boy, came "trooping" in. He brought in 
 the other boy to show him a book that had been 
 given him. He approached the table with the
 
 AND OTHER ESSAYS. 313 
 
 enthusiasm peculiar to youth, and with noisy hos- 
 pitaHty observed, — 
 
 "Bring up a chair, Bill, and look at the pic- 
 tures." 
 
 "Charles!" exclaimed his sister, almost par- 
 alyzed by the audacity of this movement, "don't 
 you see I 'm writing ? " 
 
 "What of that?" he surlily demanded. "I 
 a'n't touching you, am I } " 
 
 "But you bother me, and I won't stand it. 
 Now you just take your book away." 
 
 This was very pleasant for " Bill," who had come 
 in to spend the evening and improve his mind. 
 
 " I guess I '11 show Bill this book if I want to," 
 sputtered Charles. 
 
 "You won't show it here, I can tell you." 
 
 " But we won't make a bit of noise, will we, 
 Bill .'' " cried Charles, to the great distress of Bill, 
 who was quite overwhelmed by the reference to 
 himself. 
 
 "I tell you I won't have you here, anyway," 
 retorted his sister, growing white with passion. 
 "Are you going to leave, or shall I help you .-' " 
 
 There was such an ominous expression to both 
 voice and face, that " Bill " involuntarily shrank to 
 the door, while the angered Charles, none the less 
 impressed with the advisability of departing, threw 
 the book with a slam on the table, requested his 
 sister, with great feeling, to go to blazes, and es- 
 caped with his companion. A moment later she 
 was restored to composure by the sublimity of 
 her theme. She wrote: —
 
 314 THE MAN NEXT DOOR, 
 
 " True nobility is a life consecrated to the weal 
 of others. There can come no true nobility with- 
 out this consecration. And that, to be effective, 
 must lean upon a higher power than aught of this 
 earth. God must be in it to make it a power. 
 Without His help it is impossible to overcome self. 
 Set the mark as high as we may, human weak- 
 ness will prevent its attainment. Only in Him and 
 through Him can we rise to this nobility." 
 
 Hereupon, finding that it was getting late, Miss 
 Woodby put up her writing, and retired to bed. 
 
 Immediately after eating her breakfast the next 
 morning she hurried to her room and began again. 
 Her mother told her she would want her help in 
 clearing off the breakfast-table, but she felt she 
 could not spare the time, and took advantage of 
 her parent's absence from the table to get away. 
 She wrote : — 
 
 " But we ourselves must strive. He will not 
 make this better life for us, but if we are deter- 
 mined to reach it, He will help us. The secret of 
 success is care for little things, the attending con- 
 scientiously to the performance of the smallest 
 duties. That duty which comes first, whatever it 
 may be, is the one to be performed. That claim 
 which is first presented upon us is the one to 
 honor." 
 
 At this point in the essay the door opened and 
 her brother presented himself. He had not for- 
 gotten the episode of the night before. He surlil)' 
 observed : —
 
 AND OTHER ESSAYS. 3^5 
 
 " Ma wants you to comb my hair and tie my 
 bow, so I can get ready for school." 
 
 " It ain't time for you to go to school yet, in an 
 hour, and you know it," she impatiently replied. 
 
 "Well, don't I want to go out in the street.^" 
 he demanded. "You don't s'pose I am going to 
 stay in the house all the time .'*" 
 
 " I don't care where you stay, or what you do. 
 I am not going to leave my work to bother with 
 you, and if you want to go away to play, you can 
 go as you are, or stay indoors till I get ready to 
 attend to you." 
 
 "I won't stay in." 
 
 "Then let ma comb your hair. I'll como it 
 with a chair if you don't get out of my sight. 
 You are enough to drive a saint mad." 
 
 Whether this encomium to his qualities was all 
 he desired is not known, but he left, and reported 
 to his mother the result of the errand, and pes- 
 tered her until she dropped her work and made 
 him ready for the street. 
 
 "I wish your sister's essay was in the fire," she 
 was driven to say. 
 
 Before Miss Woodby could commence again a 
 fellow-pupil called, and the time till school was 
 taken up in conversation upon the graduation 
 toilets. 
 
 In the afternoon she got down to work at the 
 sitting-room window. 
 
 "Looking afar off to the accomplishment of
 
 3l6 THE MAN NEXT DOOR, 
 
 some great service, while little helpful things at 
 our hand are left undone, is not the way to seek 
 a true nobility. Every day should be set apart 
 to duty. It should be entered upon with a firm 
 determination to slight nothing, to avail ourselves 
 of everything that will tend to make those about 
 us happier and better. Thus determined, and 
 with an unbroken reliance on Providence, success 
 must come." 
 
 A sudden movement in the yard beneath the 
 window attracted her attention. She looked out 
 and beheld her brother and two other boys play- 
 ing on the grass. A dark frown settled on her 
 face. 
 
 " Charles ! " she cried, " go away from there with 
 your noise." 
 
 " Go away ! " he repeated. " What are we doing 
 to you .''" 
 
 " You disturb me in my writing. Go on the 
 other side of the house." 
 
 "But the sun is there." 
 
 "I don't care if it is; it won't hurt you." 
 
 " Why don't you go somewhere else to write ? " 
 he saucily inquired, 
 
 "Don't you be impudent to me, young man, or 
 I '11 come out there and pull your ears for you. 
 Go away at once, I tell you." 
 
 "Come on, boys," he suddenly cried, jumping 
 up, "let 's go away from the cross old stick. We 
 don't ask any odds of her." 
 
 And they trooped off. 
 
 Miss Woodby could have almost cried at the 
 ungenerous speech, she was so vexed
 
 AND OTHER ESSAYS. 317 
 
 "The selfish imp," she whispered to her wound- 
 ed heart, referring to her rude brother. 
 
 Then she resumed her place at the writing, and 
 continued: — 
 
 "Is it not worth the battle? Is not a triumph 
 which shall bring ourselves into subjection to the 
 better impulses of our nature, and bring sunshine 
 into the lives of those with whom we come in con- 
 tact, something to be proud of and rejoice over ? 
 How debasing is the selfish life in comparison to 
 this! How insignificant and unworthy appear the 
 things of the world in contrast to the glory of a 
 pure, unselfish, generous life! How can one con- 
 tent h imself to live only for the advancement of 
 self, to grovel in the dust rather than to mount 
 to the clouds? Dear friend, would you be at 
 peace, would you be happy, would you be hon- 
 ored by others, would you be lifted Godward ? 
 Then commence to-night seeking the welfare of 
 others rather than yourself, and thus reach True 
 Nobility." 
 
 Everybody at the exercises was pleased with this 
 essay, and many a young man of noble impulses 
 looked upon the fair authoress, and wished, in the 
 very depths of his heart, that he might have such a 
 one for a life companion. 
 
 Miss Woodby is going into the country with 
 a fellow-pupil next week, to spend the heated 
 term beneath the cool trees and by the side of 
 the running brooks. Her mother will often be 
 theered amid her family cares by breezy letters, 
 without doubt.
 
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 It sparkles with wit, it is liquid with humor, it has the unmistakable touch 
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 unworthy of him. 
 
 Neighbors' Wives. By J. T. Trowbridge. Price $1.50. 
 
 An ingenious and well-told story. Two neighbors' wives are tempted beyond 
 their strength to resist, and steal each from the other. One is discovered in 
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 perplexities come. 
 
 Coupon Bonds. By J. T. Trowbridge. Price, cloth, $1.50; 
 paper, 50 cents. 
 
 " ' Coupon Bonds ' is undoubtedly one of the best short stories ever published 
 in this country. It is a most happy and felicitous stroke. It is brimful of the 
 very best quality of humor, — the humor that grows naturally out of the char- 
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 and ludicrous surprises and situations; and, if it could be composed into a 
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 Scandal.' " — Scribner's Monthly. 
 
 Cudjo's Cave. By J. T. Trowbridge. Price, cloth, $1.50; 
 paper, 50 cents. 
 
 Mr. Trowbridge's readers are accustomed to plenty of lively incidents and 
 exciting adventures, and in this volume the supply is surely abundant. The 
 story opens with the adventures of a Quaker schoolmaster in Tennessee pre- 
 vious to the opening of the late war, and the exciting scenes attendant upon 
 the opening of the greyt struggle between North and South are portrayed in a 
 graphic manner. Many of the chapters recall the stories of thrilling adven- 
 ture that were current in war times. 
 
 Three Scouts. By J. T. Trowbridge. Price, cloth, $1.50; 
 paper, 50 cents. 
 
 'i his story is a companion to " Cudjo's Cave " and " The Drummer Boy," in 
 being a narrative of stormy events in the Civil War, when the army of the 
 Cumberland, under Rosecrans, and the Confederate forces, under Bragg, were 
 battling with each other in 1S62. Yet it is complete in itself as a story. 
 
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 The Drummer Boy. By J. T. Trowbridge. Illustrated. 
 Price $1.50. 
 The author of this book is so famous as a story-writer, that another excellent 
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 who went into the army as a drummer, and who, from the good instructions of 
 a fond and noble mother, sought to impart to his rude and reckless companions 
 some of the good of his own character. 
 
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 and overflowing with interest. 
 
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 This story of New England life abounds in passages of rare humor and 
 pathos. Not even in "Coupon Bonds" nor in "Neighbor Jackwood " has 
 Trowbridge created characters better fitted to give him enduring fame. No 
 one can read the story without seeing that the author has put his whole soul in 
 it. On his last page, he says, and evidently in all sincerity, that he has 
 written it, " not for fame, still less for fortune, but all for love," 
 
 OLIVER OPTIC'S NOVELS 
 
 Three Millions ; or, The Way of the World. By William 
 T.Adams (Oliver Optic). Price, cloth, $1.50; paper, 50 
 cents. 
 The book furnishes a most romantic, and, withal, a most instructive illustra- 
 tion of the wav of the world in its false estimate of money. All who read the 
 first chapter, entitled " Three Millions," will not be satisfied until they have 
 read the thirty-five chapters, terminating with "The Last of the Three 
 Millions." 
 
 Living" too Fast. By William T. Adams (Oliver Optic). 
 
 Price $1.50. 
 
 This is the best novel of a fascinating writer. It is full of incidents of a 
 
 fast life, and of the expedients to keep up appearances, resulting in crime, 
 
 remorse, and the evil opinion of all good men. The narrative is replete with 
 
 startling situations, temptations, ana all the elements of a thrilling story. 
 
 In Doors and Out. By William T. Adams (Oliver Optic). 
 
 Price $1.50. 
 
 This volume contains about thirty bright and interesting stories of domestic 
 
 life, directed against the follies and foibles of the age. They are written in a 
 
 kindly, genial style, and with a sincere purpose to promote happiness, good 
 
 feeling, and right dealing in domestic, business, and social relations. 
 
 LEE AND SHEPARD, BOSTON, SEND THEIR COMPLETE CATALOGUE FREE.
 
 V 
 
 THE LIBRARY 
 UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 Santa Barbara 
 
 THIS BOOK IS DUE ON THE LAST DATE 
 STAMPED BELOW. 
 
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 UC SOUTHERN REGIONAL LIBRARY FACILITY 
 
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