---

SKETCHES NEW AND OLD

---

---

MY WATCH*

Written about 1870.

an instructive little tale

My beautiful new watch had run eighteen months
without losing or gaining, and without break-
ing any part of its machinery or stopping. I had
come to believe it infallible in its judgments about
the time of day, and to consider its constitution and
its anatomy imperishable. But at last, one night, I
let it run down. I grieved about it as if it were a
recognized messenger and forerunner of calamity.
But by and by I cheered up, set the watch by guess,
and commanded my bodings and superstitions to
depart. Next day I stepped into the chief jeweler's
to set it by the exact time, and the head of the
establishment took it out of my hand and proceeded
to set it for me. Then he said, "She is four min-
utes slow—regulator wants pushing up." I tried
to stop him—tried to make him understand that
the watch kept perfect time. But no; all this
human cabbage could see was that the watch was
four minutes slow, and the regulator must be pushed
up a little; and so, while I danced around him in

---

anguish, and implored him to let the watch alone,
he calmly and cruelly did the shameful deed. My
watch began to gain. It gained faster and faster
day by day. Within the week it sickened to a
raging fever, and its pulse went up to a hundred
and fifty in the shade. At the end of two months
it had left all the timepieces of the town far in the
rear, and was a fraction over thirteen days ahead of
the almanac. It was away into November enjoying
the snow, while the October leaves were still turn-
ing. It hurried up house rent, bills payable, and such
things, in such a ruinous way that I could not abide
it. I took it to the watchmaker to be regulated.
He asked me if I had ever had it repaired. I said
no, it had never needed any repairing. He looked
a look of vicious happiness and eagerly pried the
watch open, and then put a small dice box into his
eye and peered into its machinery. He said it
wanted cleaning and oiling, besides regulating—
come in a week. After being cleaned and oiled,
and regulated, my watch slowed down to that degree
that it ticked like a tolling bell. I began to be left
by trains, I failed all appointments, I got to missing
my dinner; my watch strung out three days' grace
to four and let me go to protest; I gradually drifted
back into yesterday, then day before, then into last
week, and by and by the comprehension came upon
me that all solitary and alone I was lingering along
in week before last, and the world was out of sight.
I seemed to detect in myself a sort of sneaking

---

fellow-feeling for the mummy in the museum, and a
desire to swap news with him. I went to a watch-
maker again. He took the watch all to pieces while
I waited, and then said the barrel was "swelled."
He said he could reduce it in three days. After this
the watch averaged well, but nothing more. For
half a day it would go like the very mischief, and
keep up such a barking and wheezing and whooping
and sneezing and snorting, that I could not hear
myself think for the disturbance; and as long as it
held out there was not a watch in the land that stood
any chance against it. But the rest of the day it
would keep on slowing down and fooling along until
all the clocks it had left behind caught up again.
So at last, at the end of twenty-four hours, it would
trot up to the judges' stand all right and just in
time. It would show a fair and square average, and
no man could say it had done more or less than its
duty. But a correct average is only a mild virtue in
a watch, and I took this instrument to another
watchmaker. He said the kingbolt was broken. I
said I was glad it was nothing more serious. To
tell the plain truth, I had no idea what the kingboit
was, but I did not choose to appear ignorant to a
stranger. He repaired the kingbolt, but what the
watch gained in one way it lost in another. It would
run awhile and then stop awhile, and then run awhile
again, and so on, using its own discretion about the
intervals. And every time it went off it kicked back
like a musket. I padded my breast for a few days,

---

but finally took the watch to another watchmaker.
He picked it all to pieces, and turned the ruin over
and over under his glass; and then he said there
appeared to be something the matter with the hair-
trigger. He fixed it, and gave it a fresh start. It
did well now, except that always at ten minutes to
ten the hands would shut together like a pair of
scissors, and from that time forth they would travel
together. The oldest man in the world could not
make head or tail of the time of day by such a
watch, and so I went again to have the thing re-
paired. This person said that the crystal had got
bent, and that the mainspring was not straight. He
also remarked that part of the works needed half-
soling. He made these things all right, and then
my timepiece performed unexceptionably, save that
now and then, after working along quietly for nearly
eight hours, everything inside would let go all of a
sudden and begin to buzz like a bee, and the hands
would straightway begin to spin round and round so
fast that their individuality was lost completely, and
they simply seemed a delicate spider's web over the
face of the watch. She would reel off the next
twenty-four hours in six or seven minutes, and then
stop with a bang. I went with a heavy heart to one
more watchmaker, and looked on while he took her
to pieces. Then I prepared to cross-question him
rigidly, for this thing was getting serious. The watch
had cost two hundred dollars originally, and I
seemed to have paid out two or three thousand for

---

repairs. While I waited and looked on I presently
recognized in this watchmaker an old acquaintance
—a steamboat engineer of other days, and not a
good engineer, either. He examined all the parts
carefully, just as the other watchmakers had done,
and then delivered his verdict with the same con-
fidence of manner.

He said:

"She makes too much steam—you want to hang
the monkey-wrench on the safety-valve!"

I brained him on the spot, and had him buried at
my own expense.

My uncle William (now deceased, alas!) used to
say that a good horse was a good horse until it had
run away once, and that a good watch was a good
watch until the repairers got a chance at it. And he
used to wonder what became of all the unsuccessful
tinkers, and gunsmiths, and shoemakers, and engin-
eers, and blacksmiths; but nobody could ever tell
him.

---

POLITICAL ECONOMY*

Written about 1870.

Political Economy is the basis of all good government. The
wisest men of all ages have brought to bear upon this subject
the

[Here I was interrupted and informed that a
stranger wished to see me down at the door. I
went and confronted him, and asked to know his
business, struggling all the time to keep a tight rein
on my seething political economy ideas, and not let
them break away from me or get tangled in their
harness. And privately I wished the stranger was
in the bottom of the canal with a cargo of wheat on
top of him. I was all in a fever, but he was cool.
He said he was sorry to disturb me, but as he was
passing he noticed that I needed some lightning-
rods. I said, "Yes, yes—go on—what about
it?" He said there was nothing about it, in par-
ticular—nothing except that he would like to put
them up for me. I am new to housekeeping; have
been used to hotels and boarding-houses all my life.
Like anybody else of similar experience, I try to ap-
pear (to strangers) to be an old housekeeper; con-

---

sequently I said in an off-hand way that I had been
intending for some time to have six or eight light-
ning-rods put up, but— The stranger started, and
looked inquiringly at me, but I was serene. I thought
that if I chanced to make any mistakes, he would not
catch me by my countenance. He said he would
rather have my custom than any man's in town. I
said, "All right," and started off to wrestle with
my great subject again, when he called me back and
said it would be necessary to know exactly how
many "points" I wanted put up, what parts of the
house I wanted them on, and what quality of rod I
preferred. It was close quarters for a man not used
to the exigencies of housekeeping; but I went
through creditably, and he probably never suspected
that I was a novice. I told him to put up eight
"points," and put them all on the roof, and use
the best quality of rod. He said he could furnish
the "plain" article at 20 cents a foot; "cop-
pered," 25 cents; "zinc-plated spiral-twist," at 30
cents, that would stop a streak of lightning any time,
no matter where it was bound, and "render its er-
rand harmless and its further progress apocryphal."
I said apocryphal was no slouch of a word, emanat-
ing from the source it did, but, philology aside, I
liked the spiral-twist and would take that brand.
Then he said he could make two hundred and fifty
feet answer; but to do it right, and make the best
job in town of it, and attract the admiration of the
just and the unjust alike, and compel all parties to

---

say they never saw a more symmetrical and hypo-
thetical display of lightning-rods since they were
born, he supposed he really couldn't get along with-
out four hundred, though he was not vindictive, and
trusted he was willing to try. I said, go ahead and
use four hundred, and make any kind of a job he
pleased out of it, but let me get back to my work.
So I got rid of him at last; and now, after half an
hour spent in getting my train of political economy
thoughts coupled together again, I am ready to go
on once more.]

richest treasures of their genius, their experience of life, and their
learning. The great lights of commercial jurisprudence, international
confraternity, and biological deviation, of all ages, all civilizations, and
all nationalities, from Zoroaster down to Horace Greeley, have

[Here I was interrupted again, and required to go
down and confer further with that lightning-rod
man. I hurried off, boiling and surging with pro-
digious thoughts wombed in words of such majesty
that each one of them was in itself a straggling pro-
cession of syllables that might be fifteen minutes
passing a given point, and once more I confronted
him—he so calm and sweet, I so hot and frenzied.
He was standing in the contemplative attitude of the
Colossus of Rhodes, with one foot on my infant
tuberose, and the other among my pansies, his hands
on his hips, his hat-brim tilted forward, one eye
shut and the other gazing critically and admiringly
in the direction of my principal chimney. He said
now there was a state of things to make a man glad

---

to be alive; and added, "I leave it to you if you
ever saw anything more deliriously picturesque than
eight lightning-rods on one chimney?" I said I had
no present recollection of anything that transcended
it. He said that in his opinion nothing on earth but
Niagara Falls was superior to it in the way of natural
scenery. All that was needed now, he verily be-
lieved, to make my house a perfect balm to the eye,
was to kind of touch up the other chimneys a little,
and thus "add to the generous coup d'œil a sooth-
ing uniformity of achievement which would allay the
excitement naturally consequent upon the first coup
d'état." I asked him if he learned to talk out of a
book, and if I could borrow it anywhere? He
smiled pleasantly, and said that his manner of
speaking was not taught in books, and that nothing
but familiarity with lightning could enable a man to
handle his conversational style with impunity. He
then figured up an estimate, and said that about
eight more rods scattered about my roof would
about fix me right, and he guessed five hundred feet
of stuff would do it; and added that the first eight
had got a little the start of him, so to speak, and
used up a mere trifle of material more than he had
calculated on—a hundred feet or along there. I
said I was in a dreadful hurry, and I wished we
could get this business permanently mapped out, so
that I could go on with my work. He said, "I
could have put up those eight rods, and marched off
about my business—some men would have done it.

---

But no; I said to myself, this man is a stranger to
me, and I will die before I'll wrong him; there ain't
lightning-rods enough on that house, and for one
I'll never stir out of my tracks till I've done as I
would be done by, and told him so. Stranger, my
duty is accomplished; if the recalcitrant and dephlo-
gistic messenger of heaven strikes your—" "There,
now, there," I said, "put on the other eight—add
five hundred feet of spiral-twist—do anything and
everything you want to do; but calm your suffer-
ings, and try to keep your feelings where you can
reach them with the dictionary. Meanwhile, if we
understand each other now, I will go to work
again."

I think I have been sitting here a full hour this
time, trying to get back to where I was when my
train of thought was broken up by the last interrup-
tion; but I believe I have accomplished it at last,
and may venture to proceed again.]

wrestled with this great subject, and the greatest among them have found
it a worthy adversary, and one that always comes up fresh and smiling
after every throw. The great Confucius said that he would rather be a
profound political economist than chief of police. Cicero frequently
said that political economy was the grandest consummation that the
human mind was capable of consuming; and even our own Greeley has
said vaguely but forcibly that "Political

[Here the lightning-rod man sent up another call
for me. I went down in a state of mind bordering
on impatience. He said he would rather have died
than interrupt me, but when he was employed to do

---

a job, and that job was expected to be done in a
clean, workmanlike manner, and when it was finished
and fatigue urged him to seek the rest and recreation
he stood so much in need of, and he was about to
do it, but looked up and saw at a glance that all the
calculations had been a little out, and if a thunder
storm were to come up, and that house, which he
felt a personal interest in, stood there with nothing
on earth to protect it but sixteen lightning-rods—
"Let us have peace!" I shrieked. "Put up a
hundred and fifty! Put some on the kitchen! Put
a dozen on the barn! Put a couple on the cow!—
Put one on the cook!—scatter them all over the
persecuted place till it looks like a zinc-plated,
spiral-twisted, silver-mounted cane-brake! Move!
Use up all the material you can get your hands on,
and when you run out of lightning-rods put up ram-
rods, cam-rods, stair-rods, piston-rods—anything
that will pander to your dismal appetite for artificial
scenery, and bring respite to my raging brain and
healing to my lacerated soul!" Wholly unmoved—
further than to smile sweetly—this iron being
simply turned back his wristbands daintily, and said
he would now proceed to hump himself. Well,
all that was nearly three hours ago. It is question-
able whether I am calm enough yet to write on the
noble theme of political economy, but I cannot resist
the desire to try, for it is the one subject that is
nearest to my heart and dearest to my brain of all
this world's philosophy.]

---

"economy is heaven's best boon to man." When the loose but
gifted Byron lay in his Venetian exile he observed that, if it could be
granted him to go back and live his misspent life over again, he
would give his lucid and unintoxicated intervals to the composition, not
of frivolous rhymes, but of essays upon political economy. Washington
loved this exquisite science; such names as Baker, Beckwith, Judson,
Smith, are imperishably linked with it; and even imperial Homer, in
the ninth book of the Iliad, has said:—Fiat justitia, ruat cœlum, Post mortem unum, ante bellum,Hic jacet hoc, ex-parte res,Politicum e-conomico est.The grandeur of these conceptions of the old poet, together with the
felicity of the wording which clothes them, and the sublimity of the
imagery whereby they are illustrated, have singled out that stanza, and
made it more celebrated than any that ever

["Now, not a word out of you—not a single
word. Just state your bill and relapse into impene-
trable silence for ever and ever on these premises.
Nine hundred dollars? Is that all? This check for
the amount will be honored at any respectable bank
in America. What is that multitude of people
gathered in the street for? How?—'looking at
the lightning-rods!' Bless my life, did they never
see any lightning-rods before? Never saw 'such a
stack of them on one establishment,' did I under-
stand you to say? I will step down and critically
observe this popular ebullition of ignorance."]

Three Days Later.—We are all about worn
out. For four-and-twenty hours our bristling prem-
ises were the talk and wonder of the town. The

---

theaters languished, for their happiest scenic inven-
tions were tame and commonplace compared with
my lightning-rods. Our street was blocked night
and day with spectators, and among them were
many who came from the country to see. It was a
blessed relief on the second day when a thunder
storm came up and the lightning began to "go for"
my house, as the historian Josephus quaintly phrases
it. It cleared the galleries, so to speak. In five
minutes there was not a spectator within half a mile
of my place; but all the high houses about that dis-
tance away were full, windows, roof, and all. And
well they might be, for all the falling stars and Fourth
of July fireworks of a generation, put together and
rained down simultaneously out of heaven in one
brilliant shower upon one helpless roof, would not
have any advantage of the pyrotechnic display that
was making my house so magnificently conspicuous
in the general gloom of the storm. By actual count,
the lightning struck at my establishment seven hun-
dred and sixty-four times in forty minutes, but
tripped on one of those faithful rods every time,
and slid down the spiral-twist and shot into the
earth before it probably had time to be surprised at
the way the thing was done. And through all that
bombardment only one patch of slates was ripped
up, and that was because, for a single instant, the
rods in the vicinity were transporting all the light-
ning they could possibly accommodate. Well, noth-
ing was ever seen like it since the world began. For

---

one whole day and night not a member of my family
stuck his head out of the window but he got the hair
snatched off it as smooth as a billiard-ball; and, if
the reader will believe me, not one of us ever
dreamt of stirring abroad. But at last the awful
siege came to an end—because there was absolutely
no more electricity left in the clouds above us within
grappling distance of my insatiable rods. Then I
sallied forth, and gathered daring workmen together,
and not a bite or a nap did we take till the premises
were utterly stripped of all their terrific armament
except just three rods on the house, one on the
kitchen, and one on the barn—and, behold, these
remain there even unto this day. And then, and
not till then, the people ventured to use our street
again. I will remark here, in passing, that during
that fearful time I did not continue my essay upon
political economy. I am not even yet settled enough
in nerve and brain to resume it.

To Whom It May Concern.—Parties having
need of three thousand two hundred and eleven feet
of best quality zinc-plated spiral-twist lightning-rod
stuff, and sixteen hundred and thirty-one silver-
tipped points, all in tolerable repair (and, although
much worn by use, still equal to any ordinary emer-
gency), can hear of a bargain by addressing the
publisher.

---

THE JUMPING FROG*

Written about 1865.

in english. then in french. then clawed back into
a civilized language once more by patient, un-
renumerated toil

Even a criminal is entitled to fair play; and cer-
tainly when a man who has done no harm has
been unjustly treated, he is privileged to do his best
to right himself. My attention has just been called
to an article some three years old in a French
Magazine entitled, "Revue des Deux Mondes"
(Review of Some Two Worlds), wherein the writer
treats of "Les Humoristes Americaines" (These
Humorists Americans). I am one of these humor-
ists Americans dissected by him, and hence the
complaint I am making.

This gentleman's article is an able one (as articles
go, in the French, where they always tangle up
everything to that degree that when you start into a
sentence you never know whether you are going to
come out alive or not). It is a very good article,
and the writer says all manner of kind and compli-
mentary things about me—for which I am sure I

---

thank him with all my heart; but then why should
he go and spoil all his praise by one unlucky experi-
ment? What I refer to is this: he says my Jumping
Frog is a funny story, but still he can't see why it
should ever really convulse any one with laughter—
and straightway proceeds to translate it into French
in order to prove to his nation that there is nothing
so very extravagantly funny about it. Just there is
where my complaint originates. He has not trans-
lated it at all; he has simply mixed it all up; it is
no more like the Jumping Frog when he gets through
with it than I am like a meridian of longitude. But
my mere assertion is not proof; wherefore I print
the French version, that all may see that I do not
speak falsely; furthermore, in order that even the
unlettered may know my injury and give me their
compassion, I have been at infinite pains and trouble
to re-translate this French version back into English;
and to tell the truth I have well nigh worn myself
out at it, having scarcely rested from my work
during five days and nights. I cannot speak the
French language, but I can translate very well,
though not fast, I being self-educated. I ask the
reader to run his eye over the original English
version of the Jumping Frog, and then read the
French or my re-translation, and kindly take notice
how the Frenchman has riddled the grammar. I
think it is the worst I ever saw; and yet the French
are called a polished nation. If I had a boy that
put sentences together as they do, I would polish

---

him to some purpose. Without further introduc-
tion, the Jumping Frog, as I originally wrote it, was
as follows [after it will be found the French version,
and after the latter my re-translation from the
French]:
THE NOTORIOUS JUMPING FROG OF CALAVERAS*

Pronounced Cal-e-va-ras.

COUNTY. In compliance with the request of a friend of mine, who wrote me
from the East, I called on good-natured, garrulous old Simon Wheeler,
and inquired after my friend's friend, Leonidas W. Smiley, as requested
to do, and I hereunto append the result. I have a lurking suspicion
that Leonidas W. Smiley is a myth; that my friend never knew such a
personage; and that he only conjectured that if I asked old Wheeler
about him, it would remind him of his infamous Jim Smiley, and he
would go to work and bore me to death with some exasperating remin-
iscence of him as long and as tedious as it should be useless to me. If
that was the design, it succeeded. I found Simon Wheeler dozing comfortably by the barroom stove of
the dilapidated tavern in the decayed mining camp of Angel's, and I
noticed that he was fat and bald-headed, and had an expression of
winning gentleness and simplicity upon his tranquil countenance. He
roused up, and gave me good-day. I told him a friend of mine had
commissioned me to make some inquiries about a cherished companion
of his boyhood named Leonidas W. Smiley—Rev. Leonidas W.
Smiley, a young minister of the Gospel, who he had heard was at one
time a resident of Angel's Camp. I added that if Mr. Wheeler could
tell me anything about this Rev. Leonidas W. Smiley, I would feel
under many obligations to him. Simon Wheeler backed me into a corner and blockaded me there
with his chair, and then sat down and reeled off the monotonous narra-
tive which follows this paragraph. He never smiled, he never frowned,
he never changed his voice from the gentle-flowing key to which he
tuned his initial sentence, he never betrayed the slightest suspicion of
enthusiasm; but all through the interminable narrative there ran a vein

---

of impressive earnestness and sincerity, which showed me plainly that, so
far from his imagining that there was anything ridiculous or funny
about his story, he regarded it as a really important matter, and admired
its two heroes as men of transcendent genius in finesse. I let him go
on in his own way, and never interrupted him once. "Rev. Leonidas W. H'm, Reverend Le—well, there was a feller
here once by the name of Jim Smiley, in the winter of '49—or may
be it was the spring of '50—I don't recollect exactly, somehow, though
what makes me think it was one or the other is because I remember the
big flume warn't finished when he first come to the camp; but any way,
he was the curiosest man about always betting on anything that turned
up you ever see, if he could get anybody to bet on the other side; and
if he couldn't he'd change sides. Any way that suited the other man
would suit him—any way just so's he got a bet, he was satisfied. But
still he was lucky, uncommon lucky; he most always come out winner.
He was always ready and laying for a chance; there couldn't be no
solit'ry thing mentioned but that feller'd offer to bet on it, and take ary
side you please, as I was just telling you. If there was a horse-race,
you'd find him flush or you'd find him busted at the end of it; if there
was a dog-fight, he'd bet on it; if there was a cat-fight, he'd bet on it;
if there was a chicken-fight, he'd bet on it; why, if there was two birds
setting on a fence, he would bet you which one would fly first; or if
there was a camp-meeting, he would be there reg'lar to bet on Parson
Walker, which he judged to be the best exhorter about here, and so he
was too, and a good man. If he even see a straddle-bug start to go
anywheres, he would bet you how long it would take him to get to—
to wherever he was going to, and if you took him up, he would foller
that straddle-bug to Mexico but what he would find out where he was
bound for and how long he was on the road. Lots of the boys here has
seen that Smiley, and can tell you about him. Why, it never made no
difference to him—he'd bet on any thing—the dangdest feller. Parson
Walker's wife laid very sick once, for a good while, and it seemed as if
they warn't going to save her; but one morning he come in, and Smiley
up and asked him how she was, and he said she was considable better—
thank the Lord for his inf'nite mercy—and coming on so smart that with
the blessing of Prov'dence she'd get well yet; and Smiley, before he
thought, says, "Well, I'll resk two-and-a-half she don't anyway." Thish-yer Smiley had a mare—the boys called her the fifteen-minute
nag, but that was only in fun, you know, because of course she was

---

faster than that—and he used to win money on that horse, for all she
was so slow and always had the asthma, or the distemper, or the con-
sumption, or something of that kind. They used to give her two or
three hundred yards start, and then pass her under way; but always
at the fag end of the race she'd get excited and desperate like, and
come cavorting and straddling up, and scattering her legs around
limber, sometimes in the air, and sometimes out to one side among the
fences, and kicking up m-o-r-e dust and raising m-o-r-e racket with her
coughing and sneezing and blowing her nose—and always fetch up at
the stand just about a neck ahead, as near as you could cipher it down. And he had a little small bull-pup, that to look at him you'd think
he warn't worth a cent but to set around and look ornery and lay for a
chance to steal something. But as soon as money was up on him he was
a different dog; his under-jaw'd begin to stick out like the fo'castle of a
steamboat, and his teeth would uncover and shine like the furnaces.
And a dog might tackle him and bully-rag him, and bite him, and throw
him over his shoulder two or three times, and Andrew Jackson—which
was the name of the pup—Andrew Jackson would never let on but
what he was satisfied, and hadn't expected nothing else—and the bets
being doubled and doubled on the other side all the time, till the money
was all up; and then all of a sudden he would grab that other dog jest
by the j'int of his hind leg and freeze to it—not chaw, you understand,
but only just grip and hang on till they throwed up the sponge, if it was
a year. Smiley always come out winner on that pup, till he harnessed
a dog once that didn't have no hind legs, because they'd been sawed off
in a circular saw, and when the thing had gone along far enough, and
the money was all up, and he come to make a snatch for his pet holt,
he see in a minute how he'd been imposed on, and how the other dog
had him in the door, so to speak, and he 'peared surprised, and then he
looked sorter discouraged-like, and didn't try no more to win the fight,
and so he got shucked out bad. He give Smiley a look, as much as to
say his heart was broke, and it was his fault, for putting up a dog that
hadn't no hind legs for him to take holt of, which was his main de-
pendence in a fight, and then he limped off a piece and laid down and
died. It was a good pup, was that Andrew Jackson, and would have
made a name for hisself if he'd lived, for the stuff was in him and he
had genius—I know it, because he hadn't no opportunities to speak of,
and it don't stand to reason that a dog could make such a fight as he
could under them circumstances if he hadn't no talent. It always

---

makes me feel sorry when I think of that last fight of his'n, and the
way it turned out. Well, thish-yer Smiley had rat-tarriers, and chicken cocks, and tom-
cats and all them kind of things, till you couldn't rest, and you couldn't
fetch nothing for him to bet on but he'd match you. He ketched a
frog one day, and took him home, and said he cal'lated to educate him;
and so he never done nothing for three months but set in his back yard
and learn that frog to jump. And you bet you he did learn him, too.
He'd give him a little punch behind, and the next minute you'd see
that frog whirling in the air like a doughnut—see him turn one sum-
merset, or may be a couple, if he got a good start, and come down
flat-footed and all right, like a cat. He got him up so in the matter of
ketching flies, and kep' him in practice so constant, that he'd nail a fly
every time as fur as he could see him. Smiley said all a frog wanted
was education, and he could do 'most anything—and I believe him.
Why, I've seen him set Dan'l Webster down here on this floor—Dan'l
Webster was the name of the frog—and sing out, "Flies, Dan'l,
flies!" and quicker'n you could wink he'd spring straight up and snake
a fly off'n the counter there, and flop down on the floor ag'in as solid as
a gob of mud, and fall to scratching the side of his head with his hind
foot as indifferent as if he hadn't no idea he'd been doin' any more'n
any frog might do. You never see a frog so modest and straightfor'ard
as he was, for all he was so gifted. And when it come to fair and square
jumping on a dead level, he could get over more ground at one straddle
than any animal of his breed you ever see. Jumping on a dead level
was his strong suit, you understand; and when it come to that, Smiley
would ante up money on him as long as he had a red. Smiley was
monstrous proud of his frog, and well he might be, for fellers that had
traveled and been everywheres all said he laid over any frog that ever
they see. Well, Smiley kep' the beast in a little lattice box, and he used to
fetch him down town sometimes and lay for a bet. One day a feller—a
stranger in the camp, he was—come acrost him with his box, and says: "What might it be that you've got in the box?" And Smiley says, sorter indifferent-like, "It might be a parrot, or it
might be a canary, maybe, but it ain't—its only just a frog." And the feller took it, and looked at it careful, and turned it round
this way and that, and says, "H'm—so 'tis. Well, what's he good
for?"

---

"FLIES, DAN'L, FLIES!"

---

---

"Well," Smiley says, easy and careless, "he's good enough for
one thing, I should judge—he can outjump any frog in Calaveras
county." The feller took the box again, and took another long, particular
look, and give it back to Smiley, and says, very deliberate, "Well," he
says, "I don't see no p'ints about that frog that's any better'n any
other frog." "Maybe you don't," Smiley says. "Maybe you understand frogs
and maybe you don't understand 'em; maybe you've had experience,
and maybe you ain't only a amature, as it were. Anyways, I've got
my opinion, and I'll resk forty dollars that he can outjump any frog in
Calaveras county." And the feller studied a minute, and then says, kinder sad like,
"Well, I'm only a stranger here, and I ain't got no frog; but if I had
a frog, I'd bet you." And then Smiley says, "That's all right—that's all right—if you'll
hold my box a minute, I'll go and get you a frog." And so the feller
took the box, and put up his forty dollars along with Smiley's, and set
down to wait. So he set there a good while thinking and thinking to hisself, and
then he got the frog out and prized his mouth open and took a teaspoon
and filled him full of quail shot—filled him pretty near up to his chin
—and set him on the floor. Smiley he went to the swamp and slopped
around in the mud for a long time, and finally he ketched a frog, and
fetched him in, and give him to this feller, and says: "Now, if you're ready, set him alongside of Dan'l, with his fore-
paws just even with Dan'l's, and I'll give the word." Then he says,
"One—two—three—git!" and him and the feller touched up the
frogs from behind, and the new frog hopped off lively, but Dan'l give a
heave, and hysted up his shoulders—so—like a Frenchman, but it
warn't no use—he couldn't budge; he was planted as solid as a church;
and he couldn't no more stir than if he was anchored out. Smiley was
a good deal surprised, and he was disgusted too, but he didn't have no
idea what the matter was, of course. The feller took the money and started away; and when he was going
out at the door, he sorter jerked his thumb over his shoulder—so—at
Dan'l, and says again, very deliberate, "Well," he says, "I don't see
no p'ints about that frog that's any better'n any other frog." Smiley he stood scratching his head and looking down at Dan'l a

---

long time, and at last he says, "I do wonder what in the nation that
frog throw'd off for—I wonder if there ain't something the matter
with him—he 'pears to look mighty baggy, somehow." And he
ketched Dan'l by the nap of the neck, and hefted him, and says, "Why
blame my cats if he don't weigh five pound!" and turned him upside
down and he belched out a double handful of shot. And then he see
how it was, and he was the maddest man—he set the frog down and
took out after that feller, but he never ketched him. And—" [Here Simon Wheeler heard his name called from the front yard,
and got up to see what was wanted.] And turning to me as he moved
away, he said: "Just set where you are, stranger, and rest easy—I
ain't going to be gone a second." But, by your leave, I did not think that a continuation of the history
of the enterprising vagabond Jim Smiley would be likely to afford me
much information concerning the Rev. Leonidas W. Smiley, and so I
started away. At the door I met the sociable Wheeler returning, and he button-
holed me and re-commenced: "Well, thish-yer Smiley had a yaller one-eyed cow that didn't have
no tail, only just a short stump like a bannanner, and—" However, lacking both time and inclination, I did not wait to hear
about the afflicted cow, but took my leave.

Now let the learned look upon this picture and
say if iconoclasm can further go:
[From the Revue des Deux Mondes, of July 15th, 1872.] LA GRENOUILLE SANTEUSE DU COMTE DE CALAVERAS. "—Il y avait une fois ici un individu connu sous le nom de Jim
Smiley: c'était dans l'hiver de 49, peut-être bien au printemps de 50, je
ne me rappelle pas exactement. Ce qui me fait croire que c'était l'un ou
l'autre, c'est que je me souviens que le grand bief n'était pas achevé
lorsqu'il arriva au camp pour la premiére fois, mais de toutes façons il
était l'homme le plus friand de paris qui se pût voir, pariant sur tout ce
qui se présentait, quand il pouvait trouver un adversaire, et, quand il
n'en trouvait pas il passait du côté opposé. Tout ce qui convenait
à l'autre lui convenait; pourvu qu'il eût un pari, Smiley était satisfait.
Et il avait une chance! une chance inouie: presque toujours il gagnait.

---

Il faut dire qu'il était toujours prêt à s'exposer, qu'on ne pouvait
mentionner la moindre chose sans que ce gaillard offrît de parier là-
dessus n'importe quoi et de prendre le côté que l'on voudrait, comme je
vous le disais tout à l'heure. S'il y avait des courses, vous le trouviez
riche ou ruiné â la fin; s'il y avait un combat de chiens, il apportait son
enjeu; il l'apportait pour un combat de chats, pour un combat de
coqs;—parbleu! si vous aviez vu deux oiseaux sur une haie, il vous
aurait offert de parier lequel s'envolerait le premier, et, s'il y avait
meeting au camp, il venait parier régulièrement pour le curé Walker,
qu'il jugeait être le meilleur prédicateur des environs, et qui l'était en
effet, et un brave homme. Il aurait rencontré une punaise de bois en
chemin, qu'il aurait parié sur le temps qu'il lui faudrait pour aller où
elle voudrait aller, et, si vous l'aviez pris au mot, il aurait suivi la
punaise jusqu'au Mexique, sans se soucier d'aller si loin, ni du temps
qu'il y perdrait. Une fois la femme du curé Walker fut très malade
pendant longtemps, il semblait qu'on ne la sauverait pas; mais un matin
le curé arrive, et Smiley lui demande comment ella va, et il dit qu'elle
est bien mieux, grâce à l'infinie miséricorde, tellement mieux qu'avec la
bénédiction de la Providence elle s'en tirerait, et voilá que, sans y
penser, Smiley répond:—Eh bien! ye gage deux et demi qu'elle mourra
tout de même. "Ce Smiley avait une jument que les gars appelaient le bidet du
quart d'heure, mais seulement pour plaisanter, vous comprenez, parce
que, bien entendu, elle était plus vite que ça! Et il avait coutume de
gagner de l'argent avec cette bête, quoiqu'elle fût poussive, cornarde,
toujours prise d'asthme, de coliques ou de consomption, ou de quelque
chose d'approchant. On lui donnait 2 ou 300 yards au départ, puis
on la dépassait sans peine; mais jamais à la fin elle ne manquait de
s'échauffer, de s'exaspérer, et elle arrivait, s'écartant, se défendant, ses
jambes grêles en l'air devant les obstacles, quelquefois les évitant et
faisant avec cela plus de poussière qu'aucun cheval, plus de bruit
surtout avec ses éternumens et reniflemens,—crac! elle arrivait donc
toujours première d'une tête, aussi juste qu'on peut le mesurer. Et il
avait un petit bouledogue qui, à le voir, ne valait pas un sou; on aurait
cru que parier contre lui c'était voler, tant il était ordinaire; mais
aussitôt les enjeux faits, il devenait un autre chien. Sa mâchoire
inférieure commençait à ressortir comme un gaillard d'avant, ses dents
se découvraient brillantes commes des fournaises, et un chien pouvait le
taquiner, l'exciter, le mordre, le jeter deux ou trois fois par-dessus son

---

épaule, André Jackson, c'était le nom du chien, André Jackson prenait
cela tranquillement, comme s'il ne se fût jamais attendu à autre chose, et
quand les paris étaient doublés et redoublés contre lui, il vous saisissait
l'autre chien juste à l'articulation de la jambe de derrière, et il ne la
lâchait plus, non pas qu'il la mâchât, vous concevez, mais il s'y serait tenu
pendu jusqu'à ce qu'on jetât l'éponge en l'air, fallût-il attendre un an.
Smiley gagnait toujours avec cette bête-là; malheureusement ils ont fini
par dresser un chien qui n'avait pas de pattes de derrière, parce qu'on les
avait sciées, et quand les choses furent au point qu'il voulait, et qu'il en
vint à se jeter sur son morceau favori, le pauvre chien comprit en un in-
stant qu'on s'était moqué de lui, et que l'autre le tenait. Vous n'avez
jamais vu personne avoir l'air plus penaud et plus découragé; il ne fit
aucun effort pour gagner le combat et fut rudement secoué, de sorte que,
regardant Smiley comme pour lui dire:—Mon cœur est brisé, c'est ta
faute; pourquoi m'avoir livré à un chien qui n'a pas de pattes de derriére,
puisque c'est par là que je les bats?—il s'en alla en clopinant, et se
coucha pour mourir. Ah! c'était un bon chien, cet André Jackson, et
il se serait fait un nom, s'il avait vécu, car il y avait de l'etoffe en lui, il
avait du génie, je la sais, bien que de grandes occasions lui aient
manqué; mais il est impossible de supposer qu'un chien capable de se
battre comme lui, certaines circonstances étant données, ait manqué de
talent. Je me sens triste toutes les fois que je pense à son dernier
combat et au dénoûment qu'il a eu. Eh bien! ce Smiley nourrissait des
terriers à rats, et des coqs de combat, et des chats, et toute sorte de
choses, au point qu'il était toujours en mesure de vous tenir tête, et
qu'avec sa rage de paris on n'avait plus de repos. Il attrapa un jour une
grenouille et l'emporta chez lui, disant qu'il prétendait faire son éduca-
tion; vous me croirez si vous voulez, mais pendant trois mois il n'a rien
fait que lui apprendre à sauter dans une cour retirée de sa maison. Et je
vous réponds qu'il avait réussi. Il lui donnait un petit coup par
derrière, et l'instant d'après vous voyiez la grenouille tourner en l'air
comme un beignet au-dessus de la poêle, faire une culbute, quelquefois
deux, lorsqu'elle était bien partie, et retomber sur ses pattes comme un
chat. Il l'avait dressée dans l'art de gober des mouches, et l'y exerçait
continuellement, si bien qu'une mouche, du plus loin qu'elle apparaissait,
était une mouche perdue. Smiley avait coutume de dire que tout ce qui
manquait à une grenouille, c'était l'éducation, qu'avec l'éducation elle
pouvait faire presque tout, et je le crois. Tenez, je l'ai vu poser
Daniel Webster là sur se plancher,—Daniel Webster était le nom de la

---

grenouille,—et lui chanter:—Des mouches! Daniel, des mouches!—
En un clin d'œil, Daniel avait bondi et saisi une mouche ici sur le
comptoir, puis sauté de nouveau par terre, où il restait vraiment à se
gratter la tête avec sa patte de derrière, comme s'il n'avait pas eu la
moindre idée de sa supériorité. Jamais vous n'avez grenouille vu de
aussi modeste, aussi naturelle, douée comme elle l'était! Et quand il
s'agissait de sauter purement et simplement sur terrain plat, elle faisait
plus de chemin en un saut qu'aucune bête de son espèce que vous
puissiez connaître. Sauter à plat, c'était son fort! Quand il s'agaissait
de cela, Smiley entassait les enjeux sur elle tant qu'il lui, restait un
rouge liard. Il faut le reconnaître, Smiley était monstrueusement fier
de sa grenouille, et il en avait le droit, car des gens qui avaient voyagé,
qui avaient tout vu, disaient qu'on lui ferait injure de la comparer à une
autre; de façon que Smiley gardait Daniel dans une petite boîte à claire-
voie qu'il emporta it parfois à la ville pour quelque pari. "Un jour, un individu étranger au camp l'arrête avec sa boíte et lui
dit:—Qu'est-ce que vous avez donc serré là dedans? "Smiley dit d'un air indifférent:—Cela pourrait être un perroquet
ou un serin, mais ce n'est rien de pareil, ce n'est qu'une grenouille. "L'individu la prend, la regarde avec soin, la tourne d'un côté et
de l'autre puss il dit.—Tiens! en effet! A quoi est-elle bonne? "—Mon Dieu! répond Smiley, toujours d'un air dégagé, elle est
bonne pour une chose à mon avis, elle peut battre en sautant toute
grenouille du comté de Calaveras. "L'individu reprend la boîte, l'examine de nouveau longuement, et
la rend à Smiley en disant d'un air délibéré:—Eh bien! je ne vois pas
que cette grenouille ait rien de mieux qu'aucune grenouille. "—Possible que vous ne le voyiez paz, dit Smiley, possible que vous
vous entendiez en grenouilles, possible que vous ne vous y entendez
point, possible que vous ayez de l'expérience, et possible que vous ne
soyez qu'un amateur. De toute manière, je parie quarante dollars
qu'elle battra en sautant n'importe quelle grenouille du comté de
Calaveras. "L'individu réfléchit une seconde et dit comme attristé:—Je ne
suis qu'un étranger ici, je n'ai pas de grenouille; mais, si j'en avais une,
je tiendrais le pari. "—Fort bien! répond Smiley. Rien de plus facile. Si vous
voulez tenir ma boîte une minute, j'irai vous chercher une grenouille.—
Voilà donc l'individu qui garde la boîte, qui met ses quarante dollars sur

---

ceux de Smiley et qui attend. Il attend assez longtemps, réfléchissant
tout seul, et figurez-vous qu'il prend Daniel, lui ouvre la bouche de
force et avec une cuiller à thé l'emplit de menu plomb de chasse, mais
l'emplit jusqu'au menton, puis il le pose par terre. Smiley pendant
ce temps était à barboter dans une mare. Finalement il attrape une
grenouille, l'apporte à cet individu et dit:—Maintenant, si vous êtes
prêt, mettez-la tout contre Daniel, avec leurs pattes de devant sur la
même ligne, et je donnerai le signal;—puis il ajoute:—Un, deux, trois,
sautez! "Lui et l'individu touchent leurs grenouilles par derrière, et la
grenouille neuve se met à sautiller, mais Daniel se soulève lourdement,
hausse les épaules ainsi, comme un Français; à quoi bon? il ne
pouvait bouger, il était planté solide comme une enclume, il n'avançait
pas puls que si on l'eût mis á l'ancre. Smiley fut surpris et dégoûté,
mais il ne se doutait pas du tour, bien entendu. L'individu empoche
l'argent, s'en va, et en s'en allant est-ce qu'il ne donne pas un coup de
pouce par-dessus lé'paule, comme ça, au pauvre Daniel, en disant de
son air délibéré:—Eh bien! je ne vois pas que cette grenouille ait rien
de mieux qu'une autre. "Smiley se gratta longtemps la tête, les yeux fixés sur Daniel,
jusqu'à ce qu'enfin il dit:—Je me demande comment diable il se fait
que cette bête ait refusé… Est-ce qu'elle aurait quelque chose?..
On croirait qu'elle est enflée. "Il empoigne Daniel par la peau du cou, le souléve et dit:—Le
loup me croque, s'il ne pèse pas cinq livres. "Il le retourne, et le malheureux crache deux poignées de plomb.
Quand Smiley reconnut ce qui en était, il fut comme fou. Vous le
voyez d'ici poser sa grenouille par terre et courir aprés cet individu,
mais il ne le rattrapa jamais, et…

[Translation of the above back from the French.]
THE FROG JUMPING OF THE COUNTY OF
CALAVERAS.

It there was one time here an individual known
under the name of Jim Smiley; it was in the winter
of '49, possibly well at the spring of '50, I no me

---

recollect not exactly. This which me makes to be-
lieve that it was the one or the other, it is that I
shall remember that the grand flume is not achieved
when he arrives at the camp for the first time, but
of all sides he was the man the most fond of to bet
which one have seen, betting upon all that which is
presented, when he could find an adversary; and
when he not of it could not, he passed to the side
opposed. All that which convenienced to the other,
to him convenienced also; seeing that he had a bet,
Smiley was satisfied. And he had a chance! a
chance even worthless; nearly always he gained.
It must to say that he was always near to himself
expose, but one no could mention the least thing
without that this gaillard offered to bet the bottom,
no matter what, and to take the side that one him
would, as I you it said all at the hour (tout à
l'heure). If it there was of races, you him find
rich or ruined at the end; if it there is a combat of
dogs, he bring his bet; he himself laid always for a
combat of cats, for a combat of cocks;—by-blue!
If you have see two birds upon a fence, he you
should have offered of to bet which of those birds
shall fly the first; and if there is meeting at the
camp (meeting au camp) he comes to bet regularly
for the curé Walker, which he judged to be the best
predicator of the neighborhood (prédicateur des
environs) and which he was in effect, and a brave
man He would encounter a bug of wood in the
road, whom he will bet upon the time which he

---

shall take to go where she would go—and if you
him have take at the word, he will follow the bug as
far as Mexique, without himself caring to go so far;
neither of the time which he there lost. One time
the woman of the curé Walker is very sick during
long time, it seemed that one not her saved not;
but one morning the curé arrives, and Smiley him
demanded how she goes, and he said that she is well
better, grace to the infinite misery (lui demande
comment elle va, et il dit qu'elle est bien mieux,
grâce à l'infinie misèricorde) so much better that with
the benediction of the Providence she herself of it
would pull out (elle s'en tirerait); and behold that
without there thinking Smiley responds: "Well, I
gage two-and-half that she will die all of same."

This Smiley had an animal which the boys called
the nag of the quarter of hour, but solely for pleas-
antry, you comprehend, because, well understand,
she was more fast as that! [Now why that excla-
mation?—M. T.] And it was custom of to gain
of the silver with this beast, notwithstanding she
was poussive, cornarde, always taken of asthma, of
colics or of consumption, or something of approach-
ing. One him would give two or three hundred
yards at the departure, then one him passed without
pain; but never at the last she not fail of herself
échauffer, of herself exasperate, and she arrives her-
self écartant, se dèfendant, her legs grêles in the air
before the obstacles, sometimes them elevating and
making with this more of dust than any horse, more

---

of noise above with his éternumens and reniflemens
—crac! she arrives then always first by one head,
as just as one can it measure. And he had a small
bull dog (boule dogue!) who, to him see, no value,
not a cent; one would believe that to bet against
him it was to steal, so much he was ordinary; but
as soon as the game made, she becomes another
dog. Her jaw inferior commence to project like a
deck of before, his teeth themselves discover brilliant
like some furnaces, and a dog could him tackle (le
taquiner), him excite, him murder (le mordre), him
throw two or three times over his shoulder, André
Jackson—this was the name of the dog—André
Jackson takes that tranquilly, as if he not himself
was never expecting other thing, and when the bets
were doubled and redoubled against him, he you
seize the other dog just at the articulation of the
leg of behind, and he not it leave more, not that he
it masticate, you conceive, but he himself there shall
be holding during until that one throws the sponge
in the air, must he wait a year. Smiley gained
always with this beast-là; unhappily they have
finished by elevating a dog who no had not of feet
of behind, because one them had sawed; and when
things were at the point that he would, and that he
came to himself throw upon his morsel favorite, the
poor dog comprehended in an instant that he him-
self was deceived in him, and that the other dog him
had. You no have never see person having the air
more penaud and more discouraged; he not made

---

no effort to gain the combat, and was rudely
shucked.

Eh bien! this Smiley nourished some terriers à
rats, and some cocks of combat, and some cats, and
all sorts of things; and with his rage of betting one
no had more of repose. He trapped one day a frog
and him imported with him (et l'emporta chez lui)
saying that he pretended to make his education.
You me believe if you will, but during three months
he not has nothing done but to him apprehend to
jump (apprendre ă sauter) in a court retired of her
mansion (de sa maison). And I you respond that
he have succeeded. He him gives a small blow by
behind, and the instant after you shall see the frog
turn in the air like a grease-biscuit, make one sum-
mersault, sometimes two, when she was well started,
and re-fall upon his feet like a cat. He him had
accomplished in the art of to gobble the flies (gober
des mouches), and him there exercised continually
—so well that a fly at the most far that she ap-
peared was a fly lost. Smiley had custom to say
that all which lacked to a frog it was the education,
but with the education she could do nearly all—and
I him believe. Tenez, I him have seen pose Daniel
Webster there upon this plank—Daniel Webster
was the name of the frog—and to him sing,
"Some flies, Daniel, some flies!"—in a flash of
the eye Daniel had bounded and seized a fly here
upon the counter, then jumped anew at the earth,
where he rested truly to himself scratch the head

---

with his behind foot, as if he no had not the least
idea of his superiority. Never you not have seen
frog as modest, as natural, sweet as she was. And
when he himself agitated to jump purely and simply
upon plain earth, she does more ground in one
jump than any beast of his species than you can
know. To jump plain—this was his strong. When
he himself agitated for that, Smiley multiplied the
bets upon her as long as there to him remained a
red. It must to know, Smiley was monstrously
proud of his frog, and he of it was right, for some
men who were traveled, who had all seen, said that
they to him would be injurious to him compare to
another frog. Smiley guarded Daniel in a little box
latticed which he carried bytimes to the village for
some bet.

One day an individual stranger at the camp him
arrested with his box and him said:

"What is this that you have then shut up there
within?"

Smiley said, with an air indifferent:

"That could be a paroquet, or a syringe (ou un
serin), but this no is nothing of such, it not is but a
frog."

The individual it took, it regarded with care, it
turned from one side and from the other, then he
said:

"Tiens! in effect!—At what is she good?"

"My God!" respond Smiley, always with an air
disengaged, "she is good for one thing, to my

---

notice (à mon avis), she can batter in jumping (elle
peut batter en sautant) all frogs of the county of
Calaveras."

The individual re-took the box, it examined of
new longly, and it rendered to Smiley in saying
with an air deliberate:

"Eh bien! I no saw not that that frog had
nothing of better than each frog." (Je ne vois pas
que cette grenouille ait rien de mieux qu'aucune
grenouille.) [If that isn't grammar gone to seed,
then I count myself no judge.—M. T.]

"Possible that you not it saw not," said Smiley,
"possible that you—you comprehend frogs; pos-
sible that you not you there comprehend nothing;
possible that you had of the experience, and possi-
ble that you not be but an amateur. Of all manner
(De toute manière) I bet forty dollars that she
batter in jumping no matter which frog of the
county of Calaveras."

The individual reflected a second, and said like sad:

"I not am but a stranger here, I no have not a
frog; but if I of it had one, I would embrace the
bet."

"Strong well!" respond Smiley; "nothing of
more facility. If you will hold my box a minute, I
go you to search a frog (j' irai vous chercher)."

Behold, then, the individual, who guards the box,
who puts his forty dollars upon those of Smiley,
and who attends (et qui attend). He attended
enough longtimes, reflecting all solely. And figure

---

you that he takes Daniel, him opens the mouth by
force and with a teaspoon him fills with shot of the
hunt, even him fills just to the chin, then he him
puts by the earth. Smiley during these times was
at slopping in a swamp. Finally he trapped (at-
trape) a frog, him carried to that individual, and said:

"Now if you be ready, put him all against
Daniel, with their before feet upon the same line,
and I give the signal"—then he added: "One,
two, three—advance!"

Him and the individual touched their frogs by
behind, and the frog new put to jump smartly, but
Daniel himself lifted ponderously, exalted the shoul-
ders thus, like a Frenchman—to what good? he
not could budge, he is planted solid like a church,
he not advance no more than if one him had put at
the anchor.

Smiley was surprised and disgusted, but he not
himself doubted not of the turn being intended
(mais il ne se doutait pas du tour, bien entendu).
The individual empocketed the silver, himself with
it went, and of it himself in going is it that he no
gives not a jerk of thumb over the shoulder—like
that—at the poor Daniel, in saying with his air
deliberate—(L'individu empoche l'argent, s'en va
et en s'en allant est ce qu'il ne donne pas un coup de
pouce par-dessus l'épaule, comme ca, au pauvre
Daniel, endisant de son air délibéré):

"Eh bien! I no see not that that frog has nothing
of better than another."

---

Smiley himself scratched longtimes the head, the
eyes fixed upon Daniel, until that which at last he
said:

"I me demand how the devil it makes itself that
this beast has refused. Is it that she had some-
thing? One would believe that she is stuffed."

He grasped Daniel by the skin of the neck, him
lifted and said:

"The wolf me bite if he no weigh not five
pounds."

He him reversed and the unhappy belched two
handfuls of shot (et le malhereus, etc.). When
Smiley recognized how it was, he was like mad.
He deposited his frog by the earth and ran after
that individual, but he not him caught never.

Such is the Jumping Frog, to the distorted French
eye. I claim that I never put together such an
odious mixture of bad grammar and delirium tre-
mens in my life. And what has a poor foreigner
like me done, to be abused and misrepresented like
this? When I say, "Well, I don't see no p'ints
about that frog that's any better'n any other frog,"
is it kind, is it just, for this Frenchman to try to
make it appear that I said, "Eh bien! I no saw
not that that frog had nothing of better than each
frog?" I have no heart to write more. I never
felt so about anything before.

---

JOURNALISM IN TENNESSEE*

Written about 1871.

The editor of the Memphis Avalanche swoops thus mildly down
upon a correspondent who posted him as a Radical:—"While he was
writing the first word, the middle, dotting his i's, crossing his t's, and
punching his period, he knew he was concocting a sentence that was
saturated with infamy and reeking with falsehood."—Exchange.

I was told by the physician that a Southern
climate would improve my health, and so I went
down to Tennessee, and got a berth on the Morning
Glory and Johnson County War-Whoop as associate
editor. When I went on duty I found the chief
editor sitting tilted back in a three-legged chair with
his feet on a pine table. There was another pine
table in the room and another afflicted chair, and
both were half buried under newspapers and scraps
and sheets of manuscript. There was a wooden
box of sand, sprinkled with cigar stubs and "old
soldiers," and a stove with a door hanging by its
upper hinge. The chief editor had a long-tailed
black cloth frock coat on, and white linen pants.
His boots were small and neatly blacked. He wore
a ruffled shirt, a large seal ring, a standing collar of

---

obsolete pattern, and a checkered neckerchief with
the ends hanging down. Date of costume about
1848. He was smoking a cigar, and trying to think
of a word, and in pawing his hair he had rumpled
his locks a good deal. He was scowling fearfully,
and I judged that he was concocting a particularly
knotty editorial. He told me to take the exchanges
and skim through them and write up the "Spirit of
the Tennessee Press," condensing into the article all
of their contents that seemed of interest.

I wrote as follows:
"spirit of the tennessee press. "The editors of the Semi-Weekly Earthquake evidently labor under
a misapprehension with regard to the Ballyhack railroad. It is not the
object of the company to leave Buzzardville off to one side. On the
contrary, they consider it one of the most important points along the
line, and consequently can have no desire to slight it. The gentlemen
of the Earthquake will, of course, take pleasure in making the correction. "John W. Blossom, Esq., the able editor of the Higginsville
Thunderbolt and Battle Cry of Freedom, arrived in the city yesterday.
He is stopping at the Van Buren House. "We observe that our contemporary of the Mud Springs Morning
Howl has fallen into the error of supposing that the election of Van
Werter is not an established fact, but he will have discovered his
mistake before this reminder reaches him, no doubt. He was doubtless
misled by incomplete election returns. "It is pleasant to note that the city of Blathersville is endeavoring
to contract with some New York gentlemen to pave its well-nigh im-
passable streets with the Nicholson pavement. The Daily Hurrah
urges the measure with ability, and seems confident of ultimate success."

I passed my manuscript over to the chief editor
for acceptance, alteration, or destruction. He
glanced at it and his face clouded. He ran his

---

eye down the pages, and his countenance grew por-
tentous. It was easy to see that something was
wrong. Presently he sprang up and said:

"Thunder and lightning! Do you suppose I am
going to speak of those cattle that way? Do you
suppose my subscribers are going to stand such
gruel as that? Give me the pen!"

I never saw a pen scrape and scratch its way so
viciously, or plow through another man's verbs and
adjectives so relentlessly. While he was in the midst
of his work, somebody shot at him through the
open window, and marred the symmetry of my ear.

"Ah," said he, "that is that scoundrel Smith,
of the Moral Volcano—he was due yesterday."
And he snatched a navy revolver from his belt and
fired. Smith dropped, shot in the thigh. The shot
spoiled Smith's aim, who was just taking a second
chance, and he crippled a stranger. It was me.
Merely a finger shot off.

Then the chief editor went on with his erasures
and interlineations. Just as he finished them a hand-
grenade came down the stove pipe, and the explo-
sion shivered the stove into a thousand fragments.
However, it did no further damage, except that a
vagrant piece knocked a couple of my teeth out.

"That stove is utterly ruined," said the chief
editor.

I said I believed it was.

"Well, no matter—don't want it this kind of
weather. I know the man that did it. I'll get

---

him. Now, here is the way this stuff ought to be
written."

I took the manuscript. It was scarred with era-
sures and interlineations till its mother wouldn't have
known it if had had one. It now read as follows:
"spir't of the tennessee press. "The inveterate liars of the Semi-Weekly Earthquake are evidently
endeavoring to palm off upon a noble and chivalrous people another of
their vile and brutal falsehoods with regard to that most glorious concep-
tion of the nineteenth century, the Ballyhack railroad. The idea that
Buzzardville was to be left off at one side originated in their own ful-
some brains—or rather in the settlings which they regard as brains.
They had better swallow this lie if they want to save their abandoned
reptile carcasses the cowhiding they so richly deserve. "That ass, Blossom, of the Higginsville Thunderbolt and Battle
Cry of Freedom, is down here again sponging at the Van Buren. "We observe that the besotted blackguard of the Mud Spring
Morning Howl is giving out, with his usual propensity for lying, that
Van Werter is not elected. The heaven-born mission of journalism is
to disseminate truth; to eradicate error; to educate, refine, and elevate
the tone of public morals and manners, and make all men more gentle,
more virtuous, more charitable, and in all ways better, and holier, and
happier; and yet this black-hearted scoundrel degrades his great office
persistently to the dissemination of falsehood, calumny, vituperation,
and vulgarity. "Blathersville wants a Nicholson pavement—it wants a jail and a
poorhouse more. The idea of a pavement in a one-horse town com-
posed of two gin mills, a blacksmith shop, and that mustard-plaster of
a newspaper, the Daily Hurrah! The crawling insect, Buckner, who
edits the Hurrah, is braying about this business with his customary
imbecility, and imagining that he is talking sense."

"Now that is the way to write—peppery and to
the point. Mush-and-milk journalism gives me the
fan-tods."

---

About this time a brick came through the window
with a splintering crash, and gave me a considerable
of a jolt in the back. I moved out of range—I
began to feel in the way.

The chief said, "That was the Colonel, likely.
I've been expecting him for two days. He will be
up now right away."

He was correct. The Colonel appeared in the
door a moment afterward with a dragoon revolver in
his hand.

He said, "Sir, have I the honor of addressing the
poltroon who edits this mangy sheet?"

"You have. Be seated, sir. Be careful of the
chair, one of its legs is gone. I believe I have the
honor of addressing the putrid liar, Colonel Blather-
skite Tecumseh?"

"Right, sir. I have a little account to settle with
you. If you are at leisure we will begin."

"I have an article on the 'Encouraging Progress
of Moral and Intellectual Development in America'
to finish, but there is no hurry. Begin."

Both pistols rang out their fierce clamor at the
same instant. The chief lost a lock of his hair, and
the Colonel's bullet ended its career in the fleshy
part of my thigh. The Colonel's left shoulder was
clipped a little. They fired again. Both missed
their men this time, but I got my share, a shot in
the arm. At the third fire both gentlemen were
wounded slightly, and I had a knuckle chipped. I
then said, I believed I would go out and take a

---

walk, as this was a private matter, and I had a
delicacy about participating in it further. But both
gentlemen begged me to keep my seat, and assured
me that I was not in the way.

They then talked about the elections and the crops
while they reloaded, and I fell to tying up my
wounds. But presently they opened fire again with
animation, and every shot took effect—but it is
proper to remark that five out of the six fell to my
share. The sixth one mortally wounded the Colonel,
who remarked, with fine humor, that he would have
to say good morning now, as he had business up
town. He then inquired the way to the undertaker's
and left.

The chief turned to me and said, "I am expect-
ing company to dinner, and shall have to get ready.
It will be a favor to me if you will read proof and
attend to the customers."

I winced a little at the idea of attending to the
customers, but I was too bewildered by the fusillade
that was still ringing in my ears to think of anything
to say.

He continued, "Jones will be here at 3—cow-
hide him. Gillespie will call earlier, perhaps—
throw him out of the window. Ferguson will be
along about 4—kill him. That is all for to-day, I
believe. If you have any odd time, you may write
a blistering article on the police—give the chief
inspector rats. The cowhides are under the table;
weapons in the drawer—ammunition there in the

---

corner—lint and bandages up there in the pigeon-
holes. In case of accident, go to Lancet, the sur-
geon, downstairs. He advertises—we take it out
in trade."

He was gone. I shuddered. At the end of the
next three hours I had been through perils so awful
that all peace of mind and all cheerfulness were
gone from me. Gillespie had called and thrown me
out of the window. Jones arrived promptly, and
when I got ready to do the cowhiding he took the
job off my hands. In an encounter with a stranger,
not in the bill of fare, I had lost my scalp. Another
stranger, by the name of Thompson, left me a mere
wreck and ruin of chaotic rags. And at last, at bay
in the corner, and beset by an infuriated mob of
editors, blacklegs, politicians, and desperadoes, who
raved and swore and flourished their weapons about
my head till the air shimmered with glancing flashes
of steel, I was in the act of resigning my berth on
the paper when the chief arrived, and with him a
rabble of charmed and enthusiastic friends. Then
ensued a scene of riot and carnage such as no human
pen, or steel one either, could describe. People
were shot, probed, dismembered, blown up, thrown
out of the window. There was a brief tornado of
murky blasphemy, with a confused and frantic war-
dance glimmering through it, and then all was over.
In five minutes there was silence, and the gory chief
and I sat alone and surveyed the sanguinary ruin
that strewed the floor around us.

---

He said, "You'll like this place when you get
used to it."

I said, "I'll have to get you to excuse me; I
think maybe I might write to suit you after a while;
as soon as I had had some practice and learned the
language I am confident I could. But, to speak the
plain truth, that sort of energy of expression has its
inconveniences, and a man is liable to interruption.
You see that yourself. Vigorous writing is calcu-
lated to elevate the public, no doubt, but then I do
not like to attract so much attention as it calls forth.
I can't write with comfort when I am interrupted so
much as I have been to-day. I like this berth well
enough, but I don't like to be left here to wait on
the customers. The experiences are novel, I grant
you, and entertaining, too, after a fashion, but they
are not judiciously distributed. A gentleman shoots
at you through the window and cripples me; a
bomb-shell comes down the stove-pipe for your
gratification and sends the stove door down my
throat; a friend drops in to swap compliments with
you, and freckles me with bullet-holes till my skin
won't hold my principles; you go to dinner, and
Jones comes with his cowhide, Gillespie throws me
out of the window, Thompson tears all my clothes
off, and an entire stranger takes my scalp with the
easy freedom of an old acquaintance; and in less
than five minutes all the blackguards in the country
arrive in their war-paint, and proceed to scare the
rest of me to death with their tomahawks. Take it

---

altogether, I never had such a spirited time in all
my life as I have had to-day. No; I like you, and
I like your calm unruffled way of explaining things
to the customers, but you see I am not used to it.
The Southern heart is too impulsive; Southern hos-
pitality is too lavish with the stranger. The para-
graphs which I have written to-day, and into whose
cold sentences your masterly hand has infused the
fervent spirit of Tennessean journalism, will wake up
another nest of hornets. All that mob of editors
will come—and they will come hungry, too, and
want somebody for breakfast. I shall have to bid
you adieu. I decline to be present at these festivi-
ties. I came South for my health, I will go back
on the same errand, and suddenly. Tennesseean
journalism is too stirring for me."

After which we parted with mutual regret, and I
took apartments at the hospital.

---

STORY OF THE BAD LITTLE BOY*

Written about 1865.

Once there was a bad little boy whose name was
Jim—though, if you will notice, you will find
that bad little boys are nearly always called James in
your Sunday-school books. It was strange, but still
it was true, that this one was called Jim.

He didn't have any sick mother, either—a sick
mother who was pious and had the consumption,
and would be glad to lie down in the grave and be
at rest but for the strong love she bore her boy, and
the anxiety she felt that the world might be harsh
and cold towards him when she was gone. Most
bad boys in the Sunday books are named James,
and have sick mothers, who teach them to say,
"Now, I lay me down," etc., and sing them to
sleep with sweet, plaintive voices, and then kiss them
good night, and kneel down by the bedside and
weep. But it was different with this fellow. He
was named Jim, and there wasn't anything the
matter with his mother—no consumption, nor any-
thing of that kind. She was rather stout than other-
wise, and she was not pious; moreover, she was not
anxious on Jim's account. She said if he were to

---

break his neck it wouldn't be much loss. She always
spanked Jim to sleep, and she never kissed him good
night; on the contrary, she boxed his ears when she
was ready to leave him.

Once this little bad boy stole the key of the
pantry, and slipped in there and helped himself to
some jam, and filled up the vessel with tar, so that
his mother would never know the difference; but all
at once a terrible feeling didn't come over him, and
something didn't seem to whisper to him, "Is it
right to disobey my mother? Isn't it sinful to do
this? Where do bad little boys go who gobble up
their good kind mother's jam?" and then he didn't
kneel down all alone and promise never to be wicked
any more, and rise up with a light, happy heart, and
go and tell his mother all about it, and beg her for-
giveness, and be blessed by her with tears of pride
and thankfulness in her eyes. No; that is the way
with all other bad boys in the books; but it hap-
pened otherwise with this Jim, strangely enough.
He ate that jam, and said it was bully, in his sinful,
vulgar way; and he put in the tar, and said that was
bully also, and laughed, and observed "that the old
woman would get up and snort" when she found it
out; and when she did find it out, he denied know-
ing anything about it, and she whipped him severely,
and he did the crying himself. Everything about
this boy was curious—everything turned out differ-
ently with him from the way it does to the bad
Jameses in the books.

---

Once he climbed up in Farmer Acorn's apple
tree to steal apples, and the limb didn't break, and
he didn't fall and break his arm, and get torn by the
farmer's great dog, and then languish on a sick bed
for weeks, and repent and become good. Oh, no;
he stole as many apples as he wanted and came
down all right; and he was all ready for the dog,
too, and knocked him endways with a brick when he
came to tear him. It was very strange—nothing
like it ever happened in those mild little books with
marbled backs, and with pictures in them of men
with swallow-tailed coats and bell-crowned hats,
and pantaloons that are short in the legs, and women
with the waists of their dresses under their arms,
and no hoops on. Nothing like it in any of the
Sunday-school books.

Once he stole the teacher's penknife, and, when
he was afraid it would be found out and he would
get whipped, he slipped it into George Wilson's cap
—poor Widow Wilson's son, the moral boy, the
good little boy of the village, who always obeyed
his mother, and never told an untruth, and was fond
of his lessons, and infatuated with Sunday-school.
And when the knife dropped from the cap, and poor
George hung his head and blushed, as if in con-
scious guilt, and the grieved teacher charged the
theft upon him, and was just in the very act of
bringing the switch down upon his trembling shoul-
ders, a white-haired, improbable justice of the peace
did not suddenly appear in their midst, and strike an

---

attitude and say, "Spare this noble boy—there
stands the cowering culprit! I was passing the
school door at recess, and, unseen myself, I saw the
theft committed!" And then Jim didn't get whaled,
and the venerable justice didn't read the tearful
school a homily, and take George by the hand and
say such a boy deserved to be exalted, and then tell
him to come and make his home with him, and
sweep out the office, and make fires, and run errands,
and chop wood, and study law, and help his wife do
household labors, and have all the balance of the
time to play, and get forty cents a month, and be
happy. No; it would have happened that way in
the books, but it didn't happen that way to Jim.
No meddling old clam of a justice dropped in to
make trouble, and so the model boy George got
thrashed, and Jim was glad of it because, you know,
Jim hated moral boys. Jim said he was "down on
them milksops." Such was the coarse language of
this bad, neglected boy.

But the strangest thing that ever happened to Jim
was the time he went boating on Sunday, and didn't
get drowned, and that other time that he got caught
out in the storm when he was fishing on Sunday,
and didn't get struck by lightning. Why, you might
look, and look, all through the Sunday-school books
from now till next Christmas, and you would never
come across anything like this. Oh, no; you would
find that all the bad boys who go boating on Sunday
invariably get drowned; and all the bad boys who

---

get caught out in storms when they are fishing on
Sunday infallibly get struck by lightning. Boats
with bad boys in them always upset on Sunday, and
it always storms when bad boys go fishing on the
Sabbath. How this Jim ever escaped is a mystery
to me.

This Jim bore a charmed life—that must have
been the way of it. Nothing could hurt him. He
even gave the elephant in the menagerie a plug of
tobacco, and the elephant didn't knock the top of
his head off with his trunk. He browsed around the
cupboard after essence of peppermint, and didn't
make a mistake and drink aqua fortis. He stole his
father's gun and went hunting on the Sabbath, and
didn't shoot three or four of his fingers off. He
struck his little sister on the temple with his fist
when he was angry, and she didn't linger in pain
through long summer days, and die with sweet words
of forgiveness upon her lips that redoubled the
anguish of his breaking heart. No; she got over
it. He ran off and went to sea at last, and didn't
come back and find himself sad and alone in the
world, his loved ones sleeping in the quiet church-
yard, and the vine-embowered home of his boyhood
tumbled down and gone to decay. Ah, no; he
came home as drunk as a piper, and got into the
station-house the first thing.

And he grew up and married, and raised a large
family, and brained them all with an axe one night,
and got wealthy by all manner of cheating and ras-

---

cality; and now he is the infernalest wickedest
scoundrel in his native village, and is universally
respected, and belongs to the legislature.

So you see there never was a bad James in the
Sunday-school books that had such a streak of luck
as this sinful Jim with the charmed life.

---

THE STORY OF THE GOOD LITTLE
BOY*

Written about 1865.

Once there was a good little boy by the name of
Jacob Blivens. He always obeyed his parents,
no matter how absurd and unreasonable their de-
mands were; and he always learned his book, and
never was late at Sabbath-school. He would not
play hookey, even when his sober judgment told
him it was the most profitable thing he could do.
None of the other boys could ever make that boy
out, he acted so strangely. He wouldn't lie, no
matter how convenient it was. He just said it was
wrong to lie, and that was sufficient for him. And
he was so honest that he was simply ridiculous. The
curious ways that that Jacob had, surpassed every-
thing. He wouldn't play marbles on Sunday, he
wouldn't rob birds' nests, he wouldn't give hot pen-
nies to organ-grinders' monkeys; he didn't seem to
take any interest in any kind of rational amusement.
So the other boys used to try to reason it out and
come to an understanding of him, but they couldn't
arrive at any satisfactory conclusion. As I said be-

---

fore, they could only figure out a sort of vague idea
that he was "afflicted," and so they took him under
their protection, and never allowed any harm to
come to him.

This good little boy read all the Sunday-school
books; they were his greatest delight. This was the
whole secret of it. He believed in the good little
boys they put in the Sunday-school books; he had
every confidence in them. He longed to come
across one of them alive once; but he never did.
They all died before his time, maybe. Whenever
he read about a particularly good one he turned over
quickly to the end to see what became of him, be-
cause he wanted to travel thousands of miles and
gaze on him; but it wasn't any use; that good little
boy always died in the last chapter, and there was a
picture of the funeral, with all his relations and the
Sunday-school children standing around the grave in
pantaloons that were too short, and bonnets that
were too large, and everybody crying into handker-
chiefs that had as much as a yard and a half of
stuff in them. He was always headed off in this
way. He never could see one of those good little
boys on account of his always dying in the last
chapter.

Jacob had a noble ambition to be put in a Sunday-
school book. He wanted to be put in, with pictures
representing him gloriously declining to lie to his
mother, and her weeping for joy about it; and pic-
tures representing him standing on the doorstep

---

giving a penny to a poor beggar-woman with six
children, and telling her to spend it freely, but not
to be extravagant, because extravagance is a sin;
and pictures of him magnanimously refusing to tell
on the bad boy who always lay in wait for him
around the corner as he came from school, and
welted him over the head with a lath, and then
chased him home, saying, "Hi! hi!" as he pro-
ceeded. That was the ambition of young Jacob
Blivens. He wished to be put in a Sunday-school
book. It made him feel a little uncomfortable some-
times when he reflected that the good little boys
always died. He loved to live, you know, and this
was the most unpleasant feature about being a
Sunday-school book boy. He knew it was not
healthy to be good. He knew it was more fatal
than consumption to be so supernaturally good as
the boys in the books were; he knew that none of
them had ever been able to stand it long, and it
pained him to think that if they put him in a book
he wouldn't ever see it, or even if they did get the
book out before he died it wouldn't be popular
without any picture of his funeral in the back part
of it. It couldn't be much of a Sunday-school book
that couldn't tell about the advice he gave to the
community when he was dying. So at last, of
course, he had to make up his mind to do the best
he could under the circumstances—to live right,
and hang on as long as he could, and have his dying
speech all ready when his time came.

---

But somehow nothing ever went right with this
good little boy; nothing ever turned out with him
the way it turned out with the good little boys in the
books. They always had a good time, and the bad
boys had the broken legs; but in his case there was
a screw loose somewhere, and it all happened just
the other way. When he found Jim Blake stealing
apples, and went under the tree to read to him about
the bad little boy who fell out of a neighbor's apple
tree and broke his arm, Jim fell out of the tree, too,
but he fell on him and broke his arm, and Jim
wasn't hurt at all. Jacob couldn't understand that.
There wasn't anything in the books like it.

And once, when some bad boys pushed a blind
man over in the mud, and Jacob ran to help him
up and receive his blessing, the blind man did
not give him any blessing at all, but whacked him
over the head with his stick and said he would like
to catch him shoving him again, and then pretend-
ing to help him up. This was not in accordance
with any of the books. Jacob looked them all over
to see.

One thing that Jacob wanted to do was to find a
lame dog that hadn't any place to stay, and was
hungry and persecuted, and bring him home and
pet him and have that dog's imperishable gratitude.
And at last he found one and was happy; and he
brought him home and fed him, but when he was
going to pet him the dog flew at him and tore all the
clothes off him except those that were in front, and

---

made a spectacle of him that was astonishing. He
examined authorities, but he could not understand
the matter. It was of the same breed of dogs that
was in the books, but it acted very differently.
Whatever this boy did he got into trouble. The
very things the boys in the books got rewarded for
turned out to be about the most unprofitable things
he could invest in.

Once, when he was on his way to Sunday-school,
he saw some bad boys starting off pleasuring in a
sailboat. He was filled with consternation, because
he knew from his reading that boys who went sailing
on Sunday invariably got drowned. So he ran out
on a raft to warn them, but a log turned with him
and slid him into the river. A man got him out
pretty soon, and the doctor pumped the water out
of him, and gave him a fresh start with his bellows,
but he caught cold and lay sick abed nine weeks.
But the most unaccountable thing about it was that
the bad boys in the boat had a good time all day,
and then reached home alive and well in the most
surprising manner. Jacob Blivens said there was
nothing like these things in the books. He was
perfectly dumbfounded.

When he got well he was a little discouraged, but
he resolved to keep on trying anyhow. He knew
that so far his experiences wouldn't do to go in a
book, but he hadn't yet reached the allotted term of
life for good little boys, and he hoped to be able to
make a record yet if he could hold on till his time

---

was fully up. If everything else failed he had his
dying speech to fall back on.

He examined his authorities, and found that it
was now time for him to go to sea as a cabin-boy.
He called on a ship captain and made his application,
and when the captain asked for his recommenda-
tions he proudly drew out a tract and pointed to the
words, "To Jacob Blivens, from his affectionate
teacher." But the captain was a coarse, vulgar man,
and he said, "Oh, that be blowed! that wasn't any
proof that he knew how to wash dishes or handle a
slush-bucket, and he guessed he didn't want him."
This was altogether the most extraordinary thing
that ever happened to Jacob in all his life. A
compliment from a teacher, on a tract, had never
failed to move the tenderest emotions of ship
captains, and open the way to all offices of honor
and profit in their gift—it never had in any book
that ever he had read. He could hardly believe his
senses.

This boy always had a hard time of it. Nothing
ever came out according to the authorities with him.
At last, one day, when he was around hunting up
bad little boys to admonish, he found a lot of them
in the old iron foundry fixing up a little joke on
fourteen or fifteen dogs, which they had tied to-
gether in long procession, and were going to orna-
ment with empty nitro-glycerine cans made fast to
their tails. Jacob's heart was touched. He sat
down on one of those cans (for he never minded

---

grease when duty was before him), and he took
hold of the foremost dog by the collar, and turned
his reproving eye upon wicked Tom Jones. But
just at that moment Alderman McWelter, full of
wrath, stepped in. All the bad boys ran away, but
Jacob Blivens rose in conscious innocence and began
one of those stately little Sunday-school book
speeches which always commence with "Oh, sir!"
in dead opposition to the fact that no boy, good or
bad, ever starts a remark with "Oh, sir." But the
alderman never waited to hear the rest. He took
Jacob Blivens by the ear and turned him around,
and hit him a whack in the rear with the flat of his
hand; and in an instant that good little boy shot out
through the roof and soared away toward the sun,
with the fragments of those fifteen dogs stringing
after him like the tail of a kite. And there wasn't a
sign of that alderman or that old iron foundry left
on the face of the earth; and, as for young Jacob
Blivens, he never got a chance to make his last
dying speech after all his trouble fixing it up, unless
he made it to the birds; because, although the bulk
of him came down all right in a tree-top in an ad-
joining county, the rest of him was apportioned
around among four townships, and so they had to
hold five inquests on him to find out whether he was
dead or not, and how it occurred. You never saw
a boy scattered so.*

This glycerine catastrophe is borrowed from a floating newspaper
item, whose author's name I would give if I knew it.—[M. T.]

---

Thus perished the good little boy who did the
best he could, but didn't come out according to the
books. Every boy who ever did as he did pros-
pered except him. His case is truly remarkable.
It will probably never be accounted for.

---

A COUPLE OF POEMS BY TWAIN AND
MOORE*

Written about 1865.

THOSE EVENING BELLS.by thomas moore.Those evening bells! those evening bells!How many a tale their music tellsOf youth, and home, and that sweet timeWhen last I heard their soothing chime.Those joyous hours are passed away;And many a heart that then was gay,Within the tomb now darkly dwells,And hears no more those evening bells.And so 'twill be when I am gone—That tuneful peal will still ring on;While other bards shall walk these dells,And sing your praise, sweet evening bells.THOSE ANNUAL BILLS.by mark twain.These annual bills! these annual bills!How many a song their discord trillsOf "truck" consumed, enjoyed, forgot,Since I was skinned by last year's lot!

---

Those joyous beans are passed away;Those onions blithe, O where are they?Once loved, lost, mourned—now vexing illsYour shades troop back in annual bills!And so 'twill be when I'm aground—These yearly duns will still go round,While other bards, with frantic quills.Shall damn and damn these annual bids!

---

NIAGARA*

Written about 1871.

Niagara falls is a most enjoyable place of
resort. The hotels are excellent, and the
prices not at all exorbitant. The opportunities for
fishing are not surpassed in the country; in fact,
they are not even equaled elsewhere. Because, in
other localities, certain places in the streams are
much better than others; but at Niagara one place
is just as good as another, for the reason that the
fish do not bite anywhere, and so there is no use in
your walking five miles to fish, when you can de-
pend on being just as unsuccessful nearer home.
The advantages of this state of things have never
heretofore been properly placed before the public.

The weather is cool in summer, and the walks and
drives are all pleasant and none of them fatiguing.
When you start out to "do" the Falls you first
drive down about a mile, and pay a small sum for
the privilege of looking down from a precipice into
the narrowest part of the Niagara river. A rail-
way "cut" through a hill would be as comely if it
had the angry river tumbling and foaming through

---

its bottom. You can descend a staircase here a
hundred and fifty feet down, and stand at the edge
of the water. After you have done it, you will
wonder why you did it; but you will then be too late.

The guide will explain to you, in his blood-
curdling way, how he saw the little steamer, Maid
of the Mist, descend the fearful rapids—how first
one paddle-box was out of sight behind the raging
billows and then the other, and at what point it was
that her smokestack toppled overboard, and where
her planking began to break and part asunder—
and how she did finally live through the trip, after
accomplishing the incredible feat of traveling seven-
teen miles in six minutes, or six miles in seventeen
minutes, I have really forgotten which. But it was
very extraordinary, anyhow. It is worth the price
of admission to hear the guide tell the story nine
times in succession to different parties, and never
miss a word or alter a sentence or a gesture.

Then you drive over to Suspension Bridge, and
divide your misery between the chances of smashing
down two hundred feet into the river below, and the
chances of having the railway train overhead smash-
ing down on to you. Either possibility is discom-
forting taken by itself, but, mixed together, they
amount in the aggregate to positive unhappiness.

On the Canada side you drive along the chasm
between long ranks of photographers standing guard
behind their cameras, ready to make an ostentatious
frontispiece of you and your decaying ambulance,

---

and your solemn crate with a hide on it, which you
are expected to regard in the light of a horse, and a
diminished and unimportant background of sublime
Niagara; and a great many people have the incredi-
ble effrontery or the native depravity to aid and abet
this sort of crime.

Any day, in the hands of these photographers,
you may see stately pictures of papa and mamma,
Johnny and Bub and Sis, or a couple of country
cousins, all smiling vacantly, and all disposed in
studied and uncomfortable attitudes in their carriage,
and all looming up in their awe-inspiring imbecility
before the snubbed and diminished presentment of
that majestic presence whose ministering spirits are
the rainbows, whose voice is the thunder, whose
awful front is veiled in clouds, who was monarch
here dead and forgotten ages before this hackful of
small reptiles was deemed temporarily necessary to
fill a crack in the world's unnoted myriads, and will
still be monarch here ages and decades of ages after
they shall have gathered themselves to their blood
relations, the other worms, and been mingled with
the unremembering dust.

There is no actual harm in making Niagara a
background whereon to display one's marvelous
insignificance in a good strong light, but it requires
a sort of superhuman self-complacency to enable
one to do it.

When you have examined the stupendous Horse-
shoe Fall till you are satisfied you cannot improve

---

on it, you return to America by the new Suspension
Bridge, and follow up the bank to where they ex-
hibit the Cave of the Winds.

Here I followed instructions, and divested myself
of all my clothing, and put on a waterproof jacket
and overalls. This costume is picturesque, but not
beautiful. A guide, similarly dressed, led the way
down a flight of winding stairs, which wound and
wound, and still kept on winding long after the
thing ceased to be a novelty, and then terminated
long before it had begun to be a pleasure. We
were then well down under the precipice, but still
considerably above the level of the river.

We now began to creep along flimsy bridges of a
single plank, our persons shielded from destruction
by a crazy wooden railing, to which I clung with
both hands—not because I was afraid, but because
I wanted to. Presently the descent became steeper,
and the bridge flimsier, and sprays from the Ameri-
can Fall began to rain down on us in fast increasing
sheets that soon became blinding, and after that our
progress was mostly in the nature of groping. Now
a furious wind began to rush out from behind the
waterfall, which seemed determined to sweep us
from the bridge, and scatter us on the rocks and
among the torrents below. I remarked that I wanted
to go home; but it was too late. We were almost
under the monstrous wall of water thundering down
from above, and speech was in vain in the midst of
such a pitiless crash of sound.

---

In another moment the guide disappeared be-
hind the deluge, and, bewildered by the thunder,
driven helplessly by the wind, and smitten by the
arrowy tempest of rain, I followed. All was dark-
ness. Such a mad storming, roaring, and bellowing
of warring wind and water never crazed my ears be-
fore. I bent my head, and seemed to receive the
Atlantic on my back. The world seemed going to de-
struction. I could not see anything, the flood poured
down so savagely. I raised my head, with open
mouth, and the most of the American cataract went
down my throat. If I had sprung a leak now I had
been lost. And at this moment I discovered that
the bridge had ceased, and we must trust for a foot-
hold to the slippery and precipitous rocks. I never
was so scared before and survived it. But we got
through at last, and emerged into the open day,
where we could stand in front of the laced and
frothy and seething world of descending water, and
look at it. When I saw how much of it there was,
and how fearfully in earnest it was, I was sorry I
had gone behind it.

The noble Red Man has always been a friend and
darling of mine. I love to read about him in tales
and legends and romances. I love to read of his
inspired sagacity, and his love of the wild free life
of mountain and forest, and his general nobility of
character, and his stately metaphorical manner of
speech, and his chivalrous love for the dusky
maiden, and the picturesque pomp of his dress and

---

accoutrements. Especially the picturesque pomp of
his dress and accoutrements. When I found the
shops at Niagara Falls full of dainty Indian bead-
work, and stunning moccasins, and equally stunning
toy figures representing human beings who carried
their weapons in holes bored through their arms and
bodies, and had feet shaped like a pie, I was filled
with emotion. I knew that now, at last, I was going
to come face to face with the noble Red Man.

A lady clerk in a shop told me, indeed, that all
her grand array of curiosities were made by the
Indians, and that they were plenty about the Falls,
and that they were friendly, and it would not be
dangerous to speak to them. And sure enough, as
I approached the bridge leading over to Luna Island,
I came upon a noble Son of the Forest sitting under
a tree, diligently at work on a bead reticule. He
wore a slouch hat and brogans, and had a short
black pipe in his mouth. Thus does the baneful
contact with our effeminate civilization dilute the
picturesque pomp which is so natural to the Indian
when far removed from us in his native haunts. I
addressed the relic as follows:

"Is the Wawhoo-Wang-Wang of the Whack-a-
Whack happy? Does the great Speckled Thunder
sigh for the warpath, or is his heart contented with
dreaming of the dusky maiden, the Pride of the
Forest? Does the mighty Sachem yearn to drink
the blood of his enemies, or is he satisfied to make
bead reticules for the pappooses of the paleface?

---

Speak, sublime relic of bygone grandeur—vener-
able ruin, speak!"

The relic said:

"An' is it mesilf, Dennis Hooligan, that ye'd be
takin' for a dirty Injin, ye drawlin', lantern-jawed,
spider-legged divil! By the piper that played be-
fore Moses, I'll ate ye!"

I went away from there.

By and by, in the neighborhood of the Terrapin
Tower, I came upon a gentle daughter of the
aborigines in fringed and beaded buckskin moccasins
and leggins, seated on a bench with her pretty wares
about her. She had just carved out a wooden chief
that had a strong family resemblance to a clothes-
pin, and was now boring a hole through his abdomen
to put his bow through. I hesitated a moment,
and then addressed her:

"Is the heart of the forest maiden heavy? Is
the Laughing Tadpole lonely? Does she mourn
over the extinguished council-fires of her race, and
the vanished glory of her ancestors? Or does her
sad spirit wander afar toward the hunting-grounds
whither her brave Gobbler-of-the-Lightnings is gone?
Why is my daughter silent? Has she aught against
the paleface stranger?"

The maiden said:

"Faix, an' is it Biddy Malone ye dare to be
callin' names? Lave this, or I'll shy your lean
carcass over the cataract, ye sniveling blaggard!"

I adjourned from there also.

---

"Confound these Indians!" I said. "They told
me they were tame; but, if appearances go for
anything, I should say they were all on the war-
path."

I made one more attempt to fraternize with them,
and only one. I came upon a camp of them
gathered in the shade of a great tree, making wam-
pum and moccasins, and addressed them in the
language of friendship:

"Noble Red Men, Braves, Grand Sachems, War
Chiefs, Squaws, and High Muck-a-Mucks, the pale-
face from the land of the setting sun greets you!
You, Beneficent Polecat—you, Devourer of Moun-
tains—you, Roaring Thundergust—you, Bully
Boy with a Glass eye—the paleface from beyond
the great waters greets you all! War and pestilence
have thinned your ranks and destroyed your once
proud nation. Poker and seven-up, and a vain
modern expense for soap, unknown to your glorious
ancestors, have depleted your purses. Appropriat-
ing, in your simplicity, the property of others has
gotten you into trouble. Misrepresenting facts, in
your simple innocence, has damaged your reputa-
tion with the soulless usurper. Trading for forty-
rod whisky, to enable you to get drunk and happy
and tomahawk your families, has played the ever-
lasting mischief with the picturesque pomp of your
dress, and here you are, in the broad light of the
nineteenth century, gotten up like the ragtag and
bobtail of the purlieus of New York. For shame!

---

Remember your ancestors! Recall their mighty
deeds! Remember Uncas!—and Red Jacket!—
and Hole in the Day!—and Whoopdedoodledo!
Emulate their achievements! Unfurl yourselves
under my banner, noble savages, illustrious gutter-
snipes—"

"Down wid him!" "Scoop the blaggard!"
"Burn him!" "Hang him!" "Dhround him!"

It was the quickest operation that ever was. I
simply saw a sudden flash in the air of clubs, brick-
bats, fists, bead-baskets, and moccasins—a single
flash, and they all appeared to hit me at once, and
no two of them in the same place. In the next
instant the entire tribe was upon me. They tore half
the clothes off me; they broke my arms and legs;
they gave me a thump that dented the top of my
head till it would hold coffee like a saucer; and, to
crown their disgraceful proceedings and add insult
to injury, they threw me over the Niagara Falls, and
I got wet.

About ninety or a hundred feet from the top, the
remains of my vest caught on a projecting rock, and
I was almost drowned before I could get loose. I
finally fell, and brought up in a world of white foam
at the foot of the Fall, whose celled and bubbly
masses towered up several inches above my head.
Of course I got into the eddy. I sailed round and
round in it forty-four times—chasing a chip and
gaining on it—each round trip a half mile—reach-
ing for the same bush on the bank forty-four times,

---

and just exactly missing it by a hair's-breadth every
time.

At last a man walked down and sat down close to
that bush, and put a pipe in his mouth, and lit a
match, and followed me with one eye and kept the
other on the match, while he sheltered it in his
hands from the wind. Presently a puff of wind
blew it out. The next time I swept around he said:

"Got a match?"

"Yes; in my other vest. Help me out, please."

"Not for Joe."

When I came round again, I said:

"Excuse the seemingly impertinent curiosity of a
drowning man, but will you explain this singular
conduct of yours?"

"With pleasure. I am the coroner. Don't hurry
on my account. I can wait for you. But I wish I
had a match."

I said: "Take my place, and I'll go and get you
one."

He declined. This lack of confidence on his part
created a coldness between us, and from that time
forward I avoided him. It was my idea, in case
anything happened to me, to so time the occurrence
as to throw my custom into the hands of the oppo-
sition coroner over on the American side.

At last a policeman came along, and arrested
me for disturbing the peace by yelling at people
on shore for help. The judge fined me, but I
had the advantage of him. My money was with

---

my pantaloons and my pantaloons were with the
Indians.

Thus I escaped. I am now lying in a very critical
condition. At least I am lying anyway—critical
or not critical. I am hurt all over, but I cannot tell
the full extent yet, because the doctor is not done
taking inventory. He will make out my manifest
this evening. However, thus far he thinks only
sixteen of my wounds are fatal. I don't mind the
others.

Upon regaining my right mind, I said:

"It is an awful savage tribe of Indians that do
the bead work and moccasins for Niagara Falls,
doctor. Where are they from?"

"Limerick, my son."

---

ANSWERS TO CORRESPONDENTS*

Written about 1865.

"Moral statistician."—I don't want
any of your statistics; I took your whole
batch and lit my pipe with it. I hate your kind of
people. You are always ciphering out how much a
man's health is injured, and how much his intellect
is impaired, and how many pitiful dollars and cents
he wastes in the course of ninety-two years' indul-
gence in the fatal practice of smoking; and in the
equally fatal practice of drinking coffee; and in
playing billiards occasionally; and in taking a glass
of wine at dinner, etc., etc., etc. And you are
always figuring out how many women have been
burned to death because of the dangerous fashion of
wearing expansive hoops, etc., etc., etc. You
never see more than one side of the question. You
are blind to the fact that most old men in America
smoke and drink coffee, although, according to your
theory, they ought to have died young; and that
hearty old Englishmen drink wine and survive it,
and portly old Dutchmen both drink and smoke
freely, and yet grow older and fatter all the time.

---

And you never try to find out how much solid com-
fort, relaxation, and enjoyment a man derives from
smoking in the course of a lifetime (which is worth
ten times the money he would save by letting it
alone), nor the appalling aggregate of happiness lost
in a lifetime by your kind of people from not
smoking. Of course you can save money by deny-
ing yourself all those little vicious enjoyments for
fifty years; but then what can you do with it?
What use can you put it to? Money can't save
your infinitesimal soul. All the use that money can
be put to is to purchase comfort and enjoyment in
this life; therefore, as you are an enemy to comfort
and enjoyment, where is the use of accumulating
cash? It won't do for you to say that you can use
it to better purpose in furnishing a good table, and
in charities, and in supporting tract societies, be-
cause you know yourself that you people who have
no petty vices are never known to give away a cent,
and that you stint yourselves so in the matter of
food that you are always feeble and hungry. And
you never dare to laugh in the daytime for fear some
poor wretch, seeing you in a good humor, will try
to borrow a dollar of you; and in church you are
always down on your knees, with your eyes buried
in the cushion, when the contribution box comes
around; and you never give the revenue officers a
full statement of your income. Now you know all
these things yourself, don't you? Very well, then,
what is the use of your stringing out your miserable

---

lives to a lean and withered old age? What is the
use of your saving money that is so utterly worthless
to you? In a word, why don't you go off some-
where and die, and not be always trying to seduce
people into becoming as "ornery" and unloveable
as you are yourselves, by your villainous "moral
statistics"? Now I don't approve of dissipation,
and I don't indulge in it, either; but I haven't a
particle of confidence in a man who has no redeem-
ing petty vices, and so I don't want to hear from
you any more. I think you are the very same man
who read me a long lecture last week about the
degrading vice of smoking cigars, and then came
back, in my absence, with your reprehensible fire-
proof gloves on, and carried off my beautiful parlor
stove.

"Young Author."—Yes, Agassiz does recom-
mend authors to eat fish, because the phosphorus
in it makes brain. So far you are correct. But I
cannot help you to a decision about the amount you
need to eat—at least, not with certainty. If the
specimen composition you send is about your fair
usual average, I should judge that perhaps a couple
of whales would be all you would want for the
present. Not the largest kind, but simply good
middling-sized whales.

"Simon Wheeler," Sonora.—The following
simple and touching remarks and accompanying

---

poem have just come to hand from the rich gold-
mining region of Sonora:
To Mr. Mark Twain: The within parson, which I have set to
poetry under the name and style of "He Done His Level Best," was
one among the whitest men I ever see, and it ain't every man that
knowed him that can find it in his heart to say he's glad the poor cuss
is busted and gone home to the States. He was here in an early day,
and he was the handyest man about takin' holt of anything that come
along you most ever see, I judge. He was a cheerful, stirrin' cretur,
always doin' somethin', and no man can say he ever see him do anything
by halvers. Preachin' was his nateral gait, but he warn't a man to lay
back and twidle his thumbs because there didn't happen to be nothin'
doin' in his own especial line—no, sir, he was a man who would
meander forth and stir up something for hisself. His last acts was to go
his pile on "Kings-and" (calklatin' to fill, but which he didn't fill),
when there was a "flush" out agin him, and naterally, you see, he
went under. And so he was cleaned out, as you may say, and he struck
the home-trail, cheerful but flat broke. I knowed this talonted man in
Arkansaw, and if you would print this humbly tribute to his gorgis
abilities, you would greatly obleege his onhappy friend. he done his level bestWas he a mining on the flat—He done it with a zest;Was he a leading of the choir—He done his level best. If he'd a reg'lar task to do,He never took no rest;Or if 'twas off-and-on—the same—He done his level best. If he was preachin' on his beat,He'd tramp from east to west,And north to south—in cold and heatHe done his level best.

---

He'd yank a sinner outen (Hades),*

Here I have taken a slight liberty with the original MS. "Hades"
does not make such good meter as the other word of one syllable, but it
sounds better.

And land him with the blest;Then snatch a prayer'n waltz in again,And do his level best. He'd cuss and sing and howl and pray,And dance and drink and jest,And lie and steal—all one to him—He done his level best. Whate'er this man was sot to do,He done it with a zest;No matter what his contract was,He'd do his level best.

Verily, this man was gifted with "gorgis abili-
ties," and it is a happiness to me to embalm the
memory of their luster in these columns. If it were
not that the poet crop is unusually large and rank in
California this year, I would encourage you to con-
tinue writing, Simon Wheeler; but, as it is, perhaps
it might be too risky in you to enter against so
much opposition.

"Professional Beggar."—No; you are not
obliged to take greenbacks at par.

"Melton Mowbray,"†

This piece of pleasantry, published in a San Francisco paper, was
mistaken by the country journals for seriousness, and many and loud were
the denunciations of the ignorance of author and editor, in not knowing
that the lines in question were "written by Byron."

Dutch Flat.—This cor-

---

respondent sends a lot of doggerel, and says it has
been regarded as very good in Dutch Flat. I give
a specimen verse:
"The Assyrian came down like a wolf on the fold,And his cohorts were gleaming with purple and gold;And the sheen of his spears was like stars on the sea,When the blue wave rolls nightly on deep Galilee."

There, that will do. That may be very good
Dutch Flat poetry, but it won't do in the metropolis.
It is too smooth and blubbery; it reads like butter-
milk gurgling from a jug. What the people ought
to have is something spirited—something like
"Johnny Comes Marching Home." However,
keep on practicing, and you may succeed yet.
There is genius in you, but too much blubber.

"St. Clair Higgins." Los Angeles.—"My life is a failure; I have
adored, wildly, madly, and she whom I love has turned coldly from me
and shed her affections upon another. What would you advise me
to do?"

You should set your affections on another also—
or on several, if there are enough to go round.
Also, do everything you can to make your former
flame unhappy. There is an absurd idea dissemi-
nated in novels, that the happier a girl is with
another man, the happier it makes the old lover she
has blighted. Don't allow yourself to believe any
such nonsense as that. The more cause that girl
finds to regret that she did not marry you, the more
comfortable you will feel over it. It isn't poetical,
but it is mighty sound doctrine.

---

"Arithmeticus." Virginia, Nevada.—"If it would take a can-
non ball 3⅓ seconds to travel four miles, and 3⅜ seconds to travel the
next four, and 3⅝ to travel the next four, and if its rate of progress con-
tinued to diminish in the same ratio, how long would it take it to go
fifteen hundred million miles?

I don't know.

"Ambitious Learner," Oakland.—Yes; you
are right—America was not discovered by Alex-
ander Selkirk.

"Discarded Lover."—I loved, and still love, the beautiful
Edwitha Howard, and intended to marry her. Yet, during my temporary
absence at Benicia, last week, alas! she married Jones. Is my hap-
piness to be thus blasted for life? Have I no redress?"

Of course you have. All the law, written and
unwritten, is on your side. The intention and not
the act constitutes crime—in other words, consti-
tutes the deed. If you call your bosom friend a
fool, and intend it for an insult, it is an insult; but
if you do it playfully, and meaning no insult, it is
not an insult. If you discharge a pistol accidentally,
and kill a man, you can go free, for you have done
no murder; but if you try to kill a man, and mani-
festly intend to kill him, but fail utterly to do it, the
law still holds that the intention constituted the
crime, and you are guilty of murder. Ergo, if you
had married Edwitha accidentally, and without really
intending to do it, you would not actually be mar-
ried to her at all, because the act of marriage could
not be complete without the intention. And ergo,
in the strict spirit of the law, since you deliberately

---

intended to marry Edwitha, and didn't do it, you
are married to her all the same—because, as I said
before, the intention constitutes the crime. It is as
clear as day that Edwitha is your wife, and your
redress lies in taking a club and mutilating Jones
with it as much as you can. Any man has a right
to protect his own wife from the advances of other
men. But you have another alternative—you were
married to Edwitha first, because of your deliberate
intention, and now you can prosecute her for
bigamy, in subsequently marrying Jones. But there
is another phase in this complicated case: You in-
tended to marry Edwitha, and consequently, accord-
ing to law, she is your wife—there is no getting
around that; but she didn't marry you, and if she
never intended to marry you, you are not her hus-
band, of course. Ergo, in marrying Jones, she was
guilty of bigamy, because she was the wife of an-
other man at the time; which is all very well as
far as it goes—but then, don't you see, she had
no other husband when she married Jones, and con-
sequently she was not guilty of bigamy. Now,
according to this view of the case, Jones married a
spinster, who was a widow at the same time and
another man's wife at the same time, and yet who
had no husband and never had one, and never had
any intention of getting married, and therefore, of
course, never had been married; and by the same
reasoning you are a bachelor, because you have
never been any one's husband; and a married man,

---

because you have a wife living; and to all intents
and purposes a widower, because you have been
deprived of that wife; and a consummate ass for
going off to Benicia in the first place, while things
were so mixed. And by this time I have got myself
so tangled up in the intricacies of this extraordinary
case that I shall have to give up any further attempt
to advise you—I might get confused and fail to
make myself understood. I think I could take up
the argument where I left off, and by following it
closely a while, perhaps I could prove to your satis-
faction, either that you never existed at all, or that
you are dead now, and consequently don't need the
faithless Edwitha—I think I could do that, if it
would afford you any comfort.

"Arthur Augustus."—No; you are wrong;
that is the proper way to throw a brickbat or a
tomahawk; but it doesn't answer so well for a bou-
quet; you will hurt somebody if you keep it up.
Turn your nosegay upside down, take it by the
stems, and toss it with an upward sweep. Did you
ever pitch quoits? that is the idea. The practice of
recklessly heaving immense solid bouquets, of the
general size and weight of prize cabbages, from the
dizzy altitude of the galleries, is dangerous and very
reprehensible. Now, night before last, at the Acad-
emy of Music, just after Signorina had fin-
ished that exquisite melody, "The Last Rose of
Summer," one of these floral pile-drivers came

---

cleaving down through the atmosphere of applause,
and if she hadn't deployed suddenly to the right, it
would have driven her into the floor like a shingle-
nail. Of course that bouquet was well meant; but
how would you like to have been the target? A
sincere compliment is always grateful to a lady, so
long as you don't try to knock her down with it.

"Young Mother."—And so you think a baby
is a thing of beauty and a joy forever? Well, the
idea is pleasing, but not original; every cow thinks
the same of its own calf. Perhaps the cow may not
think it so elegantly, but still she thinks it neverthe-
less. I honor the cow for it. We all honor this
touching maternal instinct wherever we find it, be it
in the home of luxury or in the humble cow-shed.
But really, madam, when I come to examine the
matter in all its bearings, I find that the correctness
of your assertion does not assert itself in all cases.
A soiled baby, with a neglected nose, cannot be
conscientiously regarded as a thing of beauty; and
inasmuch as babyhood spans but three short years,
no baby is competent to be a joy "forever." It
pains me thus to demolish two-thirds of your pretty
sentiment in a single sentence; but the position I
hold in this chair requires that I shall not permit
you to deceive and mislead the public with your
plausible figures of speech. I know a female baby,
aged eighteen months, in this city, which cannot
hold out as a "joy" twenty-four hours on a stretch,

---

let alone "forever." And it possesses some of the
most remarkable eccentricities of character and ap-
petite that have ever fallen under my notice. I will
set down here a statement of this infant's operations
(conceived, planned, and carried out by itself, and
without suggestion or assistance from its mother or
any one else), during a single day; and what I shall
say can be substantiated by the sworn testimony of
witnesses.

It commenced by eating one dozen large blue-mass
pills, box and all; then it fell down a flight of stairs,
and arose with a blue and purple knot on its fore-
head, after which it proceeded in quest of further
refreshment and amusement. It found a glass
trinket ornamented with brass-work—smashed up
and ate the glass, and then swallowed the brass.
Then it drank about twenty drops of laudanum, and
more than a dozen tablespoonfuls of strong spirits
of camphor. The reason why it took no more
laudanum was because there was no more to take.
After this it lay down on its back, and shoved five
or six inches of a silver-headed whalebone cane
down its throat; got it fast there, and it was all its
mother could do to pull the cane out again, without
pulling out some of the child with it. Then, being
hungry for glass again, it broke up several wine-
glasses, and fell to eating and swallowing the frag-
ments, not minding a cut or two. Then it ate a
quantity of butter, pepper, salt, and California
matches, actually taking a spoonful of butter, a

---

spoonful of salt, a spoonful of pepper, and three or
four lucifer matches at each mouthful. (I will re-
mark here that this thing of beauty likes painted
German lucifers, and eats all she can get of them;
but she prefers California matches, which I regard
as a compliment to our home manufactures of more
than ordinary value, coming, as it does, from one
who is too young to flatter.) Then she washed her
head with soap and water, and afterward ate what
soap was left, and drank as much of the suds as she
had room for; after which she sallied forth and took
the cow familiarly by the tail, and got kicked heels
over head. At odd times during the day, when this
joy for ever happened to have nothing particular on
hand, she put in the time by climbing up on places,
and falling down off them, uniformly damaging her-
self in the operation. As young as she is, she
speaks many words tolerably distinctly; and being
plain-spoken in other respects, blunt and to the
point, she opens conversation with all strangers,
male or female, with the same formula, "How do,
Jim?" Not being familiar with the ways of chil-
dren, it is possible that I have been magnifying into
matter of surprise things which may not strike any
one who is familiar with infancy as being at all
astonishing. However, I cannot believe that such is
the case, and so I repeat that my report of this
baby's performances is strictly true; and if any one
doubts it, I can produce the child. I will further
engage that she will devour anything that is given

---

her (reserving to myself only the right to exclude
anvils), and fall down from any place to which she
may be elevated (merely stipulating that her prefer-
ence for alighting on her head shall be respected,
and, therefore, that the elevation chosen shall be
high enough to enable her to accomplish this to her
satisfaction). But I find I have wandered from my
subject; so, without further argument, I will reiter-
ate my conviction that not all babies are things of
beauty and joys forever.

"Arithmeticus." Virginia, Nevada.—"I am an enthusiastic
student of mathematics, and it is so vexatious to me to find my progress
constantly impeded by these mysterious arithmetical technicalities. Now
do tell me what the difference is between geometry and conchology?"

Here you come again with your arithmetical con-
undrums, when I am suffering death with a cold in
the head. If you could have seen the expression of
scorn that darkened my countenance a moment ago,
and was instantly split from the center in every
direction like a fractured looking-glass by my last
sneeze, you never would have written that disgrace-
ful question. Conchology is a science which has
nothing to do with mathematics; it relates only to
shells. At the same time, however, a man who
opens oysters for a hotel, or shells a fortified town,
or sucks eggs, is not, strictly speaking, a concholo-
gist—a fine stroke of sarcasm that, but it will be
lost on such an unintellectual clam as you. Now
compare conchology and geometry together, and
you will see what the difference is, and your ques-

---

tion will be answered. But don't torture me with
any more arithmetical horrors until you know I am
rid of my cold. I feel the bitterest animosity toward
you at this moment—bothering me in this way,
when I can do nothing but sneeze and rage and
snort pocket handkerchiefs to atoms. If I had you
in range of my nose now I would blow your brains
out.

---

TO RAISE POULTRY*

Being a letter written to a Poultry Society that had conferred a
complimentary membership upon the author. Written about 1870.

Seriously, from early youth I have taken an
especial interest in the subject of poultry-raising,
and so this membership touches a ready sympathy
in my breast. Even as a schoolboy, poultry-raising
was a study with me, and I may say without egotism
that as early as the age of seventeen I was ac-
quainted with all the best and speediest methods of
raising chickens, from raising them off a roost by
burning lucifer matches under their noses, down to
lifting them off a fence on a frosty night by insinu-
ating the end of a warm board under their heels.
By the time I was twenty years old, I really suppose
I had raised more poultry than any one individual
in all the section round about there. The very
chickens came to know my talent by and by. The
youth of both sexes ceased to paw the earth for
worms, and old roosters that came to crow, "re-
mained to pray," when I passed by.

I have had so much experience in the raising of
fowls that I cannot but think that a few hints from

---

me might be useful to the society. The two methods
I have already touched upon are very simple, and
are only used in the raising of the commonest class
of fowls; one is for summer, the other for winter.
In the one case you start out with a friend along
about eleven o'clock on a summer's night (not
later, because in some States—especially in Cali-
fornia and Oregon—chickens always rouse up just
at midnight and crow from ten to thirty minutes,
according to the ease or difficulty they experience
in getting the public waked up), and your friend
carries with him a sack. Arrived at the henroost
(your neighbor's, not your own), you light a match
and hold it under first one and then another pullet's
nose until they are willing to go into that bag with-
out making any trouble about it. You then return
home, either taking the bag with you or leaving it
behind, according as circumstances shall dictate.
N. B.—I have seen the time when it was eligible
and appropriate to leave the sack behind and walk
off with considerable velocity, without ever leaving
any word where to send it.

In the case of the other method mentioned for
raising poultry, your friend takes along a covered
vessel with a charcoal fire in it, and you carry a
long slender plank. This is a frosty night, under-
stand. Arrived at the tree, or fence, or other hen-
roost (your own if you are an idiot), you warm the
end of your plank in your friend's fire vessel, and
then raise it aloft and ease it up gently against a

---

slumbering chicken's foot. If the subject of your
attentions is a true bird, he will infallibly return
thanks with a sleepy cluck or two, and step out and
take up quarters on the plank, thus becoming so
conspicuously accessory before the fact to his own
murder as to make it a grave question in our minds,
as it once was in the mind of Blackstone, whether
he is not really and deliberately committing suicide
in the second degree. [But you enter into a con-
templation of these legal refinements subsequently—
not then.]

When you wish to raise a fine, large, donkey-
voiced Shanghai rooster, you do it with a lasso, just
as you would a bull. It is because he must be
choked, and choked effectually, too. It is the only
good, certain way, for whenever he mentions a
matter which he is cordially interested in, the
chances are ninety-nine in a hundred that he
secures somebody else's immediate attention to it
too, whether it be day or night.

The Black Spanish is an exceedingly fine bird and
a costly one. Thirty-five dollars is the usual figure,
and fifty a not uncommon price for a specimen.
Even its eggs are worth from a dollar to a dollar
and a half apiece, and yet are so unwholesome that
the city physician seldom or never orders them for
the workhouse. Still I have once or twice procured
as high as a dozen at a time for nothing, in the dark
of the moon. The best way to raise the Black
Spanish fowl is to go late in the evening and raise

---

coop and all. The reason I recommend this method
is that, the birds being so valuable, the owners do
not permit them to roost around promiscuously, but
put them in a coop as strong as a fireproof safe,
and keep it in the kitchen at night. The method I
speak of is not always a bright and satisfying suc-
cess, and yet there are so many little articles of
vertu about a kitchen, that if you fail on the coop
you can generally bring away something else. I
brought away a nice steel trap one night, worth
ninety cents.

But what is the use in my pouring out my whole
intellect on this subject? I have shown the Western
New York Poultry Society that they have taken to
their bosom a party who is not a spring chicken by
any means, but a man who knows all about poultry,
and is just as high up in the most efficient methods
of raising it as the president of the institution him-
self. I thank these gentlemen for the honorary
membership they have conferred upon me, and shall
stand at all times ready and willing to testify my
good feeling and my official zeal by deeds as well as
by this hastily penned advice and information.
Whenever they are ready to go to raising poultry,
let them call for me any evening after eleven
o'clock, and I shall be on hand promptly.

---

EXPERIENCE OF THE McWILLIAMSES
WITH MEMBRANOUS CROUP*

Written about 1878.

[As related to the author of this book by Mr. McWil-
liams, a pleasant New York gentleman whom the
said author met by chance on a journey.]

Well, to go back to where I was before I
digressed to explain to you how that fright-
ful and incurable disease, membranous croup, was
ravaging the town and driving all mothers mad with
terror, I called Mrs. McWilliams's attention to little
Penelope and said:

"Darling, I wouldn't let that child be chewing
that pine stick if I were you."

"Precious, where is the harm in it?" said she,
but at the same time preparing to take away the
stick—for women cannot receive even the most
palpably judicious suggestion without arguing it;
that is, married women.

I replied:

"Love, it is notorious that pine is the least nutri-
tious wood that a child can eat."

My wife's hand paused, in the act of taking the

---

stick, and returned itself to her lap. She bridled
perceptibly, and said:

"Hubby, you know better than that. You know
you do. Doctors all say that the turpentine in pine
wood is good for weak back and the kidneys."

"Ah—I was under a misapprehension. I did
not know that the child's kidneys and spine were
affected, and that the family physician had recom-
mended—"

"Who said the child's spine and kidneys were
affected?"

"My love, you intimated it."

"The idea! I never intimated anything of the
kind."

"Why, my dear, it hasn't been two minutes since
you said—"

"Bother what I said! I don't care what I did
say. There isn't any harm in the child's chewing a
bit of pine stick if she wants to, and you know it
perfectly well. And she shall chew it, too. So
there, now!"

"Say no more, my dear. I now see the force of
your reasoning, and I will go and order two or three
cords of the best pine wood to-day. No child of
mine shall want while I—"

"Oh, please go along to your office and let me
have some peace. A body can never make the
simplest remark but you must take it up and go to
arguing and arguing and arguing till you don't know
what you are talking about, and you never do."

---

"Very well, it shall be as you say. But there is
a want of logic in your last remark which—"

However, she was gone with a flourish before I
could finish, and had taken the child with her. That
night at dinner she confronted me with a face as
white as a sheet:

"Oh, Mortimer, there's another! Little Georgie
Gordon is taken."

"Membranous croup?"

"Membranous croup."

"Is there any hope for him?"

"None in the wide world. Oh, what is to be-
come of us!"

By and by a nurse brought in our Penelope to
say good night and offer the customary prayer at
the mother's knee. In the midst of "Now I lay
me down to sleep," she gave a slight cough! My
wife fell back like one stricken with death. But the
next moment she was up and brimming with the
activities which terror inspires.

She commanded that the child's crib be removed
from the nursery to our bedroom; and she went
along to see the order executed. She took me with
her, of course. We got matters arranged with
speed. A cot bed was put up in my wife's dressing
room for the nurse. But now Mrs. McWilliams
said we were too far away from the other baby, and
what if he were to have the symptoms in the night
—and she blanched again, poor thing.

We then restored the crib and the nurse to the

---

nursery and put up a bed for ourselves in a room
adjoining.

Presently, however, Mrs. McWilliams said sup-
pose the baby should catch it from Penelope? This
thought struck a new panic to her heart, and the
tribe of us could not get the crib out of the nursery
again fast enough to satisfy my wife, though she
assisted in her own person and well nigh pulled the
crib to pieces in her frantic hurry.

We moved downstairs; but there was no place
there to stow the nurse, and Mrs. McWilliams said
the nurse's experience would be an inestimable help.
So we returned, bag and baggage, to our own bed-
room once more, and felt a great gladness, like
storm-buffeted birds that have found their nest
again.

Mrs. McWilliams sped to the nursery to see how
things were going on there. She was back in a
moment with a new dread. She said:

"What can make Baby sleep so?"

I said:

"Why, my darling, Baby always sleeps like a
graven image."

"I know. I know; but there's something pecu-
liar about his sleep now. He seems to—to—he
seems to breathe so regularly. Oh, this is dread-
ful."

"But, my dear, he always breathes regularly."

"Oh, I know it, but there's something frightful
about it now. His nurse is too young and inexperi-

---

enced. Maria shall stay there with her, and be on
hand if anything happens."

"That is a good idea, but who will help you?"

"You can help me all I want. I wouldn't allow
anybody to do anything but myself, anyhow, at
such a time as this."

I said I would feel mean to lie abed and sleep,
and leave her to watch and toil over our little patient
all the weary night. But she reconciled me to it.
So old Maria departed and took up her ancient
quarters in the nursery.

Penelope coughed twice in her sleep.

"Oh, why don't that doctor come! Mortimer,
this room is too warm. This room is certainly too
warm. Turn off the register—quick!"

I shut it off, glancing at the thermometer at the
same time, and wondering to myself if 70 was too
warm for a sick child.

The coachman arrived from down town now with
the news that our physician was ill and confined to
his bed. Mrs. McWilliams turned a dead eye upon
me, and said in a dead voice:

"There is a Providence in it. It is foreordained.
He never was sick before. Never. We have not
been living as we ought to live, Mortimer. Time
and time again I have told you so. Now you see
the result. Our child will never get well. Be
thankful if you can forgive yourself; I never can
forgive myself."

I said, without intent to hurt, but with heedless

---

choice of words, that I could not see that we had
been living such an abandoned life.

"Mortimer! Do you want to bring the judg-
ment upon Baby, too!"

Then she began to cry, but suddenly exclaimed:

"The doctor must have sent medicines!"

I said:

"Certainly. They are here. I was only waiting
for you to give me a chance."

"Well do give them to me! Don't you know
that every moment is precious now? But what was
the use in sending medicines, when he knows that
the disease is incurable?"

I said that while there was life there was hope.

"Hope! Mortimer, you know no more what
you are talking about than the child unborn. If
you would— As I live, the directions say give one
teaspoonful once an hour! Once an hour!—as if
we had a whole year before us to save the child in!
Mortimer, please hurry. Give the poor perishing
thing a tablespoonful, and try to be quick!"

"Why, my dear, a tablespoonful might—"

"Don't drive me frantic!… …There, there,
there, my precious, my own; it's nasty bitter stuff,
but it's good for Nelly—good for mother's precious
darling; and it will make her well. There, there,
there, put the little head on mamma's breast and go
to sleep, and pretty soon—oh, I know she can't
live till morning! Mortimer, a tablespoonful every
half hour will— Oh, the child needs belladonna,

---

too; I know she does—and aconite. Get them,
Mortimer. Now do let me have my way. You
know nothing about these things."

We now went to bed, placing the crib close to my
wife's pillow. All this turmoil had worn upon me,
and within two minutes I was something more than
half asleep. Mrs. McWilliams roused me:

"Darling, is that register turned on?"

"No."

"I thought as much. Please turn it on at once.
This room is cold."

I turned it on, and presently fell asleep again. I
was aroused once more:

"Dearie, would you mind moving the crib to
your side of the bed? It is nearer the register."

I moved it, but had a collision with the rug and
woke up the child. I dozed off once more, while
my wife quieted the sufferer. But in a little while
these words came murmuring remotely through the
fog of my drowsiness:

"Mortimer, if we only had some goose grease—
will you ring?"

I climbed dreamily out, and stepped on a cat,
which responded with a protest and would have got
a convincing kick for it if a chair had not got it
instead.

"Now, Mortimer, why do you want to turn up
the gas and wake up the child again?"

"Because I want to see how much I am hurt,
Caroline."

---

'Well, look at the chair, too—I have no doubt
it is ruined. Poor cat, suppose you had—"

"Now I am not going to suppose anything
about the cat. It never would have occurred if
Maria had been allowed to remain here and attend
to these duties, which are in her line and are not in
mine."

"Now, Mortimer, I should think you would be
ashamed to make a remark like that. It is a pity if
you cannot do the few little things I ask of you at
such an awful time as this when our child—"

"There, there, I will do anything you want. But
I can't raise anybody with this bell. They're all
gone to bed. Where is the goose grease?"

"On the mantel-piece in the nursery. If you'll
step there and speak to Maria—"

I fetched the goose grease and went to sleep
again. Once more I was called:

"Mortimer, I so hate to disturb you, but the
room is still too cold for me to try to apply this
stuff. Would you mind lighting the fire? It is all
ready to touch a match to."

I dragged myself out and lit the fire, and then sat
down disconsolate.

"Mortimer, don't sit there and catch your death
of cold. Come to bed."

As I was stepping in she said:

"But wait a moment. Please give the child some
more of the medicine."

Which I did. It was a medicine which made a

---

child more or less lively; so my wife made use of
its waking interval to strip it and grease it all over
with the goose oil. I was soon asleep once more,
but once more I had to get up.

"Mortimer, I feel a draft. I feel it distinctly.
There is nothing so bad for this disease as a draft.
Please move the crib in front of the fire."

I did it; and collided with the rug again, which I
threw in the fire. Mrs. McWilliams sprang out of
bed and rescued it and we had some words. I had
another trifling interval of sleep, and then got up,
by request, and constructed a flax-seed poultice.
This was placed upon the child's breast and left
there to do its healing work.

A wood fire is not a permanent thing. I got up
every twenty minutes and renewed ours, and this
gave Mrs. McWilliams the opportunity to shorten
the times of giving the medicines by ten minutes,
which was a great satisfaction to her. Now and
then, between times, I reorganized the flax-seed
poultices, and applied sinapisms and other sorts of
blisters where unoccupied places could be found
upon the child. Well, toward morning the wood
gave out and my wife wanted me to go down cellar
and get some more. I said:

"My dear, it is a laborious job, and the child
must be nearly warm enough, with her extra
clothing. Now mightn't we put on another layer
of poultices and—"

I did not finish, because I was interrupted. I

---

lugged wood up from below for some little time,
and then turned in and fell to snoring as only a man
can whose strength is all gone and whose soul is
worn out. Just at broad daylight I felt a grip on
my shoulder that brought me to my senses sud-
denly. My wife was glaring down upon me and
gasping. As soon as she could command her
tongue she said:

"It is all over! All over! The child's perspir-
ing! What shall we do?"

"Mercy, how you terrify me! I don't know
what we ought to do. Maybe if we scraped her
and put her in the draft again—"

"Oh, idiot! There is not a moment to lose!
Go for the doctor. Go yourself. Tell him he must
come, dead or alive."

I dragged that poor sick man from his bed and
brought him. He looked at the child and said she
was not dying. This was joy unspeakable to me,
but it made my wife as mad as if he had offered her
a personal affront. Then he said the child's cough
was only caused by some trifling irritation or other
in the throat. At this I thought my wife had a
mind to show him the door. Now the doctor said
he would make the child cough harder and dislodge
the trouble. So he gave her something that sent
her into a spasm of coughing, and presently up
came a little wood splinter or so.

"This child has no membranous croup," said
he. "She has been chewing a bit of pine shingle

---

or something of the kind, and got some little slivers
in her throat. They won't do her any hurt."

"No," said I, "I can well believe that. Indeed,
the turpentine that is in them is very good for cer-
tain sorts of diseases that are peculiar to children.
My wife will tell you so."

But she did not. She turned away in disdain and
left the room; and since that time there is one epi-
sode in our life which we never refer to. Hence
the tide of our days flows by in deep and untroubled
serenity.

[Very few married men have such an experience as McWilliams',
and so the author of this book thought that maybe the novelty of it
would give it a passing interest to the reader.]

---

MY FIRST LITERARY VENTURE

I was a very smart child at the age of thirteen—
an unusually smart child, I thought at the time.
It was then that I did my first newspaper scribbling,
and most unexpectedly to me it stirred up a fine
sensation in the community. It did, indeed, and
I was very proud of it, too. I was a printer's
"devil," and a progressive and aspiring one. My
uncle had me on his paper (the Weekly Hannibal
Journal, two dollars a year in advance—five hun-
dred subscribers, and they paid in cordwood, cab-
bages, and unmarketable turnips), and on a lucky
summer's day he left town to be gone a week, and
asked me if I thought I could edit one issue of the
paper judiciously. Ah! didn't I want to try! Hig-
gins was the editor on the rival paper. He had
lately been jilted, and one night a friend found an
open note on the poor fellow's bed, in which he
stated that he could no longer endure life and had
drowned himself in Bear Creek. The friend ran
down there and discovered Higgins wading back to
shore. He had concluded he wouldn't. The village
was full of it for several days, but Higgins did not

---

suspect it. I thought this was a fine opportunity.
I wrote an elaborately wretched account of the whole
matter, and then illustrated it with villainous cuts
engraved on the bottoms of wooden type with a
jackknife—one of them a picture of Higgins
wading out into the creek in his shirt, with a lan-
tern, sounding the depth of the water with a walking
stick. I thought it was desperately funny, and was
densely unconscious that there was any moral obli-
quity about such a publication. Being satisfied with
this effort I looked around for other worlds to con-
quer, and it struck me that it would make good,
interesting matter to charge the editor of a neighbor-
ing country paper with a piece of gratuitous rascality
and "see him squirm."

I did it, putting the article into the form of a
parody on the "Burial of Sir John Moore"—and
a pretty crude parody it was, too.

Then I lampooned two prominent citizens out-
rageously—not because they had done anything to
deserve it, but merely because I thought it was my
duty to make the paper lively.

Next I gently touched up the newest stranger—
the lion of the day, the gorgeous journeyman tailor
from Quincy. He was a simpering coxcomb of the
first water, and the "loudest" dressed man in the
State. He was an inveterate woman-killer. Every
week he wrote lushy "poetry" for the "Journal,"
about his newest conquest. His rhymes for my
week were headed, "To Mary in Hl," mean-

---

ing to Mary in Hannibal, of course. But while set-
ting up the piece I was suddenly riven from head to
heel by what I regarded as a perfect thunderbolt of
humor, and I compressed it into a snappy footnote
at the bottom—thus: "We will let this thing pass,
just this once; but we wish Mr. J. Gordon Runnels
to understand distinctly that we have a character to
sustain, and from this time forth when he wants to
commune with his friends in h—l, he must select
some other medium than the columns of this
journal!"

The paper came out, and I never knew any little
thing attract so much attention as those playful
trifles of mine.

For once the Hannibal Journal was in demand—
a novelty it had not experienced before. The whole
town was stirred. Higgins dropped in with a double-
barreled shotgun early in the forenoon. When he
found that it was an infant (as he called me) that
had done him the damage, he simply pulled my ears
and went away; but he threw up his situation that
night and left town for good. The tailor came with
his goose and a pair of shears; but he despised me,
too, and departed for the South that night. The
two lampooned citizens came with threats of libel,
and went away incensed at my insignificance. The
country editor pranced in with a warwhoop next
day, suffering for blood to drink; but he ended by
forgiving me cordially and inviting me down to the
drug store to wash away all animosity in a friendly

---

bumper of "Fahnestock's Vermifuge." It was his
little joke. My uncle was very angry when he got
back—unreasonably so, I thought, considering what
an impetus I had given the paper, and considering
also that gratitude for his preservation ought to have
been uppermost in his mind, inasmuch as by his
delay he had so wonderfully escaped dissection,
tomahawking, libel, and getting his head shot off.
But he softened when he looked at the accounts and
saw that I had actually booked the unparalleled
number of thirty-three new subscribers, and had the
vegetables to show for it, cordwood, cabbage, beans,
and unsalable turnips enough to run the family for
two years!

---

HOW THE AUTHOR WAS SOLD IN
NEWARK*

Written about 1869.

It is seldom pleasant to tell on one's self, but
sometimes it is a sort of relief to a man to make
a confession. I wish to unburden my mind now,
and yet I almost believe that I am moved to do it
more because I long to bring censure upon another
man than because I desire to pour balm upon my
wounded heart. (I don't know what balm is, but I
believe it is the correct expression to use in this
connection—never having seen any balm.) You
may remember that I lectured in Newark lately for
the young gentlemen of the Society? I did
at any rate. During the afternoon of that day I
was talking with one of the young gentlemen just
referred to, and he said he had an uncle who, from
some cause or other, seemed to have grown per-
manently bereft of all emotion. And with tears in
his eyes, this young man said, "Oh, if I could only
see him laugh once more! Oh, if I could only see
him weep!" I was touched. I could never with-
stand distress.

---

I said: "Bring him to my lecture. I'll start him
for you."

"Oh, if you could but do it! If you could but
do it, all our family would bless you for evermore—
for he is so very dear to us. Oh, my benefactor,
can you make him laugh? can you bring soothing
tears to those parched orbs?"

I was profoundly moved. I said: "My son,
bring the old party round. I have got some jokes
in that lecture that will make him laugh if there is
any laugh in him; and if they miss fire, I have got
some others that will make him cry or kill him, one
or the other." Then the young man blessed me,
and wept on my neck, and went after his uncle.
He placed him in full view, in the second row of
benches that night, and I began on him. I tried
him with mild jokes, then with severe ones; I dosed
him with bad jokes and riddled him with good ones;
I fired old stale jokes into him, and peppered him
fore and aft with red-hot new ones; I warmed up to
my work, and assaulted him on the right and left, in
front and behind; I fumed and sweated and charged
and ranted till I was hoarse and sick and frantic and
furious; but I never moved him once—I never
started a smile or a tear! Never a ghost of a smile,
and never a suspicion of moisture! I was astounded.
I closed the lecture at last with one despairing shriek
—with one wild burst of humor, and hurled a joke
of supernatural atrocity full at him!

Then I sat down bewildered and exhausted.

---

The president of the society came up and bathed
my head with cold water, and said: "What made
you carry on so toward the last?"

I said: "I was trying to make that confounded
old fool laugh, in the second row."

And he said: "Well, you were wasting your
time, because he is deaf and dumb, and as blind as
a badger!"

Now, was that any way for that old man's nephew
to impose on a stranger and orphan like me? I ask
you as a man and brother, if that was any way for
him to do?

---

THE OFFICE BORE*

Written about 1869.

He arrives just as regularly as the clock strikes
nine in the morning. And so he even beats
the editor sometimes, and the porter must leave his
work and climb two or three pair of stairs to unlock
the "Sanctum" door and let him in. He lights
one of the office pipes—not reflecting, perhaps,
that the editor may be one of those "stuck-up"
people who would as soon have a stranger defile his
toothbrush as his pipestem. Then he begins to
loll—for a person who can consent to loaf his use-
less life away in ignominious indolence has not the
energy to sit up straight. He stretches full length
on the sofa a while; then draws up to half length;
then gets into a chair, hangs his head back and his
arms abroad, and stretches his legs till the rims of
his boot-heels rest upon the floor; by and by sits
up and leans forward, with one leg or both over the
arm of the chair. But it is still observable that with
all his changes of position, he never assumes the
upright or a fraudful affectation of dignity. From
time to time he yawns, and stretches, and scratches

---

himself with a tranquil, mangy enjoyment, and now
and then he grunts a kind of stuffy, overfed grunt,
which is full of animal contentment. At rare and
long intervals, however, he sighs a sigh that is the
eloquent expression of a secret confession, to wit:
"I am useless and a nuisance, a cumberer of the
earth." The bore and his comrades—for there
are usually from two to four on hand, day and
night—mix into the conversation when men come
in to see the editors for a moment on business;
they hold noisy talks among themselves about poli-
tics in particular, and all other subjects in general—
even warming up, after a fashion, sometimes, and
seeming to take almost a real interest in what they
are discussing. They ruthlessly call an editor from
his work with such a remark as: "Did you see this,
Smith, in the Gazette?" and proceed to read the
paragraph while the sufferer reins in his impatient
pen and listens; they often loll and sprawl round
the office hour after hour, swapping anecdotes and
relating personal experiences to each other—hair-
breadth escapes, social encounters with distinguished
men, election reminiscences, sketches of odd char-
acters, etc. And through all those hours they never
seem to comprehend that they are robbing the
editors of their time, and the public of journalistic
excellence in next day's paper. At other times
they drowse, or dreamily pore over exchanges, or
droop limp and pensive over the chair-arms for an
hour. Even this solemn silence is small respite to

---

the editor, for the next uncomfortable thing to
having people look over his shoulders, perhaps, is
to have them sit by in silence and listen to the
scratching of his pen. If a body desires to talk
private business with one of the editors, he must
call him outside, for no hint milder than blasting
powder or nitro-glycerine would be likely to move
the bores out of listening distance. To have to sit
and endure the presence of a bore day after day; to
feel your cheerful spirits begin to sink as his foot-
step sounds on the stair, and utterly vanish away
as his tiresome form enters the door; to suffer
through his anecdotes and die slowly to his reminis-
cences; to feel always the fetters of his clogging
presence; to long hopelessly for one single day's
privacy; to note with a shudder, by and by, that to
contemplate his funeral in fancy has ceased to
soothe, to imagine him undergoing in strict and
fearful detail the tortures of the ancient Inquisition
has lost its power to satisfy the heart, and that even
to wish him millions and millions and millions of
miles in Tophet is able to bring only a fitful gleam
of joy; to have to endure all this, day after day,
and week after week, and month after month, is an
affliction that transcends any other that men suffer.
Physical pain is pastime to it, and hanging a pleasure
excursion.

---

JOHNNY GREER

"The church was densely crowded that lovely
summer Sabbath," said the Sunday-school
superintendent, "and all, as their eyes rested upon
the small coffin, seemed impressed by the poor
black boy's fate. Above the stillness the pastor's
voice rose, and chained the interest of every ear as
he told, with many an envied compliment, how that
the brave, noble, daring little Johnny Greer, when
he saw the drowned body sweeping down toward
the deep part of the river whence the agonized
parents never could have recovered it in this world,
gallantly sprang into the stream, and, at the risk of
his life, towed the corpse to shore, and held it fast
till help came and secured it. Johnny Greer was
sitting just in front of me. A ragged street boy,
with eager eye, turned upon him instantly, and said
in a hoarse whisper:

"'No; but did you, though?'

"'Yes.'

"'Towed the carkiss ashore and saved it yo'self?'

"'Yes.'

"'Cracky! What did they give you?'

"'Nothing.'

"'W-h-a-t [with intense disgust]! D'you know
what I'd a done? I'd a anchored him out in the
stream, and said, Five dollars, gents, or you carn't
have yo' nigger.'"

---

THE FACTS IN THE CASE OF THE
GREAT BEEF CONTRACT*

Written about 1867.

In as few words as possible I wish to lay before
the nation what share, howsoever small, I have
had in this matter—this matter which has so exer-
cised the public mind, engendered so much ill-
feeling, and so filled the newspapers of both con-
tinents with distorted statements and extravagant
comments.

The origin of this distressful thing was this—and
I assert here that every fact in the following résumè
can be amply proved by the official records of the
General Government:

John Wilson Mackenzie, of Rotterdam, Chemung
county, New Jersey, deceased, contracted with the
General Government, on or about the 10th day of
October, 1861, to furnish to General Sherman the
sum total of thirty barrels of beef.

Very well.

He started after Sherman with the beef, but when
he got to Washington Sherman had gone to Manas-
sas; so he took the beef and followed him there,

---

but arrived too late; he followed him to Nashville,
and from Nashville to Chattanooga, and from Chat-
tanooga to Atlanta—but he never could overtake
him. At Atlanta he took a fresh start and followed
him clear through his march to the sea. He arrived
too late again by a few days; but hearing that Sher-
man was going out in the Quaker City excursion to
the Holy Land, he took shipping for Beirut, calcu-
lating to head off the other vessel. When he arrived
in Jerusalem with his beef, he learned that Sherman
had not sailed in the Quaker City, but had gone to
the Plains to fight the Indians. He returned to
America and started for the Rocky Mountains.
After sixty-eight days of arduous travel on the
Plains, and when he had got within four miles of
Sherman's headquarters, he was tomahawked and
scalped, and the Indians got the beef. They got
all of it but one barrel. Sherman's army captured
that, and so, even in death, the bold navigator partly
fulfilled his contract. In his will, which he had kept
like a journal, he bequeathed the contract to his son
Bartholomew W. Bartholomew W. made out the
following bill, and then died:

The United StatesIn account with John Wilson Mackenzie, of New
Jersey, deceased,Dr.To thirty barrels of beef for General Sherman, at $100,$3,000To traveling expenses and transportation,14,000Total,$17,000Rec'd Pay't.

---

He died then; but he left the contract to Wm. J.
Martin, who tried to collect it, but died before he
got through. He left it to Barker J. Allen, and he
tried to collect it also. He did not survive. Barker
J. Allen left it to Anson G. Rogers, who attempted
to collect it, and got along as far as the Ninth
Auditor's Office, when Death, the great Leveler,
came all unsummoned, and foreclosed on him also.
He left the bill to a relative of his in Connecticut,
Vengeance Hopkins by name, who lasted four weeks
and two days, and made the best time on record,
coming within one of reaching the Twelfth Auditor.
In his will he gave the contract bill to his uncle, by
the name of O-be-joyful Johnson. It was too under-
mining for Joyful. His last words were: "Weep
not for me—I am willing to go." And so he was,
poor soul. Seven people inherited the contract
after that; but they all died. So it came into my
hands at last. It fell to me through a relative by
the name of Hubbard—Bethlehem Hubbard, of
Indiana. He had had a grudge against me for a
long time; but in his last moments he sent for me,
and forgave me everything, and weeping gave me
the beef contract.

This ends the history of it up to the time that I
succeeded to the property. I will now endeavor to
set myself straight before the nation in everything
that concerns my share in the matter. I took this
beef contract, and the bill for mileage and trans-
portation, to the President of the United States.

---

He said, "Well, sir, what can I do for you?"

I said, "Sire, on or about the 10th day of Oc-
tober, 1861, John Wilson Mackenzie, of Rotterdam,
Chemung county, New Jersey, deceased, contracted
with the General Government to furnish to General
Sherman the sum total of thirty barrels of beef—"

He stopped me there, and dismissed me from his
presence—kindly, but firmly. The next day I
called on the Secretary of State.

He said, "Well, sir?"

I said, "Your Royal Highness: on or about the
10th day of October, 1861, John Wilson Mackenzie,
of Rotterdam, Chemung county, New Jersey, de-
ceased, contracted with the General Government to
furnish to General Sherman the sum total of thirty
barrels of beef—"

"That will do, sir—that will do; this office has
nothing to do with contracts for beef."

I was bowed out. I thought the matter all over,
and finally, the following day, I visited the Secretary
of the Navy, who said, "Speak quickly, sir; do not
keep me waiting."

I said, "Your Royal Highness, on or about the
10th day of October, 1861, John Wilson Mackenzie,
of Rotterdam, Chemung county, New Jersey, de-
ceased, contracted with the General Government to
furnish to General Sherman the sum total of thirty
barrels of beef—"

Well, it was as far as I could get. He had noth-
ing to do with beef contracts for General Sherman,

---

either. I began to think it was a curious kind of a
government. It looked somewhat as if they wanted
to get out of paying for that beef. The following
day I went to the Secretary of the Interior.

I said, "Your Imperial Highness, on or about
the 10th day of October—"

"That is sufficient, sir. I have heard of you be-
fore. Go, take your infamous beef contract out of
this establishment. The Interior Department has
nothing whatever to do with subsistence for the
army."

I went away. But I was exasperated now. I
said I would haunt them; I would infest every de-
partment of this iniquitous Government till that con-
tract business was settled. I would collect that bill,
or fall, as fell my predecessors, trying. I assailed
the Postmaster-General; I besieged the Agricultural
Department; I waylaid the Speaker of the House of
Representatives. They had nothing to do with army
contracts for beef. I moved upon the Commissioner
of the Patent Office.

I said, "Your August Excellency, on or about—"

"Perdition! have you got here with your incen-
diary beef contract, at last? We have nothing to do
with beef contracts for the army, my dear sir."

"Oh, that is all very well—but somebody has
got to pay for that beef. It has got to be paid now,
too, or I'll confiscate this old Patent Office and
everything in it."

"But, my dear sir—"

---

"It don't make any difference, sir. The Patent
Office is liable for that beef, I reckon; and, liable or
not liable, the Patent Office has got to pay for it."

Never mind the details. It ended in a fight. The
Patent Office won. But I found out something to
my advantage. I was told that the Treasury Depart-
ment was the proper place for me to go to. I went
there. I waited two hours and a half, and then I
was admitted to the First Lord of the Treasury.

I said, "Most noble, grave, and reverend Signor,
on or about the 10th day of October, 1861, John
Wilson Macken—"

"That is sufficient, sir. I have heard of you.
Go to the First Auditor of the Treasury."

I did so. He sent me to the Second Auditor.
The Second Auditor sent me to the Third, and the
Third sent me to the First Comptroller of the Corn-
Beef Division. This began to look like business.
He examined his books and all his loose papers, but
found no minute of the beef contract. I went to
the Second Comptroller of the Corn-Beef Division.
He examined his books and his loose papers, but
with no success. I was encouraged. During that
week I got as far as the Sixth Comptroller in that
division; the next week I got through the Claims
Department; the third week I began and completed
the Mislaid Contracts Department, and got a foot-
hold in the Dead Reckoning Department. I finished
that in three days. There was only one place left
for it now. I laid siege to the Commissioner of

---

Odds and Ends. To his clerk, rather—he was not
there himself. There were sixteen beautiful young
ladies in the room, writing in books, and there were
seven well-favored young clerks showing them how.
The young women smiled up over their shoulders,
and the clerks smiled back at them, and all went
merry as a marriage bell. Two or three clerks that
were reading the newspapers looked at me rather
hard, but went on reading, and nobody said anything.
However, I had been used to this kind of alacrity from
Fourth Assistant Junior Clerks all through my event-
ful career, from the very day I entered the first office
of the Corn-Beef Bureau clear till I passed out of
the last one in the Dead Reckoning Division. I had
got so accomplished by this time that I could stand
on one foot from the moment I entered an office till
a clerk spoke to me, without changing more than
two, or maybe three, times.

So I stood there till I had changed four different
times. Then I said to one of the clerks who was
reading:

"Illustrious Vagrant, where is the Grand Turk?"

"What do you mean, sir? whom do you mean?
If you mean the Chief of the Bureau, he is out."

"Will he visit the harem to-day?"

The young man glared upon me a while, and then
went on reading his paper. But I knew the ways of
those clerks. I knew I was safe if he got through
before another New York mail arrived. He only
had two more papers left. After a while he finished

---

them, and then he yawned and asked me what I
wanted.

"Renowned and honored Imbecile: on or
about—"

"You are the beef contract man. Give me your
papers."

He took them, and for a long time he ransacked
his odds and ends. Finally he found the North-
west Passage, as I regarded it—he found the long
lost record of that beef contract—he found the
rock upon which so many of my ancestors had split
before they ever got to it. I was deeply moved.
And yet I rejoiced—for I had survived. I said
with emotion, "Give it me. The Government will
settle now." He waved me back, and said there
was something yet to be done first.

"Where is this John Wilson Mackenzie?" said
he.

"Dead."

"When did he die?"

"He didn't die at all—he was killed."

"How?"

"Tomahawked."

"Who tomahawked him?"

"Why, an Indian, of course. You didn't sup-
pose it was the superintendent of a Sunday-school,
did you?"

"No. An Indian, was it?"

"The same."

"Name of the Indian?"

---

"His name? I don't know his name."

"Must have his name. Who saw the tomahawk-
ing done?"

"I don't know."

"You were not present yourself, then?"

"Which you can see by my hair. I was absent."

"Then how do you know that Mackenzie is
dead?"

"Because he certainly died at that time, and I
have every reason to believe that he has been dead
ever since. I know he has, in fact."

"We must have proofs. Have you got the
Indian?"

"Of course not."

"Well, you must get him. Have you got the
tomahawk?"

"I never thought of such a thing."

"You must get the tomahawk. You must pro-
duce the Indian and the tomahawk. If Mackenzie's
death can be proven by these, you can then go before
the commission appointed to audit claims with some
show of getting your bill under such headway that
your children may possibly live to receive the money
and enjoy it. But that man's death must be proven.
However, I may as well tell you that the Government
will never pay that transportation and those travel-
ing expenses of the lamented Mackenzie. It may
possibly pay for the barrel of beef that Sherman's
soldiers captured, if you can get a relief bill through
Congress making an appropriation for that purpose;

---

but it will not pay for the twenty-nine barrels the
Indians ate."

"Then there is only a hundred dollars due me,
and that isn't certain! After all Mackenzie's travels
in Europe, Asia, and America with that beef; after
all his trials and tribulations and transportation;
after the slaughter of all those innocents that tried
to collect that bill! Young man, why didn't the
First Comptroller of the Corn-Beef Division tell me
this?"

"He didn't know anything about the genuineness
of your claim."

"Why didn't the Second tell me? why didn't the
Third? why didn't all those divisions and depart-
ments tell me?"

"None of them knew. We do things by routine
here. You have followed the routine and found out
what you wanted to know. It is the best way. It
is the only way. It is very regular, and very slow,
but it is very certain."

"Yes, certain death. It has been, to the most
of our tribe. I begin to feel that I, too, am called.
Young man, you love the bright creature yonder
with the gentle blue eyes and the steel pens behind
her ears—I see it in your soft glances; you wish to
marry her—but you are poor. Here, hold out
your hand—here is the beef contract; go, take her
and be happy! Heaven bless you, my children!"

This is all I know about the great beef contract
that has created so much talk in the community.

---

The clerk to whom I bequeathed it died. I know
nothing further about the contract, or any one con-
nected with it. I only know that if a man lives long
enough he can trace a thing through the Circumlo-
cution Office of Washington and find out, after
much labor and trouble and delay, that which he
could have found out on the first day if the business
of the Circumlocution Office were as ingeniously
systematized as it would be if it were a great private
mercantile institution.

---

THE CASE OF GEORGE FISHER*

Some years ago, about 1867, when this was first published, few peo-
ple believed it, but considered it a mere extravaganza. In these latter days
it seems hard to realize that there was ever a time when the robbing of
our government was a novelty. The very man who showed me where to
find the documents for this case was at that very time spending hundreds
of thousands of dollars in Washington for a mail steamship concern, in
the effort to procure a subsidy for the company—a fact which was a
long time in coming to the surface, but leaked out at last and underwent
Congressional investigation.

This is history. It is not a wild extravaganza,
like "John Williamson Mackenzie's Great Beef
Contract," but is a plain statement of facts and cir-
cumstances with which the Congress of the United
States has interested itself from time to time during
the long period of half a century.

I will not call this matter of George Fisher's a
great deathless and unrelenting swindle upon the
Government and people of the United States—for
it has never been so decided, and I hold that it is a
grave and solemn wrong for a writer to cast slurs or
call names when such is the case—but will simply
present the evidence and let the reader deduce his
own verdict. Then we shall do nobody injustice,
and our consciences shall be clear.

---

On or about the 1st day of September, 1813, the
Creek war being then in progress in Florida, the
crops, herds, and houses of Mr. George Fisher, a
citizen, were destroyed, either by the Indians or by
the United States troops in pursuit of them. By
the terms of the law, if the Indians destroyed the
property, there was no relief for Fisher; but if the
troops destroyed it, the Government of the United
States was debtor to Fisher for the amount in-
volved.

George Fisher must have considered that the In-
dians destroyed the property, because, although he
lived several years afterward, he does not appear to
have ever made any claim upon the Government.

In the course of time Fisher died, and his widow
married again. And by and by, nearly twenty years
after that dimly-remembered raid upon Fisher's
cornfields, the widow Fisher's new husband peti-
tioned Congress for pay for the property, and backed
up the petition with many depositions and affidavits
which purported to prove that the troops, and not
the Indians, destroyed the property; that the troops,
for some inscrutable reason, deliberately burned
down "houses" (or cabins) valued at $600, the
same belonging to a peaceable private citizen, and
also destroyed various other property belonging to
the same citizen. But Congress declined to believe
that the troops were such idiots (after overtaking
and scattering a band of Indians proved to have
been found destroying Fisher's property) as to

---

calmly continue the work of destruction themselves,
and make a complete job of what the Indians had
only commenced. So Congress denied the petition
of the heirs of George Fisher in 1832, and did not
pay them a cent.

We hear no more from them officially until 1848,
sixteen years after their first attempt on the Treas-
ury, and a full generation after the death of the man
whose fields were destroyed. The new generation
of Fisher heirs then came forward and put in a bill
for damages. The Second Auditor awarded them
$8,873, being half the damage sustained by Fisher.
The Auditor said the testimony showed that at least
half the destruction was done by the Indians "before
the troops started in pursuit," and of course the Gov-
ernment was not responsible for that half.

2. That was in April, 1848. In December, 1848,
the heirs of George Fisher, deceased, came forward
and pleaded for a "revision" of their bill of dam-
ages. The revision was made, but nothing new
could be found in their favor except an error of
$100 in the former calculation. However, in order
to keep up the spirits of the Fisher family, the
Auditor concluded to go back and allow interest
from the date of the first petition (1832) to the date
when the bill of damages was awarded. This sent
the Fishers home happy with sixteen years' interest
on $8,873—the same amounting to $8,997.94.
Total, $17,870.94.

3. For an entire year the suffering Fisher family

---

remained quiet—even satisfied, after a fashion. Then
they swooped down upon Government with their
wrongs once more. That old patriot, Attorney-Gen-
eral Toucey, burrowed through the musty papers of
the Fishers and discovered one more chance for the
desolate orphans—interest on that original award
of $8,873 from date of destruction of the property
(1813) up to 1832! Result, $10,004.89 for the
indigent Fishers. So now we have: First, $8,873
damages; second, interest on it from 1832 to 1848,
$8,997.94: third, interest on it dated back to 1813,
$10,004.89. Total, $27,875.83! What better in-
vestment for a great-grandchild than to get the
Indians to burn a cornfield for him sixty or seventy
years before his birth, and plausibly lay it on lunatic
United States troops?

4. Strange as it may seem, the Fishers let Con-
gress alone for five years—or, what is perhaps
more likely, failed to make themselves heard by
Congress for that length of time. But at last, in
1854, they got a hearing. They persuaded Congress
to pass an act requiring the Auditor to re-examine
their case. But this time they stumbled upon the
misfortune of an honest Secretary of the Treasury
(Mr. James Guthrie), and he spoiled everything.
He said in very plain language that the Fishers were
not only not entitled to another cent, but that those
children of many sorrows and acquainted with grief
had been paid too much already.

5. Therefore another interval of rest and silence

---

ensued—an interval which lasted four years—viz.,
till 1858. The "right man in the right place" was
then Secretary of War—John B. Floyd, of peculiar
renown! Here was a master intellect; here was the
very man to succor the suffering heirs of dead and
forgotten Fisher. They came up from Florida with
a rush—a great tidal wave of Fishers freighted with
the same old musty documents about the same im-
mortal cornfields of their ancestor. They straight-
way got an act passed transferring the Fisher matter
from the dull Auditor to the ingenious Floyd.
What did Floyd do? He said, "it was proved
that the Indians destroyed everything they could before
the troops entered in pursuit." He considered, there-
fore, that what they destroyed must have consisted
of "the houses with all their contents, and the
liquor" (the most trifling part of the destruction,
and set down at only $3,200 all told), and that the
Government troops then drove them off and calmly
proceeded to destroy—

Two hundred and twenty acres of corn in the field,
thirty-five acres of wheat, and nine hundred and
eighty-six head of live stock! [What a singularly
intelligent army we had in those days, according to
Mr. Floyd—though not according to the Congress
of 1832.]

So Mr. Floyd decided that the Government was
not responsible for that $3,200 worth of rubbish
which the Indians destroyed, but was responsible for
the property destroyed by the troops—which prop-

---

erty consisted of (I quote from the printed United
States Senate document):

Dollars.Corn at Bassett's Creek,3,000Cattle,5,000Stock hogs,1,050Drove hogs,1,204Wheat,350Hides,4,000Corn on the Alabama River,3,500Total,18,104

That sum, in his report, Mr. Floyd calls the
"full value of the property destroyed by the
troops." He allows that sum to the starving Fish-
ers, together with interest from 1813. From
this new sum total the amounts already paid to the
Fishers were deducted, and then the cheerful re-
mainder (a fraction under forty thousand dollars,)
was handed to them, and again they retired to
Florida in a condition of temporary tranquillity.
Their ancestor's farm had now yielded them alto-
gether nearly sixty-seven thousand dollars in cash.

6. Does the reader suppose that that was the end
of it? Does he suppose those diffident Fishers were
satisfied? Let the evidence show. The Fishers
were quiet just two years. Then they came swarm-
ing up out of the fertile swamps of Florida with
their same old documents, and besieged Congress
once more. Congress capitulated on the 1st of
June, 1860, and instructed Mr. Floyd to overhaul

---

those papers again and pay that bill. A Treasury
clerk was ordered to go through those papers and
report to Mr. Floyd what amount was still due the
emaciated Fishers. This clerk (I can produce him
whenever he is wanted) discovered what was ap-
parently a glaring and recent forgery in the papers,
whereby a witness's testimony as to the price of
corn in Florida in 1813 was made to name double
the amount which that witness had originally speci-
fied as the price! The clerk not only called his
superior's attention to this thing, but in making up
his brief of the case called particular attention to it
in writing. That part of the brief never got before
Congress, nor has Congress ever yet had a hint of a
forgery existing among the Fisher papers. Never-
theless, on the basis of the double prices (and
totally ignoring the clerk's assertion that the figures
were manifestly and unquestionably a recent for-
gery), Mr. Floyd remarks in his new report that
"the testimony, particularly in regard to the corn
crops, demands a much higher allowance than
any heretofore made by the Auditor or myself." So
he estimates the crop at sixty bushels to the acre
(double what Florida acres produce), and then vir-
tuously allows pay for only half the crop, but allows
two dollars and a half a bushel for that half, when
there are rusty old books and documents in the
Congressional library to show just what the Fisher
testimony showed before the forgery—viz., that in
the fall of 1813 corn was only worth from $1.25 to

---

$1.50 a bushel. Having accomplished this, what
does Mr. Floyd do next? Mr. Floyd ("with an
earnest desire to execute truly the legislative will,"
as he piously remarks) goes to work and makes out
an entirely new bill of Fisher damages, and in this
new bill he placidly ignores the Indians altogether—
puts no particle of the destruction of the Fisher
property upon them, but, even repenting him of
charging them with burning the cabins and drinking
the whisky and breaking the crockery, lays the entire
damage at the door of the imbecile United States
troops, down to the very last item! And not only
that, but uses the forgery to double the loss of corn
at "Bassett's Creek," and uses it again to abso-
lutely treble the loss of corn on the "Alabama
River." This new and ably conceived and executed
bill of Mr. Floyd's figures up as follows (I copy
again from the printed United States Senate docu-
ment):

The United States in account with the legal representatives
of George Fisher, deceased.Dol. C.1813.—To 550 head of cattle, at 10 dollars,5,500.00To 86 head of drove hogs,1,204.00To 350 head of stock hogs,1,750.00To 100 acres of corn on Bassett's Creek,6,000.00To 8 barrels of whisky,350.00To 2 barrels of brandy,280.00To 1 barrel of rum,70.00To dry goods and merchandise in store,1,100.00To 35 acres of wheat,350.00To 2,000 hides,4,000.00

---

To furs and hats in store,600.00To crockery ware in store,100.00To smiths' and carpenters' tools,250.00To houses burned and destroyed,600.00To 4 dozen bottles of wine,48.001814.—To 120 acres of corn on Alabama River,9,500.00To crops of peas, fodder, etc.,3,250.00Total,34,952.00To interest on $22,202, from July 1813 to
November 1860, 47 years and 4 months,63,053.68To interest on $12,750, from September
1814 to November 1860, 46 years and 2
months,35,317.50Total,133,323.18

He puts everything in this time. He does not
even allow that the Indians destroyed the crockery
or drank the four dozen bottles of (currant) wine.
When it came to supernatural comprehensiveness in
"gobbling," John B. Floyd was without his equal,
in his own or any other generation. Subtracting
from the above total the $67,000 already paid to
George Fisher's implacable heirs, Mr. Floyd an-
nounced that the government was still indebted to
them in the sum of sixty-six thousand five hundred
and nineteen dollars and eighty-five cents, "which,"
Mr. Floyd complacently remarks, "will be paid,
accordingly, to the administrator of the estate of
George Fisher, deceased, or to his attorney in fact."

But, sadly enough for the destitute orphans, a
new President came in just at this time, Buchanan
and Floyd went out, and they never got their
money. The first thing Congress did in 1861 was

---

to rescind the resolution of June 1, 1860, under
which Mr. Floyd had been ciphering. Then Floyd
(and doubtless the heirs of George Fisher likewise)
had to give up financial business for a while, and go
into the Confederate army and serve their country.

Were the heirs of George Fisher killed? No.
They are back now at this very time (July, 1870),
beseeching Congress through that blushing and diffi-
dent creature, Garrett Davis, to commence making
payments again on their interminable and insatiable
bill of damages for corn and whisky destroyed by a
gang of irresponsible Indians, so long ago that even
government red-tape has failed to keep consistent
and intelligent track of it.

Now the above are facts. They are history. Any
one who doubts it can send to the Senate Document
Department of the Capitol for H. R. Ex. Doc. No.
21, 36th Congress, 2d Session, and for S. Ex. Doc.
No. 106, 41st Congress, 2d Session, and satisfy him-
self. The whole case is set forth in the first volume
of the Court of Claims Reports.

It is my belief that as long as the continent of
America holds together, the heirs of George Fisher,
deceased, will still make pilgrimages to Washington
from the swamps of Florida, to plead for just a little
more cash on their bill of damages (even when they
received the last of that sixty-seven thousand dol-
lars, they said it was only one-fourth what the Govern-
ment owed them on that fruitful cornfield), and as
long as they choose to come they will find Garrett

---

Davises to drag their vampire schemes before Con-
gress. This is not the only hereditary fraud (if
fraud it is—which I have before repeatedly re-
marked is not proven) that is being quietly handed
down from generation to generation of fathers and
sons, through the persecuted Treasury of the United
States.

---

DISGRACEFUL PERSECUTION OF A BOY

In San Francisco, the other day, "A well-dressed
boy, on his way to Sunday-school, was arrested
and thrown into the city prison for stoning China-
men."

What a commentary is this upon human justice!
What sad prominence it gives to our human disposi-
tion to tyrannize over the weak! San Francisco has
little right to take credit to herself for her treatment
of this poor boy. What had the child's education
been? How should he suppose it was wrong to
stone a Chinaman? Before we side against him,
along with outraged San Francisco, let us give him
a chance—let us hear the testimony for the de-
fense.

He was a "well-dressed" boy, and a Sunday-
school scholar, and therefore the chances are that
his parents were intelligent, well-to-do people, with
just enough natural villainy in their composition to
make them yearn after the daily papers, and enjoy
them; and so this boy had opportunities to learn all
through the week how to do right, as well as on
Sunday.

---

It was in this way that he found out that the great
commonwealth of California imposes an unlawful
mining-tax upon John the foreigner, and allows
Patrick the foreigner to dig gold for nothing—
probably because the degraded Mongol is at no ex-
pense for whisky, and the refined Celt cannot exist
without it.

It was in this way that he found out that a re-
spectable number of the taxgatherers—it would be
unkind to say all of them—collect the tax twice,
instead of once; and that, inasmuch as they do it
solely to discourage Chinese immigration into the
mines, it is a thing that is much applauded, and
likewise regarded as being singularly facetious.

It was in this way that he found out that when a
white man robs a sluice-box (by the term white
man is meant Spaniards, Mexicans, Portuguese,
Irish, Hondurans, Peruvians, Chileans, etc., etc.),
they make him leave the camp; and when a China-
man does that thing, they hang him.

It was in this way that he found out that in many
districts of the vast Pacific coast, so strong is the
wild, free love of justice in the hearts of the people,
that whenever any secret and mysterious crime is
committed, they say, "Let justice be done, though
the heavens fall," and go straightway and swing a
Chinaman.

It was in this way that he found out that by
studying one half of each day's "local items," it
would appear that the police of San Francisco were

---

either asleep or dead, and by studying the other
half it would seem that the reporters were gone
mad with admiration of the energy, the virtue, the
high effectiveness, and the dare-devil intrepidity of
that very police—making exultant mention of how
"the Argus-eyed officer So-and-so," captured a
wretched knave of a Chinaman who was stealing
chickens, and brought him gloriously to the city
prison; and how "the gallant officer Such-and-such-
a-one," quietly kept an eye on the movements of
an "unsuspecting, almond-eyed son of Confucius"
(your reporter is nothing if not facetious), following
him around with that far-off look of vacancy and
unconsciousness always so finely affected by that in-
scrutable being, the forty-dollar policeman, during
a waking interval, and captured him at last in the
very act of placing his hands in a suspicious manner
upon a paper of tacks, left by the owner in an ex-
posed situation; and how one officer performed this
prodigious thing, and another officer that, and an-
other the other—and pretty much every one of
these performances having for a dazzling central
incident a Chinaman guilty of a shilling's worth of
crime, an unfortunate, whose misdemeanor must be
hurrahed into something enormous in order to keep
the public from noticing how many really important
rascals went uncaptured in the meantime, and how
overrated those glorified policemen actually are.

It was in this way that the boy found out that the
legislature, being aware that the Constitution has

---

made America an asylum for the poor and the op-
pressed of all nations, and that, therefore, the poor
and oppressed who fly to our shelter must not be
charged a disabling admission fee, made a law that
every Chinaman, upon landing, must be vaccinated
upon the wharf, and pay to the State's appointed
officer ten dollars for the service, when there are
plenty of doctors in San Francisco who would be
glad enough to do it for him for fifty cents.

It was in this way that the boy found out that a
Chinaman had no rights that any man was bound to
respect; that he had no sorrows that any man was
bound to pity; that neither his life nor his liberty
was worth the purchase of a penny when a white
man needed a scapegoat; that nobody loved China-
men, nobody befriended them, nobody spared them
suffering when it was convenient to inflict it; every-
body, individuals, communities, the majesty of the
State itself, joined in hating, abusing, and perse-
cuting these humble strangers.

And, therefore, what could have been more natural
than for this sunny-hearted boy, tripping along to
Sunday-school, with his mind teeming with freshly-
learned incentives to high and virtuous action, to
say to himself:

"Ah, there goes a Chinaman! God will not love
me if I do not stone him."

And for this he was arrested and put in the city
jail.

Everything conspired to teach him that it was a

---

high and holy thing to stone a Chinaman, and yet
he no sooner attempts to do his duty that he is
punished for it—he, poor chap, who has been
aware all his life that one of the principal recreations
of the police, out toward the Gold Refinery, is to
look on with tranquil enjoyment while the butchers
of Brannan street set their dogs on unoffending
Chinamen, and make them flee for their lives.*

I have many such memories in my mind, but am thinking just at
present of one particular one, where the Brannan Street butchers set
their dogs on a Chinaman who was quietly passing with a basket of
clothes on his head; and while the dogs mutilated his flesh, a butcher
increased the hilarity of the occasion by knocking some of the China-
man's teeth down his throat with half a brick. This incident sticks in
my memory with a more malevolent tenacity, perhaps, on account of the
fact that I was in the employ of a San Francisco journal at the time, and
was not allowed to publish it because it might offend some of the peculiar
element that subscribed for the paper.

Keeping in mind the tuition in the humanities
which the entire "Pacific coast" gives its youth,
there is a very sublimity of incongruity in the virtu-
ous flourish with which the good city fathers of San
Francisco proclaim (as they have lately done) that
"The police are positively ordered to arrest all
boys, of every description and wherever found, who
engage in assaulting Chinamen."

Still, let us be truly glad they have made the
order, notwithstanding its inconsistency; and let us
rest perfectly confident the police are glad, too.
Because there is no personal peril in arresting boys,
provided they be of the small kind, and the reporters

---

will have to laud their performances just as loyally
as ever, or go without items.

The new form for local items in San Francisco
will now be: "The ever vigilant and efficient officer
So-and-so succeeded, yesterday afternoon, in arrest-
ing Master Tommy Jones, after a determined re-
sistance," etc., etc., followed by the customary
statistics and final hurrah, with its unconscious sar-
casm: "We are happy in being able to state that
this is the forty-seventh boy arrested by this gallant
officer since the new ordinance went into effect.
The most extraordinary activity prevails in the
police department. Nothing like it has been seen
since we can remember."

---

THE JUDGE'S "SPIRITED WOMAN"

"I was sitting here," said the judge, "in this
old pulpit, holding court, and we were trying
a big, wicked-looking Spanish desperado for killing
the husband of a bright, pretty Mexican woman.
It was a lazy summer day, and an awfully long one,
and the witnesses were tedious. None of us took
any interest in the trial except that nervous, uneasy
devil of a Mexican woman—because you know
how they love and how they hate, and this one had
loved her husband with all her might, and now she
had boiled it all down into hate, and stood here
spitting it at that Spaniard with her eyes; and I tell
you she would stir me up, too, with a little of her
summer lightning, occasionally. Well, I had my
coat off and my heels up, lolling and sweating, and
smoking one of those cabbage cigars the San Fran-
cisco people used to think were good enough for us
in those times; and the lawyers they all had their
coats off, and were smoking and whittling, and the
witnesses the same, and so was the prisoner. Well,
the fact is, there warn't any interest in a murder
trial then, because the fellow was always brought in
'not guilty,' the jury expecting him to do as much

---

for them some time; and, although the evidence
was straight and square against this Spaniard, we
knew we could not convict him without seeming to
be rather high-handed and sort of reflecting on every
gentleman in the community; for there warn't any
carriages and liveries then, and so the only 'style'
there was, was to keep your private graveyard.
But that woman seemed to have her heart set on
hanging that Spaniard; and you'd ought to have
seen how she would glare on him a minute, and
then look up at me in her pleading way, and then
turn and for the next five minutes search the jury's
faces, and by and by drop her face in her hands for
just a little while as if she was most ready to give
up; but out she'd come again directly, and be as
live and anxious as ever. But when the jury an-
nounced the verdict—Not Guilty, and I told the
prisoner he was acquitted and free to go, that
woman rose up till she appeared to be as tall and
grand as a seventy-four-gun-ship, and says she:

"'Judge, do I understand you to say that this
man is not guilty that murdered my husband without
any cause before my own eyes and my little chil-
dren's, and that all has been done to him that ever
justice and the law can do?'

"'The same,' says I.

"And then what do you reckon she did? Why,
she turned on that smirking Spanish fool like a wild
cat, and out with a 'navy' and shot him dead in
open court!"

---

"That was spirited, I am willing to admit."

"Wasn't it, though?" said the judge admiringly.

"I wouldn't have missed it for anything. I ad-
journed court right on the spot, and we put on our
coats and went out and took up a collection for her
and her cubs, and sent them over the mountains to
their friends. Ah, she was a spirited wench!"

---

INFORMATION WANTED

"Could you give me any information respecting
such islands, if any, as the Government
is going to purchase?"

It is an uncle of mine that wants to know. He is
an industrious man and well-disposed, and wants to
make a living in an honest, humble way, but more
especially he wants to be quiet. He wishes to settle
down, and be quiet and unostentatious. He has
been to the new island St. Thomas, but he says he
thinks things are unsettled there. He went there
early with an attaché of the State department, who
was sent down with money to pay for the island.
My uncle had his money in the same box, and so
when they went ashore, getting a receipt, the sailors
broke open the box and took all the money, not
making any distinction between Government money,
which was legitimate money to be stolen, and my
uncle's, which was his own private property, and
should have been respected. But he came home
and got some more and went back. And then he
took the fever. There are seven kinds of fever

---

down there, you know; and, as his blood was out
of order by reason of loss of sleep and general wear
and tear of mind, he failed to cure the first fever,
and then somehow he got the other six. He is not
a kind of man that enjoys fevers, though he is well
meaning and always does what he thinks is right,
and so he was a good deal annoyed when it ap-
peared he was going to die.

But he worried through, and got well and started
a farm. He fenced it in, and the next day that
great storm came on and washed the most of it over
to Gibraltar, or around there somewhere. He only
said, in his patient way, that it was gone, and he
wouldn't bother about trying to find out where it
went to, though it was his opinion it went to
Gibraltar.

Then he invested in a mountain, and started a
farm up there, so as to be out of the way when the
sea came ashore again. It was a good mountain,
and a good farm, but it wasn't any use; an earth-
quake came the next night and shook it all down.
It was all fragments, you know, and so mixed up
with another man's property that he could not tell
which were his fragments without going to law; and
he would not do that, because his main object in
going to St. Thomas was to be quiet. All that he
wanted was to settle down and be quiet.

He thought it all over, and finally he concluded
to try the low ground again, especially as he wanted
to start a brickyard this time. He bought a flat,

---

and put out a hundred thousand bricks to dry
preparatory to baking them. But luck appeared
to be against him. A volcano shoved itself through
there that night, and elevated his brickyard about
two thousand feet in the air. It irritated him a
good deal. He has been up there, and he says the
bricks are all baked right enough, but he can't get
them down. At first, he thought maybe the Gov-
ernment would get the bricks down for him, because
since Government bought the island, it ought to
protect the property where a man has invested in
good faith; but all he wants is quiet, and so he is
not going to apply for the subsidy he was thinking
about.

He went back there last week in a couple of ships
of war, to prospect around the coast for a safe place
for a farm where he could be quiet; but a great
"tidal wave" came, and hoisted both of the ships
out into one of the interior counties, and he came
near losing his life. So he has given up prospecting
in a ship, and is discouraged.

Well, now he don't know what to do. He has
tried Alaska; but the bears kept after him so much,
and kept him so much on the jump, as it were, that
he had to leave the country. He could not be quiet
there with those bears prancing after him all the
time. That is how he came to go to the new island
we have bought—St. Thomas. But he is getting
to think St. Thomas is not quiet enough for a man
of his turn of mind, and that is why he wishes me to

---

find out if Government is likely to buy some more
islands shortly. He has heard that Government is
thinking about buying Porto Rico. If that is true,
he wishes to try Porto Rico, if it is a quiet place.
How is Porto Rico for his style of man? Do you
think the Government will but it?

---

SOME LEARNED FABLES, FOR GOOD
OLD BOYS AND GIRLSIN THREE PARTS
Part Firsthow the animals of the wood sent out a scientific
expedition.

Once the creatures of the forest held a great con-
vention and appointed a commission consisting
of the most illustrious scientists among them to go
forth, clear beyond the forest and out into the un-
known and unexplored world, to verify the truth of
the matters already taught in their schools and col-
leges and also to make discoveries. It was the most
imposing enterprise of the kind the nation had ever
embarked in. True, the government had once sent
Dr. Bull Frog, with a picked crew, to hunt for a
northwesterly passage through the swamp to the
right-hand corner of the wood, and had since sent
out many expeditions to hunt for Dr. Bull Frog;
but they never could find him, and so government
finally gave him up and ennobled his mother to

---

show its gratitude for the services her son had
rendered to science. And once government sent
Sir Grass Hopper to hunt for the sources of the rill
that emptied into the swamp; and afterwards sent
out many expeditions to hunt for Sir Grass, and at
last they were successful—they found his body, but
if he had discovered the sources meantime, he did
not let on. So government acted handsomely by
deceased, and many envied his funeral.

But these expeditions were trifles compared with
the present one; for this one comprised among its
servants the very greatest among the learned; and
besides it was to go to the utterly unvisited regions
believed to lie beyond the mighty forest—as we
have remarked before. How the members were
banqueted, and glorified, and talked about! Every-
where that one of them showed himself, straightway
there was a crowd to gape and stare at him.

Finally they set off, and it was a sight to see the
long procession of dry-land Tortoises heavily laden
with savans, scientific instruments, Glow-Worms and
Fire-Flies for signal service, provisions, Ants, and
Tumble-Bugs to fetch and carry and delve, Spiders
to carry the surveying chain and do other engineer-
ing duty, and so forth and so on; and after the
Tortoises came another long train of ironclads—
stately and spacious Mud Turtles for marine trans-
portation service; and from every Tortoise and
every Turtle flaunted a flaming gladiolus or other
splendid banner; at the head of the column a great

---

band of Bumble-Bees, Mosquitoes, Katy-Dids, and
Crickets discoursed martial music; and the entire
train was under the escort and protection of twelve
picked regiments of the Army Worm.

At the end of three weeks the expedition emerged
from the forest and looked upon the great Unknown
World. Their eyes were greeted with an impressive
spectacle. A vast level plain stretched before them,
watered by a sinuous stream; and beyond there
towered up against the sky a long and lofty barrier
of some kind, they did not know what. The
Tumble-Bug said he believed it was simply land
tilted up on its edge, because he knew he could see
trees on it. But Professor Snail and the others
said:

"You are hired to dig, sir—that is all. We
need your muscle, not your brains. When we want
your opinion on scientific matters, we will hasten to
let you know. Your coolness is intolerable, too—
loafing about here meddling with august matters of
learning, when the other laborers are pitching camp.
Go along and help handle the baggage."

The Tumble-Bug turned on his heel uncrushed,
unabashed, observing to himself, "If it isn't land
tilted up, let me die the death of the unrighteous."

Professor Bull Frog (nephew of the late explorer)
said he believed the ridge was the wall that enclosed
the earth. He continued:

"Our fathers have left us much learning, but they
had not traveled far, and so we may count this a

---

noble new discovery. We are safe for renown now,
even though our labors began and ended with this
single achievement. I wonder what this wall is built
of? Can it be fungus? Fungus is an honorable
good thing to build a wall of."

Professor Snail adjusted his field-glass and ex-
amined the rampart critically. Finally he said:

"The fact that it is not diaphanous convinces
me that it is a dense vapor formed by the calorifica-
tion of ascending moisture dephlogisticated by re-
fraction. A few endiometrical experiments would
confirm this, but it is not necessary. The thing is
obvious."

So he shut up his glass and went into his shell to
make a note of the discovery of the world's end,
and the nature of it.

"Profound mind!" said Professor Angle-Worm
to Professor Field-Mouse; "profound mind! noth-
ing can long remain a mystery to that august
brain."

Night drew on apace, the sentinel crickets were
posted, the Glow Worm and Fire-Fly lamps were
lighted, and the camp sank to silence and sleep.
After breakfast in the morning, the expedition
moved on. About noon a great avenue was reached,
which had in it two endless parallel bars of some
kind of hard black substance, raised the height of
the tallest Bull Frog above the general level. The
scientists climbed up on these and examined and
tested them in various ways. They walked along

---

them for a great distance, but found no end and no
break in them. They could arrive at no decision.
There was nothing in the records of science that
mentioned anything of this kind. But at last the
bald and venerable geographer, Professor Mud
Turtle, a person who, born poor, and of a drudg-
ing low family, had, by his own native force raised
himself to the headship of the geographers of his
generation, said:

"My friends, we have indeed made a discovery
here. We have found in a palpable, compact, and
imperishable state what the wisest of our fathers
always regarded as a mere thing of the imagination.
Humble yourselves, my friends, for we stand in a
majestic presence. These are parallels of latitude!"

Every heart and every head was bowed, so awful,
so sublime was the magnitude of the discovery.
Many shed tears.

The camp was pitched and the rest of the day
given up to writing voluminous accounts of the
marvel, and correcting astronomical tables to fit it.
Toward midnight a demoniacal shriek was heard,
then a clattering and rumbling noise, and the next
instant a vast terrific eye shot by, with a long tail
attached, and disappeared in the gloom, still uttering
triumphant shrieks.

The poor camp laborers were stricken to the heart
with fright, and stampeded for the high grass in a
body. But not the scientists. They had no super-
stitions. They calmly proceeded to exchange theo-

---

ries. The ancient geographer's opinion was asked.
He went into his shell and deliberated long and
profoundly. When he came out at last, they all
knew by his worshiping countenance that he brought
light. Said he:

"Give thanks for this stupendous thing which we
have been permitted to witness. It is the Vernal
Equinox!"

There were shoutings and great rejoicings.

"But," said the Angle-Worm, uncoiling after
reflection, "this is dead summer time."

"Very well," said the Turtle, "we are far from
our region; the season differs with the difference of
time between the two points."

"Ah, true. True enough. But it is night. How
should the sun pass in the night?"

"In these distant regions he doubtless passes
always in the night at this hour."

"Yes, doubtless that is true. But it being night,
how is it that we could see him?"

"It is a great mystery. I grant that. But I am
persuaded that the humidity of the atmosphere in
these remote regions is such that particles of day-
light adhere to the disk and it was by aid of these
that we were enabled to see the sun in the dark."

This was deemed satisfactory, and due entry was
made of the decision.

But about this moment those dreadful shriekings
were heard again; again the rumbling and thunder-
ing came speeding up out of the night; and once

---

more a flaming great eye flashed by and lost itself in
gloom and distance.

The camp laborers gave themselves up for lost.
The savants were sorely perplexed. Here was a
marvel hard to account for. They thought and they
talked, they talked and they thought. Finally the
learned and aged Lord Grand-Daddy-Longlegs, who
had been sitting in deep study, with his slender
limbs crossed and his stemmy arms folded, said:

"Deliver your opinions, brethren, and then I will
tell my thought—for I think I have solved this
problem."

"So be it, good your lordship," piped the weak
treble of the wrinkled and withered Professor Wood-
louse, "for we shall hear from your lordship's lips
naught but wisdom." [Here the speaker threw in
a mess of trite, threadbare, exasperating quotations
from the ancient poets and philosophers, delivering
them with unction in the sounding grandeurs of the
original tongues, they being from the Mastodon, the
Dodo, and other dead languages.] "Perhaps I
ought not to presume to meddle with matters per-
taining to astronomy at all, in such a presence as
this, I who have made it the business of my life to
delve only among the riches of the extinct languages
and unearth the opulence of their ancient lore; but
still, as unacquainted as I am with the noble science
of astronomy, I beg with deference and humility to
suggest that inasmuch as the last of these wonderful
apparitions proceeded in exactly the opposite direc-

---

tion from that pursued by the first, which you decide
to be the Vernal Equinox, and greatly resembled it
in all particulars, is it not possible, nay certain, that
this last is the Autumnal Equi—"

"O-o-o!" "O-o-o! go to bed! go to bed!"
with annoyed derision from everybody. So the
poor old Woodlouse retreated out of sight, con-
sumed with shame.

Further discussion followed, and then the united
voice of the commission begged Lord Longlegs to
speak. He said:

"Fellow-scientists, it is my belief that we have
witnessed a thing which has occurred in perfection
but once before in the knowledge of created beings.
It is a phenomenon of inconceivable importance and
interest, view it as one may, but its interest to us is
vastly heightened by an added knowledge of its nature
which no scholar has heretofore possessed or even
suspected. This great marvel which we have just
witnessed, fellow-savants (it almost takes my breath
away), is nothing less than the transit of Venus!"

Every scholar sprang to his feet pale with astonish-
ment. Then ensued tears, handshakings, frenzied
embraces, and the most extravagant jubilations of
every sort. But by and by, as emotion began to
retire within bounds, and reflection to return to the
front, the accomplished Chief Inspector Lizard
observed:

"But how is this? Venus should traverse the
sun's surface, not the earth's."

---

The arrow went home. It carried sorrow to the
breast of every apostle of learning there, for none
could deny that this was a formidable criticism. But
tranquilly the venerable Duke crossed his limbs be-
hind his ears and said:

"My friend has touched the marrow of our
mighty discovery. Yes—all that have lived before
us thought a transit of Venus consisted of a flight
across the sun's face; they thought it, they main-
tained it, they honestly believed it, simple hearts,
and were justified in it by the limitations of their
knowledge; but to us has been granted the inestima-
ble boon of proving that the transit occurs across the
earth's face, for we have seen it!"

The assembled wisdom sat in speechless adoration
of this imperial intellect. All doubts had instantly
departed, like night before the lightning.

The Tumble-Bug had just intruded, unnoticed.
He now came reeling forward among the scholars,
familiarly slapping first one and then another on the
shoulder, saying "Nice ('ic!) nice old boy!" and
smiling a smile of elaborate content. Arrived at a
good position for speaking, he put his left arm
akimbo with his knuckles planted in his hip just
under the edge of his cut-away coat, bent his right
leg, placing his toe on the ground and resting his
heel with easy grace against his left shin, puffed out
his aldermanic stomach, opened his lips, leaned his
right elbow on Inspector Lizard's shoulder, and—

But the shoulder was indignantly withdrawn and

---

the hard-handed son of toil went to earth. He
floundered a bit but came up smiling, arranged his
attitude with the same careful detail as before, only
choosing Professor Dogtick's shoulder for a support,
opened his lips and—

Went to earth again. He presently scrambled up
once more, still smiling, made a loose effort to brush
the dust off his coat and legs, but a smart pass of
his hand missed entirely, and the force of the un-
checked impulse slewed him suddenly around,
twisted his legs together, and projected him, limber
and sprawling, into the lap of the Lord Longlegs.
Two or three scholars sprang forward, flung the low
creature head over heels into a corner and reinstated
the patrician, smoothing his ruffled dignity with
many soothing and regretful speeches. Professor
Bull Frog roared out:

"No more of this, sirrah Tumble-Bug! Say your
say and then get you about your business with
speed! Quick—what is your errand? Come—
move off a trifle; you smell like a stable; what have
you been at?"

"Please ('ic!) please your worship I chanced to
light upon a find. But no m (e-uck!) matter 'bout
that. There's b ('ic!) been another find which—
—beg pardon, your honors, what was that th ('ic!)
thing that ripped by here first?"

"It was the Vernal Equinox."

"Inf ('ic!) fernal equinox. 'At's all right. D
('ic!) Dunno him. What's other one?"

---

"The transit of Venus."

"G ('ic!) Got me again. No matter. Las' one
dropped something."

"Ah, indeed! Good luck! Good news! Quick
—what is it?"

"M ('ic!) Mosey out 'n' see. It'll pay."

No more votes were taken for four and twenty
hours. Then the following entry was made:

"The commission went in a body to view the
find. It was found to consist of a hard, smooth,
huge object with a rounded summit surmounted by
a short upright projection resembling a section of a
cabbage stalk divided transversely. This projection
was not solid, but was a hollow cylinder plugged
with a soft woody substance unknown to our region
—that is, it had been so plugged, but unfortunately
this obstruction had been heedlessly removed by
Norway Rat, Chief of the Sappers and Miners, be-
fore our arrival. The vast object before us, so
mysteriously conveyed from the glittering domains
of space, was found to be hollow and nearly filled
with a pungent liquid of a brownish hue, like rain-
water that has stood for some time. And such a
spectacle as met our view! Norway Rat was
perched upon the summit engaged in thrusting his
tail into the cylindrical projection, drawing it out
dripping, permitting the struggling multitude of
laborers to suck the end of it, then straightway rein-
serting it and delivering the fluid to the mob as
before. Evidently this liquor had strangely potent

---

qualities; for all that partook of it were immediately
exalted with great and pleasurable emotions, and
went staggering about singing ribald songs, em-
bracing, fighting, dancing, discharging irruptions of
profanity, and defying all authority. Around us
struggled a massed and uncontrolled mob—uncon-
trolled and likewise uncontrollable, for the whole
army, down to the very sentinels, were mad like
the rest, by reason of the drink. We were seized
upon by these reckless creatures, and within the
hour we, even we, were undistinguishable from the
rest—the demoralization was complete and uni-
versal. In time the camp wore itself out with its
orgies and sank into a stolid and pitiable stupor, in
whose mysterious bonds rank was forgotten and
strange bedfellows made, our eyes, at the resurrec-
tion, being blasted and our souls petrified with the
incredible spectacle of that intolerable stinking
scavenger, the Tumble-Bug, and the illustrious
patrician my Lord Grand Daddy, Duke of Long-
legs, lying soundly steeped in sleep, and clasped
lovingly in each other's arms, the like whereof hath
not been seen in all the ages that tradition com-
passeth, and doubtless none shall ever in this world
find faith to master the belief of it save only we that
have beheld the damnable and unholy vision. Thus
inscrutable be the ways of God, whose will be done!

"This day, by order, did the engineer-in-chief,
Herr Spider, rig the necessary tackle for the over-
turning of the vast reservoir, and so its calamitous

---

contents were discharged in a torrent upon the
thirsty earth, which drank it up, and now there is no
more danger, we reserving but a few drops for ex-
periment and scrutiny, and to exhibit to the king
and subsequently preserve among the wonders of
the museum. What this liquid is has been deter-
mined. It is without question that fierce and most
destructive fluid called lightning. It was wrested, in
its container, from its storehouse in the clouds, by
the resistless might of the flying planet, and hurled
at our feet as she sped by. An interesting discovery
here results. Which is, that lightning, kept to itself,
is quiescent; it is the assaulting contact of the
thunderbolt that releases it from captivity, ignites its
awful fires and so produces an instantaneous com-
bustion and explosion which spread disaster and
desolation far and wide in the earth."

After another day devoted to rest and recovery,
the expedition proceeded upon its way. Some days
later it went into camp in a pleasant part of the
plain, and the savants sallied forth to see what they
might find. Their reward was at hand. Professor
Bull Frog discovered a strange tree, and called his
comrades. They inspected it with profound interest.
It was very tall and straight, and wholly devoid of
bark, limbs, or foliage. By triangulation Lord Long-
legs determined its altitude; Herr Spider measured
its circumference at the base and computed the
circumference at its top by a mathematical demon-
stration based upon the warrant furnished by the

---

uniform degree of its taper upward. It was con-
sidered a very extraordinary find; and since it was
a tree of a hitherto unknown species, Professor
Woodlouse gave it a name of a learned sound,
being none other than that of Professor Bull Frog
translated into the ancient Mastodon language, for
it had always been the custom with discoverers
to perpetuate their names and honor themselves by
this sort of connection with their discoveries.

Now Professor Field-Mouse having placed his
sensitive ear to the tree, detected a rich, harmonious
sound issuing from it. This surprising thing was
tested and enjoyed by each scholar in turn and
great was the gladness and astonishment of all.
Professor Woodlouse was requested to add to and
extend the tree's name so as to make it suggest the
musical quality it possessed—which he did, furnish-
ing the addition Anthem Singer, done into the Mas-
todon tongue.

By this time Professor Snail was making some
telescopic inspections. He discovered a great num-
ber of these trees, extending in a single rank, with
wide intervals between, as far as his instrument
would carry, both southward and northward. He
also presently discovered that all these trees were
bound together, near their tops, by fourteen great
ropes, one above another, which ropes were con-
tinuous, from tree to tree, as far as his vision could
reach. This was surprising. Chief Engineer Spider
ran aloft and soon reported that these ropes were

---

simply a web hung there by some colossal member
of his own species, for he could see its prey dangling
here and there from the strands, in the shape of
mighty shreds and rags that had a woven look about
their texture and were no doubt the discarded skins
of prodigious insects which had been caught and
eaten. And then he ran along one of the ropes to
make a closer inspection, but felt a smart sudden
burn on the soles of his feet, accompanied by a
paralyzing shock, wherefore he let go and swung
himself to the earth by a thread of his own spinning,
and advised all to hurry at once to camp, lest the
monster should appear and get as much interested
in the savants as they were in him and his works.
So they departed with speed, making notes about
the gigantic web as they went. And that evening
the naturalist of the expedition built a beautiful
model of the colossal spider, having no need to see
it in order to do this, because he had picked up a
fragment of its vertebræ by the tree, and so knew
exactly what the creature looked like and what its
habits and its preferences were by this simple evi-
dence alone. He built it with a tail, teeth, fourteen
legs and a snout, and said it ate grass, cattle, pebbles,
and dirt with equal enthusiasm. This animal was
regarded as a very precious addition to science. It
was hoped a dead one might be found to stuff.
Professor Woodlouse thought that he and his
brother scholars, by lying hid and being quiet,
might maybe catch a live one. He was advised to

---

try it. Which was all the attention that was paid to
his suggestion. The conference ended with the
naming the monster after the naturalist, since he,
after God, had created it.

"And improved it, mayhap," muttered the
Tumble-Bug, who was intruding again, according
to his idle custom and his unappeasable curiosity.

END OF PART FIRST.

---

SOME FABLES FOR GOOD OLD BOYS AND
GIRLSPart Secondhow the animals of the wood completed their
scientific labors

A week later the expedition camped in the
midst of a collection of wonderful curiosities.
These were a sort of vast caverns of stone that rose
singly and in bunches out of the plain by the side
of the river which they had first seen when they
emerged from the forest. These caverns stood in
long straight rows on opposite sides of broad aisles
that were bordered with single ranks of trees. The
summit of each cavern sloped sharply both ways.
Several horizontal rows of great square holes, ob-
structed by a thin, shiny, transparent substance,
pierced the frontage of each cavern. Inside were
caverns within caverns; and one might ascend and
visit these minor compartments by means of curious
winding ways consisting of continuous regular ter-
races raised one above another. There were many
huge shapeless objects in each compartment which

---

were considered to have been living creatures at one
time, though now the thin brown skin was shrunken
and loose, and rattled when disturbed. Spiders
were here in great number, and their cobwebs,
stretched in all directions and wreathing the great
skinny dead together, were a pleasant spectacle,
since they inspired with life and wholesome cheer a
scene which would otherwise have brought to the
mind only a sense of forsakenness and desolation.
Information was sought of these spiders, but in
vain. They were of a different nationality from
those with the expedition, and their language seemed
but a musical, meaningless jargon. They were a
timid, gentle race, but ignorant, and heathenish
worshipers of unknown gods. The expedition de-
tailed a great detachment of missionaries to teach
them the true religion, and in a week's time a
precious work had been wrought among those dark-
ened creatures, not three families being by that time
at peace with each other or having a settled belief in
any system of religion whatever. This encouraged
the expedition to establish a colony of missionaries
there permanently, that the work of grace might
go on.

But let us not outrun our narrative. After close
examination of the fronts of the caverns, and much
thinking and exchanging of theories, the scientists
determined the nature of these singular formations.
They said that each belonged mainly to the Old Red
Sandstone period; that the cavern fronts rose in

---

innumerable and wonderfully regular strata high in
the air, each stratum about five frog-spans thick,
and that in the present discovery lay an overpower-
ing refutation of all received geology; for between
every two layers of Old Red Sandstone reposed a
thin layer of decomposed limestone; so instead of
there having been but one Old Red Sandstone
period there had certainly been not less than a
hundred and seventy-five! And by the same token
it was plain that there had also been a hundred and
seventy-five floodings of the earth and depositings
of limestone strata! The unavoidable deduction
from which pair of facts was the overwhelming truth
that the world, instead of being only two hundred
thousand years old, was older by millions upon
millions of years! And there was another curious
thing: every stratum of Old Red Sandstone was
pierced and divided at mathematically regular inter-
vals by vertical strata of limestone. Up-shootings
of igneous rock through fractures in water forma-
tions were common; but here was the first instance
where water-formed rock had been so projected. It
was a great and noble discovery and its value to
science was considered to be inestimable.

A critical examination of some of the lower strata
demonstrated the presence of fossil ants and tumble-
bugs (the latter accompanied by their peculiar
goods), and with high gratification the fact was
enrolled upon the scientific record; for this was
proof that these vulgar laborers belonged to the

---

first and lowest orders of created beings, though at
the same time there was something repulsive in the
reflection that the perfect and exquisite creature of
the modern uppermost order owed its origin to such
ignominious beings through the mysterious law of
Development of Species.

The Tumble-Bug, overhearing this discussion,
said he was willing that the parvenus of these new
times should find what comfort they might in their
wise-drawn theories, since as far as he was con-
cerned he was content to be of the old first families
and proud to point back to his place among the old
original aristocracy of the land.

"Enjoy your mushroom dignity, stinking of the
varnish of yesterday's veneering, since you like it,"
said he; "suffice it for the Tumble-Bugs that they
come of a race that rolled their fragrant spheres
down the solemn aisles of antiquity, and left their
imperishable works embalmed in the Old Red Sand-
stone to proclaim it to the wasting centuries as they
file along the highway of Time!"

"Oh, take a walk!" said the chief of the expedi-
tion, with derision.

The summer passed, and winter approached. In
and about many of the caverns were what seemed to
be inscriptions. Most of the scientists said they
were inscriptions, a few said they were not. The
chief philologist, Professor Woodlouse, maintained
that they were writings, done in a character utterly
unknown to scholars, and in a language equally un-

---

known. He had early ordered his artists and
draughtsmen to make facsimiles of all that were
discovered; and had set himself about finding the
key to the hidden tongue. In this work he had
followed the method which had always been used by
decipherers previously. That is to say, he placed a
number of copies of inscriptions before him and
studied them both collectively and in detail. To
begin with, he placed the following copies together:

The American Hotel.Meals at all Hours.The Shades.No Smoking.Boats for Hire Cheap.Union Prayer Meeting, 4 P.M.Billiards.The Waterside Journal.The A1 Barber Shop.Telegraph Office.Keep off the Grass.Try Brandreth's Pills.Cottages for Rent during the Watering Season.For Sale Cheap.For Sale Cheap.For Sale Cheap.For Sale Cheap.

At first it seemed to the professor that this was a
sign-language, and that each word was represented
by a distinct sign; further examination convinced
him that it was a written language, and that every
letter of its alphabet was represented by a character
of its own; and finally he decided that it was a
language which conveyed itself partly by letters,
and partly by signs or hieroglyphics. This conclu-
sion was forced upon him by the discovery of several
specimens of the following nature:

---

He observed that cer-
tain inscriptions were
met with in greater
frequency than others.
Such as "For Sale
Cheap;" "Billiards;"
"S. T.—1860—X;"
"Keno;" "Ale on
Draught." Naturally,
then, these must be re-
ligious maxims. But this
idea was cast aside by
and by, as the mystery
of the strange alphabet
began to clear itself.
In time, the professor
was enabled to translate
several of the inscrip-
tions with considerable
plausibility, though not to
the perfect satisfaction of
all the scholars. Still, he
made constant and en-
couraging progress.

Finally a cavern was
discovered with these inscriptions upon it:

waterside museum.

Open at all Hours.Admission 50 cents.

Wonderful Collection of Wax-Works, Ancient Fossils, Etc.

---

Professor Woodlouse affirmed that the word
"Museum" was equivalent to the phrase "lumgath
molo." or "Burial Place." Upon entering, the
scientists were well astonished. But what they saw
may be best conveyed in the language of their own
official report:

"Erect, in a row, were a sort of rigid great figures
which struck us instantly as belonging to the long
extinct species of reptile called Man, described in
our ancient records. This was a peculiarly gratify-
ing discovery, because of late times it has become
fashionable to regard this creature as a myth and a
superstition, a work of the inventive imaginations of
our remote ancestors. But here, indeed, was Man,
perfectly preserved, in a fossil state. And this was
his burial place, as already ascertained by the in-
scription. And now it began to be suspected that
the caverns we had been inspecting had been his
ancient haunts in that old time that he roamed the
earth—for upon the breast of each of these tall
fossils was an inscription in the character heretofore
noticed. One read, 'Captain Kidd the Pirate;'
another, 'Queen Victoria;' another, 'Abe Lin-
coln;' another, 'George Washington,' etc.

"With feverish interest we called for our ancient
scientific records to discover if perchance the de-
scription of Man there set down would tally with the
fossils before us. Professor Woodlouse read it
aloud in its quaint and musty phraseology, to wit:

"'In ye time of our fathers Man still walked ye

---

earth, as by tradition we know. It was a creature
of exceeding great size, being compassed about with
a loose skin, sometimes of one color, sometimes of
many, the which it was able to cast at will; which
being done, the hind legs were discovered to be
armed with short claws like to a mole's but broader,
and ye forelegs with fingers of a curious slimness
and a length much more prodigious than a frog's,
armed also with broad talons for scratching in ye
earth for its food. It had a sort of feathers upon
its head such as hath a rat, but longer, and a beak
suitable for seeking its food by ye smell thereof.
When it was stirred with happiness, it leaked water
from its eyes; and when it suffered or was sad, it
manifested it with a horrible hellish cackling clamor
that was exceeding dreadful to hear and made one
long that it might rend itself and perish, and so end
its troubles. Two Mans being together, they uttered
noises at each other like this: "Haw-haw-haw—
dam good, dam good," together with other sounds
of more or less likeness to these, wherefore ye poets
conceived that they talked, but poets be always
ready to catch at any frantic folly, God he knows.
Sometimes this creature goeth about with a long
stick ye which it putteth to its face and bloweth fire
and smoke through ye same with a sudden and most
damnable bruit and noise that doth fright its prey to
death, and so seizeth it in its talons and walketh
away to its habitat, consumed with a most fierce and
devilish joy.'

---

"Now was the description set forth by our ances-
tors wonderfully endorsed and confirmed by the
fossils before us, as shall be seen. The specimen
marked 'Captain Kidd' was examined in detail.
Upon its head and part of its face was a sort of fur
like that upon the tail of a horse. With great labor
its loose skin was removed, whereupon its body was
discovered to be of a polished white texture, thor-
oughly petrified. The straw it had eaten, so many
ages gone by, was still in its body, undigested—
and even in its legs.

"Surrounding these fossils were objects that
would mean nothing to the ignorant, but to the eye
of science they were a revelation. They laid bare
the secrets of dead ages. These musty Memorials
told us when Man lived, and what were his habits.
For here, side by side with Man, were the evidences
that he had lived in the earliest ages of creation, the
companion of the other low orders of life that be-
longed to that forgotten time. Here was the fossil
nautilus that sailed the primeval seas; here was the
skeleton of the mastodon, the ichthyosaurus, the
cave bear, the prodigious elk. Here, also, were the
charred bones of some of these extinct animals and
of the young of Man's own species, split length-
wise, showing that to his taste the marrow was a
toothsome luxury. It was plain that Man had
robbed those bones of their contents, since no tooth-
mark of any beast was upon them—albeit the
Tumble-Bug intruded the remark that 'no beast

---

could mark a bone with its teeth, anyway.' Here
were proofs that Man had vague, groveling notions
of art; for this fact was conveyed by certain things
marked with the untranslatable words, 'Flint
Hatchets, Knives, Arrow-Heads, and Bone-
Ornaments of Primeval Man.' Some of these
seemed to be rude weapons chipped out of flint, and
in a secret place was found some more in process of
construction, with this untranslatable legend, on a
thin, flimsy material, lying by:

"Jones, if you aon't want to be aischarged from
the Musseum, make the next primeaveal weppons more
careful—you couldn't even fool one of these sleapy old
syentiffic grannys from the Coledge with the last ones.
And mind you the animles you carved on some of the
Bone Ornaments is a blame sight too good for any
primeaveal man that was ever fooled.—Varnum,
Manager."

"Back of the burial place was a mass of ashes,
showing that Man always had a feast at a funeral—
else why the ashes in such a place; and showing,
also, that he believed in God and the immortality of
the soul—else why these solemn ceremonies?

"To sum up. We believe that Man had a written
language. We know that he indeed existed at one
time, and is not a myth; also, that he was the com-
panion of the cave bear, the mastodon, and other
extinct species; that he cooked and ate them and
likewise the young of his own kind; also, that he
bore rude weapons, and knew something of art;

---

that he imagined he had a soul, and pleased himself
with the fancy that it was immortal. But let us not
laugh; there may be creatures in existence to whom
we and our vanities and profundities may seem as
ludicrous."

END OF PART SECOND.

---

SOME FABLES FOR GOOD OLD BOYS AND
GIRLSPart Third

Near the margin of the great river the scientists
presently found a huge, shapely stone, with
this inscription:

"In 1847, in the spring, the river overflowed its
banks and covered the whole township. The depth was
from two to six feet. More than 900 head of cattle
were lost, and many homes destroyed. The Mayor
ordered this memorial to be erected to perpetuate the
event. God spare us the repetition of it!"

With infinite trouble, Professor Woodlouse suc-
ceeded in making a translation of this inscription,
which was sent home, and straightway an enormous
excitement was created about it. It confirmed, in a
remarkable way, certain treasured traditions of the
ancients. The translation was slightly marred by
one or two untranslatable words, but these did not
impair the general clearness of the meaning. It is
here presented:

"One thousand eight hundred and forty-seven years

---

ago, the (fires?) descended and consumed the whole
city. Only some nine hundred souls were saved, all
others destroyed. The (king?) commanded this stone
to be set up to ….. (untranslatable) ….. pre-
vent the repetition of it."

This was the first successful and satisfactory trans-
lation that had been made of the mysterious char-
acter left behind him by extinct man, and it gave
Professor Woodlouse such reputation that at once
every seat of learning in his native land conferred a
degree of the most illustrious grade upon him, and
it was believed that if he had been a soldier and had
turned his splendid talents to the extermination of a
remote tribe of reptiles, the king would have en-
nobled him and made him rich. And this, too, was
the origin of that school of scientists called Manolo-
gists, whose specialty is the deciphering of the
ancient records of the extinct bird termed Man.
[For it is now decided that Man was a bird and not
a reptile.] But Professor Woodlouse began and re-
mained chief of these, for it was granted that no
translations were ever so free from error as his.
Others made mistakes—he seemed incapable of it.
Many a memorial of the lost race was afterward
found, but none ever attained to the renown and
veneration achieved by the "Mayoritish Stone"—
it being so called from the word "Mayor" in
it, which, being translated "King," "Mayoritish
Stone" was but another way of saying "King
Stone."

---

Another time the expedition made a great "find."
It was a vast round flattish mass, ten frog-spans in
diameter and five or six high. Professor Snail put
on his spectacles and examined it all around, and
then climbed up and inspected the top. He said:

"The result of my perlustration and perscontation
of this isoperimetrical protuberance is a belief that it
is one of those rare and wonderful creations left by
the Mound Builders. The fact that this one is
lamellibranchiate in its formation, simply adds to its
interest as being possibly of a different kind from
any we read of in the records of science, but yet in
no manner marring its authenticity. Let the megalo-
phonous grasshopper sound a blast and summon
hither the perfunctory and circumforaneous Tumble-
Bug, to the end that excavations may be made and
learning gather new treasures."

Not a Tumble-Bug could be found on duty, so
the Mound was excavated by a working party of
Ants. Nothing was discovered. This would have
been a great disappointment, had not the venerable
Longlegs explained the matter. He said:

"It is now plain to me that the mysterious and
forgotten race of Mound Builders did not always
erect these edifices as mausoleums, else in this case,
as in all previous cases, their skeletons would be
found here, along with the rude implements which
the creatures used in life. Is not this manifest?"

"True! true!" from everybody.

"Then we have made a discovery of peculiar

---

value here; a discovery which greatly extends our
knowledge of this creature in place of diminishing
it; a discovery which will add luster to the achieve-
ments of this expedition and win for us the com-
mendations of scholars everywhere. For the absence
of the customary relics here means nothing less than
this: The Mound Builder, instead of being the igno-
rant, savage reptile we have been taught to consider
him, was a creature of cultivation and high intelli-
gence, capable of not only appreciating worthy
achievements of the great and noble of his species,
but of commemorating them! Fellow-scholars, this
stately Mound is not a sepulchre, it is a monument!"

A profound impression was produced by this.

But it was interrupted by rude and derisive
laughter—and the Tumble-Bug appeared.

"A monument!" quoth he. "A monument set
up by a Mound Builder! Aye, so it is! So it is,
indeed, to the shrewd keen eye of science; but to
an ignorant poor devil who has never seen a college,
it is not a Monument, strictly speaking, but is yet a
most rich and noble property; and with your wor-
ships' good permission I will proceed to manufacture
it into spheres of exceeding grace and—"

The Tumble-Bug was driven away with stripes,
and the draughtsmen of the expedition were set to
making views of the Monument from different stand-
points, while Professor Woodlouse, in a frenzy of
scientific zeal, traveled all over it and all around it
hoping to find an inscription. But if there had ever

---

been one it had decayed or been removed by some
vandal as a relic.

The views having been completed, it was now
considered safe to load the precious Monument itself
upon the backs of four of the largest Tortoises and
send it home to the king's museum, which was
done; and when it arrived it was received with
enormous éclat and escorted to its future abiding
place by thousands of enthusiastic citizens, King
Bullfrog XVI. himself attending and condescending
to sit enthroned upon it throughout the progress.

The growing rigor of the weather was now ad-
monishing the scientists to close their labors for the
present, so they made preparations to journey home-
ward. But even their last day among the Caverns
bore fruit; for one of the scholars found in an
out-of-the-way corner of the Museum or "Burial
Place" a most strange and extraordinary thing. It
was nothing less than a double Man-Bird lashed
together breast to breast by a natural ligament, and
labeled with the untranslatable words, "Siamese
Twins." The official report concerning this thing
closed thus:

"Wherefore it appears that there were in old
times two distinct species of this majestic fowl, the
one being single and the other double. Nature has
a reason for all things. It is plain to the eye of
science that the Double-Man originally inhabited a
region where dangers abounded; hence he was
paired together to the end that while one part slept

---

the other might watch; and likewise that, danger
being discovered, there might always be a double
instead of a single power to oppose it. All honor
to the mystery-dispelling eye of godlike Science!"

And near the Double Man-Bird was found what
was plainly an ancient record of his, marked upon
numberless sheets of a thin white substance and
bound together. Almost the first glance that Pro-
fessor Woodlouse threw into it revealed this follow-
ing sentence, which he instantly translated and laid
before the scientists, in a tremble, and it uplifted
every soul there with exultation and astonishment:

"In truth it is believed by many that the lower
animals reason and talk together."

When the great official report of the expedition
appeared, the above sentence bore this comment:

"Then there are lower animals than Man! This
remarkable passage can mean nothing else. Man
himself is extinct, but they may still exist. What
can they be? Where do they inhabit? One's en-
thusiasm bursts all bounds in the contemplation of
the brilliant field of discovery and investigation here
thrown open to science. We close our labors with
the humble prayer that your Majesty will immedi-
ately appoint a commission and command it to rest
not nor spare expense until the search for this
hitherto unsuspected race of the creatures of God
shall be crowned with success."

The expedition then journeyed homeward after its
long absence and its faithful endeavors, and was re-

---

ceived with a mighty ovation by the whole grateful
country. There were vulgar, ignorant carpers, of
course, as there always are and always will be; and
naturally one of these was the obscene Tumble-Bug.
He said that all he had learned by his travels was
that science only needed a spoonful of supposition
to build a mountain of demonstrated fact out of;
and that for the future he meant to be content with
the knowledge that nature had made free to all
creatures and not go prying into the august secrets
of the Deity.

---

MY LATE SENATORIAL SECRETARY-
SHIP*

Written about 1867.

I am not a private secretary to a senator any more
now. I held the berth two months in security
and in great cheerfulness of spirit, but my bread
began to return from over the waters then—that is
to say, my works came back and revealed them-
selves. I judged it best to resign. The way of it
was this. My employer sent for me one morning
tolerably early, and, as soon as I had finished in-
serting some conundrums clandestinely into his last
great speech upon finance, I entered the presence.
There was something portentous in his appearance.
His cravat was untied, his hair was in a state of
disorder, and his countenance bore about it the signs
of a suppressed storm. He held a package of letters
in his tense grasp, and I knew that the dreaded
Pacific mail was in. He said:

"I thought you were worthy of confidence."

I said, "Yes, sir."

He said, "I gave you a letter from certain of my
constituents in the State of Nevada, asking the

---

establishment of a post-office at Baldwin's Ranch,
and told you to answer it, as ingeniously as you
could, with arguments which should persuade them
that there was no real necessity for an office at that
place."

I felt easier. "Oh, if that is all, sir, I did do
that."

"Yes, you did. I will read your answer for your
own humiliation:

"'Gentlemen: What the mischief do you suppose you want with
a post-office at Baldwin's Ranche? It would not do you any good. If
any letters came there, you couldn't read them, you know; and,
besides, such letters as ought to pass through, with money in them, for
other localities, would not be likely to get through, you must perceive at
once; and that would make trouble for us all. No, don't bother about
a post-office in your camp. I have your best interests at heart, and feel
that it would only be an ornamental folly. What you want is a nice
jail, you know—a nice, substantial jail and a free school. These will be
a lasting benefit to you. These will make you really contented and
happy. I will move in the matter at once.

"That is the way you answered that letter. Those
people say they will hang me, if I ever enter that
district again; and I am perfectly satisfied they will,
too."

"Well, sir, I did not know I was doing any harm.
I only wanted to convince them."

"Ah. Well, you did convince them, I make no
manner of doubt. Now, here is another specimen.

---

I gave you a petition from certain gentlemen of
Nevada, praying that I would get a bill through
Congress incorporating the Methodist Episcopal
Church of the State of Nevada. I told you to say,
in reply, that the creation of such a law came more
properly within the province of the State legisla-
ture; and to endeavor to show them that, in the
present feebleness of the religious element in that
new commonwealth, the expediency of incorporat-
ing the church was questionable. What did you
write?

"'Gentlemen: You will have to go to the State Legislature
about that speculation of yours—Congress don't know anything about
religion. But don't you hurry to go there, either; because this thing
you propose to do out in that new country isn't expedient—in fact, it is
ridiculous. Your religious people there are too feeble, in intellect, in
morality, in piety—in everything, pretty much. You had better drop
this—you can't make it work. You can't issue stock on an incorpora-
tion like that—or if you could, it would only keep you in trouble all
the time. The other denominations would abuse it, and "bear" it,
and "sell it short," and break it down. They would do with it just as
they would with one of your silver mines out there—they would try to
make all the world believe it was "wildcat." You ought not to do
anything that is calculated to bring a sacred thing into disrepute. You
ought to be ashamed of yourselves—that is what I think about it. You
close your petition with the words: "And we will ever pray." I think
you had better—you need to do it.

"That luminous epistle finishes me with the
religious element among my constituents. But that
my political murder might be made sure, some evil

---

instinct prompted me to hand you this memorial
from the grave company of elders composing the
board of aldermen of the city of San Francisco, to
try your hand upon—a memorial praying that the
city's right to the water lots upon the city front
might be established by law of Congress. I told
you this was a dangerous matter to move in. I
told you to write a non-committal letter to the alder-
men—an ambiguous letter—a letter that should
avoid, as far as possible, all real consideration and
discussion of the water lot question. If there is any
feeling left in you—any shame—surely this letter
you wrote, in obedience to that order, ought to
evoke it, when its words fall upon your ears:

"'Gentlemen: George Washington, the revered Father of his
Country is dead. His long and brilliant career is closed, alas! forever.
He was greatly respected in this section of the country, and his untimely
decease cast a gloom over the whole community. He died on the 14th
day of December, 1799. He passed peacefully away from the scene of
his honors and his great achievements, the most lamented hero and the
best beloved that ever earth hath yielded unto Death. At such a time
as this, you speak of water-lots!—what a lot was his!

"'What is fame! Fame is an accident. Sir Isaac Newton discov-
ered an apple falling to the ground—a trivial discovery, truly, and one
which a million men had made before him—but his parents were
influential, and so they tortured that small circumstance into something
wonderful, and, lo! the simple world took up the shout and, in almost
the twinkling of an eye, that man was famous. Treasure these thoughts.

"'Poesy, sweet poesy, who shall estimate what the world owes to
thee!

"Mary had a little lamb, its fleece was white as snow—And everywhere that Mary went, the lamb was sure to go."

---

"Jack and Gill went up the hillTo draw a pail of water;Jack fell down and broke his crown,And Gill came tumbling after."

"'For simplicity, elegance of diction, and freedom from immoral ten-
dencies, I regard those two poems in the light of gems. They are suited
to all grades of intelligence, to every sphere of life—to the field, to the
nursery, to the guild. Especially should no Board of Aldermen be with-
out them.

"'Venerable fossils! write again. Nothing improves one so much
as friendly correspondence. Write again—and if there is anything in
this memorial of yours that refers to anything in particular, do not be
backward about explaining it. We shall always be happy to hear you
chirp.

"That is an atrocious, a ruinous epistle! Dis-
traction!"

"Well, sir, I am really sorry if there is anything
wrong about it—but—but it appears to me to
dodge the water-lot question."

"Dodge the mischief! Oh!—but never mind.
As long as destruction must come now, let it be
complete. Let it be complete—let this last of your
performances, which I am about to read, make a
finality of it. I am a ruined man. I had my mis-
givings when I gave you the letter from Humboldt,
asking that the post route from Indian Gulch
to Shakespeare Gap and intermediate points, be
changed partly to the old Mormon trail. But I told
you it was a delicate question, and warned you to
deal with it deftly—to answer it dubiously, and

---

leave them a little in the dark. And your fatal im-
becility impelled you to make this disastrous reply.
I should think you would stop your ears, if you are
not dead to all shame:

"'Gentlemen: It is a delicate question about this Indian trail,
but, handled with proper deftness and dubiousness, I doubt not we shall
succeed in some measure or otherwise, because the place where the
route leaves the Lassen Meadows, over beyond where those two Shawnee
chiefs, Dilapidated-Vengeance and Biter-of-the-Clouds, were scalped
last winter, this being the favorite direction to some, but others pre-
ferring something else in consequence of things, the Mormon trail leav-
ing Mosby's at three in the morning, and passing through Jawbone Flat
to Blucher, and then down by Jug-Handle, the road passing to the right
of it, and naturally leaving it on the right, too, and Dawson's on the left
of the trail where it passes to the left of said Dawson's and onward
thence to Tomahawk, thus making the route cheaper, easier of access to
all who can get at it, and compassing all the desirable objects so consid-
ered by others, and, therefore, conferring the most good upon the great-
est number, and, consequently, I am encouraged to hope we shall.
However, I shall be ready, and happy, to afford you still further
information upon the subject, from time to time, as you may desire it
and the Post-office Department be enabled to furnish it to me.

"There—now what do you think of that?"

"Well, I don't know, sir. It—well, it appears
to me—to be dubious enough."

"Du—leave the house! I am a ruined man.
Those Humboldt savages never will forgive me for
tangling their brains up with this inhuman letter. I

---

have lost the respect of the Methodist Church, the
board of aldermen—"

"Well, I haven't anything to say about that, be-
cause I may have missed it a little in their cases, but
I was too many for the Baldwin's Ranch people,
General!"

"Leave the house! Leave it for ever and for
ever, too."

I regarded that as a sort of covert intimation that
my service could be dispensed with, and so I re-
signed. I never will be a private secretary to a
senator again. You can't please that kind of people.
They don't know anything. They can't appreciate
a party's efforts.

---

A FASHION ITEM*

Written about 1867

At General G's reception the other night, the
most fashionably dressed lady was Mrs. G. C.
She wore a pink satin dress, plain in front but with
a good deal of rake to it—to the train, I mean; it
was said to be two or three yards long. One could
see it creeping along the floor some little time after
the woman was gone. Mrs. C. wore also a white
bodice, cut bias, with Pompadour sleeves, flounced
with ruches; low neck, with the inside handkerchief
not visible, with white kid gloves. She had on
a pearl necklace, which glinted lonely, high up the
midst of that barren waste of neck and shoulders.
Her hair was frizzled into a tangled chaparral, for-
ward of her ears, aft it was drawn together, and
compactly bound and plaited into a stump like a
pony's tail, and furthermore was canted upward at a
sharp angle, and ingeniously supported by a red
velvet crupper, whose forward extremity was made
fast with a half-hitch around a hairpin on the top of
her head. Her whole top hamper was neat and
becoming. She had a beautiful complexion when

---

she first came, but it faded out by degrees in an
unaccountable way. However, it is not lost for
good. I found the most of it on my shoulder after-
wards. (I stood near the door when she squeezed
out with the throng.) There were other ladies
present, but I only took notes of one as a specimen.
I would gladly enlarge upon the subject were I able
to do it justice.

---

RILEY—NEWSPAPER CORRESPONDENT

One of the best men in Washington—or else-
where—is Riley, correspondent of one of
the great San Francisco dailies.

Riley is full of humor, and has an unfailing vein
of irony, which makes his conversation to the last
degree entertaining (as long as the remarks are
about somebody else). But notwithstanding the
possession of these qualities, which should enable a
man to write a happy and an appetizing letter,
Riley's newspaper letters often display a more than
earthly solemnity, and likewise an unimaginative
devotion to petrified facts, which surprise and dis-
tress all men who know him in his unofficial char-
acter. He explains this curious thing by saying
that his employers sent him to Washington to write
facts, not fancy, and that several times he has come
near losing his situation by inserting humorous re-
marks which, not being looked for at headquarters,
and consequently not understood, were thought to
be dark and bloody speeches intended to convey
signals and warnings to murderous secret societies,
or something of that kind, and so were scratched

---

out with a shiver and a prayer and cast into the
stove. Riley says that sometimes he is so afflicted
with a yearning to write a sparkling and absorbingly
readable letter that he simply cannot resist it, and
so he goes to his den and revels in the delight of
untrammeled scribbling; and then, with suffering such
as only a mother can know, he destroys the pretty
children of his fancy and reduces his letter to the
required dismal accuracy. Having seen Riley do
this very thing more than once, I know whereof I
speak. Often I have laughed with him over a happy
passage, and grieved to see him plow his pen
through it. He would say, "I had to write that or
die; and I've got to scratch it out or starve. They
wouldn't stand it, you know."

I think Riley is about the most entertaining com-
pany I ever saw. We lodged together in many
places in Washington during the winter of '67–8,
moving comfortably from place to place, and attract-
ing attention by paying our board—a course which
cannot fail to make a person conspicuous in Wash-
ington. Riley would tell all about his trip to Cali-
fornia in the early days, by way of the Isthmus and
the San Juan river; and about his baking bread in
San Francisco to gain a living, and setting up ten-
pins, and practicing law, and opening oysters, and
delivering lectures, and teaching French, and tend-
ing bar, and reporting for the newspapers, and keep-
ing dancing schools, and interpreting Chinese in the
courts—which latter was lucrative, and Riley was

---

doing handsomely and laying up a little money
when people began to find fault because his transla-
tions were too "free," a thing for which Riley con-
sidered he ought not to be held responsible, since
he did not know a word of the Chinese tongue, and
only adopted interpreting as a means of gaining an
honest livelihood. Through the machinations of
enemies he was removed from the position of official
interpreter, and a man put in his place who was
familiar with the Chinese language, but did not
know any English. And Riley used to tell about
publishing a newspaper up in what is Alaska now,
but was only an iceberg then, with a population
composed of bears, walruses, Indians, and other
animals; and how the iceberg got adrift at last, and
left all his paying subscribers behind, and as soon
as the commonwealth floated out of the jurisdiction
of Russia the people rose and threw off their alle-
giance and ran up the English flag, calculating to
hook on and become an English colony as they
drifted along down the British Possessions; but a
land breeze and a crooked current carried them by,
and they ran up the Stars and Stripes and steered
for California, missed the connection again and
swore allegiance to Mexico, but it wasn't any use;
the anchors came home every time, and away they
went with the northeast trades drifting off sideways
toward the Sandwich Islands, whereupon they ran
up the Cannibal flag and had a grand human bar-
becue in honor of it, in which it was noticed that

---

the better a man liked a friend the better he enjoyed
him; and as soon as they got fairly within the
tropics the weather got so fearfully hot that the
iceberg began to melt, and it got so sloppy under
foot that it was almost impossible for ladies to get
about at all; and at last, just as they came in sight
of the islands, the melancholy remnant of the once
majestic iceberg canted first to one side and then to
the other, and then plunged under forever, carrying
the national archives along with it—and not only
the archives and the populace, but some eligible
town lots which had increased in value as fast as
they diminished in size in the tropics, and which
Riley could have sold at thirty cents a pound and
made himself rich if he could have kept the province
afloat ten hours longer and got her into port.

Riley is very methodical, untiringly accommo-
dating, never forgets anything that is to be attended
to, is a good son, a staunch friend, and a permanent
reliable enemy. He will put himself to any amount
of trouble to oblige a body, and therefore always
has his hands full of things to be done for the help-
less and the shiftless. And he knows how to do
nearly everything, too. He is a man whose native
benevolence is a wellspring that never goes dry.
He stands always ready to help whoever needs help,
as far as he is able—and not simply with his
money, for that is a cheap and common charity,
but with hand and brain, and fatigue of limb and
sacrifice of time. This sort of men is rare.

---

Riley has a ready wit, a quickness and aptness at
selecting and applying quotations, and a countenance
that is as solemn and as blank as the back side of a
tombstone when he is delivering a particularly exas-
perating joke. One night a negro woman was
burned to death in a house next door to us, and
Riley said that our landlady would be oppressively
emotional at breakfast, because she generally made
use of such opportunities as offered, being of a mor-
bidly sentimental turn, and so we should find it best
to let her talk along and say nothing back—it was
the only way to keep her tears out of the gravy.
Riley said there never was a funeral in the neigh-
borhood but that the gravy was watery for a week.

And, sure enough, at breakfast the landlady was
down in the very sloughs of woe—entirely broken-
hearted. Everything she looked at reminded her
of that poor old negro woman, and so the buck-
wheat cakes made her sob, the coffee forced a groan,
and when the beefsteak came on she fetched a wail
that made our hair rise. Then she got to talking
about deceased, and kept up a steady drizzle till
both of us were soaked through and through.
Presently she took a fresh breath and said, with a
world of sobs:

"Ah, to think of it, only to think of it!—the
poor old faithful creature. For she was so faithful.
Would you believe it, she had been a servant in that
self-same house and that self-same family for twenty-
seven years come Christmas, and never a cross word

---

and never a lick! And, oh, to think she should
meet such a death at last!—a-sitting over the red-
hot stove at three o'clock in the morning and went
to sleep and fell on it and was actually roasted!
Not just frizzled up a bit, but literally roasted to a
crisp! Poor faithful creature, how she was cooked!
I am but a poor woman, but even if I have to
scrimp to do it, I will put up a tombstone over that
lone sufferer's grave—and Mr. Riley if you would
have the goodness to think up a little epitaph to put
on it which would sort of describe the awful way in
which she met her—"

"Put it, 'Well done, good and faithful servant,'"
said Riley, and never smiled.

---

A FINE OLD MAN

John wagner, the oldest man in Buffalo—
one hundred and four years old—recently
walked a mile and a half in two weeks.

He is as cheerful and bright as any of these other
old men that charge around so persistently and tire-
somely in the newspapers, and in every way as
remarkable.

Last November he walked five blocks in a rain-
storm, without any shelter but an umbrella, and cast
his vote for Grant, remarking that he had voted for
forty-seven presidents—which was a lie.

His "second crop" of rich brown hair arrived
from New York yesterday, and he has a new set of
teeth coming—from Philadelphia.

He is to be married next week to a girl one hun-
dred and two years old, who still takes in washing.

They have been engaged eighty years, but their
parents persistently refused their consent until three
days ago.

John Wagner is two years older than the Rhode
Island veteran, and yet has never tasted a drop
of liquor in his life—unless—unless you count
whisky.

---

SCIENCE VS. LUCK*

Written about 1867.

At that time, in Kentucky (said the Hon. Mr.
K), the law was very strict against what is
termed "games of chance." About a dozen of the
boys were detected playing "seven up" or "old
sledge" for money, and the grand jury found a
true bill against them. Jim Sturgis was retained to
defend them when the case came up, of course.
The more he studied over the matter, and looked
into the evidence, the plainer it was that he must
lose a case at last—there was no getting around
that painful fact. Those boys had certainly been
betting money on a game of chance. Even public
sympathy was roused in behalf of Sturgis. People
said it was a pity to see him mar his successful
career with a big prominent case like this, which
must go against him.

But after several restless nights an inspired idea
flashed upon Sturgis, and he sprang out of bed de-
lighted. He thought he saw his way through. The
next day he whispered around a little among his
clients and a few friends, and then when the case

---

came up in court he acknowledged the seven-up and
the betting, and, as his sole defense, had the
astounding effrontery to put in the plea that old
sledge was not a game of chance! There was the
broadest sort of a smile all over the faces of that
sophisticated audience. The judge smiled with the
rest. But Sturgis maintained a countenance whose
earnestness was even severe. The opposite counsel
tried to ridicule him out of his position, and did not
succeed. The judge jested in a ponderous judicial
way about the thing, but did not move him. The
matter was becoming grave. The judge lost a little
of his patience, and said the joke had gone far
enough. Jim Sturgis said he knew of no joke in
the matter—his clients could not be punished for
indulging in what some people chose to consider a
game of chance until it was proven that it was a
game of chance. Judge and counsel said that would
be an easy matter, and forthwith called Deacons
Job, Peters, Burke, and Johnson, and Dominies
Wirt and Miggles, to testify; and they unanimously
and with strong feeling put down the legal quibble
of Sturgis by pronouncing that old sledge was a
game of chance.

"What do you call it now?" said the judge.

"I call it a game of science!" retorted Sturgis;
"and I'll prove it, too!"

They saw his little game.

He brought in a cloud of witnesses, and produced
an overwhelming mass of testimony, to show that

---

old sledge was not a game of chance but a game of
science.

Instead of being the simplest case in the world, it
had somehow turned out to be an excessively knotty
one. The judge scratched his head over it a while,
and said there was no way of coming to a determina-
tion, because just as many men could be brought
into court who would testify on one side as could be
found to testify on the other. But he said he was
willing to do the fair thing by all parties, and would
act upon any suggestion Mr. Sturgis would make
for the solution of the difficulty.

Mr. Sturgis was on his feet in a second.

"Impanel a jury of six of each, Luck versus
Science. Give them candles and a couple of decks
of cards. Send them into the jury room, and just
abide by the result!"

There was no disputing the fairness of the propo-
sition. The four deacons and the two dominies
were sworn in as the "chance" jurymen, and six
inveterate old seven-up professors were chosen to
represent the "science" side of the issue. They
retired to the jury room.

In about two hours Deacon Peters sent into court
to borrow three dollars from a friend. [Sensation.]
In about two hours more Dominie Miggles sent into
court to borrow a "stake" from a friend. [Sensa-
tion.] During the next three or four hours the other
dominie and the other deacons sent into court for
small loans. And still the packed audience waited,

---

for it was a prodigious occasion in Bull's Corners,
and one in which every father of a family was neces-
sarily interested.

The rest of the story can be told briefly. About
daylight the jury came in, and Deacon Job, the
foreman, read the following

verdict.

We, the jury in the case of the Commonwealth of
Kentucky vs. John Wheeler et al., have carefully
considered the points of the case, and tested the
merits of the several theories advanced, and do
hereby unanimously decide that the game commonly
known as old sledge or seven-up is eminently a game
of science and not of chance. In demonstration
whereof it is hereby and herein stated, iterated,
reiterated, set forth, and made manifest that, during
the entire night, the "chance" men never won a
game or turned a jack, although both feats were
common and frequent to the opposition; and further-
more, in support of this our verdict, we call atten-
tion to the significant fact that the "chance" men
are all busted, and the "science" men have got the
money. It is the deliberate opinion of this jury,
that the "chance" theory concerning seven-up is a
pernicious doctrine, and calculated to inflict untold
suffering and pecuniary loss upon any community
that takes stock in it.

"That is the way that seven-up came to be set

---

apart and particularized in the statute books of Ken-
tucky as being a game not of chance but of science,
and therefore not punishable under the law," said
Mr. K. "That verdict is of record, and holds
good to this day."

---

THE LATE BENJAMIN FRANKLIN*

Written about 1870.

["Never put off till to-morrow what you can do day after to-morrow
just as well."—B. F.]

This party was one of those persons whom they
call Philosophers. He was twins, being born
simultaneously in two different houses in the city of
Boston. These houses remain unto this day, and
have signs upon them worded in accordance with
the facts. The signs are considered well enough to
have, though not necessary, because the inhabitants
point out the two birthplaces to the stranger any-
how, and sometimes as often as several times in the
same day. The subject of this memoir was of a
vicious disposition, and early prostituted his talents
to the invention of maxims and aphorisms calculated
to inflict suffering upon the rising generation of all
subsequent ages. His simplest acts, also, were con-
trived with a view to their being held up for the
emulation of boys forever—boys who might other-
wise have been happy. It was in this spirit that he
became the son of a soap-boiler, and probably for
no other reason than that the efforts of all future

---

boys who tried to be anything might be looked upon
with suspicion unless they were the sons of soap-
boilers. With a malevolence which is without paral-
lel in history, he would work all day, and then sit
up nights, and let on to be studying algebra by the
light of a smouldering fire, so that all other boys
might have to do that also, or else have Benjamin
Franklin thrown up to them. Not satisfied with
these proceedings, he had a fashion of living wholly
on bread and water, and studying astronomy at meal-
time—a thing which has brought affliction to
millions of boys since, whose fathers had read
Franklin's pernicious biography.

His maxims were full of animosity toward boys
Nowadays a boy cannot follow out a single natural
instinct without tumbling over some of those ever-
lasting aphorisms and hearing from Franklin on the
spot. If he buys two cents' worth of peanuts, his
father says, "Remember what Franklin has said,
my son—'A groat a day's a penny a year;'" and
the comfort is all gone out of those peanuts. If he
wants to spin his top when he has done work, his
father quotes, "Procrastination is the thief of time."
If he does a virtuous action, he never gets anything
for it, because "Virtue is its own reward." And
that boy is hounded to death and robbed of his
natural rest, because Franklin said once, in one of
his inspired flights of malignity:
"Early to bed and early to riseMakes a man healthy and wealthy and wise."

---

As if it were any object to a boy to be healthy
and wealthy and wise on such terms. The sorrow
that that maxim has cost me through my parents'
experimenting on me with it, tongue cannot tell.
The legitimate result is my present state of general
debility, indigence, and mental aberration. My
parents used to have me up before nine o'clock in
the morning sometimes when I was a boy. If they
had let me take my natural rest where would I have
been now? Keeping store, no doubt, and respected
by all.

And what an adroit old adventurer the subject of
this memoir was! In order to get a chance to fly
his kite on Sunday he used to hang a key on the
string and let on to be fishing for lightning. And a
guileless public would go home chirping about
the "wisdom" and the "genius" of the hoary
Sabbath-breaker. If anybody caught him playing
"mumble-peg" by himself, after the age of sixty,
he would immediately appear to be ciphering out
how the grass grew—as if it was any of his busi-
ness. My grandfather knew him well, and he says
Franklin was always fixed—always ready. If a
body, during his old age, happened on him unex-
pectedly when he was catching flies, or making mud
pies, or sliding on a cellar door, he would imme-
diately look wise, and rip out a maxim, and walk off
with his nose in the air and his cap turned wrong
side before, trying to appear absent-minded and
eccentric. He was a hard lot.

---

He invented a stove that would smoke your head
off in four hours by the clock. One can see the
almost devilish satisfaction he took in it by his giving
it his name.

He was always proud of telling how he entered
Philadelphia for the first time, with nothing in the
world but two shillings in his pocket and four rolls
of bread under his arm. But really, when you come
to examine it critically, it was nothing. Anybody
could have done it.

To the subject of this memoir belongs the honor
of recommending the army to go back to bows and
arrows in place of bayonets and muskets. He ob-
served, with his customary force, that the bayonet
was very well under some circumstances, but that he
doubted whether it could be used with accuracy at a
long range.

Benjamin Franklin did a great many notable things
for his country, and made her young name to be
honored in many lands as the mother of such a son.
It is not the idea of this memoir to ignore that or
cover it up. No; the simple idea of it is to snub
those pretentious maxims of his, which he worked
up with a great show of originality out of truisms
that had become wearisome platitudes as early as
the dispersion from Babel; and also to snub his
stove, and his military inspirations, his unseemly
endeavor to make himself conspicuous when he
entered Philadelphia, and his flying his kite and fool-
ing away his time in all sorts of such ways when he

---

ought to have been foraging for soap-fat, or con-
structing candles. I merely desired to do away with
somewhat of the prevalent calamitous idea among
heads of families that Franklin acquired his great
genius by working for nothing, studying by moon-
light, and getting up in the night instead of waiting
till morning like a Christian; and that this pro-
gramme, rigidly inflicted, will make a Franklin of
every father's fool. It is time these gentlemen were
finding out that these execrable eccentricities of in-
stinct and conduct are only the evidences of genius,
not the creators of it. I wish I had been the father
of my parents long enough to make them compre-
hend this truth, and thus prepare them to let their
son have an easier time of it. When I was a child
I had to boil soap, notwithstanding my father was
wealthy, and I had to get up early and study
geometry at breakfast, and peddle my own poetry,
and do everything just as Franklin did, in the solemn
hope that I would be a Franklin some day. And
here I am.

---

MR. BLOKE'S ITEM*

Written about 1865.

Our esteemed friend, Mr. John William Bloke,
of Virginia City, walked into the office where
we are sub-editor at a late hour last night, with an
expression of profound and heartfelt suffering upon
his countenance, and, sighing heavily, laid the fol-
lowing item reverently upon the desk, and walked
slowly out again. He paused a moment at the
door, and seemed struggling to command his feel-
ings sufficiently to enable him to speak, and then,
nodding his head towards his manuscript, ejaculated
in a broken voice, "Friend of mine—oh! how
sad!" and burst into tears. We were so moved at
his distress that we did not think to call him back
and endeavor to comfort him until he was gone, and
it was too late. The paper had already gone to
press, but knowing that our friend would consider
the publication of this item important, and cherish-
ing the hope that to print it would afford a melan-
choly satisfaction to his sorrowing heart, we stopped
the press at once and inserted it in our columns:
Distressing Accident.—Last evening, about six o'clock, as Mr.
William Schuyler, an old and respectable citizen of South Park, was

---

leaving his residence to go down town, as has been his usual custom for
many years with the exception only of a short interval in the spring of
1850, during which he was confined to his bed by injuries received in
attempting to stop a runaway horse by thoughtlessly placing himself
directly in its wake and throwing up his hands and shouting, which if
he had done so even a single moment sooner, must inevitably have
frightened the animal still more instead of checking its speed, although
disastrous enough to himself as it was, and rendered more melancholy
and distressing by reason of the presence of his wife's mother, who was
there and saw the sad occurrence, notwithstanding it is at least likely,
though not necessarily so, that she should be reconnoitering in another
direction when incidents occur, not being vivacious and on the lookout,
as a general thing, but even the reverse, as her own mother is said to
have stated, who is no more, but died in the full hope of a glorious
resurrection, upwards of three years ago, aged eighty-six, being a Chris-
tian woman and without guile, as it were, or property, in consequence of
the fire of 1849, which destroyed every single thing she had in the world.
But such is life. Let us all take warning by this solemn occurrence, and
let us endeavor so to conduct ourselves that when we come to die we can
do it. Let us place our hands upon our heart, and say with earnestness
and sincerity that from this day forth we will beware of the intoxicating
bowl.—First Edition of the Californian.

The head editor has been in here raising the mis-
chief, and tearing his hair and kicking the furniture
about, and abusing me like a pickpocket. He says
that every time he leaves me in charge of the paper
for half an hour, I get imposed upon by the first
infant or the first idiot that comes along. And he
says that that distressing item of Mr. Bloke's is
nothing but a lot of distressing bosh, and has no
point to it, and no sense in it, and no information in
it, and that there was no sort of necessity for stop-
ping the press to publish it.

Now all this comes of being good-hearted. If I

---

had been as unaccommodating and unsympathetic as
some people, I would have told Mr. Bloke that I
wouldn't receive his communication at such a late
hour; but no, his snuffling distress touched my
heart, and I jumped at the chance of doing some-
thing to modify his misery. I never read his item
to see whether there was anything wrong about it,
but hastily wrote the few lines which preceded it,
and sent it to the printers. And what has my kind-
ness done for me? It has done nothing but bring
down upon me a storm of abuse and ornamental
blasphemy.

Now I will read that item myself, and see if there is
any foundation for all this fuss. And if there is,
the author of it shall hear from me.

I have read it, and I am bound to admit that it
seems a little mixed at a first glance. However, I
will peruse it once more.

I have read it again, and it does really seem a
good deal more mixed than ever.

I have read it over five times, but if I can get at
the meaning of it, I wish I may get my just deserts.
It won't bear analysis. There are things about it
which I cannot understand at all. It don't say
whatever became of William Schuyler. It just says
enough about him to get one interested in his career,
and then drops him. Who is William Schuyler,

---

anyhow, and what part of South Park did he live in,
and if he started down town at six o'clock, did he
ever get there, and if he did, did anything happen
to him? Is he the individual that met with the
"distressing accident"? Considering the elaborate
circumstantiality of detail observable in the item, it
seems to me that it ought to contain more informa-
tion than it does. On the contrary, it is obscure—
and not only obscure, but utterly incomprehensible.
Was the breaking of Mr. Schuyler's leg, fifteen
years ago, the "distressing accident" that plunged
Mr. Bloke into unspeakable grief, and caused him
to come up here at dead of night and stop our press
to acquaint the world with the circumstance? Or
did the "distressing accident" consist in the de-
struction of Schuyler's mother-in-law's property in
early times? Or did it consist in the death of that
person herself three years ago (albeit it does not
appear that she died by accident)? In a word, what
did that "distressing accident" consist in? What
did that driveling ass of a Schuyler stand in the
wake of a runaway horse for, with his shouting and
gesticulating, if he wanted to stop him? And how
the mischief could he get run over by a horse that
had already passed beyond him? And what are we
to take "warning" by? And how is this extraordi-
nary chapter of incomprehensibilities going to be a
"lesson" to us? And, above all, what has the
intoxicating "bowl" got to do with it, anyhow? It is
not stated that Schuyler drank, or that his wife

---

drank, or that his mother-in-law drank, or that the
horse drank—wherefore, then, the reference to the
intoxicating bowl? It does seem to me that if Mr.
Bloke had let the intoxicating bowl alone himself,
he never would have got into so much trouble about
this exasperating imaginary accident. I have read
this absurd item over and over again, with all its
insinuating plausibility, until my head swims; but I
can make neither head nor tail of it. There certainly
seems to have been an accident of some kind or
other, but it is impossible to determine what the
nature of it was, or who was the sufferer by it. I
do not like to do it, but I feel compelled to request
that the next time anything happens to one of Mr.
Bloke's friends, he will append such explanatory
notes to his account of it as will enable me to find
out what sort of an accident it was and whom it
happened to. I had rather all his friends should die
than that I should be driven to the verge of lunacy
again in trying to cipher out the meaning of another
such production as the above.

---

A MEDIÆVAL ROMANCE*

Written about 1868.

CHAPTER I.
the secret revealed

It was night. Stillness reigned in the grand old
feudal castle of Klugenstein. The year 1222
was drawing to a close. Far away up in the tallest
of the castle's towers a single light glimmered. A
secret council was being held there. The stern old
lord of Klugenstein sat in a chair of state meditat-
ing. Presently he said, with a tender accent: "My
daughter!"

A young man of noble presence, clad from
head to heel in knightly mail, answered: "Speak,
father!"

"My daughter, the time is come for the reveal-
ing of the mystery that hath puzzled all your young
life. Know, then, that it had its birth in the matters
which I shall now unfold. My brother Ulrich is the
great Duke of Brandenburgh. Our father, on his
deathbed, decreed that if no son were born to Ulrich
the succession should pass to my house, provided a
son were born to me. And further, in case no son

---

were born to either, but only daughters, then the
succession should pass to Ulrich's daughter if she
proved stainless; if she did not, my daughter should
succeed if she retained a blameless name. And so I
and my old wife here prayed fervently for the good
boon of a son, but the prayer was vain. You were
born to us. I was in despair. I saw the mighty
prize slipping from my grasp—the splendid dream
vanishing away! And I had been so hopeful! Five
years had Ulrich lived in wedlock, and yet his wife
had borne no heir of either sex.

"'But hold,' I said, 'all is not lost.' A saving
scheme had shot athwart my brain. You were born
at midnight. Only the leech, the nurse, and six
waiting-women knew your sex. I hanged them
every one before an hour sped. Next morning all
the barony went mad with rejoicing over the procla-
mation that a son was born to Klugenstein—an heir
to mighty Brandenburgh! And well the secret has
been kept. You mother's own sister nursed your
infancy, and from that time forward we feared
nothing.

"When you were ten years old a daughter was
born to Ulrich. We grieved, but hoped for good
results from measles, or physicians, or other natural
enemies of infancy, but were always disappointed.
She lived, she throve—Heaven's malison upon her!
But it is nothing. We are safe. For, ha! ha! have
we not a son? And is not our son the future duke?
Our well-beloved Conrad, is it not so?—for woman

---

of eight-and-twenty years as you are, my child, none
other name than that hath ever fallen to you!

"Now it hath come to pass that age hath laid its
hand upon my brother, and he waxes feeble. The
cares of state do tax him sore, therefore he wills
that you shall come to him and be already duke in
act, though not yet in name. Your servitors are
ready—you journey forth to-night.

"Now listen well. Remember every word I say.
There is a law as old as Germany, that if any woman
sit for a single instant in the great ducal chair before
she hath been absolutely crowned in presence of the
people—she shall die! So heed my words.
Pretend humility. Pronounce your judgments from
the Premier's chair, which stands at the foot of the
throne. Do this until you are crowned and safe.
It is not likely that your sex will ever be discovered,
but still it is the part of wisdom to make all things
as safe as may be in this treacherous earthly life.

"Oh, my father! is it for this my life hath been
a lie? Was it that I might cheat my unoffending
cousin of her rights? Spare me, father, spare your
child!"

"What, hussy! Is this my reward for the august
fortune my brain has wrought for thee? By the
bones of my father, this puling sentiment of thine
but ill accords with my humor. Betake thee to the
duke instantly, and beware how thou meddlest with
my purpose!"

Let this suffice of the conversation. It is enough

---

for us to know that the prayers, the entreaties, and
the tears of the gentle-natured girl availed nothing.
Neither they nor anything could move the stout old
lord of Klugenstein. And so, at last, with a heavy
heart, the daughter saw the castle gates close behind
her, and found herself riding away in the darkness
surrounded by a knightly array of armed vassals and
a brave following of servants.

The old baron sat silent for many minutes after
his daughter's departure, and then he turned to his
sad wife, and said:

"Dame, our matters seem speeding fairly. It is
full three months since I sent the shrewd and hand-
some Count Detzin on his devilish mission to my
brother's daughter Constance. If he fail we are not
wholly safe, but if he do succeed no power can bar
our girl from being duchess, e'en though ill fortune
should decree she never should be duke!"

"My heart is full of bodings; yet all may still be
well."

"Tush, woman! Leave the owls to croak. To
bed with ye, and dream of Brandenburgh and
grandeur!"

CHAPTER II.
festivity and tears

Six days after the occurrences related in the
above chapter, the brilliant capital of the Duchy of

---

Brandenburgh was resplendent with military pagean-
try, and noisy with the rejoicings of loyal multitudes,
for Conrad, the young heir to the crown, was come.
The old duke's heart was full of happiness, for
Conrad's handsome person and graceful bearing had
won his love at once. The great halls of the palace
were thronged with nobles, who welcomed Conrad
bravely; and so bright and happy did all things seem,
that he felt his fears and sorrows passing away, and
giving place to a comforting contentment.

But in a remote apartment of the palace a scene
of a different nature was transpiring. By a window
stood the duke's only child, the Lady Constance.
Her eyes were red and swollen, and full of tears.
She was alone. Presently she fell to weeping anew,
and said aloud:

"The villain Detzin is gone—has fled the duke-
dom! I could not believe it at first, but, alas! it is
too true. And I loved him so. I dared to love him
though I knew the duke, my father, would never let
me wed him. I loved him—but now I hate him!
With all my soul I hate him! Oh, what is to be-
come of me? I am lost, lost, lost! I shall go
mad!"

CHAPTER III.
the plot thickens

A few months drifted by. All men published
the praises of the young Conrad's government,

---

and extolled the wisdom of his judgments, the merci-
fulness of his sentences, and the modesty with which
he bore himself in his great office. The old duke
soon gave everything into his hands, and sat apart
and listened with proud satisfaction while his heir
delivered the decrees of the crown from the seat of
the Premier. It seemed plain that one so loved and
praised and honored of all men as Conrad was could
not be otherwise than happy. But, strangely enough,
he was not. For he saw with dismay that the
Princess Constance had begun to love him! The
love of the rest of the world was happy fortune for
him, but this was freighted with danger! And he
saw, moreover, that the delighted duke had discov-
ered his daughter's passion likewise, and was already
dreaming of a marriage. Every day somewhat of
the deep sadness that had been in the princess's
face faded away; every day hope and animation
beamed brighter from her eye; and by and by even
vagrant smiles visited the face that had been so
troubled.

Conrad was appalled. He bitterly cursed himself
for having yielded to the instinct that had made him
seek the companionship of one of his own sex when
he was new and a stranger in the palace—when he
was sorrowful and yearned for a sympathy such as
only women can give or feel. He now began to
avoid his cousin. But this only made matters worse,
for, naturally enough, the more he avoided her the
more she cast herself in his way. He marveled at

---

this at first, and next it startled him. The girl
haunted him; she hunted him; she happened upon
him at all times and in all places, in the night as
well as in the day. She seemed singularly anxious.
There was surely a mystery somewhere.

This could not go on forever. All the world
was talking about it. The duke was beginning to
look perplexed. Poor Conrad was becoming a very
ghost through dread and dire distress. One day as
he was emerging from a private anteroom attached
to the picture gallery Constance confronted him, and
seizing both his hands in hers, exclaimed:

"Oh, why do you avoid me? What have I done
—what have I said, to lose your kind opinion of
me—for surely I had it once? Conrad, do not
despise me, but pity a tortured heart? I cannot,
cannot hold the words unspoken longer, lest they
kill me—I love you, Conrad! There, despise
me if you must, but they would be uttered!"

Conrad was speechless. Constance hesitated a
moment, and then, misinterpreting his silence, a
wild gladness flamed in her eyes, and she flung her
arms about his neck and said:

"You relent! you relent! You can love me—
you will love me! Oh, say you will, my own, my
worshiped Conrad!"

Conrad groaned aloud. A sickly pallor over-
spread his countenance, and he trembled like an
aspen. Presently, in desperation, he thrust the poor
girl from him, and cried:

---

"You know not what you ask! It is forever and
ever impossible!" And then he fled like a criminal,
and left the princess stupefied with amazement. A
minute afterward she was crying and sobbing there,
and Conrad was crying and sobbing in his chamber.
Both were in despair. Both saw ruin staring them
in the face.

By and by Constance rose slowly to her feet and
moved away, saying:

"To think that he was despising my love at the
very moment that I thought it was melting his cruel
heart! I hate him! He spurned me—did this
man—he spurned me from him like a dog!"

CHAPTER IV.
the awful revelation

Time passed on. A settled sadness rested once
more upon the countenance of the good duke's
daughter. She and Conrad were seen together no
more now. The duke grieved at this. But as the
weeks wore away Conrad's color came back to his
cheeks, and his old-time vivacity to his eye, and
he administered the government with a clear and
steadily ripening wisdom.

Presently a strange whisper began to be heard
about the palace. It grew louder; it spread farther.
The gossips of the city got hold of it. It swept the
dukedom. And this is what the whisper said:

---

"The Lady Constance hath given birth to a
child!"

When the lord of Klugenstein heard it he swung
his plumed helmet thrice around his head and
shouted:

"Long live Duke Conrad!—for lo, his crown is
sure from this day forward! Detzin has done his
errand well, and the good scoundrel shall be re-
warded!"

And he spread the tidings far and wide, and for
eight-and-forty hours no soul in all the barony but
did dance and sing, carouse and illuminate, to cele-
brate the great event, and all proud and happy at
old Klugenstein's expense.

CHAPTER V.
the frightful catastrophe

The trial was at hand. All the great lords and
barons of Brandenburgh were assembled in the
Hall of Justice in the ducal palace. No space was
left unoccupied where there was room for a spec-
tator to stand or sit. Conrad, clad in purple and
ermine, sat in the Premier's chair, and on either side
sat the great judges of the realm. The old duke
had sternly commanded that the trial of his daughter
should proceed without favor, and then had taken to
his bed broken-hearted. His days were numbered.
Poor Conrad had begged, as for his very life, that

---

he might be spared the misery of sitting in judgment
upon his cousin's crime, but it did not avail.

The saddest heart in all that great assemblage was
in Conrad's breast.

The gladdest was in his father's, for, unknown to
his daughter "Conrad," the old Baron Klugenstein
was come, and was among the crowd of nobles
triumphant in the swelling fortunes of his house.

After the heralds had made due proclamation
and the other preliminaries had followed, the vener-
able Lord Chief Justice said: "Prisoner, stand
forth!"

The unhappy princess rose, and stood unveiled
before the vast multitude. The Lord Chief Justice
continued:

"Most noble lady, before the great judges of this
realm it hath been charged and proven that out of
holy wedlock your Grace hath given birth unto a
child, and by our ancient law the penalty is death
excepting in one sole contingency, whereof his Grace
the acting duke, our good Lord Conrad, will adver-
tise you in his solemn sentence now; wherefore give
heed."

Conrad stretched forth his reluctant scepter, and
in the salf-same moment the womanly heart beneath
his robe yearned pityingly toward the doomed pris-
oner, and the tears came into his eyes. He opened
his lips to speak, but the Lord Chief Justice said
quickly:

"Not there, your Grace, not there! It is not

---

lawful to pronounce judgment upon any of the ducal
line save from the ducal throne!"

A shudder went to the heart of poor Conrad, and
a tremor shook the iron frame of his old father like-
wise. Conrad had not been crowned—dared
he profane the throne? He hesitated and turned
pale with fear. But it must be done. Wondering
eyes were already upon him. They would be sus-
picious eyes if he hesitated longer. He ascended
the throne. Presently he stretched forth the scepter
again, and said:

"Prisoner, in the name of our sovereign Lord
Ulrich, Duke of Brandenburgh, I proceed to the
solemn duty that hath devolved upon me. Give
heed to my words. By the ancient law of the land,
except you produce the partner of your guilt and
deliver him up to the executioner you must surely
die. Embrace this opportunity—save yourself while
yet you may. Name the father of your child!"

A solemn hush fell upon the great court—a silence
so profound that men could hear their own hearts
beat. Then the princess slowly turned, with eyes
gleaming with hate, and pointing her finger straight
at Conrad, said:

"Thou art the man!"

An appalling conviction of his helpless, hopeless
peril struck a chill to Conrad's heart like the chill of
death itself. What power on earth could save him!
To disprove the charge he must reveal that he was a
woman, and for an uncrowned woman to sit in the

---

ducal chair was death! At one and the same mo-
ment he and his grim old father swooned and fell to
the ground.

The remainder of this thrilling and eventful story
will not be found in this or any other publication,
either now or at any future time.

The truth is, I have got my hero (or heroine)
into such a particularly close place that I do not see
how I am ever going to get him (or her) out of it
again, and therefore I will wash my hands of the
whole business, and leave that person to get out the
best way that offers—or else stay there. I thought
it was going to be easy enough to straighten out
that little difficulty, but it looks different now.

PETITION CONCERNING COPYRIGHTto the honorable the senate and house of
representatives in congress assembled:

Whereas, The Constitution guarantees equal rights
to all, backed by the Declaration of Independence;
and

Whereas, Under our laws, the right of property
in real estate is perpetual; and

Whereas, Under our laws, the right of property

---

in the literary result of a citizen's intellectual labor
is restricted to forty-two years; and

Whereas, Forty-two years seems an exceedingly
just and righteous term, and a sufficiently long one
for the retention of property;

Therefore, Your petitioner, having the good of his
country solely at heart, humbly prays that "equal
rights" and fair and equal treatment may be meted
out to all citizens, by the restriction of rights in all
property, real estate included, to the beneficent term
of forty-two years. Then shall all men bless your
honorable body and be happy. And for this will
your petitioner ever pray.

a paragraph not added to the petition.

The charming absurdity of restricting property-
rights in books to forty-two years sticks prominently
out in the fact that hardly any man's books ever
live forty-two years, or even the half of it; and so,
for the sake of getting a shabby advantage of the
heirs of about one Scott or Burns or Milton in a
hundred years, the lawmakers of the "Great"
Republic are content to leave that poor little pilfering
edict upon the statute books. It is like an emperor
lying in wait to rob a phenix's nest, and waiting the
necessary century to get the chance.

---

AFTER-DINNER SPEECH[at a fourth of july gathering, in london, of
americans]

Mr. chairman and ladies and gen-
tlemen: I thank you for the compliment
which has just been tendered me, and to show my
appreciation of it I will not afflict you with many
words. It is pleasant to celebrate in this peaceful
way, upon this old mother soil, the anniversary of
an experiment which was born of war with this same
land so long ago, and wrought out to a successful
issue by the devotion of our ancestors. It has
taken nearly a hundred years to bring the English
and Americans into kindly and mutually appreciative
relations, but I believe it has been accomplished at
last. It was a great step when the two last mis-
understandings were settled by arbitration instead of
cannon. It is another great step when England
adopts our sewing-machines without claiming the
invention—as usual. It was another when they
imported one of our sleeping cars the other day.
And it warmed my heart more than I can tell,
yesterday, when I witnessed the spectacle of an

---

Englishman ordering an American sherry cobbler of
his own free will and accord—and not only that
but with a great brain and a level head reminding
the barkeeper not to forget the strawberries. With
a common origin, a common language, a common
literature, a common religion and—common drinks,
what is longer needful to the cementing of the two
nations together in a permanent bond of brother-
hood?

This is an age of progress, and ours is a progres-
sive land. A great and glorious land, too—a land
which has developed a Washington, a Franklin, a
Wm. M. Tweed, a Longfellow, a Motley, a Jay
Gould, a Samuel C. Pomeroy, a recent Congress
which has never had its equal (in some respects),
and a United States Army which conquered sixty
Indians in eight months by tiring them out—which
is much better than uncivilized slaughter, God knows.
We have a criminal jury system which is superior to
any in the world; and its efficiency is only marred
by the difficulty of finding twelve men every day
who don't know anything and can't read. And I
may observe that we have an insanity plea that
would have saved Cain. I think I can say, and say
with pride, that we have some legislatures that bring
higher prices than any in the world.

I refer with effusion to our railway system, which
consents to let us live, though it might do the oppo-
site, being our owners. It only destroyed three
thousand and seventy lives last year by collisions,

---

and twenty-seven thousand two hundred and sixty
by running over heedless and unnecessary people at
crossings. The companies seriously regretted the
killing of these thirty thousand people, and went so
far as to pay for some of them—voluntarily, of
course, for the meanest of us would not claim that
we possess a court treacherous enough to enforce a
law against a railway company. But, thank Heaven,
the railway companies are generally disposed to do
the right and kindly thing without compulsion. I
know of an instance which greatly touched me at
the time. After an accident the company sent
home the remains of a dear distant old relative of
mine in a basket, with the remark, "Please state
what figure you hold him at—and return the
basket." Now there couldn't be anything friendlier
than that.

But I must not stand here and brag all night.
However, you won't mind a body bragging a little
about his country on the fourth of July. It is a fair
and legitimate time to fly the eagle. I will say only
one more word of brag—and a hopeful one. It is
this. We have a form of government which gives
each man a fair chance and no favor. With us no
individual is born with a right to look down upon
his neighbor and hold him in contempt. Let such
of us as are not dukes find our consolation in
that. And we may find hope for the future in
the fact that as unhappy as is the condition of our
political morality to-day, England has risen up out

---

of a far fouler since the days when Charles I.
ennobled courtesans and all political place was a
matter of bargain and sale. There is hope for us
yet.*

At least the above is the speech which I was going to make, but
our minister, Gen. Schenck, presided, and after the blessing, got up and
made a great long inconceivably dull harangue, and wound up by saying
that inasmuch as speech-making did not seem to exhilarate the guests
much, all further oratory would be dispensed with during the evening,
and we could just sit and talk privately to our elbow-neighbors and have
a good sociable time. It is known that in consequence of that remark
forty-four perfected speeches died in the womb. The depression, the
gloom, the solemnity that reigned over the banquet from that time forth
will be a lasting memory with many that were there. By that one
thoughtless remark Gen. Schenck lost forty-four of the best friends he
had in England. More than one said that night, "And this is the sort
of person that is sent to represent us in a great sister empire!"

---

LIONIZING MURDERERS

I had heard so much about the celebrated fortune-
teller Madame, that I went to see her
yesterday. She has a dark complexion naturally,
and this effect is heightened by artificial aids which
cost her nothing. She wears curls—very black
ones, and I had an impression that she gave their
native attractiveness a lift with rancid butter. She
wears a reddish check handkerchief, cast loosely
around her neck, and it was plain that her other one
is slow getting back from the wash. I presume she
takes snuff. At any rate, something resembling it
had lodged among the hairs sprouting from her
upper lip. I know she likes garlic—I knew that as
soon as she sighed. She looked at me searchingly
for nearly a minute, with her black eyes, and then
said:

"It is enough. Come!"

She started down a very dark and dismal corridor
—I stepping close after her. Presently she stopped,
and said that, as the way was so crooked and dark,
perhaps she had better get a light. But it seemed
ungallant to allow a woman to put herself to so
much trouble for me, and so I said:

---

"It is not worth while, madam. If you will
heave another sigh, I think I can follow it."

So we got along all right. Arrived at her official
and mysterious den, she asked me to tell her the
date of my birth, the exact hour of that occurrence,
and the color of my grandmother's hair. I answered
as accurately as I could. Then she said:

"Young man, summon your fortitude—do not
tremble. I am about to reveal the past."

"Information concerning the future would be in a
general way, more—"

"Silence! You have had much trouble, some
joy, some good fortune, some bad. Your great
grandfather was hanged."

"That is a l—"

"Silence! Hanged sir. But it was not his fault.
He could not help it."

"I am glad you do him justice."

"Ah—grieve, rather, that the jury did. He was
hanged. His star crosses yours in the fourth divi-
sion, fifth sphere. Consequently you will be hanged
also."

"In view of this cheerful—"

"I must have silence. Yours was not, in the
beginning, a criminal nature, but circumstances
changed it. At the age of nine you stole sugar.
At the age of fifteen you stole money. At twenty
you stole horses. At twenty-five you committed
arson. At thirty, hardened in crime, you became
an editor. You are now a public lecturer. Worse

---

things are in store for you. You will be sent to
Congress. Next, to the penitentiary. Finally, hap-
piness will come again—all will be well—you will
be hanged."

I was now in tears. It seemed hard enough to
go to Congress; but to be hanged—this was too
sad, too dreadful. The woman seemed surprised at
my grief. I told her the thoughts that were in my
mind. Then she comforted me.

"Why, man,"*

In this paragraph the fortune-teller details the exact history of the
Pike-Brown assassination case in New Hampshire, from the succoring
and saving of the stranger Pike by the Browns, to the subsequent hang-
ing and coffining of that treacherous miscreant. She adds nothing,
invents nothing, exaggerates nothing (see any New England paper for
November, 1869). This Pike-Brown case is selected merely as a type,
to illustrate a custom that prevails, not in New Hampshire alone, but in
every State in the Union—I mean the sentimental custom of visiting,
petting, glorifying, and snuffling over murderers like this Pike, from the
day they enter the jail under sentence of death until they swing from the
gallows. The following extract from the Temple Bar (1866) reveals
the fact that this custom is not confined to the United States:—"On
December 31, 1841, a man named John Johnes, a shoemaker, mur-
dered his sweetheart, Mary Hallam, the daughter of a respectable
laborer, at Mansfield, in the county of Nottingham. He was executed
on March 23, 1842. He was a man of unsteady habits, and gave way
to violent fits of passion. The girl declined his addresses, and he said
if he did not have her no one else should. After he had inflicted the
first wound, which was not immediately fatal, she begged for her life,
but seeing him resolved, asked for time to pray. He said that he would
pray for both, and completed the crime. The wounds were inflicted by
a shoemaker's knife, and her throat was cut barbarously. After this he
dropped on his knees some time, and prayed God to have mercy on two
unfortunate lovers. He made no attempt to escape, and confessed the
crime. After his imprisonment he behaved in a most decorous manner;
he won upon the good opinion of the jail chaplain, and he was visited
by the Bishop of Lincoln. It does not appear that he expressed any
contrition for the crime, but seemed to pass away with triumphant cer-
tainty that he was going to rejoin his victim in heaven. He was visited
by some pious and benevolent ladies of Nottingham, some of whom
declared he was a child of God, if ever there was one. One of the
ladies sent him a white camelia to wear at his execution."

she said, "hold up your head—

---

you have nothing to grieve about. Listen. You
will live in New Hampshire. In your sharp need
and distress the Brown family will succor you—
such of them as Pike the assassin left alive. They
will be benefactors to you. When you shall have
grown fat upon their bounty, and are grateful and
happy, you will desire to make some modest return
for these things, and so you will go to the house
some night and brain the whole family with an axe.
You will rob the dead bodies of your benefactors,
and disburse your gains in riotous living among the
rowdies and courtesans of Boston. Then you will
be arrested, tried, condemned to be hanged, thrown
into prison. Now is your happy day. You will be
converted—you will be converted just as soon as
every effort to compass pardon, commutation, or
reprieve has failed—and then! Why, then, every
morning and every afternoon, the best and purest
young ladies of the village will assemble in your cell
and sing hymns. This will show that assassination
is respectable. Then you will write a touching
letter, in which you will forgive all those recent
Browns. This will excite the public admiration. No
public can withstand magnanimity. Next, they will

---

take you to the scaffold, with great éclat, at the
head of an imposing procession composed of clergy-
men, officials, citizens generally, and young ladies
walking pensively two and two, and bearing bouquets
and immortelles. You will mount the scaffold, and
while the great concourse stand uncovered in your
presence, you will read your sappy little speech
which the minister has written for you. And then,
in the midst of a grand and impressive silence, they
will swing you into per Paradise, my son.
There will not be a dry eye on the ground. You
will be a hero! Not a rough there but will envy
you. Not a rough there but will resolve to emulate
you. And next, a great procession will follow you
to the tomb—will weep over your remains—the
young ladies will sing again the hymns made dear
by sweet associations connected with the jail, and,
as a last tribute of affection, respect, and apprecia-
tion of your many sterling qualities, they will walk
two and two around your bier, and strew wreaths of
flowers on it. And lo! you are canonized. Think
of it, son—ingrate, assassin, robber of the dead,
drunken brawler among thieves and harlots in the
slums of Boston one month, and the pet of the
pure and innocent daughters of the land the next!
A bloody and hateful devil—a bewept, bewailed,
and sainted martyr—all in a month! Fool!—so
noble a fortune, and yet you sit here grieving!"

"No, madame," I said, "you do me wrong,
you do, indeed. I am perfectly satisfied. I did

---

not know before that my great-grandfather was
hanged, but it is of no consequence. He has prob-
ably ceased to bother about it by this time—and I
have not commenced yet. I confess, madame, that
I do something in the way of editing and lecturing,
but the other crimes you mention have escaped my
memory. Yet I must have committed them—you
would not deceive a stranger. But let the past be
as it was, and let the future be as it may—these
are nothing. I have only cared for one thing. I
have always felt that I should be hanged some day,
and somehow the thought has annoyed me consider-
ably; but if you can only assure me that I shall be
hanged in New Hampshire—"

"Not a shadow of a doubt!"

"Bless you, my benefactress!—excuse this em-
brace—you have removed a great load from my
breast. To be hanged in New Hampshire is happi-
ness—it leaves an honored name behind a man,
and introduces him at once into the best New
Hampshire society in the other world."

I then took leave of the fortune-teller. But,
seriously, is it well to glorify a murderous villain
on the scaffold, as Pike was glorified in New Hamp-
shire? Is it well to turn the penalty for a bloody
crime into a reward? Is it just to do it? Is it safe?

---

A NEW CRIME
legislation needed

This country, during the last thirty or forty
years, has produced some of the most remark-
able cases of insanity of which there is any mention
in history. For instance, there was the Baldwin
case, in Ohio, twenty-two years ago. Baldwin, from
his boyhood up, had been of a vindictive, malignant,
quarrelsome nature. He put a boy's eye out once,
and never was heard upon any occasion to utter a
regret for it. He did many such things. But at
last he did something that was serious. He called
at a house just after dark one evening, knocked, and
when the occupant came to the door, shot him
dead, and then tried to escape, but was captured.
Two days before, he had wantonly insulted a help-
less cripple, and the man he afterward took swift
vengeance upon with an assassin bullet had knocked
him down. Such was the Baldwin case. The trial
was long and exciting; the community was fearfully
wrought up. Men said this spiteful, bad-hearted
villain had caused grief enough in his time, and now
he should satisfy the law. But they were mistaken;

---

Baldwin was insane when he did the deed—they
had not thought of that. By the argument of
counsel it was shown that at half-past ten in the
morning on the day of the murder, Baldwin became
insane, and remained so for eleven hours and a half
exactly. This just covered the case comfortably,
and he was acquitted. Thus, if an unthinking and
excited community had been listened to instead of
the arguments of counsel, a poor crazy creature
would have been held to a fearful responsibility for
a mere freak of madness. Baldwin went clear, and
although his relatives and friends were naturally in-
censed against the community for their injurious
suspicions and remarks, they said let it go for this
time, and did not prosecute. The Baldwins were
very wealthy. This same Baldwin had momentary
fits of insanity twice afterward, and on both occa-
sions killed people he had grudges against. And on
both these occasions the circumstances of the killing
were so aggravated, and the murders so seemingly
heartless and treacherous, that if Baldwin had not
been insane he would have been hanged without the
shadow of a doubt. As it was, it required all his
political and family influence to get him clear in one
of the cases, and cost him not less than ten thousand
dollars to get clear in the other. One of these men
he had notoriously been threatening to kill for twelve
years. The poor creature happened, by the merest
piece of ill fortune, to come along a dark alley at
the very moment that Baldwin's insanity came upon

---

him, and so he was shot in the back with a gun
loaded with slugs.

Take the case of Lynch Hackett, of Pennsylvania.
Twice, in public, he attacked a German butcher by
the name of Bemis Feldner, with a cane, and both
times Feldner whipped him with his fists. Hackett
was a vain, wealthy, violent gentleman, who held
his blood and family in high esteem, and believed
that a reverent respect was due to his great riches.
He brooded over the shame of his chastisement for
two weeks, and then, in a momentary fit of insanity,
armed himself to the teeth, rode into town, waited a
couple of hours until he saw Feldner coming down
the street with his wife on his arm, and then, as the
couple passed the doorway in which he had partially
concealed himself, he drove a knife into Feldner's
neck, killing him instantly. The widow caught the
limp form and eased it to the earth. Both were
drenched with blood. Hackett jocosely remarked
to her that as a professional butcher's recent wife
she could appreciate the artistic neatness of the job
that left her in condition to marry again, in case she
wanted to. This remark, and another which he
made to a friend, that his position in society made
the killing of an obscure citizen simply an "eccen-
tricity" instead of a crime, were shown to be evi-
dences of insanity, and so Hackett escaped punish-
ment. The jury were hardly inclined to accept these
as proofs at first, inasmuch as the prisoner had never
been insane before the murder, and under the tran-

---

quilizing effect of the butchering had immediately
regained his right mind; but when the defense came
to show that a third cousin of Hackett's wife's step-
father was insane, and not only insane, but had a
nose the very counterpart of Hackett's, it was plain
that insanity was hereditary in the family, and
Hackett had come by it by legitimate inheritance.
Of course the jury then acquitted him. But it was
a merciful providence that Mrs. H.'s people had
been afflicted as shown, else Hackett would certainly
have been hanged.

However, it is not possible to recount all the mar-
velous cases of insanity that have come under the
public notice in the last thirty or forty years. There
was the Durgin case in New Jersey three years ago.
The servant girl, Bridget Durgin, at dead of night,
invaded her mistress' bedroom and carved the lady
literally to pieces with a knife. Then she dragged
the body to the middle of the floor, and beat and
banged it with chairs and such things. Next she
opened the feather beds, and strewed the contents
around, saturated everything with kerosene, and set
fire to the general wreck. She now took up the
young child of the murdered woman in her blood-
smeared hands and walked off, through the snow,
with no shoes on, to a neighbor's house a quarter
of a mile off, and told a string of wild, incoherent
stories about some men coming and setting fire to
the house; and then she cried piteously, and with-
out seeming to think there was anything suggestive

---

about the blood upon her hands, her clothing, and
the baby, volunteered the remark that she was
afraid those men had murdered her mistress! After-
ward, by her own confession and other testimony, it
was proved that the mistress had always been kind
to the girl, consequently there was no revenge in the
murder; and it was also shown that the girl took noth-
ing away from the burning house, not even her own
shoes, and consequently robbery was not the motive.
Now, the reader says, "Here comes that same old
plea of insanity again." But the reader has deceived
himself this time. No such plea was offered in her
defense. The judge sentenced her, nobody perse-
cuted the governor with petitions for her pardon,
and she was promptly hanged.

There was that youth in Pennsylvania, whose
curious confession was published some years ago.
It was simply a conglomeration of incoherent drivel
from beginning to end, and so was his lengthy
speech on the scaffold afterward. For a whole year
he was haunted with a desire to disfigure a certain
young woman, so that no one would marry her.
He did not love her himself, and did not want to
marry her, but he did not want anybody else to do
it. He would not go anywhere with her, and yet
was opposed to anybody else's escorting her. Upon
one occasion he declined to go to a wedding with
her, and when she got other company, lay in wait
for the couple by the road, intending to make them
go back or kill the escort. After spending sleepless

---

nights over his ruling desire for a full year, he at
last attempted its execution—that is, attempted to
disfigure the young woman. It was a success. It
was permanent. In trying to shoot her cheek (as
she sat at the supper table with her parents and
brothers and sisters) in such a manner as to mar its
comeliness, one of his bullets wandered a little out
of the course, and she dropped dead. To the very
last moment of his life he bewailed the ill luck that
made her move her face just at the critical moment.
And so he died, apparently about half persuaded
that somehow it was chiefly her own fault that she
got killed. This idiot was hanged. The plea of
insanity was not offered.

Insanity certainly is on the increase in the world,
and crime is dying out. There are no longer any
murders—none worth mentioning, at any rate.
Formerly, if you killed a man, it was possible that
you were insane—but now, if you, having friends
and money, kill a man, it is evidence that you are a
lunatic. In these days, too, if a person of good
family and high social standing steals anything, they
call it kleptomania, and send him to the lunatic
asylum. If a person of high standing squanders his
fortune in dissipation, and closes his career with
strychnine or a bullet, "Temporary Aberration" is
what was the trouble with him.

Is not this insanity plea becoming rather common?
Is it not so common that the reader confidently ex-
pects to see it offered in every criminal case that

---

comes before the courts? And is it not so cheap,
and so common, and often so trivial, that the reader
smiles in derision when the newspaper mentions it?
And is it not curious to note how very often it wins
acquittal for the prisoner? Of late years it does not
seem possible for a man to so conduct himself,
before killing another man, as not to be manifestly
insane. If he talks about the stars, he is insane. If
he appears nervous and uneasy an hour before the
killing, he is insane. If he weeps over a great grief,
his friends shake their heads, and fear that he is
"not right." If, an hour after the murder, he
seems ill at ease, preoccupied and excited, he is
unquestionably insane.

Really, what we want now, is not laws against
crime, but a law against insanity. There is where
the true evil lies.

---

A CURIOUS DREAM*

Written about 1870.

containing a moral

Night before last I had a singular dream. I
seemed to be sitting on a doorstep (in no par-
ticular city perhaps) ruminating, and the time of
night appeared to be about twelve or one o'clock.
The weather was balmy and delicious. There was
no human sound in the air, not even a footstep.
There was no sound of any kind to emphasize the
dead stillness, except the occasional hollow barking
of a dog in the distance and the fainter answer of a
further dog. Presently up the street I heard a bony
clack-clacking, and guessed it was the castanets of a
serenading party. In a minute more a tall skeleton,
hooded, and half-clad in a tattered and mouldy
shroud, whose shreds were flapping about the ribby
lattice-work of its person swung by me with a stately
stride, and disappeared in the gray gloom of the
starlight. It had a broken and worm-eaten coffin on
its shoulder and a bundle of something in its hand.
I knew what the clack-clacking was then; it was
this party's joints working together, and his elbows

---

knocking against his sides as he walked. I may say
I was surprised. Before I could collect my thoughts
and enter upon any speculations as to what this ap-
parition might portend, I heard another one coming
—for I recognized his clack-clack. He had two-
thirds of a coffin on his shoulder, and some foot
and head-boards under his arm. I mightily wanted
to peer under his hood and speak to him, but when
he turned and smiled upon me with his cavernous
sockets and his projecting grin as he went by, I
thought I would not detain him. He was hardly
gone when I heard the clacking again, and another
one issued from the shadowy half-light. This one
was bending under a heavy gravestone, and dragging
a shabby coffin after him by a string. When he got
to me he gave me a steady look for a moment or
two, and then rounded to and backed up to me,
saying:

"Ease this down for a fellow, will you?"

I eased the gravestone down till it rested on the
ground, and in doing so noticed that it bore the
name of "John Baxter Copmanhurst," with "May,
1839," as the date of his death. Deceased sat
wearily down by me, and wiped his os frontis with
his major maxillary—chiefly from former habit I
judged, for I could not see that he brought away
any perspiration.

"It is too bad, too bad," said he, drawing the
remnant of the shroud about him and leaning his
jaw pensively on his hand. Then he put his left

---

foot up on his knee and fell to scratching his ankle
bone absently with a rusty nail which he got out of
his coffin.

"What is too bad, friend?"

"Oh, everything, everything. I almost wish I
never had died."

"You surprise me. Why do you say this? Has
anything gone wrong? What is the matter?"

"Matter! Look at this shroud—rags. Look
at this gravestone, all battered up. Look at that
disgraceful old coffin. All a man's property going
to ruin and destruction before his eyes, and ask him
if anything is wrong? Fire and brimstone!"

"Calm yourself, calm yourself," I said. "It is
too bad—it is certainly too bad, but then I had not
supposed that you would much mind such matters,
situated as you are."

"Well, my dear sir, I do mind them. My pride
is hurt, and my comfort is impaired—destroyed, I
might say. I will state my case—I will put it to
you in such a way that you can comprehend it, if
you will let me," said the poor skeleton, tilting the
hood of his shroud back, as if he were clearing for
action, and thus unconsciously giving himself a
jaunty and festive air very much at variance with
the grave character of his position in life—so to
speak—and in prominent contrast with his distress-
ful mood.

"Proceed," said I.

"I reside in the shameful old graveyard a block

---

or two above you here, in this street—there, now,
I just expected that cartilage would let go!—third
rib from the bottom, friend, hitch the end of it to
my spine with a string, if you have got such a thing
about you, though a bit of silver wire is a deal
pleasanter, and more durable and becoming, if one
keeps it polished—to think of shredding out and
going to pieces in this way, just on account of the
indifference and neglect of one's posterity!"—and
the poor ghost grated his teeth in a way that gave
me a wrench and a shiver—for the effect is mightily
increased by the absence of muffling flesh and
cuticle. "I reside in that old graveyard, and have
for these thirty years; and I tell you things are
changed since I first laid this old tired frame there,
and turned over, and stretched out for a long sleep,
with a delicious sense upon me of being done with
bother, and grief, and anxiety, and doubt, and fear,
forever and ever, and listening with comfortable and
increasing satisfaction to the sexton's work, from
the startling clatter of his first spadeful on my coffin
till it dulled away to the faint patting that shaped
the roof of my new home—delicious! My! I wish
you could try it to-night!" and out of my reverie
deceased fetched me with a rattling slap with a bony
hand.

"Yes, sir, thirty years ago I laid me down there,
and was happy. For it was out in the country then
—out in the breezy, flowery, grand old woods, and
the lazy winds gossiped with the leaves, and the

---

squirrels capered over us and around us, and the
creeping things visited us, and the birds filled the
tranquil solitude with music. Ah, it was worth ten
years of a man's life to be dead then! Everything
was pleasant. I was in a good neighborhood, for
all the dead people that lived near me belonged to
the best families in the city. Our posterity appeared
to think the world of us. They kept our graves in
the very best condition; the fences were always in
faultless repair, head-boards were kept painted or
whitewashed, and were replaced with new ones as
soon as they began to look rusty or decayed; monu-
ments were kept upright, railings intact and bright,
the rosebushes and shrubbery trimmed, trained, and
free from blemish, the walks clean and smooth and
graveled. But that day is gone by. Our descend-
ants have forgotten us. My grandson lives in a
stately house built with money made by these old
hands of mine, and I sleep in a neglected grave with
invading vermin that gnaw my shroud to build them
nests withal! I and friends that lie with me founded
and secured the prosperity of this fine city, and the
stately bantling of our loves leaves us to rot in a
dilapidated cemetery which neighbors curse and
strangers scoff at. See the difference between the
old time and this—for instance: Our graves are all
caved in now; our head-boards have rotted away
and tumbled down; our railings reel this way and
that, with one foot in the air, after a fashion of un-
seemly levity; our monuments lean wearily, and our

---

gravestones bow their heads discouraged; there be
no adornments any more—no roses, nor shrubs,
nor graveled walks, nor anything that is a comfort
to the eye; and even the paintless old board fence
that did make a show of holding us sacred from com-
panionship with beasts and the defilement of heed-
less feet, has tottered till it overhangs the street, and
only advertises the presence of our dismal resting-
place and invites yet more derision to it. And now
we cannot hide our poverty and tatters in the
friendly woods, for the city has stretched its wither-
ing arms abroad and taken us in, and all that re-
mains of the cheer of our old home is the cluster of
lugubrious forest trees that stand, bored and weary
of a city life, with their feet in our coffins, looking
into the hazy distance and wishing they were there.
I tell you it is disgraceful!

"You begin to comprehend—you begin to see
how it is. While our descendants are living sumptu-
ously on our money, right around us in the city, we
have to fight hard to keep skull and bones together.
Bless you, there isn't a grave in our cemetery that
doesn't leak—not one. Every time it rains in the
night we have to climb out and roost in the trees—
and sometimes we are wakened suddenly by the
chilly water trickling down the back of our necks.
Then I tell you there is a general heaving up of old
graves and kicking over of old monuments, and
scampering of old skeletons for the trees! Bless
me, if you had gone along there some such nights

---

after twelve you might have seen as many as fifteen
of us roosting on one limb, with our joints rattling
drearily and the wind wheezing through our ribs!
Many a time we have perched there for three or four
dreary hours, and then come down, stiff and chilled
through and drowsy, and borrowed each other's
skulls to bale out our graves with—if you will
glance up in my mouth now as I tilt my head back,
you can see that my head-piece is half full of old
dry sediment—how top-heavy and stupid it makes
me sometimes! Yes, sir, many a time if you had
happened to come along just before the dawn you'd
have caught us baling out the graves and hanging
our shrouds on the fence to dry. Why, I had an
elegant shroud stolen from there one morning—
think a party by the name of Smith took it, that
resides in a plebeian graveyard over yonder—I
think so because the first time I ever saw him he
hadn't anything on but a check-shirt, and the last
time I saw him, which was at a social gathering in
the new cemetery, he was the best dressed corpse in
the company—and it is a significant fact that he
left when he saw me; and presently an old woman
from here missed her coffin—she generally took it
with her when she went anywhere, because she was
liable to take cold and bring on the spasmodic rheu-
matism that originally killed her if she exposed her-
self to the night air much. She was named Hotch-
kiss—Anna Matilda Hotchkiss—you might know
her? She has two upper front teeth, is tall, but a

---

good deal inclined to stoop, one rib on the left side
gone, has one shred of rusty hair hanging from the
left side of her head, and one little tuft just above
and a little forward of her right ear, has her under
jaw wired on one side where it had worked loose,
small bone of left forearm gone—lost in a fight—
has a kind of swagger in her gait and a 'gallus' way
of going with her arms akimbo and her nostrils in
the air—has been pretty free and easy, and is all
damaged and battered up till she looks like a queens-
ware crate in ruins—maybe you have met her?"

"God forbid!" I involuntarily ejaculated, for
somehow I was not looking for that form of ques-
tion, and it caught me a little off my guard. But I
hastened to make amends for my rudeness, and say,
"I simply meant I had not had the honor—for I
would not deliberately speak discourteously of a
friend of yours. You were saying that you were
robbed—and it was a shame, too—but it appears
by what is left of the shroud you have on that it was
a costly one in its day. How did—"

A most ghastly expression began to develop
among the decayed features and shriveled integu-
ments of my guest's face, and I was beginning to
grow uneasy and distressed, when he told me he was
only working up a deep, sly smile, with a wink in it,
to suggest that about the time he acquired his
present garment a ghost in a neighboring cemetery
missed one. This reassured me, but I begged him
to confine himself to speech thenceforth, because

---

his facial expression was uncertain. Even with the
most elaborate care it was liable to miss fire.
Smiling should especially be avoided. What he
might honestly consider a shining success was likely
to strike me in a very different light. I said I liked
to see a skeleton cheerful, even decorously playful,
but I did not think smiling was a skeleton's best
hold.

"Yes, friend," said the poor skeleton, "the facts
are just as I have given them to you. Two of these
old graveyards—the one that I resided in and one
further along—have been deliberately neglected by
our descendants of to-day until there is no occupy-
ing them any longer. Aside from the osteological
discomfort of it—and that is no light matter this
rainy weather—the present state of things is ruinous
to property. We have got to move or be content to
see our effects wasted away and utterly destroyed.
Now, you will hardly believe it, but it is true, never-
theless, that there isn't a single coffin in good repair
among all my acquaintance—now that is an abso-
lute fact. I do not refer to low people who come in
a pine box mounted on an express wagon, but I am
talking about your high-toned, silver mounted burial-
case, your monumental sort, that travel under black
plumes at the head of a procession and have choice
of cemetery lots—I mean folks like the Jarvises,
and the Bledsoes and Burlings, and such. They are
all about ruined. The most substantial people in
our set, they were. And now look at them—

---

utterly used up and poverty-stricken. One of the
Bledsoes actually traded his monument to a late
barkeeper for some fresh shavings to put under his
head. I tell you it speaks volumes, for there is
nothing a corpse takes so much pride in as his
monument. He loves to read the inscription. He
comes after awhile to believe what it says himself,
and then you may see him sitting on the fence night
after night enjoying it. Epitaphs are cheap, and
they do a poor chap a world of good after he is
dead, especially if he had hard luck while he was
alive. I wish they were used more. Now I don't
complain, but confidentially I do think it was a little
shabby in my descendants to give me nothing but
this old slab of a gravestone—and all the more that
there isn't a compliment on it. It used to have
gone to his just reward' on it, and I was proud when I first saw it, but by
and by I noticed that whenever an old friend of mine
came along he would hook his chin on the railing
and pull a long face and read along down till he
came to that, and then he would chuckle to himself
and walk off, looking satisfied and comfortable. So
I scratched it off to get rid of those fools. But a
dead man always takes a deal of pride in his monu-
ment. Yonder goes half-a-dozen of the Jarvises
now, with the family monument along. And Smith-
ers and some hired specters went by with his a while
ago. Hello, Higgins, good-bye, old friend! That's

---

Meredith Higgins—died in '44—belongs to our
set in the cemetery—fine old family—great-grand-
mother was an Injun—I am on the most familiar
terms with him—he didn't hear me was the reason
he didn't answer me. And I am sorry, too, because
I would have liked to introduce you. You would
admire him. He is the most disjointed, sway-
backed, and generally distorted old skeleton you
ever saw, but he is full of fun. When he laughs it
sounds like rasping two stones together, and he
always starts it off with a cheery screech like raking
a nail across a window-pane. Hey, Jones! That
is old Columbus Jones—shroud cost four hundred
dollars—entire trousseau, including monument,
twenty-seven hundred. This was in the spring of
'26. It was enormous style for those days. Dead
people came all the way from the Alleghanies to see
his things—the party that occupied the grave next
to mine remembers it well. Now do you see that
individual going along with a piece of a head-board
under his arm, one leg-bone below his knee gone,
and not a thing in the world on? That is Barstow
Dalhousie, and next to Columbus Jones he was the
most sumptuously outfitted person that ever entered
our cemetery. We are all leaving. We cannot
tolerate the treatment we are receiving at the hands
of our descendants. They open new cemeteries,
but they leave us to our ignominy. They mend the
streets, but they never mend anything that is about
us or belongs to us. Look at that coffin of mine—

---

yet I tell you in its day it was a piece of furniture
that would have attracted attention in any drawing-
room in this city. You may have it if you want
it—I can't afford to repair it. Put a new bottom
in her, and part of a new top, and a bit of fresh
lining along the left side, and you'll find her about
as comfortable as any receptacle of her species you
ever tried. No thanks—no, don't mention it—
you have been civil to me, and I would give you all
the property I have got before I would seem un-
grateful. Now this winding-sheet is a kind of a
sweet thing in its way, if you would like to .
No? Well, just as you say, but I wished to be fair
and liberal—there's nothing mean about me. Good-
bye, friend, I must be going. I may have a good
way to go to-night—don't know. I only know
one thing for certain, and that is, that I am on the
emigrant trail now, and I'll never sleep in that crazy
old cemetery again. I will travel till I find respect-
able quarters, if I have to hoof it to New Jersey.
All the boys are going. It was decided in public
conclave, last night, to emigrate, and by the time
the sun rises there won't be a bone left in our old
habitations. Such cemeteries may suit my surviving
friends, but they do not suit the remains that have
the honor to make these remarks. My opinion is
the general opinion. If you doubt it, go and see
how the departing ghosts upset things before they
started. They were almost riotous in their demon-
strations of distaste. Hello, here are some of the

---

Bledsoes, and if you will give me a lift with this
tombstone I guess I will join company and jog along
with them—mighty respectable old family, the
Bledsoes, and used to always come out in six-horse
hearses, and all that sort of thing fifty years ago
when I walked these streets in daylight. Good-bye,
friend."

And with his gravestone on his shoulder he joined
the grisly procession, dragging his damaged coffin
after him, for notwithstanding he pressed it upon
me so earnestly, I utterly refused his hospitality. I
suppose that for as much as two hours these sad
outcasts went clacking by, laden with their dismal
effects, and all that time I sat pitying them. One
or two of the youngest and least dilapidated among
them inquired about midnight trains on the railways,
but the rest seemed unacquainted with that mode of
travel, and merely asked about common public roads
to various towns and cities, some of which are not
on the map now, and vanished from it and from the
earth as much as thirty years ago, and some few of
them never had existed anywhere but on maps,
and private ones in real estate agencies at that. And
they asked about the condition of the cemeteries in
these towns and cities, and about the reputation the
citizens bore as to reverence for the dead.

This whole matter interested me deeply, and like-
wise compelled my sympathy for these homeless
ones. And it all seeming real, and I not knowing
it was a dream, I mentioned to one shrouded wan-

---

derer an idea that had entered my head to publish
an account of this curious and very sorrowful
exodus, but said also that I could not describe it
truthfully, and just as it occurred, without seeming
to trifle with a grave subject and exhibit an irrever-
ence for the dead that would shock and distress
their surviving friends. But this bland and stately
remnant of a former citizen leaned him far over my
gate and whispered in my ear, and said.

"Do not let that disturb you. The community
that can stand such graveyards as those we are emi-
grating from can stand anything a body can say
about the neglected and forsaken dead that lie in
them."

At that very moment a cock crowed, and the
weird procession vanished and left not a shred or a
bone behind. I awoke, and found myself lying
with my head out of the bed and "sagging" down-
wards considerably—a position favorable to dream-
ing dreams with morals in them, maybe, but not
poetry.

Note.—The reader is assured that if the cemeteries in his town are
kept in good order, this Dream is not leveled at his town at all, but is
leveled particularly and venomously at the next town.

---

A TRUE STORY*

Written about 1876.

repeated word for word as i heard it

It was summer time, and twilight. We were sitting
on the porch of the farmhouse, on the summit
of the hill, and "Aunt Rachel" was sitting respect-
fully below our level, on the steps—for she was
our servant, and colored. She was of mighty frame
and stature; she was sixty years old, but her eye
was undimmed and her strength unabated. She was
a cheerful, hearty soul, and it was no more trouble
for her to laugh than it is for a bird to sing. She
was under fire now, as usual when the day was done.
That is to say, she was being chaffed without mercy,
and was enjoying it. She would let off peal after
peal of laughter, and then sit with her face in her
hands and shake with throes of enjoyment which she
could no longer get breath enough to express. At
such a moment as this a thought occurred to me,
and I said:

"Aunt Rachel, how is it that you've lived sixty
years and never had any trouble?"

She stopped quaking. She paused, and there was

---

a moment of silence. She turned her face over her
shoulder toward me, and said, without even a smile
in her voice:

"Misto C, is you in 'arnest?"

It surprised me a good deal; and it sobered my
manner and my speech, too. I said:

"Why, I thought—that is, I meant—why, you
can't have had any trouble. I've never heard you
sigh, and never seen your eye when there wasn't a
laugh in it."

She faced fairly around now, and was full of
earnestness.

"Has I had any trouble? Misto C, I's
gwyne to tell you, den I leave it to you. I was bawn
down 'mongst de slaves; I knows all 'bout slavery,
'case I ben one of 'em my own se'f. Well, sah,
my ole man—dat's my husban'—he was lovin'
an' kind to me, jist as kind as you is to yo' own
wife. An' we had chil'en—seven chil'en—an'
we loved dem chil'en jist de same as you loves yo'
chil'en. Dey was black, but de Lord can't make no
chil'en so black but what dey mother loves 'em an'
wouldn't give 'em up, no, not for anything dat's in
dis whole world.

"Well, sah, I was raised in ole Fo'ginny, but my
mother she was raised in Maryland; an' my souls!
she was turrible when she'd git started! My lan'!
but she'd make de fur fly! When she'd git into
dem tantrums, she always had one word dat she
said. She'd straighten herse'f up an' put her fists

---

in her hips an' say, 'I want you to understan' dat I
wa'nt bawn in the mash to be fool' by trash! I's
one o' de ole Blue Hen's Chickens, I is!' 'Ca'se,
you see, dat's what folks dat's bawn in Maryland
calls deyselves, an' dey's proud of it. Well, dat
was her word. I don't ever forgit it, beca'se she
said it so much, an' beca'se she said it one day
when my little Henry tore his wris' awful, and most
busted his head, right up at de top of his forehead,
an' de niggers didn't fly aroun' fas' enough to 'tend
to him. An' when dey talk' back at her, she up
an' she says, 'Look-a-heah!' she says, 'I want you
niggers to understan' dat I wa'nt bawn in de mash
to be fool' by trash! I's one o' de ole Blue Hen's
Chickens, I is!' an' den she clar' dat kitchen an'
bandage' up de chile herse'f. So I says dat word,
too, when I's riled.

"Well, bymeby my ole mistis say she's broke,
an' she got to sell all de niggers on de place.
An' when I heah dat dey gwyne to sell us all off at
oction in Richmon', oh, de good gracious! I know
what dat mean!"

Aunt Rachel had gradually risen, while she
warmed to her subject, and now she towered above
us, black against the stars.

"Dey put chains on us an' put us on a stan' as
high as dis po'ch—twenty foot high—an' all de
people stood aroun', crowds an' crowds. An' dey'd
come up dah an' look at us all roun', an' squeeze
our arm, an' make us git up an' walk, an' den say,

---

'Dis one too ole,' or 'Dis one lame,' or 'Dis one
don't 'mount to much.' An' dey sole my ole man,
an' took him away, an' dey begin to sell my chil'en
an' take dem away, an' I begin to cry; an' de man
say, 'Shet up yo' dam blubberin',' an' hit me on
de mouf wid his han'. An' when de las' one was
gone but my little Henry, I grab' him clost up to
my breas' so, an' I ris up an' says, 'You shan't
take him away,' I says; 'I'll kill de man dat tetches
him!' I says. But my little Henry whisper an' say,
'I gwyne to run away, an' den I work an' buy yo'
freedom.' Oh, bless de chile, he always so good!
But dey got him—dey got him, de men did; but I
took and tear de clo'es mos' off of 'em an' beat 'em
over de head wid my chain; an' dey give it to me,
too, but I didn't mine dat.

"Well, dah was my ole man gone, an' all my
chil'en, all my seven chil'en—an' six of 'em I
hain't set eyes on ag'in to dis day, an' dat's twenty-
two year ago las' Easter. De man dat bought me
b'long' in Newbern, an' he took me dah. Well,
bymeby de years roll on an' de waw come. My
marster he was a Confedrit colonel, an' I was his
family's cook. So when de Unions took dat town,
dey all run away an' lef' me all by myse'f wid de
other niggers in dat mons'us big house. So de big
Union officers move in dah, an' dey ask me would I
cook for dem. 'Lord bless you,' says I, 'dat's
what I's for.'

"Dey wa'nt no small-fry officers, mine you, dey

---

was de biggest dey is; an' de way dey made dem
sojers mosey roun'! De Gen'l he tole me to boss
dat kitchen; an' he say, 'If anybody come meddlin'
wid you, you jist make 'em walk chalk; don't you
be afeared,' he say; 'you's 'mong frens now.'

"Well, I thinks to myse'f, if my little Henry
ever got a chance to run away, he'd make to de
Norf, o' course. So one day I comes in dah whar
de big officers was, in de parlor, an' I drops a
kurtchy, so, an' I up an' tole 'em 'bout my Henry,
dey a-listenin' to my troubles jist de same as if I
was white folks; an' I says, 'What I come for is
beca'se if he got away and got up Norf whar you
gemmen comes from, you might 'a' seen him,
maybe, an' could tell me so as I could fine him
ag'in; he was very little, an' he had a sk-yar on his
lef' wris' an' at de top of his forehead.' Den dey
look mournful, an' de Gen'l says, 'How long sence
you los' him?' an' I say, 'Thirteen year.' Den de
Gen'l say, 'He wouldn't be little no mo' now—he's
a man!'

"I never thought o' dat befo'! He was only
dat little feller to me yit. I never thought 'bout
him growin' up an' bein' big. But I see it den.
None o' de gemmen had run acrost him, so dey
couldn't do nothin' for me. But all dat time, do' I
didn't know it, my Henry was run off to de Norf,
years an' years, an' he was a barber, too, an'
worked for hisse'f. An' bymeby, when de waw
come he ups an' he says: 'I's done barberin',' he

---

says, 'I's gwyne to fine my ole mammy, less'n she's
dead.' So he sole out an' went to whar dey was
recruitin', an' hired hisse'f out to de colonel for his
servant; an' den he went all froo de battles every-
whah, huntin' for his ole mammy; yes, indeedy,
he'd hire to fust one officer an' den another, tell
he'd ransacked de whole Souf; but you see I didn't
know nuffin 'bout dis. How was I gwyne to know
it?

"Well, one night we had a big sojer ball; de
sojers dah at Newbern was always havin' balls an'
carryin' on. Dey had 'em in my kitchen, heaps o'
times, 'ca'se it was so big. Mine you, I was down
on sich doin's; beca'se my place was wid de officers,
an' it rasp me to have dem common sojers cavortin'
roun' my kitchen like dat. But I alway' stood
aroun' an' kep' things straight, I did; an' some-
times dey'd git my dander up, an' den I'd make
'em clar dat kitchen, mine I tell you!

"Well, one night—it was a Friday night—dey
comes a whole plattoon f'm a nigger ridgment dat
was on guard at de house—de house was head-
quarters, you know—an' den I was jist a-bilin'!
Mad? I was jist a-boomin'! I swelled aroun', an'
swelled aroun'; I jist was a-itchin' for 'em to do
somefin for to start me. An' dey was a-waltzin' an'
a-dancin'! my! but dey was havin' a time! an' I
jist a-swellin' an' a-swellin' up! Pooty soon, 'long
comes sich a spruce young nigger a-sailin' down de
room wid a yaller wench roun' de wais'; an' roun'

---

an' roun' an roun' dey went, enough to make a body
drunk to look at 'em; an' when dey got abreas' o'
me, dey went to kin' o' balacin' aroun' fust on one
leg an' den on t'other, an' smilin' at my big red
turban, an' makin' fun, an' I ups an' says 'Git
along wid you!—rubbage!' De young man's face
kin' o' changed, all of a sudden, for 'bout a second,
but den he went to smilin' ag'in, same as he was
befo'. Well, 'bout dis time, in comes some niggers
dat played music and b'long' to de ban', an' dey
never could git along widout puttin' on airs. An'
de very fust air dey put on dat night, I lit into 'em!
Dey laughed, an' dat made me wuss. De res' o'
de niggers got to laughin', an' den my soul alive
but I was hot! My eye was jist a-blazin'! I jist
straightened myself up so—jist as I is now, plum
to de ceilin', mos'—an' I digs my fists into my
hips, an' I says, 'Look-a-heah!' I says, 'I want
you niggers to understan' dat I wa'nt bawn in de
mash to be fool' by trash! I's one o' de ole Blue
Hen's Chickens, I is!' an' den I see dat young
man stan' a-starin' an' stiff, lookin' kin' o' up at de
ceilin' like he fo'got somefin, an' couldn't 'member
it no mo'. Well, I jist march' on dem niggers—
so, lookin' like a gen'l—an' dey jist cave' away
befo' me an' out at de do'. An' as dis young man
was a-goin' out, I heah him say to another nigger,
'Jim,' he says, 'you go 'long an' tell de cap'n I be
on han' 'bout eight o'clock in de mawnin'; dey's
somefin on my mine,' he says; 'I don't sleep no

---

mo' dis night. You go 'long,' he says, 'an' leave
me by my own se'f.'

"Dis was 'bout one o'clock in de mawnin'. Well,
'bout seven, I was up an' on han', gittin' de officers'
breakfast. I was a-stoopin' down by de stove—
jist so, same as if yo' foot was de stove—an' I'd
opened de stove do' wid my right han'—so, pushin'
it back, jist as I pushes yo' foot—an' I'd jist got
de pan o' hot biscuits in my han' an' was 'bout to
raise up, when I see a black face come aroun' under
mine, an' de eyes a-lookin' up into mine, jist as I's
a-lookin' up clost under yo' face now; an' I jist
stopped right dah, an' never budged! jist gazed
an' gazed so; an' de pan begin to tremble, an' all
of a sudden I knowed! De pan drop' on de flo'
an' I grab his lef' han' an' shove back his sleeve—
jist so, as I's doin' to you—an' den I goes for his
forehead an' push de hair back so, an' 'Boy!' I
says, 'if you an't my Henry, what is you doin' wid
dis welt on yo' wris' an' dat sk-yar on yo' forehead?
De Lord God ob heaven be praise', I got my own
ag'in!'

"Oh, no Misto C, I hain't had no trouble.
An' no joy!"

---

THE SIAMESE TWINS*

Written about 1868.

I do not wish to write of the personal habits of
these strange creatures solely, but also of certain
curious details of various kinds concerning them,
which, belonging only to their private life, have never
crept into print. Knowing the Twins intimately, I
feel that I am peculiarly well qualified for the task
I have taken upon myself.

The Siamese Twins are naturally tender and affec-
tionate in disposition, and have clung to each other
with singular fidelity throughout a long and eventful
life. Even as children they were inseparable com-
panions; and it was noticed that they always seemed
to prefer each other's society to that of any other
persons. They nearly always played together; and,
so accustomed was their mother to this peculiarity,
that, whenever both of them chanced to be lost, she
usually only hunted for one of them—satisfied that
when she found that one she would find his brother
somewhere in the immediate neighborhood. And
yet these creatures were ignorant and unlettered—
barbarians themselves and the offspring of barba-

---

rians, who knew not the light of philosophy and
science. What a withering rebuke is this to our
boasted civilization, with its quarrelings, its wrang-
lings, and its separations of brothers!

As men, the Twins have not always lived in per-
fect accord; but still there has always been a bond
between them which made them unwilling to go
away from each other and dwell apart. They have
even occupied the same house, as a general thing,
and it is believed that they have never failed to even
sleep together on any night since they were born.
How surely do the habits of a lifetime become
second nature to us! The Twins always go to bed
at the same time; but Chang usually gets up about
an hour before his brother. By an understanding
between themselves, Chang does all the indoor work
and Eng runs all the errands. This is because Eng
likes to go out; Chang's habits are sedentary.
However, Chang always goes along. Eng is a
Baptist, but Chang is a Roman Catholic; still, to
please his brother, Chang consented to be baptized
at the same time that Eng was, on condition that it
should not "count." During the war they were
strong partizans, and both fought gallantly all
through the great struggle—Eng on the Union
side and Chang on the Confederate. They took
each other prisoners at Seven Oaks, but the proofs
of capture were so evenly balanced in favor of each,
that a general army court had to be assembled to
determine which one was properly the captor, and

---

which the captive. The jury was unable to agree
for a long time; but the vexed question was finally
decided by agreeing to consider them both prisoners,
and then exchanging them. At one time Chang
was convicted of disobedience of orders, and sen-
tenced to ten days in the guardhouse, but Eng, in
spite of all arguments, felt obliged to share his im-
prisonment, notwithstanding he himself was entirely
innocent; and so, to save the blameless brother from
suffering, they had to discharge both from custody
—the just reward of faithfulness.

Upon one occasion the brothers fell out about
something, and Chang knocked Eng down, and then
tripped and fell on him, whereupon both clinched
and began to beat and gouge each other without
mercy. The bystanders interfered, and tried to
separate them, but they could not do it, and so
allowed them to fight it out. In the end both were
disabled, and were carried to the hospital on one and
the same shutter.

Their ancient habit of going always together had
its drawbacks when they reached man's estate, and
entered upon the luxury of courting. Both fell in
love with the same girl. Each tried to steal clandes-
tine interviews with her, but at the critical moment
the other would always turn up. By and by Eng
saw, with distraction, that Chang had won the girl's
affections; and, from that day forth, he had to bear
with the agony of being a witness to all their dainty
billing and cooing. But with a magnanimity that

---

did him infinite credit, he succumbed to his fate,
and gave countenance and encouragement to a state
of things that bade fair to sunder his generous
heart-strings. He sat from seven every evening
until two in the morning, listening to the fond fool-
ishness of the two lovers, and to the concussion of
hundreds of squandered kisses—for the privilege of
sharing only one of which he would have given his
right hand. But he sat patiently, and waited, and
gaped, and yawned, and stretched, and longed for
two o'clock to come. And he took long walks
with the lovers on moonlight evenings—sometimes
traversing ten miles, notwithstanding he was usually
suffering from rheumatism. He is an inveterate
smoker; but he could not smoke on these occasions,
because the young lady was painfully sensitive to
the smell of tobacco. Eng cordially wanted them
married, and done with it; but although Chang
often asked the momentous question, the young
lady could not gather sufficient courage to answer it
while Eng was by. However, on one occasion,
after having walked some sixteen miles, and sat up
till nearly daylight, Eng dropped asleep, from sheer
exhaustion, and then the question was asked and
answered. The lovers were married. All acquainted
with the circumstance applauded the noble brother-
in-law. His unwavering faithfulness was the theme
of every tongue. He had stayed by them all through
their long and arduous courtship; and when at last
they were married, he lifted his hands above their

---

heads, and said with impressive unction, "Bless ye,
my children, I will never desert ye!" and he kept
his word. Fidelity like this is all too rare in this
cold world.

By and by Eng fell in love with his sister-in-law's
sister, and married her, and since that day they have
all lived together, night and day, in an exceeding
sociability which is touching and beautiful to behold,
and is a scathing rebuke to our boasted civil-
ization.

The sympathy existing between these two brothers
is so close and so refined that the feelings, the im-
pulses, the emotions of the one are instantly experi-
enced by the other. When one is sick, the other is
sick; when one feels pain, the other feels it; when
one is angered, the other's temper takes fire. We
have already seen with what happy facility they
both fell in love with the same girl. Now Chang is
bitterly opposed to all forms of intemperance, on
principle; but Eng is the reverse—for, while these
men's feelings and emotions are so closely wedded,
their reasoning faculties are unfettered; their thoughts
are free. Chang belongs to the Good Templars, and
is a hard working, enthusiastic supporter of all
temperance reforms. But, to his bitter distress,
every now and then Eng gets drunk, and, of course,
that makes Chang drunk too. This unfortunate
thing has been a great sorrow to Chang, for it
almost destroys his usefulness in his favorite field of
effort. As sure as he is to head a great temperance

---

procession Eng ranges up alongside of him, prompt
to the minute, and drunk as a lord; but yet no more
dismally and hopelessly drunk than his brother, who
has not tasted a drop. And so the two begin to
hoot and yell, and throw mud and bricks at the
Good Templars; and, of course, they break up the
procession. It would be manifestly wrong to punish
Chang for what Eng does, and, therefore, the Good
Templars accept the untoward situation, and suffer
in silence and sorrow. They have officially and
deliberately examined into the matter, and find
Chang blameless. They have taken the two brothers
and filled Chang full of warm water and sugar and
Eng full of whisky, and in twenty-five minutes it was
not possible to tell which was the drunkest. Both
were as drunk as loons—and on hot whisky
punches, by the smell of their breath. Yet all the
while Chang's moral principles were unsullied, his
conscience clear; and so all just men were forced to
confess that he was not morally, but only physically,
drunk. By every right and by every moral evidence
the man was strictly sober; and, therefore, it caused
his friends all the more anguish to see him shake
hands with the pump, and try to wind his watch
with his night-key.

There is a moral in these solemn warnings—or,
at least, a warning in these solemn morals; one or
the other. No matter, it is somehow. Let us heed
it; let us profit by it.

I could say more of an instructive nature about

---

these interesting beings, but let what I have written
suffice.

Having forgotton to mention it sooner, I will re-
mark in conclusion, that the ages of the Siamese
Twins are respectively fifty-one and fifty-three
years.

---

SPEECH AT THE SCOTTISH BANQUET
IN LONDON*

Written about 1872.

At the anniversary festival of the Scottish Cor-
poration of London on Monday evening, in
response to the toast of "The Ladies," Mark
Twain replied. The following is his speech as re-
ported in the London Observer:
"I am proud, indeed, of the distinction of being chosen to respond
to this especial toast, to 'The Ladies,' or to women if you please, for
that is the preferable term, perhaps; it is certainly the older, and
therefore the more entitled to reverence. [Laughter.] I have noticed
that the Bible, with that plain, blunt honesty which is such a con-
spicuous characteristic of the Scriptures, is always particular to never
refer to even the illustrious mother of all mankind herself as a 'lady,'
but speaks of her as a woman. [Laughter.] It is odd, but you will find
it is so. I am peculiarly proud of this honor, because I think that the
toast to women is one which, by right and by every rule of gallantry,
should take precedence of all others—of the army, of the navy, of even
royalty itself—perhaps, though the latter is not necessary in this day
and in this land, for the reason that, tacitly, you do drink a broad general
health to all good women when you drink the health of the Queen of
England and the Princess of Wales. [Loud cheers.] I have in mind
a poem just now which is familiar to you all, familiar to everybody.
And what an inspiration that was (and how instantly the present toast
recalls the verses to all our minds) when the most noble, the most
gracious, the purest, and sweetest of all poets says:—

---

"'Woman! O woman!erWom' [Laughter.] However, you remember the lines; and you remember
how feelingly, how daintily, how almost imperceptibly the verses raise up
before you, feature by feature, the ideal of a true and perfect woman;
and how, as you contemplate the finished marvel, your homage grows
into worship of the intellect that could create so fair a thing out of mere
breath, mere words. And you call to mind now, as I speak, how the
poet, with stern fidelity to the history of all humanity, delivers this
beautiful child of his heart and his brain over to the trials and sorrows
that must come to all, sooner or later, that abide in the earth, and how
the pathetic story culminates in that apostrophe—so wild, so regretful,
so full of mournful retrospection. The lines run thus:— "'Alas!—alas!—a—alas!Alas! alas!' —and so on. [Laughter.] I do not remember the rest; but, taken
together, it seems to me that poem is the noblest tribute to woman
that human genius has ever brought forth—[laughter]—and I feel
that if I were to talk hours I could not do my great theme completer or
more graceful justice than I have now done in simply quoting that poet's
matchless words. [Renewed laughter.] The phases of the womanly
nature are infinite in their variety. Take any type of woman, and you
shall find in it something to respect, something to admire, something to
love. And you shall find the whole joining you heart and hand. Who
was more patriotic than Joan of Arc? Who was braver? Who has
given us a grander instance of self-sacrificing devotion? Ah! you
remember, you remember well, what a throb of pain, what a great tidal
wave of grief swept over us all when Joan of Arc fell at Waterloo. [Much
laughter.] Who does not sorrow for the loss of Sappho, the sweet
singer of Israel? [Laughter.] Who among us does not miss the
gentle ministrations, the softening influences, the humble piety of
Lucretia Borgia? [Laughter.] Who can join in the heartless libel
that says woman is extravagant in dress when he can look back and call
to mind our simple and lowly mother Eve arrayed in her modification of
the Highland costume. [Roars of laughter.] Sir, women have been
soldiers, women have been painters, women have been poets. As long
as language lives the name of Cleopatra will live. And, not because she

---

conquered George III—[laughter]—but because she wrote those
divine lines:— "'Let dogs delight to bark and bite,For God hath made them so.' [More laughter.] The story of the world is adorned with the names of
illustrious ones of our own sex—some of them sons of St. Andrew, too
—Scott, Bruce, Burns, the warrior Wallace, Ben Nevis—[laughter]—
the gifted Ben Lomond, and the great new Scotchman, Ben Disraeli.*

Mr. Benjamin Disraeli, at that time Prime Minister of England,
had just been elected Lord Rector of Glasgow University, and had made
a speech which gave rise to a world of discussion.

[Great laughter.] Out of the great plains of history tower whole
mountain ranges of sublime women—the Queen of Sheba, Josephine,
Semiramis, Sairey Gamp; the list is endless—[laughter]—but I will
not call the mighty roll, the names rise up in your own memories at the
mere suggestion, luminous with the glory of deeds that cannot die,
hallowed by the loving worship of the good and the true of all epochs
and all climes. [Cheers.] Suffice it for our pride and our honor that
we in our day have added to it such names as those of Grace Darling
and Florence Nightingale. [Cheers.] Woman is all that she should
be—gentle, patient, long suffering, trustful, unselfish, full of generous
impulses. It is her blessed mission to comfort the sorrowing, plead for
the erring, encourage the faint of purpose, succor the distressed, uplift
the fallen, befriend the friendless—in a word, afford the healing of her
sympathies and a home in her heart for all the bruised and persecuted
children of misfortune that knock at its hospitable door. [Cheers.]
And when I say, God bless her, there is none among us who has known
the ennobling affection of a wife, or the steadfast devotion of a mother
but in his heart will say, Amen! [Loud and prolonged cheering.]

---

A GHOST STORY

I took a large room, far up Broadway, in a huge
old building whose upper stories had been
wholly unoccupied for years, until I came. The
place had long been given up to dust and cobwebs,
to solitude and silence. I seemed groping among
the tombs and invading the privacy of the dead, that
first night I climbed up to my quarters. For the
first time in my life a superstitious dread came over
me; and as I turned a dark angle of the stairway
and an invisible cobweb swung its slazy woof in my
face and clung there, I shuddered as one who had
encountered a phantom.

I was glad enough when I reached my room and
locked out the mould and the darkness. A cheery
fire was burning in the grate, and I sat down before
it with a comforting sense of relief. For two hours
I sat there, thinking of bygone times; recalling old
scenes, and summoning half-forgotten faces out of
the mists of the past; listening, in fancy, to voices
that long ago grew silent for all time, and to once
familiar songs that nobody sings now. And as my
reverie softened down to a sadder and sadder pathos,
the shrieking of the winds outside softened to a wail,

---

the angry beating of the rain against the panes
diminished to a tranquil patter, and one by one the
noises in the street subsided, until the hurrying foot-
steps of the last belated straggler died away in the
distance and left no sound behind.

The fire had burned low. A sense of loneliness
crept over me. I arose and undressed, moving on
tiptoe about the room, doing stealthily what I had
to do, as if I were environed by sleeping enemies
whose slumbers it would be fatal to break. I
covered up in bed, and lay listening to the rain and
wind and the faint creaking of distant shutters, till
they lulled me to sleep.

I slept profoundly, but how long I do not know.
All at once I found myself awake, and filled with a
shuddering expectancy. All was still. All but my
own heart—I could hear it beat. Presently the bed-
clothes began to slip away slowly toward the foot of
the bed, as if some one were pulling them! I could
not stir; I could not speak. Still the blankets
slipped deliberately away, till my breast was un-
covered. Then with a great effort I seized them and
drew them over my head. I waited, listened, waited.
Once more that steady pull began, and once more I
lay torpid a century of dragging seconds till my
breast was naked again. At last I roused my ener-
gies and snatched the covers back to their place and
held them with a strong grip. I waited. By and
by I felt a faint tug, and took a fresh grip. The
tug strengthened to a steady strain—it grew

---

stronger and stronger. My hold parted, and for
the third time the blankets slid away. I groaned.
An answering groan came from the foot of the bed!
Beaded drops of sweat stood upon my forehead. I
was more dead than alive. Presently I heard a
heavy footstep in my room—the step of an ele-
phant, it seemed to me—it was not like anything
human. But it was moving from me—there was
relief in that. I heard it approach the door—pass
out without moving bolt or lock—and wander away
among the dismal corridors, straining the floors and
joists till they creaked again as it passed—and then
silence reigned once more.

When my excitement had calmed, I said to my-
self, "This is a dream—simply a hideous dream."
And so I lay thinking it over until I convinced
myself that it was a dream, and then a comforting
laugh relaxed my lips and I was happy again. I
got up and struck a light; and when I found that
the locks and bolts were just as I had left them,
another soothing laugh welled in my heart and rip-
pled from my lips. I took my pipe and lit it, and
was just sitting down before the fire, when—down
went the pipe out of my nerveless fingers, the blood
forsook my cheeks, and my placid breathing was cut
short with a gasp! In the ashes on the hearth, side
by side with my own bare footprint, was another, so
vast that in comparison mine was but an infant's!
Then I had had a visitor, and the elephant tread was
explained.

---

I put out the light and returned to bed, palsied
with fear. I lay a long time, peering into the dark-
ness, and listening. Then I heard a grating noise
overhead, like the dragging of a heavy body across
the floor; then the throwing down of the body, and
the shaking of my windows in response to the con-
cussion. In distant parts of the building I heard
the muffled slamming of doors. I heard, at inter-
vals, stealthy footsteps creeping in and out among
the corridors, and up and down the stairs. Some-
times these noises approached my door, hesitated,
and went away again. I heard the clanking of
chains faintly, in remote passages, and listened while
the clanking grew nearer—while it wearily climbed
the stairways, marking each move by the loose
surplus of chain that fell with an accented rattle upon
each succeeding step as the goblin that bore it ad-
vanced. I heard muttered sentences; half-uttered
screams that seemed smothered violently; and the
swish of invisible garments, the rush of invisible
wings. Then I became conscious that my chamber
was invaded—that I was not alone. I heard sighs
and breathings about my bed, and mysterious whis-
perings. Three little spheres of soft phosphorescent
light appeared on the ceiling directly over my head,
clung and glowed there a moment, and then dropped
—two of them upon my face and one upon the
pillow. They spattered, liquidly, and felt warm.
Intuition told me they had turned to gouts of blood
as they fell—I needed no light to satisfy myself of

---

that. Then I saw pallid faces, dimly luminous, and
white uplifted hands, floating bodiless in the air—
floating a moment and then disappearing. The
whispering ceased, and the voices and the sounds,
and a solemn stillness followed. I waited and
listened. I felt that I must have light or die. I
was weak with fear. I slowly raised myself toward
a sitting posture, and my face came in contact with
a clammy hand! All strength went from me ap-
parently, and I fell back like a stricken invalid.
Then I heard the rustle of a garment—it seemed to
pass to the door and go out.

When everything was still once more, I crept out
of bed, sick and feeble, and lit the gas with a hand
that trembled as if it were aged with a hundred
years. The light brought some little cheer to my
spirits. I sat down and fell into a dreamy contem-
plation of that great footprint in the ashes. By and
by its outlines began to waver and grow dim. I
glanced up and the broad gas flame was slowly wilt-
ing away. In the same moment I heard that ele-
phantine tread again. I noted its approach, nearer
and nearer, along the musty halls, and dimmer and
dimmer the light waned. The tread reached my
very door and paused—the light had dwindled to a
sickly blue, and all things about me lay in a spectral
twilight. The door did not open, and yet I felt a
faint gust of air fan my cheek, and presently was
conscious of a huge, cloudy presence before me. I
watched it with fascinated eyes. A pale glow stole

---

over the Thing; gradually its cloudy folds took
shape—an arm appeared, then legs, then a body,
and last a great sad face looked out of the vapor.
Stripped of its filmy housings, naked, muscular and
comely, the majestic Cardiff Giant loomed above me!

All my misery vanished—for a child might know
that no harm could come with that benignant
countenance. My cheerful spirits returned at once,
and in sympathy with them the gas flamed up
brightly again. Never a lonely outcast was so glad
to welcome company as I was to greet the friendly
giant. I said:

"Why, is it nobody but you? Do you know, I
have been scared to death for the last two or three
hours? I am most honestly glad to see you. I
wish I had a chair— Here, here, don't try to sit
down in that thing!

But it was too late. He was in it before I could
stop him, and down he went—I never saw a chair
shivered so in my life.

"Stop, stop, you'll ruin ev—"

Too late again. There was another crash, and
another chair was resolved into its original elements.

"Confound it, haven't you got any judgment at
all? Do you want to ruin all the furniture on the
place? Here, here, you petrified fool—"

But it was no use. Before I could arrest him he
had sat down on the bed, and it was a melancholy
ruin.

"Now what sort of a way is that to do? First

---

you come lumbering about the place bringing a
legion of vagabond goblins along with you to worry
me to death, and then when I overlook an indelicacy
of costume which would not be tolerated anywhere
by cultivated people except in a respectable theater,
and not even there if the nudity were of your sex,
you repay me by wrecking all the furniture you can
find to sit down on. And why will you? You
damage yourself as much as you do me. You have
broken off the end of your spinal column, and lit-
tered up the floor with chips of your hams till the
place looks like a marble yard. You ought to be
ashamed of yourself—you are big enough to know
better."

"Well, I will not break any more furniture. But
what am I to do? I have not had a chance to sit
down for a century." And the tears came into his
eyes.

"Poor devil," I said, "I should not have been so
harsh with you. And you are an orphan, too, no
doubt. But sit down on the floor here—nothing
else can stand your weight—and besides, we cannot
be sociable with you away up there above me; I
want you down where I can perch on this high
counting-house stool and gossip with you face to
face."

So he sat down on the floor, and lit a pipe which
I gave him, threw one of my red blankets over his
shoulders, inverted my sitz-bath on his head, helmet
fashion, and made himself picturesque and comfort-

---

able. Then he crossed his ankles, while I renewed
the fire, and exposed the flat, honey-combed bot-
toms of his prodigious feet to the grateful warmth.

"What is the matter with the bottom of your feet
and the back of your legs, that they are gouged up
so?"

"Infernal chillblains—I caught them clear up to
the back of my head, roosting out there under
Newell's farm. But I love the place; I love it as
one loves his old home. There is no peace for me
like the peace I feel when I am there."

We talked along for half an hour, and then I
noticed that he looked tired, and spoke of it.

"Tired?" he said. "Well, I should think so.
And now I will tell you all about it, since you have
treated me so well. I am the spirit of the Petrified
Man that lies across the street there in the Museum.
I am the ghost of the Cardiff Giant. I can have no
rest, no peace, till they have given that poor body
burial again. Now what was the most natural thing
for me to do, to make men satisfy this wish?
Terrify them into it!—haunt the place where the
body lay! So I haunted the museum night after
night. I even got other spirits to help me. But it
did no good, for nobody ever came to the museum
at midnight. Then it occurred to me to come over
the way and haunt this place a little. I felt that if I
ever got a hearing I must succeed, for I had the
most efficient company that perdition could furnish.
Night after night we have shivered around through

---

these mildewed halls, dragging chains, groaning,
whispering, tramping up and down stairs, till, to tell
you the truth, I am almost worn out. But when I
saw a light in your room to-night I roused my
energies again and went at it with a deal of the old
freshness. But I am tired out—entirely fagged
out. Give me, I beseech you, give me some hope!"

I lit off my perch in a burst of excitement, and
exclaimed:

"This transcends everything! everything that
ever did occur! Why you poor blundering old
fossil, you have had all your trouble for nothing
—you have been haunting a plaster cast of your-
self—the real Cardiff Giant is in Albany!*

A fact. The original fraud was ingeniously and fraudfully
duplicated, and exhibited in New York as the "only genuine" Cardiff
Giant (to the unspeakable disgust of the owners of the real colossus)
at the very same time that the latter was drawing crowds at a museum
in Albany.

Con-
found it, don't you know your own remains?"

I never saw such an eloquent look of shame,
of pitiable humiliation, overspread a countenance
before.

The Petrified Man rose slowly to his feet, and
said:

"Honestly, is that true?"

"As true as I am sitting here."

He took the pipe from his mouth and laid it on
the mantel, then stood irresolute a moment (uncon-
sciously, from old habit, thrusting his hands where

---

his pantaloons pockets should have been, and medi-
tatively dropping his chin on his breast), and finally
said:

"Well—I never felt so absurd before. The
Petrified Man has sold everybody else, and now the
mean fraud has ended by selling its own ghost!
My son, if there is any charity left in your heart for
a poor friendless phantom like me, don't let this get
out. Think how you would feel if you had made
such an ass of yourself."

I heard his stately tramp die away, step by step
down the stairs and out into the deserted street, and
felt sorry that he was gone, poor fellow—and
sorrier still that he had carried off my red blanket
and my bath tub.

---

THE CAPITOLINE VENUSCHAPTER I.[Scene—An Artist's Studio in Rome.]

"OH, George, I do love you!"

"Bless your dear heart, Mary, I know
that—why is your father so obdurate?"

"George, he means well, but art is folly to him
—he only understands groceries. He thinks you
would starve me."

"Confound his wisdom—it savors of inspiration.
Why am I not a money-making bowelless grocer,
instead of a divinely-gifted sculptor with nothing to
eat?"

"Do not despond, Georgy, dear—all his preju-
dices will fade away as soon as you shall have ac-
quired fifty thousand dol—"

"Fifty thousand demons! Child, I am in arrears
for my board!"

CHAPTER II.[Scene—A Dwelling in Rome.]

"My dear sir, it is useless to talk. I haven't
anything against you, but I can't let my daughter

---

marry a hash of love, art, and starvation—I believe
you have nothing else to offer."

"Sir, I am poor, I grant you. But is fame noth-
ing? The Hon. Bellamy Foodle of Arkansas says
that my new statue of America is a clever piece of
sculpture, and he is satisfied that my name will one
day be famous."

"Bosh! What does that Arkansas ass know
about it? Fame's nothing—the market price of
your marble scarecrow is the thing to look at. It
took you six months to chisel it, and you can't sell
it for a hundred dollars. No, sir! Show me fifty
thousand dollars and you can have my daughter—
otherwise she marries young Simper. You have
just six months to raise the money in. Good morn-
ing, sir."

"Alas! Woe is me!"

CHAPTER III.[Scene—The Studio.]

"Oh, John, friend of my boyhood, I am the un-
happiest of men."

"You're a simpleton!"

"I have nothing left to love but my poor statue
of America—and see, even she has no sympathy
for me in her cold marble countenance—so beauti-
ful and so heartless!"

"You're a dummy!"

"Oh, John!"

---

"Oh, fudge! Didn't you say you had six months
to raise the money in?"

"Don't deride my agony, John. If I had six
centuries what good would it do? How could it
help a poor wretch without name, capital, or
friends?"

"Idiot! Coward! Baby! Six months to raise
the money in—and five will do!"

"Are you insane?"

"Six months—an abundance. Leave it to me.
I'll raise it."

"What do you mean, John? How on earth can
you raise such a monstrous sum for me?"

"Will you let that be my business, and not
meddle? Will you leave the thing in my hands?
Will you swear to submit to whatever I do? Will
you pledge me to find no fault with my actions?"

"I am dizzy—bewildered—but I swear."

John took up a hammer and deliberately smashed
the nose of America! He made another pass and
two of her fingers fell to the floor—another, and
part of an ear came away—another, and a row of
toes was mangled and dismembered—another, and
the left leg, from the knee down, lay a fragmentary
ruin!

John put on his hat and departed.

George gazed speechless upon the battered and
grotesque nightmare before him for the space of
thirty seconds, and then wilted to the floor and went
into convulsions.

---

John returned presently with a carriage, got the
broken-hearted artist and the broken-legged statue
aboard, and drove off, whistling low and tranquilly.
He left the artist at his lodgings, and drove off
and disappeared down the Via Quirinalis with the
statue.

CHAPTER IV.[Scene—The Studio.]

"The six months will be up at two o'clock to-
day! Oh, agony! My life is blighted. I would
that I were dead. I had no supper yesterday. I
have had no breakfast to-day. I dare not enter an
eating-house. And hungry?—don't mention it!
My bootmaker duns me to death—my tailor duns
me—my landlord haunts me. I am miserable. I
haven't seen John since that awful day. She smiles
on me tenderly when we meet in the great thorough-
fares, but her old flint of a father makes her look in
the other direction in short order. Now who is
knocking at that door? Who is come to persecute
me? That malignant villain the bootmaker, I'll
warrant. Come in!"

"Ah, happiness attend your highness—heaven
be propitious to your grace! I have brought my
lord's new boots—ah, say nothing about the pay,
there is no hurry, none in the world. Shall be
proud if my noble lord will continue to honor me
with his custom—ah, adieu!"

---

"Brought the boots himself! Don't want his
pay! Takes his leave with a bow and a scrape fit
to honor majesty withal! Desires a continuance of
my custom! Is the world coming to an end? Of
all the—come in!"

"Pardon, signor, but I have brought your new
suit of clothes for—"

"Come in!!"

"A thousand pardons for this intrusion, your
worship! But I have prepared the beautiful suite
of rooms below for you—this wretched den is but
ill suited to—"

"Come in!!!"

"I have called to say that your credit at our
bank, some time since unfortunately interrupted, is
entirely and most satisfactorily restored, and we
shall be most happy if you will draw upon us for
any—"

"Come in!!!!"

"My noble boy, she is yours! She'll be here in
a moment! Take her—marry her—love her—
be happy!—God bless you both! Hip, hip,
hur—"

"COME IN!!!!!"

"Oh, George, my own darling, we are saved!"

"Oh, Mary, my own darling, we are saved—but
I'll swear I don't know why nor how!"

---

CHAPTER V.[Scene—A Roman Café.]

One of a group of American gentlemen reads and
translates from the weekly edition of Il Slang-
whanger di Roma as follows:
"Wonderful Discovery!—Some six months ago Signor John
Smitthe, an American gentleman now some years a resident of Rome,
purchased for a trifle a small piece of ground in the Campagna, just
beyond the tomb of the Scipio family, from the owner, a bankrupt relative
of the Princess Borghese. Mr. Smitthe afterwards went to the Minister
of the Public Records and had the piece of ground transferred to a poor
American artist named George Arnold, explaining that he did it as pay-
ment and satisfaction for pecuniary damage accidentally done by him
long since upon property belonging to Signor Arnold, and further
observed that he would make additional satisfaction by improving the
ground for Signor A., at his own charge and cost. Four weeks ago,
while making some necessary excavations upon the property, Signor
Smitthe unearthed the most remarkable ancient statue that has ever been
added to the opulent art treasures of Rome. It was an exquisite figure
of a woman, and though sadly stained by the soil and the mould of ages,
no eye can look unmoved upon its ravishing beauty. The nose, the left
leg from the knee down, an ear, and also the toes of the right foot and
two fingers of one of the hands, were gone, but otherwise the noble
figure was in a remarkable state of preservation. The government at
once took military possession of the statue, and appointed a commission
of art critics, antiquaries, and cardinal princes of the church to assess its
value and determine the remuneration that must go to the owner of the
ground in which it was found. The whole affair was kept a profound
secret until last night. In the meantime the commission sat with closed
doors, and deliberated. Last night they decided unanimously that the
statue is a Venus, and the work of some unknown but sublimely gifted
artist of the third century before Christ. They consider it the most
faultless work of art the world has any knowledge of. "At midnight they held a final conference and decided that the
Venus was worth the enormous sum of ten million francs! In accord-

---

ance with Roman law and Roman usage, the government being half
owner in all works of art found in the Campagna, the State has naught
to do but pay five million francs to Mr. Arnold and take permanent
possession of the beautiful statue. This morning the Venus will be
removed to the Capitol, there to remain, and at noon the commission
will wait upon Signor Arnold with His Holiness the Pope's order upon
the Treasury for the princely sum of five million francs in gold!"

Chorus of Voices.—"Luck! It's no name for it!"

Another Voice.—"Gentlemen, I propose that we
immediately form an American joint-stock company
for the purchase of lands and excavations of statues
here, with proper connections in Wall street to bull
and bear the stock."

All.—"Agreed."

CHAPTER VI.[Scene—The Roman Capitol Ten Years Later.]

"Dearest Mary, this is the most celebrated statue
in the world. This is the renowed 'Capitoline
Venus' you've heard so much about. Here she is
with her little blemishes 'restored' (that is, patched)
by the most noted Roman artists—and the mere
fact that they did the humble patching of so noble a
creation will make their names illustrious while the
world stands. How strange it seems—this place!
The day before I last stood here, ten happy years
ago, I wasn't a rich man—bless your soul, I hadn't
a cent. And yet I had a good deal to do with
making Rome mistress of this grandest work of
ancient art the world contains."

---

"The worshiped, the illustrious Capitoline Venus
—and what a sum she is valued at! Ten millions
of francs!"

"Yes—now she is."

"And oh, Georgy, how divinely beautiful she is!"

"Ah, yes—but nothing to what she was before
that blessed John Smith broke her leg and battered
her nose. Ingenious Smith!—gifted Smith—noble
Smith! Author of all our bliss! Hark! Do you
know what that wheeze means? Mary, that cub has
got the whooping cough. Will you never learn to
take care of the children!"

THE END.

The Capitoline Venus is still in the Capitol at
Rome, and is still the most charming and most illus-
trious work of ancient art the world can boast of.
But if ever it shall be your fortune to stand before it
and go into the customary ecstasies over it, don't
permit this true and secret history of its origin to
mar your bliss—and when you read about a gigantic
Petrified Man being dug up near Syracuse, in the
State of New York, or near any other place, keep
your own counsel—and if the Barnum that buried
him there offers to sell to you at an enormous sum,
don't you buy. Send him to the Pope!"

Note.—The above sketch was written at the time the famous
swindle of the "Petrified Giant" was the sensation of the day in the
United States.

---

SPEECH ON ACCIDENT INSURANCE
delivered in hartford, at a dinner to cornelius
walford, of london

Gentlemen: I am glad, indeed, to assist in
welcoming the distinguished guest of this occa-
sion to a city whose fame as an insurance center has
extended to all lands, and given us the name of
being a quadruple band of brothers working sweetly
hand in hand—the Colt's arms company making
the destruction of our race easy and convenient, our
life insurance citizens paying for the victims when
they pass away, Mr. Batterson perpetuating their
memory with his stately monuments, and our fire
insurance comrades taking care of their hereafter.
I am glad to assist in welcoming our guest—first,
because he is an Englishman, and I owe a heavy
debt of hospitality to certain of his fellow-country-
men; and secondly, because he is in sympathy with
insurance and has been the means of making many
other men cast their sympathies in the same direc-
tion.

Certainly there is no nobler field for human effort
than the insurance line of business—especially acci-

---

dent insurance. Ever since I have been a director
in an accident insurance company I have felt that I
am a better man. Life has seemed more precious.
Accidents have assumed a kindlier aspect. Distress-
ing special providences have lost half their horror. I
look upon a cripple now with affectionate interest—
as an advertisement. I do not seem to care for
poetry any more. I do not care for politics—even
agriculture does not excite me. But to me now
there is a charm about a railway collision that is
unspeakable.

There is nothing more beneficent than accident
insurance. I have seen an entire family lifted out of
poverty and into affluence by the simple boon of a
broken leg. I have had people come to me on
crutches, with tears in their eyes, to bless this bene-
ficent institution. In all my experience of life, I
have seen nothing so seraphic as the look that comes
into a freshly mutilated man's face when he feels in
his vest pocket with his remaining hand and finds
his accident ticket all right. And I have seen noth-
ing so sad as the look that came into another splin-
tered customer's face, when he found he couldn't
collect on a wooden leg.

I will remark here, by way of advertisement, that
that noble charity which we have named the Hart-
ford Accident Insurance Company,*

The speaker is a director of the company named.

is an insti-
tution which is peculiarly to be depended upon. A
man is bound to prosper who gives it his custom.

---

No man can take out a policy in it and not get crip-
pled before the year is out. Now there was one
indigent man who had been disappointed so often
with other companies that he had grown disheart-
ened, his appetite left him, he ceased to smile—
said life was but a weariness. Three weeks ago I
got him to insure with us, and now he is the
brightest, happiest spirit in this land—has a good
steady income and a stylish suit of new bandages
every day, and travels around on a shutter.

I will say, in conclusion, that my share of the
welcome to our guest is none the less hearty because
I talk so much nonsense, and I know that I can say
the same for the rest of the speakers.

---

JOHN CHINAMAN IN NEW YORK

As i passed along by one of those monster
American tea stores in New York, I found a
Chinaman sitting before it acting in the capacity of
a sign. Everybody that passed by gave him a
steady stare as long as their heads would twist over
their shoulders without dislocating their necks, and
a group had stopped to stare deliberately.

Is it not a shame that we, who prate so much
about civilization and humanity, are content to de-
grade a fellow-being to such an office as this? Is it
not time for reflection when we find ourselves willing
to see in such a being matter for frivolous curiosity
instead of regret and grave reflection? Here was a
poor creature whom hard fortune had exiled from
his natural home beyond the seas, and whose
troubles ought to have touched these idle strangers
that thronged about him; but did it? Apparently
not. Men calling themselves the superior race, the
race of culture and of gentle blood, scanned his
quaint Chinese hat, with peaked roof and ball on
top, and his long queue dangling down his back;
his short silken blouse, curiously frogged and figured

---

(and, like the rest of his raiment, rusty, dilapidated,
and awkwardly put on); his blue cotton, tight-
legged pants, tied close around the ankles; and his
clumsy blunt-toed shoes with thick cork soles; and
having so scanned him from head to foot, cracked
some unseemly joke about his outlandish attire or
his melancholy face, and passed on. In my heart I
pitied the friendless Mongol. I wondered what was
passing behind his sad face, and what distant scene
his vacant eye was dreaming of. Were his thoughts
with his heart, ten thousand miles away, beyond the
billowy wastes of the Pacific? among the rice-fields
and the plumy palms of China? under the shadows
of remembered mountain-peaks, or in groves of
bloomy shrubs and strange forest-trees unknown to
climes like ours? And now and then, rippling
among his visions and his dreams, did he hear
familiar laughter and half-forgotten voices, and did
he catch fitful glimpses of the friendly faces of a
bygone time? A cruel fate it is, I said, that is be-
fallen this bronzed wanderer. In order that the group
of idlers might be touched at least by the words of
the poor fellow, since the appeal of his pauper dress
and his dreary exile was lost upon them, I touched
him on the shoulder and said:

"Cheer up—don't be down-hearted. It is not
America that treats you in this way, it is merely
one citizen, whose greed of gain has eaten the
humanity out of his heart. America has a broader
hospitality for the exiled and oppressed. America

---

and Americans are always ready to help the unfor-
tunate. Money shall be raised—you shall go back
to China—you shall see your friends again. What
wages do they pay you here?"

"Divil a cint but four dollars a week and find
meself; but it's aisy, barrin the troublesome furrin
clothes that's so expinsive."

The exile remains at his post. The New York
tea merchants who need picturesque signs are not
likely to run out of Chinamen.

---

HOW I EDITED AN AGRICULTURAL
PAPER*

Written about 1870.

I did not take temporary editorship of an agricul-
tural paper without misgivings. Neither would
a landsman take command of a ship without mis-
givings. But I was in circumstances that made the
salary an object. The regular editor of the paper
was going off for a holiday, and I accepted the terms
he offered, and took his place.

The sensation of being at work again was luxuri-
ous, and I wrought all the week with unflagging
pleasure. We went to press, and I waited a day
with some solicitude to see whether my effort was
going to attract any notice. As I left the office,
toward sundown, a group of men and boys at the
foot of the stairs dispersed with one impulse, and
gave me passageway, and I heard one or two of
them say: "That's him!" I was naturally pleased
by this incident. The next morning I found a
similar group at the foot of the stairs, and scatter-
ing couples and individuals standing here and there
in the street, and over the way, watching me with

---

interest. The group separated and fell back as I
approached, and I heard a man say, "Look at his
eye!" I pretended not to observe the notice I was
attracting, but secretly I was pleased with it, and
was purposing to write an account of it to my aunt.
I went up the short flight of stairs, and heard cheery
voices and a ringing laugh as I drew near the door,
which I opened, and caught a glimpse of two young
rural-looking men, whose faces blanched and length-
ened when they saw me, and then they both plunged
through the window with a great crash. I was sur-
prised.

In about half an hour an old gentleman, with a
flowing beard and a fine but rather austere face,
entered, and sat down at my invitation. He seemed
to have something on his mind. He took off his
hat and set it on the floor, and got out of it a red
silk handkerchief and a copy of our paper.

He put the paper on his lap, and while he polished
his spectacles with his handkerchief, he said, "Are
you the new editor?"

I said I was.

"Have you ever edited an agricultural paper be-
fore?"

"No," I said; "this is my first attempt."

"Very likely. Have you had any experience in
agriculture practically?"

"No; I believe I have not."

"Some instinct told me so," said the old gentle-
man, putting on his spectacles, and looking over

---

I FANCIED HE WAS DISPLEASED

---

---

them at me with asperity, while he folded his paper
into a convenient shape. "I wish to read you
what must have made me have that instinct. It
was this editorial. Listen, and see if it was you that
wrote it:
"Turnips should never be pulled, it injures them. It is much
better to send a boy up and let him shake the tree."

"Now, what do you think of that?—for I really
suppose you wrote it?"

"Think of it? Why, I think it is good. I think
it is sense. I have no doubt that every year millions
and millions of bushels of turnips are spoiled in this
township alone by being pulled in a half-ripe condi-
tion, when, if they had sent a boy up to shake the
tree—"

"Shake your grandmother! Turnips don't grow
on trees!"

"Oh, they don't, don't they? Well, who said
they did? The language was intended to be figur-
ative, wholly figurative. Anybody that knows any-
thing will know that I meant that the boy should
shake the vine."

Then this old person got up and tore his paper all
into small shreds, and stamped on them, and broke
several things with his cane, and said I did not know
as much as a cow; and then went out and banged
the door after him, and, in short, acted in such a
way that I fancied he was displeased about some-
thing. But not knowing what the trouble was, I
could not be any help to him.

---

Pretty soon after this a long cadaverous creature,
with lanky locks hanging down to his shoulders, and
a week's stubble bristling from the hills and valleys
of his face, darted within the door, and halted,
motionless, with finger on lip, and head and body
bent in listening attitude. No sound was heard.
Still he listened. No sound. Then he turned the
key in the door, and came elaborately tiptoeing
toward me till he was within long reaching distance
of me, when he stopped and, after scanning my face
with intense interest for a while, drew a folded copy
of our paper from his bosom, and said:

"There, you wrote that. Read it to me—quick!
Relieve me. I suffer."

I read as follows; and as the sentences fell from
my lips I could see the relief come, I could see the
drawn muscles relax, and the anxiety go out of the
face, and rest and peace steal over the features like
the merciful moonlight over a desolate landscape:
"The guano is a fine bird, but great care is necessary in rearing it.
It should not be imported earlier than June or later than September.
In the winter it should be kept in a warm place, where it can hatch out
its young. "It is evident that we are to have a backward season for grain.
Therefore it will be well for the farmer to begin setting out his corn-
stalks and planting his buckwheat cakes in July instead of August. "Concerning the pumpkin.—This berry is a favorite with the natives
of the interior of New England, who prefer it to the gooseberry for the
making of fruit-cake, and who likewise give it the preference over the
raspberry for feeding cows, as being more filling and fully as satisfying.
The pumpkin is the only esculent of the orange family that will thrive in
the North, except the gourd and one or two varieties of the squash.
But the custom of planting it in the front yard with the shrubbery is fast

---

going out of vogue, for it is now generally conceded that the pumpkin
as a shade tree is a failure. "Now, as the warm weather approaches, and the ganders begin to
spawn"—

The excited listener sprang toward me to shake
hands, and said:

"There, there—that will do. I know I am all
right now, because you have read it just as I did,
word for word. But, stranger, when I first read it
this morning, I said to myself, I never, never be-
lieved it before, notwithstanding my friends kept me
under watch so strict, but now I believe I am crazy;
and with that I fetched a howl that you might have
heard two miles, and started out to kill somebody—
because, you know, I knew it would come to that
sooner or later, and so I might as well begin. I
read one of them paragraphs over again, so as to be
certain, and then I burned my house down and
started. I have crippled several people, and have
got one fellow up a tree, where I can get him if I
want him. But I thought I would call in here as
I passed along and make the thing perfectly certain;
and now it is certain, and I tell you it is lucky for
the chap that is in the tree. I should have killed
him sure, as I went back. Good-bye, sir, good-
bye; you have taken a great load off my mind.
My reason has stood the strain of one of your agri-
cultural articles, and I know that nothing can ever
unseat it now. Good-bye, sir."

I felt a little uncomfortable about the cripplings

---

and arsons this person had been entertaining himself
with, for I could not help feeling remotely accessory
to them. But these thoughts were quickly banished,
for the regular editor walked in! [I thought to
myself, Now if you had gone to Egypt as I recom-
mended you to, I might have had a chance to get
my hand in; but you wouldn't do it, and here you
are. I sort of expected you.]

The editor was looking sad and perplexed and
dejected.

He surveyed the wreck which that old rioter and
these two young farmers had made, and then said
"This is a sad business—a very sad business.
There is the mucilage bottle broken, and six panes
of glass, and a spittoon, and two candlesticks. But
that is not the worst. The reputation of the paper
is injured—and permanently, I fear. True, there
never was such a call for the paper before, and it
never sold such a large edition or soared to such
celebrity;—but does one want to be famous for
lunacy, and prosper upon the infirmities of his
mind? My friend, as I am an honest man, the
street out here is full of people, and others are
roosting on the fences, waiting to get a glimpse of
you, because they think you are crazy. And well
they might after reading your editorials. They are
a disgrace to journalism. Why, what put it into
your head that you could edit a paper of this nature?
You do not seem to know the first rudiments of
agriculture. You speak of a furrow and a harrow

---

as being the same thing; you talk of the moulting
season for cows; and you recommend the domesti-
cation of the pole-cat on account of its playfulness
and its excellence as a ratter! Your remark that
clams will lie quiet if music be played to them was
superfluous—entirely superfluous. Nothing disturbs
clams. Clams always lie quiet. Clams care nothing
whatever about music. Ah, heavens and earth,
friend! if you had made the acquiring of ignorance
the study of your life, you could not have graduated
with higher honor than you could to-day. I never
saw anything like it. Your observation that the
horse-chestnut as an article of commerce is steadily
gaining in favor, is simply calculated to destroy this
journal. I want you to throw up your situation and
go. I want no more holiday—I could not enjoy
it if I had it. Certainly not with you in my chair.
I would always stand in dread of what you might be
going to recommend next. It makes me lose all
patience every time I think of your discussing
oyster-beds under the head of 'Landscape Garden-
ing.' I want you to go. Nothing on earth could
persuade me to take another holiday. Oh! why
didn't you tell me you didn't know anything about
agriculture?"

"Tell you, you cornstalk, you cabbage, you son
of a cauliflower? It's the first time I ever heard
such an unfeeling remark. I tell you I have been
in the editorial business going on fourteen years,
and it is the first time I ever heard of a man's

---

having to know anything in order to edit a news-
paper. You turnip! Who write the dramatic criti-
ques for the second-rate papers? Why, a parcel of
promoted shoemakers and apprentice apothecaries,
who know just as much about good acting as I do
about good farming and no more. Who review the
books? People who never wrote one. Who do up
the heavy leaders on finance? Parties who have had
the largest opportunities for knowing nothing about
it. Who criticise the Indian campaigns? Gentlemen
who do not know a war-whoop from a wigwam, and
who never have had to run a foot race with a toma-
hawk, or pluck arrows out of the several members
of their families to build the evening camp-fire with.
Who write the temperance appeals, and clamor
about the flowing bowl? Folks who will never draw
another sober breath till they do it in the grave.
Who edit the agricultural papers, you—yam?
Men, as a general thing, who fail in the poetry line,
yellow-colored novel line, sensation-drama line, city-
editor line, and finally fall back on agriculture as a
temporary reprieve from the poorhouse. You try
to tell me anything about the newspaper business!
Sir, I have been through it from Alpha to Omaha,
and I tell you that the less a man knows the bigger
the noise he makes and the higher the salary he
commands. Heaven knows it I had but been igno-
rant instead of cultivated, and impudent instead of
diffident, I could have made a name for myself in
this cold selfish world. I take my leave, sir. Since

---

I have been treated as you have treated me, I am
perfectly willing to go. But I have done my duty.
I have fulfilled my contract as far as I was permitted
to do it. I said I could make your paper of interest
to all classes—and I have. I said I could run your
circulation up to twenty thousand copies, and if I
had had two more weeks I'd have done it. And I'd
have given you the best class of readers that ever an
agricultural paper had—not a farmer in it, nor a
solitary individual who could tell a watermelon tree
from a peach-vine to save his life. You are the loser
by this rupture, not me, Pie-plant. Adios."

I then left.

---

THE PETRIFIED MAN

Now, to show how really hard it is to foist a
moral or a truth upon an unsuspecting public
through a burlesque without entirely and absurdly
missing one's mark, I will here set down two ex-
periences of my own in this thing. In the fall of
1862, in Nevada and California, the people got to
running wild about extraordinary petrifications and
other natural marvels. One could scarcely pick up
a paper without finding in it one or two glorified
discoveries of this kind. The mania was becoming
a little ridiculous. I was a bran-new local editor in
Virginia City, and I felt called upon to destroy this
growing evil; we all have our benignant fatherly
moods at one time or another, I suppose. I chose
to kill the petrifaction mania with a delicate, a very
delicate satire. But maybe it was altogether too
delicate, for nobody ever perceived the satire part
of it at all. I put my scheme in the shape of the
discovery of a remarkably petrified man.

I had had a temporary falling out with Mr. ,
the new coroner and justice of the peace of Hum-
boldt, and thought I might as well touch him up a

---

little at the same time and make him ridiculous, and
thus combine pleasure with business. So I told, in
patient belief-compelling detail, all about the finding
of a petrified man at Gravelly Ford (exactly a hun-
dred and twenty miles, over a breakneck mountain
trail from where lived); how all the savants
of the immediate neighborhood had been to ex-
amine it (it was notorious that there was not a
living creature within fifty miles of there, except a
few starving Indians, some crippled grasshoppers,
and four or five buzzards out of meat and too feeble
to get away); how those savants all pronounced the
petrified man to have been in a state of complete
petrifaction for over ten generations; and then, with
a seriousness that I ought to have been ashamed to
assume, I stated that as soon as Mr. heard the
news he summoned a jury, mounted his mule, and
posted off, with noble reverence for official duty, on
that awful five days journey, through alkali, sage-
brush, peril of body, and imminent starvation, to
hold an inquest on this man that had been dead and
turned to everlasting stone for more than three hun-
dred years! And then, my hand being "in," so to
speak, I went on, with the same unflinching gravity,
to state that the jury returned a verdict that deceased
came to his death from protracted exposure. This
only moved me to higher flights of imagination, and
I said that the jury, with that charity so character-
istic of pioneers, then dug a grave, and were about
to give the petrified man Christian burial, when they

---

found that for ages a limestone sediment had been
trickling down the face of the stone against which
he was sitting, and this stuff had run under him and
cemented him fast to the "bed-rock"; that the
jury (they were all silver miners) canvassed the
difficulty a moment, and then got out their powder
and fuse, and proceeded to drill a hole under him,
in order to blast him from his position, when Mr.
, "with that delicacy so characteristic of him,
forbade them, observing that it would be little less
than sacrilege to do such a thing."

From beginning to end the "Petrified Man"
squib was a string of roaring absurdities, albeit they
were told with an unfair pretense of truth that even
imposed upon me to some extent, and I was in some
danger of believing in my own fraud. But I really
had no desire to deceive anybody, and no expecta-
tion of doing it. I depended on the way the petri-
fied man was sitting to explain to the public that he
was a swindle. Yet I purposely mixed that up with
other things, hoping to make it obscure—and I
did. I would describe the position of one foot, and
then say his right thumb was against the side of his
nose; then talk about his other foot, and presently
come back and say the fingers of his right hand were
spread apart; then talk about the back of his head a
little, and return and say the left thumb was hooked
into the right little finger; then ramble off about
something else, and by and by drift back again and
remark that the fingers of the left hand were spread

---

like those of the right. But I was too ingenious. I
mixed it up rather too much; and so all that de-
scription of the attitude, as a key to the humbuggery
of the article, was entirely lost, for nobody but me
ever discovered and comprehended the peculiar and
suggestive position of the petrified man's hands.

As a satire on the petrifaction mania, or anything
else, my Petrified Man was a disheartening failure;
for everybody received him in innocent good faith,
and I was stunned to see the creature I had begotten
to pull down the wonder-business with, and bring
derision upon it, calmly exalted to the grand chief
place in the list of the genuine marvels our Nevada
had produced. I was so disappointed at the curious
miscarriage of my scheme, that at first I was angry,
and did not like to think about it; but by and by,
when the exchanges began to come in with the
Petrified Man copied and guilelessly glorified, I
began to feel a soothing secret satisfaction; and as
my gentleman's field of travels broadened, and by
the exchanges I saw that he steadily and implacably
penetrated territory after territory, State after State,
and land after land, till he swept the great globe and
culminated in sublime and unimpeached legitimacy
in the august London Lancet, my cup was full, and
I said I was glad I had done it. I think that for
about eleven months, as nearly as I can remember,
Mr. 's daily mail-bag continued to be swollen
by the addition of half a bushel of newspapers hail-
ing from many climes with the Petrified Man in

---

them, marked around with a prominent belt of ink.
I sent them to him. I did it for spite, not for fun.
He used to shovel them into his back yard and
curse. And every day during all those months the
miners, his constituents (for miners never quit joking
a person when they get started), would call on him
and ask if he could tell them where they could get
hold of a paper with the Petrified Man in it. He
could have accommodated a continent with them. I
hated in those days, and these things pacified
me and pleased me. I could not have gotten more
real comfort out of him without killing him.

---

MY BLOODY MASSACRE

The other burlesque I have referred to was my
fine satire upon the financial expedients of
"cooking dividends," a thing which became shame-
fully frequent on the Pacific coast for a while. Once
more, in my self-complacent simplicity I felt that
the time had arrived for me to rise up and be a re-
former. I put this reformatory satire in the shape
of a fearful "Massacre at Empire City." The San
Francisco papers were making a great outcry about
the iniquity of the Daney Silver-Mining Company,
whose directors had declared a "cooked" or false
dividend, for the purpose of increasing the value of
their stock, so that they could sell out at a comfort-
able figure, and then scramble from under the tum-
bling concern. And while abusing the Daney, those
papers did not forget to urge the public to get rid
of all their silver stocks and invest in sound and safe
San Francisco stocks, such as the Spring Valley
Water Company, etc. But right at this unfortunate
juncture, behold the Spring Valley cooked a dividend
too! And so, under the insidious mask of an in-
vented "bloody massacre," I stole upon the public
unawares with my scathing satire upon the dividend-

---

cooking system. In about half a column of imagi-
nary human carnage I told how a citizen had
murdered his wife and nine children, and then
committed suicide. And I said slyly, at the bottom,
that the sudden madness of which this melancholy
massacre was the result, had been brought about
by his having allowed himself to be persuaded by
the California papers to sell his sound and lucrative
Nevada silver stocks, and buy into Spring Valley
just in time to get cooked along with that company's
fancy dividend, and sink every cent he had in the
world.

Ah, it was a deep, deep satire, and most ingeni-
ously contrived. But I made the horrible details so
carefully and conscientiously interesting that the
public devoured them greedily, and wholly over-
looked the following distinctly-stated facts, to wit:
The murderer was perfectly well known to every
creature in the land as a bachelor, and consequently
he could not murder his wife and nine children; he
murdered them "in his splendid dressed-stone man-
sion just in the edge of the great pine forest between
Empire City and Dutch Nick's," when even the very
pickled oysters that came on our tables knew that
there was not a "dressed-stone mansion" in all
Nevada Territory; also that, so far from there being
a "great pine forest between Empire City and
Dutch Nick's," there wasn't a solitary tree within
fifteen miles of either place; and, finally, it was
patent and notorious that Empire City and Dutch

---

Nick's were one and the same place, and contained
only six houses anyhow, and consequently there
could be no forest between them; and on top of all
these absurdities I stated that this diabolical mur-
derer, after inflicting a wound upon himself that the
reader ought to have seen would kill an elephant in
the twinkling of an eye, jumped on his horse and
rode four miles, waving his wife's reeking scalp in
the air, and thus performing entered Carson City
with tremendous éclat, and dropped dead in front of
the chief saloon, the envy and admiration of all
beholders.

Well, in all my life I never saw anything like the
sensation that little satire created. It was the talk
of the town, it was the talk of the Territory. Most
of the citizens dropped gently into it at breakfast,
and they never finished their meal. There was
something about those minutely faithful details that
was a sufficing substitute for food. Few people that
were able to read took food that morning. Dan and
I (Dan was my reportorial associate) took our seats
on either side of our customary table in the "Eagle
Restaurant," and, as I unfolded the shred they used
to call a napkin in that establishment, I saw at the
next table two stalwart innocents with that sort of
vegetable dandruff sprinkled about their clothing
which was the sign and evidence that they were in
from the Truckee with a load of hay. The one
facing me had the morning paper folded to a long
narrow strip, and I knew, without any telling, that

---

that strip represented the column that contained my
pleasant financial satire. From the way he was ex-
citedly mumbling, I saw that the heedless son of a
haymow was skipping with all his might, in order to
get to the bloody details as quickly as possible; and
so he was missing the guideboards I had set up to
warn him that the whole thing was a fraud.
Presently his eyes spread wide open, just as his
jaws swung asunder to take in a potato approaching
it on a fork; the potato halted, the face lit up redly,
and the whole man was on fire with excitement.
Then he broke into a disjointed checking off of the
particulars—his potato cooling in mid-air meantime,
and his mouth making a reach for it occasionally,
but always bringing up suddenly against a new and
still more direful performance of my hero. At last
he looked his stunned and rigid comrade impressively
in the face, and said, with an expression of concen-
trated awe:

"Jim, he b'iled his baby, and he took the old
'oman's skelp. Cuss'd if I want any breakfast!"

And he laid his lingering potato reverently down,
and he and his friend departed from the restaurant
empty but satisfied.

He never got down to where the satire part of it
began. Nobody ever did. They found the thrilling
particulars sufficient. To drop in with a poor little
moral at the fag-end of such a gorgeous massacre,
was to following the expiring sun with a candle,
and hope to attract the world's attention to it.

---

The idea that anybody could ever take my massa-
cre for a genuine occurrence never once suggested
itself to me, hedged about as it was by all those tell-
tale absurdities and impossibilities concerning the
"great pine forest," the "dressed-stone mansion,"
etc. But I found out then, and never have for-
gotten since, that we never read the dull explanatory
surroundings of marvelously exciting things when we
have no occasion to suppose that some irresponsible
scribbler is trying to defraud us; we skip all that,
and hasten to revel in the blood-curdling particulars
and be happy.

---

THE UNDERTAKER'S CHAT

"Now that corpse," said the undertaker, patting
the folded hands of deceased approvingly,
"was a brick—every way you took him he was a
brick. He was so real accommodating, and so
modest-like and simple in his last moments. Friends
wanted metallic burial-case—nothing else would do.
I couldn't get it. There warn't going to be time—
anybody could see that.

"Corpse said never mind, shake him up some
kind of a box he could stretch out in comfortable,
he warn't particular 'bout the general style of it.
Said he went more on room than style, anyway in a
last final container.

"Friends wanted a silver doorplate on the coffin,
signifying who he was and wher' he was from.
Now you know a fellow couldn't roust out such a
gaily thing as that in a little country town like this.
What did corpse say?

"Corpse said, whitewash his old canoe and dob
his address and general destination onto it with a
blacking brush and a stencil plate, 'long with a
verse from some likely hymn or other, and p'int

---

him for the tomb, and mark him C. O. D., and just
let him flicker. He warn't distressed any more than
you be—on the contrary just as ca'm and collected
as a hearse-horse; said he judged that wher' he was
going to a body would find it considerable better to
attract attention by a picturesque moral character
than a natty burial case with a swell doorplate on it.

"Splendid man, he was. I'd druther do for a
corpse like that 'n any I've tackled in seven year.
There's some satisfaction in buryin' a man like that.
You feel that what you're doing is appreciated.
Lord bless you, so's he got planted before he
sp'iled, he was perfectly satisfied; said his relations
meant well, perfectly well, but all them preparations
was bound to delay the thing more or less, and he
didn't wish to be kept layin' around. You never
see such a clear head as what he had—and so ca'm
and so cool. Just a hunk of brains—that is what
he was. Perfectly awful. It was a ripping distance
from one end of that man's head to t'other. Often
and over again he's had brain fever a-raging in one
place, and the rest of the pile didn't know anything
about it—didn't affect it any more than an Injun
insurrection in Arizona affects the Atlantic States.

"Well, the relations they wanted a big funeral,
but corpse said he was down on flummery—didn't
want any procession—fill the hearse full of mourn-
ers, and get out a stern line and tow him behind.
He was the most down on style of any remains I
ever struck. A beautiful simple-minded creature—

---

it was what he was, you can depend on that. He
was just set on having things the way he wanted
them, and he took a solid comfort in laying his little
plans. He had me measure him and take a whole
raft of directions; then he had the minister stand up
behind a long box with a tablecloth over it, to
represent the coffin, and read his funeral sermon,
saying 'Angcore, angcore!' at the good places, and
making him scratch out every bit of brag about him,
and all the hifalutin; and then he made them trot
out the choir so's he could help them pick out the
tunes for the occasion, and he got them to sing
'Pop Goes the Weasel,' because he'd always liked
that tune when he was down-hearted, and solemn
music made him sad; and when they sung that with
tears in their eyes (because they all loved him), and
his relations grieving around, he just laid there as
happy as a bug, and trying to beat time and show-
ing all over how much he enjoyed it; and presently
he got worked up and excited, and tried to join in,
for, mind you, he was pretty proud of his abilities
in the singing line; but the first time he opened his
mouth and was just going to spread himself his
breath took a walk.

"I never see a man snuffed out so sudden. Ah,
it was a great loss—a powerful loss to this poor
little one-horse town. Well, well, well, I hain't got
time to be palavering along here—got to nail on the
lid and mosey along with him; and if you'll just give
me a lift we'll skeet him into the hearse and meander

---

along. Relations bound to have it so—don't pay
no attention to dying injunctions, minute a corpse's
gone; but, if I had my way, if I didn't respect his
last wishes and tow him behind the hearse I'll be
cuss'd. I consider that whatever a corpse wants
done for his comfort is little enough matter, and a
man hain't got no right to deceive him or take ad-
vantage of him; and whatever a corpse trusts me to
do I'm a-going to do, you know, even if it's to stuff
him and paint him yaller and keep him for a keep-
sake—you hear me!"

He cracked his whip and went lumbering away
with his ancient ruin of a hearse, and I continued
my walk with a valuable lesson learned—(that a
healthy and wholesome cheerfulness is not neces-
sarily impossible to any occupation) The lesson is
likely to be lasting, for it will take many months to
obliterate the memory of the remarks and circum-
stances that impressed it.

---

CONCERNING CHAMBERMAIDS

Against all chambermaids, of whatsoever age
or nationality, I launch the curse of bachelor-
dom! Because:

They always put the pillows at the opposite end
of the bed from the gas-burner, so that while you
read and smoke before sleeping (as is the ancient
and honored custom of bachelors), you have to hold
your book aloft, in an uncomfortable position, to
keep the light from dazzling your eyes.

When they find the pillows removed to the other
end of the bed in the morning, they receive not the
suggestion in a friendly spirit; but, glorying in their
absolute sovereignty, and unpitying your helpless-
ness, they make the bed just as it was originally,
and gloat in secret over the pang their tyranny will
cause you.

Always after that, when they find you have trans-
posed the pillows, they undo your work, and thus
defy and seek to embitter the life that God has given
you.

If they cannot get the light in an inconvenient
position any other way, they move the bed.

---

If you pull your trunk out six inches from the
wall, so that the lid will stay up when you open it,
they always shove that trunk back again. They do
it on purpose.

If you want the spittoon in a certain spot, where
it will be handy, they don't, and so they move it.

They always put your other boots into inaccessible
places. They chiefly enjoy depositing them as far
under the bed as the wall will permit. It is because
this compels you to get down in an undignified atti-
tude and make wild sweeps for them in the dark
with the bootjack, and swear.

They always put the matchbox in some other
place. They hunt up a new place for it every day,
and put up a bottle, or other perishable glass thing,
where the box stood before. This is to cause you
to break that glass thing, groping in the dark, and
get yourself into trouble.

They are forever and ever moving the furniture.
When you come in in the night you can calculate on
finding the bureau where the wardrobe was in the
morning. And when you go out in the morning, if
you leave the slop-bucket by the door and rocking-
chair by the window, when you come in at midnight
or thereabout, you will fall over that rocking-chair,
and you will proceed toward the window and sit
down in that slop-tub This will disgust you. They
like that.

No matter where you put anything, they are not
going to let it stay there. They will take it and

---

move it the first chance they get. It is their nature.
And, besides, it gives them pleasure to be mean and
contrary this way. They would die if they couldn't
be villains.

They always save up all the old scraps of printed
rubbish you throw on the floor, and stack them up
carefully on the table, and start the fire with your
valuable manuscripts. If there is any one particular
old scrap that you are more down on than any other,
and which you are gradually wearing your life out
trying to get rid of, you may take all the pains you
possibly can in that direction, but it won't be of any
use, because they will always fetch that old scrap
back and put it in the same old place again every
time. It does them good.

And they use up more hair-oil than any six men.
If charged with purloining the same, they lie about
it. What do they care about a hereafter? Abso-
lutely nothing.

If you leave the key in the door for convenience
sake, they will carry it down to the office and give it
to the clerk. They do this under the vile pretence
of trying to protect your property from thieves;
but actually they do it because they want to make
you tramp back down stairs after it when you come
home tired, or put you to the trouble of sending a
waiter for it, which waiter will expect you to pay
him something. In which case I suppose the de-
graded creatures divide.

They keep always trying to make your bed before

---

you get up, thus destroying your rest and inflicting
agony upon you; but after you get up, they don't
come any more till next day.

They do all the mean things they can think of,
and they do them just out of pure cussedness, and
nothing else.

Chambermaids are dead to every human instinct.

If I can get a bill through the legislature abolish-
ing chambermaids, I mean to do it.

---

AURELIA'S UNFORTUNATE YOUNG
MAN*

Written about 1865.

The facts in the following case came to me by
letter from a young lady who lives in the
beautiful city of San José; she is perfectly unknown
to me, and simply signs herself "Aurelia Maria,"
which may possibly be a fictitious name. But no
matter, the poor girl is almost heart-broken by the
misfortunes she has undergone, and so confused by
the conflicting counsels of misguided friends and
insidious enemies, that she does not know what
course to pursue in order to extricate herself from
the web of difficulties in which she seems almost
hopelessly involved. In this dilemma she turns to
me for help, and supplicates for my guidance and
instruction with a moving eloquence that would
touch the heart of a statue. Hear her sad story:

She says that when she was sixteen years old she
met and loved, with all the devotion of a passionate
nature, a young man from New Jersey, named
Williamson Breckinridge Caruthers, who was some
six years her senior. They were engaged, with the
free consent of their friends and relatives, and for a

---

time it seemed as if their career was destined to be
characterized by an immunity from sorrow beyond
the usual lot of humanity. But at last the tide of
fortune turned; young Caruthers became infected
with smallpox of the most virulent type, and when
he recovered from his illness his face was pitted like
a waffle-mould, and his comeliness gone forever.
Aurelia thought to break off the engagement at first,
but pity for her unfortunate lover caused her to
postpone the marriage-day for a season, and give
him another trial.

The very day before the wedding was to have
taken place, Breckinridge, while absorbed in watch-
ing the flight of a balloon, walked into a well and
fractured one of his legs, and it had to be taken off
above the knee. Again Aurelia was moved to break
the engagement, but again love triumphed, and she
set the day forward and gave him another chance to
reform.

And again misfortune overtook the unhappy
youth. He lost one arm by the premature discharge
of a Fourth of July cannon, and within three months
he got the other pulled out by a carding-machine.
Aurelia's heart was almost crushed by these latter
calamities. She could not but be deeply grieved to
see her lover passing from her by piecemeal, feeling,
as she did, that he could not last forever under this
disastrous process of reduction, yet knowing of no
way to stop its dreadful career, and in her tearful
despair she almost regretted, like brokers who hold

---

on and lose, that she had not taken him at first,
before he had suffered such an alarming deprecia-
tion. Still, her brave soul bore her up, and she re-
solved to bear with her friend's unnatural disposition
yet a little longer.

Again the wedding-day approached, and again
disappointment overshadowed it; Caruthers fell ill
with the erysipelas, and lost the use of one of his
eyes entirely. The friends and relatives of the
bride, considering that she had already put up with
more than could reasonably be expected of her,
now came forward and insisted that the match
should be broken off; but after wavering a while,
Aurelia, with a generous spirit which did her credit,
said she had reflected calmly upon the matter, and
could not discover that Breckinridge was to blame.

So she extended the time once more, and he
broke his other leg.

It was a sad day for the poor girl when she saw
the surgeons reverently bearing away the sack whose
uses she had learned by previous experience, and
her heart told her the bitter truth that some more of
her lover was gone. She felt that the field of her
affections was growing more and more circumscribed
every day, but once more she frowned down her
relatives and renewed her betrothal.

Shortly before the time set for the nuptials
another disaster occurred. There was but one man
scalped by the Owens River Indians last year. That
man was Williamson Breckinridge Caruthers of New

---

Jersey. He was hurrying home with happiness in
his heart, when he lost his hair forever, and in that
hour of bitterness he almost cursed the mistaken
mercy that had spared his head.

At last Aurelia is in serious perplexity as to what
she ought to do. She still loves her Breckinridge,
she writes, with truly womanly feeling—she still
loves what is left of him—but her parents are
bitterly opposed to the match, because he has no
property and is disabled from working, and she has
not sufficient means to support both comfortably.
"Now, what should she do?" she asks with painful
and anxious solicitude.

It is a delicate question; it is one which involves
the lifelong happiness of a woman, and that of
nearly two-thirds of a man, and I feel that it would
be assuming too great a responsibility to do more
than make a mere suggestion in the case. How
would it do to build to him? If Aurelia can afford
the expense, let her furnish her mutilated lover with
wooden arms and wooden legs, and a glass eye and
a wig, and give him another show; give him ninety
days, without grace, and if he does not break his neck
in the meantime, marry him and take the chances.
It does not seem to me that there is much risk, any-
way, Aurelia, because if he sticks to his singular
propensity for damaging himself every time he sees
a good opportunity, his next experiment is bound
to finish him, and then you are safe, married or
single. If married, the wooden legs and such other

---

valuables as he may possess revert to the widow, and
you see you sustain no actual loss save the cherished
fragment of a noble but most unfortunate husband,
who honestly strove to do right, but whose extraor-
dinary instincts were against him. Try it, Maria.
I have thought the matter over carefully and well,
and it is the only chance I see for you. It would
have been a happy conceit on the part of Caruthers
if he had started with his neck and broken that first;
but since he has seen fit to choose a different policy
and string himself out as long as possible, I do not
think we ought to upbraid him for it if he has en-
joyed it. We must do the best we can under the
circumstances, and try not to feel exasperated at
him.

"AFTER" JENKINS

A grand affair of a ball—the Pioneers'—came
off at the Occidental some time ago. The fol-
lowing notes of the costumes worn by the belles of
the occasion may not be uninteresting to the general
reader, and Jenkins may get an idea therefrom:

Mrs. W. M. was attired in an elegant pâté de foie
gras, made expressly for her, and was greatly ad-
mired. Miss S. had her hair done up. She was
the center of attraction for the gentlemen and the
envy of all the ladies. Mrs. G. W. was tastefully
dressed in a tout ensemble, and was greeted with

---

deafening applause wherever she went. Mrs. C. N.
was superbly arrayed in white kid gloves. Her
modest and engaging manner accorded well with the
unpretending simplicity of her costume and caused
her to be regarded with absorbing interest by every
one.

The charming Miss M. M. B. appeared in a thrill-
ing waterfall, whose exceeding grace and volume
compelled the homage of pioneers and emigrants
alike. How beautiful she was!

The queenly Mrs. L. R. was attractively attired in
her new and beautiful false teeth, and the bon jour
effect they naturally produced was heightened by
her enchanting and well-sustained smile.

Miss R. P., with that repugnance to ostentation
in dress which is so peculiar to her, was attired in a
simple white lace collar, fastened with a neat pearl-
button solitaire. The fine contrast between the
sparkling vivacity of her natural optic, and the
steadfast attentiveness of her placid glass eye, was
the subject of general and enthusiastic remark.

Miss C. L. B. had her fine nose elegantly enameled,
and the easy grace with which she blew it from time
to time marked her as a cultivated and accomplished
woman of the world; its exquisitely modulated tone
excited the admiration of all who had the happiness
to hear it.

---

ABOUT BARBERS

All things change except barbers, the ways of
barbers, and the surroundings of barbers.
These never change. What one experiences in a
barber's shop the first time he enters one is what he
always experiences in barbers' shops afterward till
the end of his days. I got shaved this morning as
usual. A man approached the door from Jones
street as I approached it from Main—a thing that
always happens. I hurried up, but it was of no
use; he entered the door one little step ahead of
me, and I followed in on his heels and saw him take
the only vacant chair, the one presided over by the
best barber. It always happens so. I sat down,
hoping that I might fall heir to the chair belonging
to the better of the remaining two barbers, for he
had already begun combing his man's hair, while
his comrade was not yet quite done rubbing up and
oiling his customer's locks. I watched the proba-
bilities with strong interest. When I saw that No. 2
was gaining on No. 1 my interest grew to solicitude.
When No. 1 stopped a moment to make change on
a bath ticket for a new comer, and lost ground in

---

the race, my solicitude rose to anxiety. When No
I caught up again, and both he and his comrade
were pulling the towels away and brushing the
powder from their customer's cheeks, and it was
about an even thing which one would say "Next!"
first, my very breath stood still with the suspense.
But when at the culminating moment No. 1 stopped
to pass a comb a couple of times through his
customer's eyebrows, I saw that he had lost the race
by a single instant, and I rose indignant and quitted
the shop, to keep from falling into the hands of No.
2; for I have none of that enviable firmness that
enables a man to look calmly into the eyes of a wait-
ing barber and tell him he will wait for his fellow-
barber's chair.

I stayed out fifteen minutes, and then went back,
hoping for better luck. Of course all the chairs
were occupied now, and four men sat waiting, silent,
unsociable, distraught, and looking bored, as men
always do who are waiting their turn in a barber's
shop. I sat down in one of the iron-armed compart-
ments of an old sofa, and put in the time for a while
reading the framed advertisements of all sorts of
quack nostrums for dyeing and coloring the hair.
Then I read the greasy names on the private bay-
rum bottles; read the names and noted the numbers
on the private shaving cups in the pigeon-holes;
studied the stained and damaged cheap prints on the
walls, of battles, early Presidents, and voluptuous
recumbent sultanas, and the tiresome and everlasting

---

young girl putting her grandfather's spectacles on;
execrated in my heart the cheerful canary and the
distracting parrot that few barbers' shops are with-
out. Finally, I searched out the least dilapidated of
last year's illustrated papers that littered the foul
center-table, and conned their unjustifiable misrepre-
sentations of old forgotten events.

At last my turn came. A voice said "Next!"
and I surrendered to—No. 2, of course. It always
happens so. I said meekly that I was in a hurry,
and it affected him as strongly as if he had never
heard it. He shoved up my head, and put a napkin
under it. He plowed his fingers into my collar and
fixed a towel there. He explored my hair with his
claws and suggested that it needed trimming. I
said I did not want it trimmed. He explored again
and said it was pretty long for the present style—
better have a little taken off; it needed it behind
especially. I said I had had it cut only a week
before. He yearned over it reflectively a moment,
and then asked with a disparaging manner, who cut
it? I came back at him promptly with a "You
did!" I had him there. Then he fell to stirring
up his lather and regarding himself in the glass,
stopping now and then to get close and examine his
chin critically or inspect a pimple. Then he lathered
one side of my face thoroughly, and was about to
lather the other, when a dog fight attracted his atten-
tion, and he ran to the window and stayed and saw
it out, losing two shillings on the result in bets with

---

the other barbers, a thing which gave me great satis-
faction. He finished lathering, and then began to
rub in the suds with his hand.

He now began to sharpen his razor on an old
suspender, and was delayed a good deal on account
of a controversy about a cheap masquerade ball he
had figured at the night before, in red cambric and
bogus ermine, as some kind of a king. He was so
gratified with being chaffed about some damsel
whom he had smitten with his charms that he used
every means to continue the controversy by pretend-
ing to be annoyed at the chaffings of his fellows.
This matter begot more surveyings of himself in the
glass, and he put down his razor and brushed his
hair with elaborate care, plastering an inverted arch
of it down on his forehead, accomplishing an accu-
rate "part" behind, and brushing the two wings
forward over his ears with nice exactness. In the
meantime the lather was drying on my face, and
apparently eating into my vitals.

Now he began to shave, digging his fingers into
my countenance to stretch the skin and bundling
and tumbling my head this way and that as con-
venience in shaving demanded. As long as he was
on the tough sides of my face I did not suffer; but
when he began to rake, and rip, and tug at my chin,
the tears came. He now made a handle of my nose,
to assist him in shaving the corners of my upper lip,
and it was by this bit of circumstantial evidence that
I discovered that a part of his duties in the shop

---

was to clean the kerosene lamps. I had often won-
dered in an indolent way whether the barbers did
that, or whether it was the boss.

About this time I was amusing myself trying to
guess where he would be most likely to cut me this
time, but he got ahead of me, and sliced me on the
end of the chin before I had got my mind made up.
He immediately sharpened his razor—he might
have done it before. I do not like a close shave,
and would not let him go over me a second time. I
tried to get him to put up his razor, dreading that
he would make for the side of my chin, my pet
tender spot, a place which a razor cannot touch
twice without making trouble; but he said he only
wanted to just smooth off one little roughness, and
in the same moment he slipped his razor along the
forbidden ground, and the dreaded pimple-signs of a
close shave rose up smarting and answered to the
call. Now he soaked his towel in bay rum, and
slapped it all over my face nastily; slapped it over
as if a human being ever yet washed his face in that
way. Then he dried it by slapping with the dry
part of the towel, as if a human being ever dried his
face in such a fashion; but a barber seldom rubs you
like a Christian. Next he poked bay rum into the
cut place with his towel, then choked the wound
with powered starch, then soaked it with bay rum
again, and would have gone on soaking and powder-
ing it forevermore, no doubt, if I had not rebelled
and begged off. He powdered my whole face now,

---

straightened me up, and began to plow my hair
thoughtfully with his hands. Then he suggested a
shampoo, and said my hair needed it badly, very
badly. I observed that I shampooed it myself very
thoroughly in the bath yesterday. I "had him"
again. He next recommended some of "Smith's
Hair Glorifier," and offered to sell me a bottle. I
declined. He praised the new perfume, "Jones's
Delight of the Toilet," and proposed to sell me
some of that. I declined again. He tendered me a
toothwash atrocity of his own invention, and when I
declined offered to trade knives with me.

He returned to business after the miscarriage of
this last enterprise, sprinkled me all over, legs and
all, greased my hair in defiance of my protest against
it, rubbed and scrubbed a good deal of it out by the
roots, and combed and brushed the rest, parting it
behind, and plastering the eternal inverted arch of
hair down on my forehead, and then, while combing
my scant eyebrows and defiling them with pomade,
strung out an account of the achievements of a six-
ounce black and tan terrier of his till I heard the
whistles blow for noon, and knew I was five minutes
too late for the train. Then he snatched away the
towel, brushed it lightly about my face, passed his
comb through my eyebrows once more, and gaily
sang out "Next!"

This barber fell down and died of apoplexy two
hours later. I am waiting over a day for my re-
venge—I am going to attend his funeral.

---

"PARTY CRIES" IN IRELAND

Belfast is a peculiarly religious community.
This may be said of the whole of the North of
Ireland. About one-half of the people are Protes-
tants and the other half Catholics. Each party does
all it can to make its own doctrines popular and
draw the affections of the irreligious toward them.
One hears constantly of the most touching instances
of this zeal. A week ago a vast concourse of Cath-
olics assembled at Armagh to dedicate a new
Cathedral; and when they started home again the
roadways were lined with groups of meek and lowly
Protestants who stoned them till all the region round
about was marked with blood. I thought that only
Catholics argued in that way, but it seems to be a
mistake.

Every man in the community is a missionary and
carries a brick to admonish the erring with. The
law has tried to break this up, but not with perfect
success. It has decreed that irritating "party cries"
shall not be indulged in, and that persons uttering
them shall be fined forty shillings and costs. And
so, in the police court reports every day, one sees

---

these fines recorded. Last week a girl twelve years
old was fined the usual forty shillings and costs for
proclaiming in the public streets that she was "a
Protestant." The usual cry is, "To hell with the
Pope!" or "To hell with the Protestants!" accord-
ing to the utterer's system of salvation.

One of Belfast's local jokes was very good. It
referred to the uniform and inevitable fine of forty
shillings and costs for uttering a party cry—and it
is no economical fine for a poor man, either, by the
way. They say that a policeman found a drunken
man lying on the ground, up a dark alley, entertain-
ing himself with shouting, "To hell with!" "To
hell with!" The officer smelt a fine—informers
get half.

"What's that you say?"

"To hell with!"

"To hell with who? To hell with what?"

"Ah, bedad ye can finish it yourself—it's too
expinsive for me!"

I think the seditious disposition, restrained by the
economical instinct, is finely put in that.

---

THE FACTS CONCERNING THE RECENT
RESIGNATION*

Written about 1867.

I have resigned. The Government appears to go
on much the same, but there is a spoke out of
its wheel, nevertheless. I was clerk of the Senate
Committee on Conchology, and I have thrown up
the position. I could see the plainest disposition on
the part of the other members of the Government to
debar me from having any voice in the counsels of
the nation, and so I could no longer hold office and
retain my self-respect. If I were to detail all the
outrages that were heaped upon me during the six
days that I was connected with the Government in
an official capacity, the narrative would fill a volume.
They appointed me clerk of that Committee on
Conchology, and then allowed me no amanuensis to
play billiards with. I would have borne that, lone-
some as it was, if I had met with that courtesy from
the other members of the Cabinet which was my
due. But I did not. Whenever I observed that
the head of a department was pursuing a wrong

---

course, I laid down everything and went and tried
to set him right, as it was my duty to do; and I
never was thanked for it in a single instance. I
went, with the best intentions in the world, to the
Secretary of the Navy, and said:

"Sir, I cannot see that Admiral Farragut is doing
anything but skirmishing around there in Europe,
having a sort of picnic. Now, that may be all very
well, but it does not exhibit itself to me in that light.
If there is no fighting for him to do, let him come
home. There is no use in a man having a whole
fleet for a pleasure excursion. It is too expensive.
Mind, I do not object to pleasure excursions for
the naval officers—pleasure excursions that are in
reason—pleasure excursions that are economical.
Now they might go down the Mississippi on a
raft—"

You ought to have heard him storm! One would
have supposed I had committed a crime of some
kind. But I didn't mind. I said it was cheap, and
full of republican simplicity, and perfectly safe. I
said that, for a tranquil pleasure excursion, there
was nothing equal to a raft.

Then the Secretary of the Navy asked me who I
was; and when I told him I was connected with the
Government, he wanted to know in what capacity.
I said that, without remarking upon the singularity
of such a question, coming, as it did, from a mem-
ber of that same Government, I would inform him
that I was clerk of the Senate Committee on Con-

---

chology. Then there was a fine storm! He finished
by ordering me to leave the premises, and give my
attention strictly to my own business in future. My
first impulse was to get him removed. However,
that would harm others beside himself, and do me
no real good, and so I let him stay.

I went next to the Secretary of War, who was not
inclined to see me at all until he learned that I was
connected with the Government. If I had not been
on important business, I suppose I could not have
got in. I asked him for a light (he was smoking at
the time), and then I told him I had no fault to find
with his defending the parole stipulations of General
Lee and his comrades in arms, but that I could not
approve of his method of fighting the Indians on the
Plains. I said he fought too scattering. He ought
to get the Indians more together—get them together
in some convenient place, where he could have pro-
visions enough for both parties, and then have a
general massacre. I said there was nothing so con-
vincing to an Indian as a general massacre. If he
could not approve of the massacre, I said the next
surest thing for an Indian was soap and education.
Soap and education are not as sudden as a massacre,
but they are more deadly in the long run; because a
half-massacred Indian may recover, but if you edu-
cate him and wash him, it is bound to finish him
some time or other. It undermines his constitution;
it strikes at the foundation of his being. "Sir," I
said, "the time has come when blood-curdling

---

cruelty has become necessary. Inflict soap and a
spelling-book on every Indian that ravages the
Plains, and let them die!"

The Secretary of War asked me if I was a member
of the Cabinet, and I said I was. He inquired what
position I held, and I said I was clerk of the Senate
Committee on Conchology. I was then ordered
under arrest for contempt of court, and restrained
of my liberty for the best part of the day.

I almost resolved to be silent thenceforward, and
let the Government get along the best way it could.
But duty called, and I obeyed. I called on the
Secretary of the Treasury. He said:

"What will you have?"

The question threw me off my guard. I said,
"Rum punch."

He said: "If you have got any business here,
sir, state it—and in as few words as possible."

I then said that I was sorry he had seen fit to
change the subject so abruptly, because such con-
duct was very offensive to me; but under the cir-
cumstances I would overlook the matter and come
to the point. I now went into an earnest expostu-
lation with him upon the extravagant length of his
report. I said it was expensive, unnecessary, and
awkwardly constructed; there were no descriptive
passages in it, no poetry, no sentiment—no heroes,
no plot, no pictures—not even woodcuts. Nobody
would read it, that was a clear case. I urged him
not to ruin his reputation by getting out a thing like

---

that. If he ever hoped to succeed in literature, he
must throw more variety into his writings. He
must beware of dry detail. I said that the main
popularity of the almanac was derived from its
poetry and conundrums, and that a few conundrums
distributed around through his Treasury report
would help the sale of it more than all the internal
revenue he could put into it. I said these things in
the kindest spirit, and yet the Secretary of the
Treasury fell into a violent passion. He even said
I was an ass. He abused me in the most vindictive
manner, and said that if I came there again meddling
with his business, he would throw me out of the
window. I said I would take my hat and go, if I
could not be treated with the respect due to my
office, and I did go. It was just like a new author.
They always think they know more than anybody
else when they are getting out their first book.
Nobody can tell them anything.

During the whole time that I was connected
with the Government it seemed as if I could not
do anything in an official capacity without getting
myself into trouble. And yet I did nothing, at-
tempted nothing, but what I conceived to be for
the good of my country. The sting of my wrongs
may have driven me to unjust and harmful conclu-
sions, but it surely seemed to me that the Secretary
of State, the Secretary of War, the Secretary of the
Treasury, and others of my confrères, had conspired
from the very beginning to drive me from the Ad-

---

ministration. I never attended but one Cabinet
meeting while I was connected with the Govern-
ment. That was sufficient for me. The servant at
the White House door did not seem disposed to
make way for me until I asked if the other members
of the Cabinet had arrived. He said they had, and
I entered. They were all there; but nobody offered
me a seat. They stared at me as if I had been an
intruder. The President said:

"Well, sir, who are you?"

I handed him my card, and he read: "The Hon.
Mark Twain, Clerk of the Senate Committee on
Conchology." Then he looked at me from head to
foot, as if he had never heard of me before. The
Secretary of the Treasury said:

"This is the meddlesome ass that came to recom-
mend me to put poetry and conundrums in my re-
port, as if it were an almanac."

The Secretary of War said: "It is the same
visionary that came to me yesterday with a scheme
to educate a portion of the Indians to death, and
massacre the balance."

The Secretary of the Navy said: "I recognize
this youth as the person who has been interfering
with my business time and again during the week.
He is distressed about Admiral Farragut's using a
whole fleet for a pleasure excursion, as he terms it.
His proposition about some insane pleasure excur-
sion on a raft is too absurd to repeat."

I said: "Gentlemen, I perceive here a disposition

---

to throw discredit upon every act of my official
career; I perceive, also, a disposition to debar me
from all voice in the counsels of the nation. No
notice whatever was sent to me to-day. It was only
by the merest chance that I learned that there was
going to be a Cabinet meeting. But let these things
pass. All I wish to know is, is this a Cabinet meet-
ing or is it not?"

The President said it was.

"Then," I said, "let us proceed to business at
once, and not fritter away valuable time in unbe-
coming fault-findings with each other's official con-
duct."

The Secretary of State now spoke up, in his be-
nignant way, and said, "Young man, you are labor-
ing under a mistake. The clerks of the Congressional
committees are not members of the Cabinet. Neither
are the doorkeepers of the Capitol, strange as it may
seem. Therefore, much as we could desire your
more than human wisdom in our deliberations, we
cannot lawfully avail ourselves of it. The counsels
of the nation must proceed without you; if disaster
follows, as follow full well it may, be it balm to
your sorrowing spirit, that by deed and voice you
did what in you lay to avert it. You have my
blessing. Farewell."

These gentle words soothed my troubled breast,
and I went away. But the servants of a nation can
know no peace. I had hardly reached my den in
the Capitol, and disposed my feet on the table like

---

a representative, when one of the Senators on the
Conchological Committee came in in a passion and
said:

"Where have you been all day?"

I observed that, if that was anybody's affair but
my own, I had been to a Cabinet meeting.

"To a Cabinet meeting? I would like to know
what business you had at a Cabinet meeting?"

I said I went there to consult—allowing for the
sake of argument that he was in anywise concerned
in the matter. He grew insolent then, and ended
by saying he had wanted me for three days past to
copy a report on bomb-shells, egg-shells, clam-
shells, and I don't know what all, connected with
conchology, and nobody had been able to find me.

This was too much. This was the feather that
broke the clerical camel's back. I said, "Sir, do
you suppose that I am going to work for six dollars
a day? If that is the idea, let me recommend the
Senate Committee on Conchology to hire somebody
else. I am the slave of no faction! Take back
your degrading commission. Give me liberty, or
give me death!"

From that hour I was no longer connected with
the Government. Snubbed by the department,
snubbed by the Cabinet, snubbed at last by the
chairman of a committee I was endeavoring to
adorn, I yielded to persecution, cast far from me
the perils and seductions of my great office, and
forsook my bleeding country in the hour of her peril.

---

But I had done the State some service, and I sent
in my bill:

The United States of America in account with
the Hon. Clerk of the Senate Committee on Conchology,Dr.To consultation with Secretary of War,$50To consultation with Secretary of Navy,50To consultation with Secretary of the Treasury,50Cabinet consultation, … No charge.To mileage to and from Jerusalem,*

Territorial delegates charge mileage both ways, although they
never go back when they get here once. Why my mileage is denied
me is more than I can understand.

via Egypt, Algiers,
Gibraltar, and Cadiz, 14,000 miles, at 20c. a mile,2800To salary as Clerk of Senate Committee on Conchology,
six days, at $6 per day,36Total,$2986

Not an item of this bill has been paid, except that
trifle of thirty-six dollars for clerkship salary. The
Secretary of the Treasury, pursuing me to the last,
drew his pen through all the other items, and simply
marked in the margin "Not allowed." So, the
dread alternative is embraced at last. Repudiation
has begun! The nation is lost.

I am done with official life for the present. Let
those clerks who are willing to be imposed on re-
main. I know numbers of them in the departments
who are never informed when there is to be a
Cabinet meeting, whose advice is never asked about
war, or finance, or commerce, by the heads of the
nation, any more than if they were not connected
with the Government, and who actually stay in their

---

offices day after day and work! They know their
importance to the nation, and they unconsciously
show it in their bearing, and the way they order
their sustenance at the restaurant—but they work.
I know one who has to paste all sorts of little scraps
from the newspaper into a scrapbook—sometimes
as many as eight or ten scraps a day. He doesn't
do it well, but he does it as well as he can. It is
very fatiguing. It is exhausting to the intellect.
Yet he only gets eighteen hundred dollars a year.
With a brain like his, that young man could amass
thousands and thousands of dollars in some other
pursuit, if he chose to do it. But no—his heart is
with his country, and he will serve her as long as
she has got a scrapbook left. And I know clerks
that don't know how to write very well, but such
knowledge as they possess they nobly lay at the feet
of their country, and toil on and suffer for twenty-
five hundred dollars a year. What they write has
to be written over again by other clerks sometimes;
but when a man has done his best for his country,
should his country complain? Then there are clerks
that have no clerkships, and are waiting, and waiting,
and waiting, for a vacancy—waiting patiently for a
chance to help their country out—and while they
are waiting, they only get barely two thousand dol-
lars a year for it. It is sad—it is very, very sad.
When a member of Congress has a friend who is
gifted, but has no employment wherein his great
powers may be brought to bear, he confers him

---

upon his country, and gives him a clerkship in a
department. And there that man has to slave his
life out, fighting documents for the benefit of a
nation that never thinks of him, never sympathizes
with him—and all for two thousand or three thou-
sand dollars a year. When I shall have completed
my list of all the clerks in the several departments,
with my statement of what they have to do, and
what they get for it, you will see that there are not
half enough clerks, and that what there are do not
get half enough pay.

---

HISTORY REPEATS ITSELF

The following I find in a Sandwich Island paper
which some friend has sent me from that
tranquil far-off retreat. The coincidence between
my own experience and that here set down by the
late Mr. Benton is so remarkable that I cannot for-
bear publishing and commenting upon the para-
graph. The Sandwich Island paper says:
"How touching is this tribute of the late Hon. T. H. Benton to his
mother's influence:—'My mother asked me never to use tobacco; I
have never touched it from that time to the present day. She asked me
not to gamble, and I have never gambled. I cannot tell who is losing
in games that are being played. She admonished me, too, against
liquor-drinking, and whatever capacity for endurance I have at present,
and whatever usefulness I may have attained through life, I attribute to
having complied with her pious and correct wishes. When I was seven
years of age she asked me not to drink, and then I made a resolution of
total abstinence; and that I have adhered to it through all time I owe
to my mother.'"

I never saw anything so curious. It is almost an
exact epitome of my own moral career—after sim-
ply substituting a grandmother for a mother. How
well I remember my grandmother's asking me not
to use tobacco, good old soul! She said, "You're
at it again, are you, you whelp? Now don't ever

---

let me catch you chewing tobacco before breakfast
again, or I lay I'll blacksnake you within an inch of
your life!" I have never touched it at that hour of
the morning from that time to the present day.

She asked me not to gamble. She whispered
and said, "Put up those wicked cards this minute!
—two pair and a jack, you numskull, and the other
fellow's got a flush!"

I never have gambled from that day to this—
never once—without a "cold deck" in my pocket.
I cannot even tell who is going to lose in games that
are being played unless I dealt myself.

When I was two years of age she asked me not
to drink, and then I made a resolution of total
abstinence. That I have adhered to it and enjoyed
the beneficent effects of it through all time, I owe to
my grandmother. I have never drunk a drop from
that day to this of any kind of water.

---

HONORED AS A CURIOSITY

If you get into conversation with a stranger in
Honolulu, and experience that natural desire to
know what sort of ground you are treading on by
finding out what manner of man your stranger is,
strike out boldly and address him as "Captain."
Watch him narrowly, and if you see by his counte-
nance that you are on the wrong track, ask him
where he preaches. It is a safe bet that he is either
a missionary or captain of a whaler. I became per-
sonally acquainted with seventy-two captains and
ninety-six missionaries. The captains and ministers
form one-half of the population; the third fourth is
composed of common Kanakas and mercantile
foreigners and their families; and the final fourth
is made up of high officers of the Hawaiian Govern-
ment. And there are just about cats enough for
three apiece all around.

A solemn stranger met me in the suburbs one
day, and said:

"Good morning, your reverence. Preach in the
stone church yonder, no doubt!"

---

"No, I don't. I'm not a preacher."

"Really, I beg your pardon, captain. I trust
you had a good season. How much oil—"

"Oil! Why, what do you take me for? I'm not
a whaler."

"Oh! I beg a thousand pardons, your Excel-
lency. Major-General in the household troops, no
doubt? Minister of the Interior, likely? Secretary
of War? First Gentleman of the Bedchamber?
Commissioner of the Royal—"

"Stuff! man. I'm not connected in any way
with the Government."

"Bless my life! Then who the mischief are
you? what the mischief are you? and how the mis-
chief did you get here? and where in thunder did
you come from?"

"I'm only a private personage—an unassuming
stranger—lately arrived from America."

"No! Not a missionary! not a whaler! not a
member of his Majesty's Government! not even a
Secretary of the Navy! Ah! heaven! it is too
blissful to be true; alas! I do but dream. And
yet that noble, honest countenance—those oblique,
ingenuous eyes—that massive head, incapable of—
of anything; your hand; give me your hand,
bright waif. Excuse these tears. For sixteen
weary years I have yearned for a moment like this,
and—"

Here his feelings were too much for him, and he
swooned away. I pitied this poor creature from the

---

bottom of my heart. I was deeply moved. I shed
a few tears on him, and kissed him for his mother.
I then took what small change he had, and
"shoved."

---

FIRST INTERVIEW WITH ARTEMUS
WARD*

Written about 1870.

I had never seen him before. He brought letters
of introduction from mutual friends in San Fran-
cisco, and by invitation I breakfasted with him. It
was almost religion, there in the silver mines, to
precede such a meal with whisky cocktails. Artemus,
with the true cosmopolitan instinct, always deferred
to the customs of the country he was in, and so he
ordered three of those abominations. Hingston was
present. I said I would rather not drink a whisky
cocktail. I said it would go right to my head, and
confuse me so that I would be in a helpless tangle in
ten minutes. I did not want to act like a lunatic
before strangers. But Artemus gently insisted, and
I drank the treasonable mixture under protest, and
felt all the time that I was doing a thing I might be
sorry for. In a minute or two I began to imagine
that my ideas were clouded. I waited in great
anxiety for the conversation to open, with a sort of
vague hope that my understanding would prove
clear, after all, and my misgivings groundless.

Artemus dropped an unimportant remark or two,

---

and then assumed a look of superhuman earnestness,
and made the following astounding speech. He
said:

"Now there is one thing I ought to ask you about
before I forget it. You have been here in Silver-
land—here in Nevada—two or three years, and,
of course, your position on the daily press has made
it necessary for you to go down in the mines and
examine them carefully in detail, and therefore you
know all about the silver-mining business. Now
what I want to get at is—is, well, the way the
deposits of ore are made, you know. For instance.
Now, as I understand it, the vein which contains the
silver is sandwiched in between casings of granite,
and runs along the ground, and sticks up like a curb-
stone. Well, take a vein forty feet thick, for ex-
ample, or eighty, for that matter, or even a hundred
—say you go down on it with a shaft, straight
down, you know, or with what you call 'incline,'
maybe you go down five hundred feet, or maybe
you don't go down but two hundred—anyway you
go down, and all the time this vein grows narrower,
when the casings come nearer or approach each
other, you may say—that is, when they do ap-
proach, which, of course, they do not always do,
particularly in cases where the nature of the forma-
tion is such that they stand apart wider than they
otherwise would, and which geology has failed to
account for, although everything in that science goes
to prove that, all things being equal, it would if it

---

did not, or would not certainly if it did, and then,
of course, they are. Do not you think it is?"

I said to myself:

"Now I just knew how it would be—that whisky
cocktail has done the business for me; I don't
understand any more than a clam."

And then I said aloud:

"I—I—that is—if you don't mind, would
you—would you say that over again? I ought—"

"Oh, certainly, certainly! You see I am very
unfamiliar with the subject, and perhaps I don't
present my case clearly, but I—"

"No, no—no, no—you state it plain enough,
but that cocktail has muddled me a little. But I
will—no, I do understand for that matter; but I
would get the hang of it all the better if you went
over it again—and I'll pay better attention this
time."

He said, "Why, what I was after was this."

[Here he became even more fearfully impressive
than ever, and emphasized each particular point by
checking it off on his finger ends.]

"This vein, or lode, or ledge, or whatever you
call it, runs along between two layers of granite, just
the same as if it were a sandwich. Very well. Now
suppose you go down on that, say a thousand feet,
or maybe twelve hundred (it don't really matter)
before you drift, and then you start your drifts,
some of them across the ledge, and others along the
length of it, where the sulphurets—I believe they

---

call them sulphurets, though why they should, con-
sidering that, so far as I can see, the main depen-
dence of a miner does not so lie, as some suppose,
but in which it cannot be successfully maintained,
wherein the same should not continue, while part
and parcel of the same ore not committed to either
in the sense referred to, whereas, under different
circumstances, the most inexperienced among us
could not detect it if it were, or might overlook it if
it did, or scorn the very idea of such a thing, even
though it were palpably demonstrated as such. Am
I not right?"

I said, sorrowfully: "I feel ashamed of myself,
Mr. Ward. I know I ought to understand you per-
fectly well, but you see that treacherous whisky
cocktail has got into my head, and now I cannot
understand even the simplest proposition. I told
you how it would be."

"Oh, don't mind it, don't mind it; the fault was
my own, no doubt—though I did think it clear
enough for—"

"Don't say a word. Clear! Why, you stated
it as clear as the sun to anybody but an abject idiot;
but it's that confounded cocktail that has played the
mischief."

"No; now don't say that. I'll begin it all over
again, and—"

"Don't now—for goodness' sake, don't do any-
thing of the kind, because I tell you my head is in
such a condition that I don't believe I could under-

---

stand the most trifling question a man could ask
me."

"Now don't you be afraid. I'll put it so plain
this time that you can't help but get the hang of it.
We will begin at the very beginning." [Leaning
far across the table, with determined impressiveness
wrought upon his every feature, and fingers prepared
to keep tally of each point enumerated; and I, lean-
ing forward with painful interest, resolved to compre-
hend or perish.] "You know the vein, the ledge,
the thing that contains the metal, whereby it consti-
tutes the medium between all other forces, whether
of present or remote agencies, so brought to bear in
favor of the former against the latter, or the latter
against the former or all, or both, or compromising
the relative differences existing within the radius
whence culminate the several degrees of similarity to
which—"

I said: "Oh, hang my wooden head, it ain't any
use!—it ain't any use to try—I can't understand
anything. The plainer you get it the more I can't
get the hang of it."

I heard a suspicious noise behind me, and turned
in time to see Hingston dodging behind a newspaper,
and quaking with a gentle ecstasy of laughter. I
looked at Ward again, and he had thrown off his
dread solemnity and was laughing also. Then I saw
that I had been sold—that I had been made a vic-
tim of a swindle in the way of a string of plausibly
worded sentences that didn't mean anything under

---

the sun. Artemus Ward was one of the best fellows
in the world, and one of the most companionable.
It has been said that he was not fluent in conversa-
tion, but, with the above experience in my mind, I
differ.

---

CANNIBALISM IN THE CARS*

Written about 1867.

I visited St. Louis lately, and on my way West,
after changing cars at Terre Haute, Indiana, a
mild, benevolent-looking gentleman of about forty-
five, or maybe fifty, came in at one of the way-
stations and sat down beside me. We talked together
pleasantly on various subjects for an hour, perhaps,
and I found him exceedingly intelligent and enter-
taining. When he learned that I was from Washing-
ton, he immediately began to ask questions about
various public men, and about Congressional affairs;
and I saw very shortly that I was conversing with a
man who was perfectly familiar with the ins and
outs of political life at the Capital, even to the ways
and manners, and customs of procedure of Senators
and Representatives in the Chambers of the National
Legislature. Presently two men halted near us for
a single moment, and one said to the other:

"Harris, if you'll do that for me, I'll never forget
you, my boy."

My new comrade's eye lighted pleasantly. The
words had touched upon a happy memory, I

---

thought. Then his face settled into thoughtfulness
—almost into gloom. He turned to me and said,
"Let me tell you a story; let me give you a secret
chapter of my life—a chapter that has never been
referred to by me since its events transpired. Listen
patiently, and promise that you will not interrupt
me."

I said I would not, and he related the following
strange adventure, speaking sometimes with anima-
tion, sometimes with melancholy, but always with
feeling and earnestness.

The Stranger's Narrative.

'On the 19th of December, 1853, I started from
St. Louis on the evening train bound for Chicago.
There were only twenty-four passengers, all told.
There were no ladies and no children. We were in
excellent spirits, and pleasant acquaintanceships were
soon formed. The journey bade fair to be a happy
one; and no individual in the party, I think, had
even the vaguest presentiment of the horrors we
were soon to undergo.

"At 11 p. m. it began to snow hard. Shortly
after leaving the small village of Welden, we entered
upon that tremendous prairie solitude that stretches
its leagues on leagues of houseless dreariness far
away toward the Jubilee Settlements. The winds,
unobstructed by trees or hills, or even vagrant rocks,
whistled fiercely across the level desert, driving the
falling snow before it like spray from the crested

---

waves of a stormy sea. The snow was deepening
fast; and we knew, by the diminished speed of the
train, that the engine was plowing through it with
steadily increasing difficulty. Indeed, it almost came
to a dead halt sometimes, in the midst of great drifts
that piled themselves like colossal graves across the
track. Conversation began to flag. Cheerfulness
gave place to grave concern. The possibility of
being imprisoned in the snow, on the bleak prairie,
fifty miles from any house, presented itself to every
mind, and extended its depressing influence over
every spirit.

"At two o'clock in the morning I was aroused
out of an uneasy slumber by the ceasing of all
motion about me. The appalling truth flashed upon
me instantly—we were captives in a snow-drift!
'All hands to the rescue!' Every man sprang to
obey. Out into the wild night, the pitchy darkness,
the billowy snow, the driving storm, every soul
leaped, with the consciousness that a moment lost
now might bring destruction to us all. Shovels,
hands, boards—anything, everything that could dis-
place snow, was brought into instant requisition. It
was a weird picture, that small company of frantic
men fighting the banking snows, half in the blackest
shadow and half in the angry light of the loco-
motive's reflector.

"One short hour sufficed to prove the utter use-
lessness of our efforts. The storm barricaded the
track with a dozen drifts while we dug one away.

---

And worse than this, it was discovered that the last
grand charge the engine had made upon the enemy
had broken the fore-and-aft shaft of the driving-
wheel! With a free track before us we should still
have been helpless. We entered the car wearied
with labor, and very sorrowful. We gathered about
the stoves, and gravely canvassed our situation.
We had no provisions whatever—in this lay our
chief distress. We could not freeze, for there was a
good supply of wood in the tender. This was our
only comfort. The discussion ended at last in ac-
cepting the disheartening decision of the conductor,
viz., that it would be death for any man to attempt
to travel fifty miles on foot through snow like that.
We could not send for help, and even if we could it
would not come. We must submit, and await, as
patiently as we might, succor or starvation! I think
the stoutest heart there felt a momentary chill when
those words were uttered.

"Within the hour conversation subsided to a low
murmur here and there about the car, caught fitfully
between the rising and falling of the blast; the lamps
grew dim; and the majority of the castaways settled
themselves among the flickering shadows to think—
to forget the present, if they could—to sleep, if
they might.

"The eternal night—it surely seemed eternal to
us—wore its lagging hours away at last, and the
cold gray dawn broke in the east. As the light
grew stronger the passengers began to stir and give

---

signs of life, one after another, and each in turn
pushed his slouched hat up from his forehead,
stretched his stiffened limbs, and glanced out at the
windows upon the cheerless prospect. It was cheer-
less, indeed!—not a living thing visible anywhere,
not a human habitation; nothing but a vast white
desert; uplifted sheets of snow drifting hither and
thither before the wind—a world of eddying flakes
shutting out the firmament above.

"All day we moped about the cars, saying little,
thinking much. Another lingering dreary night—
and hunger.

"Another dawning—another day of silence, sad-
ness, wasting hunger, hopeless watching for succor
that could not come. A night of restless slumber,
filled with dreams of feasting—wakings distressed
with the gnawings of hunger.

"The fourth day came and went—and the fifth!
Five days of dreadful imprisonment! A savage
hunger looked out at every eye. There was in it a
sign of awful import—the foreshadowing of a some-
thing that was vaguely shaping itself in every heart—
a something which no tongue dared yet to frame
into words.

"The sixth day passed—the seventh dawned
upon as gaunt and haggard and hopeless a company
of men as ever stood in the shadow of death. It
must out now! That thing which had been growing
up in every heart was ready to leap from every lip
at last! Nature had been taxed to the utmost—she

---

must yield. Richard H. Gaston of Minnesota,
tall, cadaverous, and pale, rose up. All knew what
was coming. All prepared—every motion, every
semblance of excitement was smothered—only a
calm, thoughtful seriousness appeared in the eyes
that were lately so wild.

"'Gentlemen:

It cannot be delayed longer!
The time is at hand! We must determine which
of us shall die to furnish food for the rest!'

"Mr. John J. Williams of Illinois rose and
said:

'Gentlemen—I nominate the Rev. James
Sawyer of Tennessee.'

"Mr. Wm. R. Adams of Indiana said:

'I nomi-
nate Mr. Daniel Slote of New York.'

"Mr. Charles J. Langdon:

'I nominate Mr.
Samuel A. Bowen of St. Louis.'

"Mr. Slote:

'Gentlemen—I desire to decline
in favor of Mr. John A. Van Nostrand, Jun., of
New Jersey.'

"Mr. Gaston:

'If there be no objection, the
gentleman's desire will be acceded to.'

"Mr. Van Nostrand

objecting, the resignation
of Mr. Slote was rejected. The resignations of
Messrs. Sawyer and Bowen were also offered, and
refused upon the same grounds.

"Mr. A. L. Bascom of Ohio:

'I move that the
nominations now close, and that the House proceed
to an election by ballot.'

"Mr. Sawyer:

'Gentlemen—I protest earnestly
against these proceedings. They are, in every way,

---

irregular and unbecoming. I must beg to move that
they be dropped at once, and that we elect a chair-
man of the meeting and proper officers to assist him,
and then we can go on with the business before us
understandingly.'

"Mr. Bell of Iowa:

'Gentlemen—I object.
This is no time to stand upon forms and ceremonious
observances. For more than seven days we have
been without food. Every moment we lose in idle
discussion increases our distress. I am satisfied with
the nominations that have been made—every
gentleman present is, I believe—and I, for one,
do not see why we should not proceed at once to
elect one or more of them. I wish to offer a reso-
lution—'

"Mr. Gaston:

'It would be objected to, and
have to lie over one day under the rules, thus bring-
ing about the very delay you wish to avoid. The
gentleman from New Jersey—'

"Mr. Van Nostrand:

'Gentlemen—I am a
stranger among you; I have not sought the distinc-
tion that has been conferred upon me, and I feel a
delicacy—'

"Mr. Morgan of Alabama (interrupting):

'I
move the previous question.'

"The motion was carried, and further debate shut
off, of course. The motion to elect officers was
passed, and under it Mr. Gaston was chosen chair-
man, Mr. Blake, secretary, Messrs. Holcomb, Dyer,
and Baldwin, a committee on nominations, and Mr.

---

R. M. Howland, purveyor, to assist the committee
in making selections.

"A recess of half an hour was then taken, and
some little caucussing followed. At the sound of
the gavel the meeting reassembled, and the com-
mittee reported in favor of Messrs. George Ferguson
of Kentucky, Lucien Herrman of Louisiana, and W.
Messick of Colorado as candidates. The report was
accepted.

"Mr. Rogers of Missouri:

'Mr. President—
The report being properly before the House now, I
move to amend it by substituting for the name of
Mr. Herrman that of Mr. Lucius Harris of St.
Louis, who is well and honorably known to us all.
I do not wish to be understood as casting the least
reflection upon the high character and standing of
the gentleman from Louisiana—far from it. I re-
spect and esteem him as much as any gentleman
here present possibly can; but none of us can be
blind to the fact that he has lost more flesh during
the week that we have lain here than any among
us—none of us can be blind to the fact that
the committee has been derelict in its duty, either
through negligence or a graver fault, in thus offer-
ing for our suffrages a gentleman who, however
pure his own motives may be, has really less nu-
triment in him—'

"The Chair:

'The gentleman from Missouri
will take his seat. The Chair cannot allow the
integrity of the committee to be questioned save

---

by the regular course, under the rules. What
action will the House take upon the gentleman's
motion?'

"Mr. Halliday of Virginia:

'I move to further
amend the report by substituting Mr. Harvey Davis
of Oregon for Mr. Messick. It may be urged by
gentlemen that the hardships and privations of a
frontier life have rendered Mr. Davis tough; but,
gentlemen, is this a time to cavil at toughness? Is
this a time to be fastidious concerning trifles? Is this
a time to dispute about matters of paltry signifi-
cance? No, gentlemen, bulk is what we desire—
substance, weight, bulk—these are the supreme
requisites now—not talent, not genius, not educa-
tion. I insist upon my motion.'

"Mr. Morgan (excitedly):

'Mr. Chairman—I
do most strenuously object to this amendment. The
gentleman from Oregon is old, and furthermore is
bulky only in bone—not in flesh. I ask the gentle-
man from Virginia if it is soup we want instead of
solid sustenance? if he would delude us with shad-
ows? if he would mock our suffering with an Ore-
gonian specter? I ask him if he can look upon the
anxious faces around him, if he can gaze into our
sad eyes, if he can listen to the beating of our ex-
pectant hearts, and still thrust this famine-stricken
fraud upon us? I ask him if he can think of our
desolate state, of our past sorrows, of our dark
future, and still unpityingly foist upon us this wreck,
this ruin, this tottering swindle, this gnarled and

---

blighted and sapless vagabond from Oregon's inhos-
pitable shores? Never!' [Applause.]

"The amendment was put to vote, after a fiery
debate, and lost. Mr. Harris was substituted on the
first amendment. The balloting then began. Five
ballots were held without a choice. On the sixth,
Mr. Harris was elected, all voting for him but him-
self. It was then moved that his election should be
ratified by acclamation, which was lost, in conse-
quence of his again voting against himself.

"Mr. Radway moved that the House now take
up the remaining candidates, and go into an election
for breakfast. This was carried.

"On the first ballot there was a tie, half the
members favoring one candidate on account of his
youth, and half favoring the other on account of his
superior size. The President gave the casting vote
for the latter, Mr. Messick. This decision created
considerable dissatisfaction among the friends of Mr.
Ferguson, the defeated candidate, and there was
some talk of demanding a new ballot; but in the
midst of it, a motion to adjourn was carried, and the
meeting broke up at once.

"The preparations for supper diverted the atten-
tion of the Ferguson faction from the discussion of
their grievance for a long time, and then, when they
would have taken it up again, the happy announce-
ment that Mr. Harris was ready, drove all thought
of it to the winds.

"We improvised tables by propping up the backs

---

of car-seats, and sat down with hearts full of grati-
tude to the finest supper that had blessed our vision
for seven torturing days. How changed we were
from what we had been a few short hours before!
Hopeless, sad-eyed misery, hunger, feverish anxiety,
desperation, then—thankfulness, serenity, joy too
deep for utterance now. That I know was the
cheeriest hour of my eventful life. The wind
howled, and blew the snow wildly about our prison-
house, but they were powerless to distress us any
more. I liked Harris. He might have been better
done, perhaps, but I am free to say that no man
ever agreed with me better than Harris, or afforded
me so large a degree of satisfaction. Messick was
very well, though rather high-flavored, but for gen-
uine nutritiousness and delicacy of fiber, give me
Harris. Messick had his good points—I will not
attempt to deny it, nor do I wish to do it—but he
was no more fitted for breakfast than a mummy
would be, sir—not a bit. Lean?—why, bless me!
—and tough? Ah, he was very tough! You could
not imagine it—you could never imagine anything
like it."

"Do you mean to tell me that—"

"Do not interrupt me, please. After breakfast
we elected a man by the name of Walker, from
Detroit, for supper. He was very good. I wrote
his wife so afterwards. He was worthy of all
praise. I shall always remember Walker. He was
a little rare, but very good. And then the next

---

morning we had Morgan of Alabama for breakfast.
He was one of the finest men I ever sat down to—
handsome, educated, refined, spoke several languages
fluently—a perfect gentleman—he was a perfect
gentleman, and singularly juicy. For supper we
had that Oregon patriarch, and he was a fraud,
there is no question about it—old, scraggy, tough,
nobody can picture the reality. I finally said, gen-
tlemen, you can do as you like, but I will wait for
another election. And Grimes of Illinois said,
'Gentlemen, I will wait also. When you elect a
man that has something to recommend him, I shall
be glad to join you again.' It soon became evident
that there was general dissatisfaction with Davis of
Oregon, and so, to preserve the good-will that had
prevailed so pleasantly since we had had Harris, an
election was called, and the result of it was that
Baker of Georgia was chosen. He was splendid!
Well, well—after that we had Doolittle, and Haw-
kins, and McElroy (there was some complaint about
McElroy, because he was uncommonly short and
thin), and Penrod, and two Smiths, and Bailey
(Bailey had a wooden leg, which was clear loss, but
he was otherwise good), and an Indian boy, and an
organ-grinder, and a gentleman by the name of
Buckminster—a poor stick of a vagabond that
wasn't any good for company and no account for
breakfast. We were glad we got him elected before
relief came."

"And so the blessed relief did come at last?"

---

"Yes, it came one bright, sunny morning, just
after election. John Murphy was the choice, and
there never was a better, I am willing to testify; but
John Murphy came home with us, in the train that
came to succor us, and lived to marry the widow
Harris—"

"Relict of—"

"Relict of our first choice. He married her, and
is happy and respected and prosperous yet. Ah, it
was like a novel, sir—it was like a romance. This
is my stopping-place, sir; I must bid you good-
bye. Any time that you can make it convenient to
tarry a day or two with me, I shall be glad to have
you. I like you, sir; I have conceived an affection
for you. I could like you as well as I liked Har-
ris himself, sir. Good day, sir, and a pleasant
journey."

He was gone. I never felt so stunned, so dis-
tressed, so bewildered in my life. But in my soul I
was glad he was gone. With all his gentleness of
manner and his soft voice, I shuddered whenever he
turned his hungry eye upon me; and when I heard
that I had achieved his perilous affection, and that I
stood almost with the late Harris in his esteem, my
heart fairly stood still!

I was bewildered beyond description. I did not
doubt his word; I could not question a single item
in a statement so stamped with the earnestness of
truth as his; but its dreadful details overpowered
me, and threw my thoughts into hopeless confusion.

---

I saw the conductor looking at me. I said, "Who
is that man?"

"He was a member of Congress once, and a
good one. But he got caught in a snowdrift in the
cars, and like to have been starved to death. He got
so frost-bitten and frozen up generally, and used up
for want of something to eat, that he was sick and
out of his head two or three months afterward. He
is all right now, only he is a monomaniac, and when
he gets on that old subject he never stops till he has
eat up that whole car-load of people he talks about.
He would have finished the crowd by this time, only
he had to get out here. He has got their names as
pat as A B C. When he gets them all eat up but
himself, he always says: 'Then the hour for the
usual election for breakfast having arrived, and there
being no opposition, I was duly elected, after which,
there being no objections offered, I resigned. Thus
I am here.'"

I felt inexpressibly relieved to know that I had
only been listening to the harmless vagaries of a
madman instead of the genuine experiences of a
bloodthirsty cannibal.

---

THE KILLING OF JULIUS CÆSAR
"LOCALIZED"*

Written about 1865.

Being the only true and reliable account ever pub-
lished; taken from the Roman "Daily Evening
Fasces," of the date of that tremendous oc-
currence.

Nothing in the world affords a newspaper re-
porter so much satisfaction as gathering up
the details of a bloody and mysterious murder, and
writing them up with aggravating circumstantiality.
He takes a living delight in this labor of love—for
such it is to him, especially if he knows that all the
other papers have gone to press, and his will be the
only one that will contain the dreadful intelligence.
A feeling of regret has often come over me that I
was not reporting in Rome when Cæsar was killed
—reporting on an evening paper, and the only one
in the city, and getting at least twelve hours ahead
of the morning-paper boys with this most magnifi-
cent "item" that ever fell to the lot of the craft.
Other events have happened as startling as this, but

---

none that possessed so peculiarly all the character-
istics of the favorite "item" of the present day,
magnified into grandeur and sublimity by the high
rank, fame, and social and political standing of the
actors in it.

However, as I was not permitted to report Cæsar's
assassination in the regular way, it has at least
afforded me rare satisfaction to translate the follow-
ing able account of it from the original Latin of the
Roman Daily Evening Fasces of that date—second
edition.

"Our usually quiet city of Rome was thrown into a state of wild
excitement yesterday by the occurrence of one of those bloody affrays
which sicken the heart and fill the soul with fear, while they inspire all
thinking men with forebodings for the future of a city where human life
is held so cheaply, and the gravest laws are so openly set at defiance.
As the result of that affray, it is our painful duty, as public journalists,
to record the death of one of our most esteemed citizens—a man whose
name is known wherever this paper circulates, and whose fame it has
been our pleasure and our privilege to extend, and also to protect from
the tongue of slander and falsehood, to the best of our poor ability.
We refer to Mr. J. Cæsar, the Emperor-elect."The facts of the case, as nearly as our reporter could determine them
from the conflicting statements of eye-witnesses, were about as follows:—
The affair was an election row, of course. Nine-tenths of the ghastly
butcheries that disgrace the city now-a-days grow out of the bickerings
and jealousies and animosities engendered by these accursed elections.
Rome would be the gainer by it if her very constables were elected to
serve a century; for in our experience we have never even been able to
choose a dog-pelter without celebrating the event with a dozen knock-
downs and a general cramming of the station-house with drunken vaga-
bonds overnight. It is said that when the immense majority for Cæsar
at the polls in the market was declared the other day, and the crown
was offered to that gentleman, even his amazing unselfishness in refusing
it three times was not sufficient to save him from the whispered insults

---

of such men as Casca, of the Tenth Ward, and other hirelings of the
disappointed candidate, hailing mostly from the Eleventh and Thirteenth
and other outside districts, who were overheard speaking ironically and
contemptuously of Mr. Cæsar's conduct upon that occasion."We are further informed that there are many among us who think
they are justified in believing that the assassination of Julius Cæsar was a
put-up thing—a cut-and-dried arrangement, hatched by Marcus Brutus
and a lot of his hired roughs, and carried out only too faithfully accord-
ing to the programme. Whether there be good grounds for this sus-
picion or not, we leave to the people to judge for themselves, only
asking that they will read the following account of the sad occurrence
carefully and dispassionately before they render that judgment."The Senate was already in session, and Cæsar was coming down
the street towards the capitol, conversing with some personal friends,
and followed, as usual, by a large number of citizens. Just as he was
passing in front of Demosthenes and Thucydides' drug-store, he was
observing casually to a gentleman, who, our informant thinks, is a
fortune-teller, that the Ides of March were come. The reply was,
'Yes, they are come, but not gone yet.' At this moment Artemidorus
stepped up and passed the time of day, and asked Cæsar to read a
schedule or a tract or something of the kind, which he had brought for
his perusal. Mr. Decius Brutus also said something about an 'humble
suit' which he wanted read. Artemidorus begged that attention might
be paid to his first, because it was of personal consequence to Cæsar.
The latter replied that what concerned himself should be read last, or
words to that effect. Artemidorus begged and beseeched him to read
the paper instantly.*

Mark that: It is hinted by William Shakespeare, who saw the
beginning and the end of the unfortunate affray, that this "schedule"
was simply a note discovering to Cæsar that a plot was brewing to take
his life.

However, Cæsar shook him off, and refused to
read any petition in the street. He then entered the capitol, and the
crowd followed him."About this time the following conversation was overheard, and we
consider that, taken in connection with the events which succeeded it,
it bears an appalling significance: Mr. Papilius Lena remarked to
George W. Cassius (commonly known as the 'Nobby Boy of the Third
Ward'), a bruiser in the pay of the Opposition, that he hoped his

---

enterprise to-day might thrive; and when Cassius asked 'What enter-
prise?' he only closed his left eye temporarily and said with simulated
indifference, 'Fare you well,' and sauntered towards Cæsar. Marcus
Brutus, who is suspected of being the ringleader of the band that killed
Cæsar, asked what it was that Lena had said. Cassius told him, and
added in a low tone, 'I fear our purpose is discovered.'"Brutus told his wretched accomplice to keep an eye on Lena, and
a moment after Cassius urged that lean and hungry vagrant, Casca,
whose reputation here is none of the best, to be sudden for he feared
prevention. He then turned to Brutus, apparently much excited, and
asked what should be done, and swore that either he or Cæsar should
never turn back—he would kill himself first. At this time Cæsar was
talking to some of the back-country members about the approaching fall
elections, and paying little attention to what was going on around him.
Billy Trebonius got into conversation with the people's friend and
Cæsar's—Mark Antony—and under some pretence or other got him
away, and Brutus, Decius, Casca, Cinna, Metellus Cimber, and others
of the gang of infamous desperadoes that infest Rome at present, closed
around the doomed Cæsar. Then Metellus Cimber knelt down and
begged that his brother might be recalled from banishment, but Cæsar
rebuked him for his fawning conduct, and refused to grant his petition.
Immediately, at Cimber's request, first Brutus and then Cassius begged
for the return of the banished Publius; but Cæsar still refused. He
said he could not be moved; that he was as fixed as the North Star, and
proceeded to speak in the most complimentary terms of the firmness of
that star and its steady character. Then he said he was like it, and he
believed he was the only man in the country that was; therefore, since
he was 'constant' that Cimber should be banished, he was also 'con-
stant' that he should stay banished, and he'd be hanged if he didn't
keep him so!"Instantly seizing upon this shallow pretext for a fight, Casca sprang
at Cæsar and struck him with a dirk, Cæsar grabbing him by the arm
with his right hand, and launching a blow straight from the shoulder
with his left, that sent the reptile bleeding to the earth. He then
backed up against Pompey's statue, and squared himself to receive his
assailants. Cassius and Cimber and Cinna rushed upon him with their
daggers drawn, and the former succeeded in inflicting a wound upon his
body; but before he could strike again, and before either of the others
could strike at all, Cæsar stretched the three miscreants at his feet with

---

as many blows of his powerful fist. By this time the Senate was in an
indescribable uproar; the throng of citizens in the lobbies had blockaded
the doors in their frantic efforts to escape from the building, the sergeant-
at-arms and his assistants were struggling with the assassins, venerable
senators had cast aside their encumbering robes, and were leaping over
benches and flying down the aisles in wild confusion towards the shelter
of the committee-rooms, and a thousand voices were shouting 'Po-lice!
Po-lice!' in discordant tones that rose above the frightful din like
shrieking winds above the roaring of a tempest. And amid it all, great
Cæsar stood with his back against the statue, like a lion at bay, and
fought his assailants weaponless and hand to hand, with the defiant
bearing and the unwavering courage which he had shown before on
many a bloody field. Billy Trebonius and Caius Legarius struck him
with their daggers and fell, as their brother-conspirators before them had
fallen. But at last, when Cæsar saw his old friend Brutus step forward
armed with a murderous knife, it is said he seemed utterly overpowered
with grief and amazement, and dropping his invincible left arm by his
side, he hid his face in the folds of his mantle and received the treach-
erous blow without an effort to stay the hand that gave it. He only
said, 'Et tu, Brute?' and fell lifeless on the marble pavement."We learn that the coat deceased had on when he was killed was
the same one he wore in his tent on the afternoon of the day he over-
came the Nervii, and that when it was removed from the corpse it was
found to be cut and gashed in no less than seven different places.
There was nothing in the pockets. It will be exhibited at the coroner's
inquest, and will be damning proof of the fact of the killing. These
latter facts may be relied on, as we get them from Mark Antony, whose
position enables him to learn every item of news connected with the one
subject of absorbing interest of to-day."Later.—While the coroner was summoning a jury, Mark Antony
and other friends of the late Cæsar got hold of the body, and lugged it
off to the Forum, and at last accounts Antony and Brutus were making
speeches over it and raising such a row among the people that, as we
go to press, the chief of police is satisfied there is going to be a riot,
and is taking measures accordingly."

---

THE WIDOW'S PROTEST

One of the saddest things that ever came under
my notice (said the banker's clerk) was there
in Corning during the war. Dan Murphy enlisted
as a private, and fought very bravely. The boys all
liked him, and when a wound by and by weakened
him down till carrying a musket was too heavy work
for him, they clubbed together and fixed him up as
a sutler. He made money then, and sent it always
to his wife to bank for him. She was a washer and
ironer, and knew enough by hard experience to keep
money when she got it. She didn't waste a penny.
On the contrary, she began to get miserly as her
bank account grew. She grieved to part with a
cent, poor creature, for twice in her hardworking
life she had known what it was to be hungry, cold,
friendless, sick, and without a dollar in the world,
and she had a haunting dread of suffering so again.
Well, at last Dan died; and the boys, in testimony
of their esteem and respect for him, telegraphed to
Mrs. Murphy to know if she would like to have him
embalmed and sent home; when you know the
usual custom was to dump a poor devil like him

---

into a shallow hole, and then inform his friends
what had become of him. Mrs. Murphy jumped to
the conclusion that it would only cost two or three
dollars to embalm her dead husband, and so she
telegraphed "Yes." It was at the "wake" that
the bill for embalming arrived and was presented to
the widow.

She uttered a wild sad wail that pierced every
heart, and said, "Sivinty-foive dollars for stooffin'
Dan, blister their sowls! Did thim divils suppose I
was goin' to stairt a Museim, that I'd be dalin' in
such expinsive curiassities!"

The banker's clerk said there was not a dry eye
in the house.

---

THE SCRIPTURAL PANORAMIST*

Written about 1866.

"There was a fellow traveling around in that
country," said Mr. Nickerson, "with a
moral-religious show—a sort of scriptural pano-
rama—and he hired a wooden-headed old slab to
play the piano for him. After the first night's per-
formance the showman says:

"'My friend, you seem to know pretty much all
the tunes there are, and you worry along first rate.
But then, don't you notice that sometimes last night
the piece you happened to be playing was a little
rough on the proprieties, so to speak—didn't seem
to jibe with the general gait of the picture that was
passing at the time, as it were—was a little foreign
to the subject, you know—as if you didn't either
trump or follow suit, you understand?'

"'Well, no,' the fellow said; 'he hadn't noticed,
but it might be; he had played along just as it came
handy.'

"So they put it up that the simple old dummy
was to keep his eye on the panorama after that, and
as soon as a stunning picture was reeled out he was

---

to fit it to a dot with a piece of music that would
help the audience to get the idea of the subject, and
warm them up like a camp-meeting revival. That
sort of thing would corral their sympathies, the
showman said.

"There was a big audience that night—mostly
middle-aged and old people who belong to the
church, and took a strong interest in Bible matters,
and the balance were pretty much young bucks and
heifers—they always come out strong on pano-
ramas, you know, because it gives them a chance to
taste one another's complexions in the dark.

"Well, the showman began to swell himself up
for his lecture, and the old mud-dobber tackled the
piano and ran his fingers up and down once or twice
to see that she was all right, and the fellows behind
the curtain commenced to grind out the panorama.
The showman balanced his weight on his right foot,
and propped his hands over his hips, and flung his
eyes over his shoulder at the scenery, and said:

"'Ladies and gentlemen, the painting now before
you illustrates the beautiful and touching parable of
the Prodigal Son. Observe the happy expression
just breaking over the features of the poor, suffering
youth—so worn and weary with his long march;
note also the ecstasy beaming from the uplifted
countenance of the aged father, and the joy that
sparkles in the eyes of the excited group of youths
and maidens, and seems ready to burst into the
welcoming chorus from their lips. The lesson, my

---

friends, is as solemn and instructive as the story is
tender and beautiful.'

"The mud-dobber was all ready, and when the
second speech was finished, struck up:
"'Oh, we'll all get blind drunk,When Johnny comes marching home!'

"Some of the people giggled, and some groaned
a little. The showman couldn't say a word; he
looked at the pianist sharp, but he was all lovely
and serene—he didn't know there was anything out
of gear.

"The panorama moved on, and the showman
drummed up his grit and started in fresh.

"'Ladies and gentlemen, the fine picture now
unfolding itself to your gaze exhibits one of the
most notable events in Bible history—our Saviour
and His disciples upon the Sea of Galilee. How
grand, how awe-inspiring are the reflections which
the subject invokes! What sublimity of faith is re-
vealed to us in this lesson from the sacred writings!
The Saviour rebukes the angry waves, and walks
securely upon the bosom of the deep!'

"All around the house they were whispering,
'Oh, how lovely, how beautiful!' and the orchestra
let himself out again:
"'A life on the ocean wave,And a home on the rolling deep!'

"There was a good deal of honest snickering
turned on this time, and considerable groaning, and

---

one or two old deacons got up and went out. The
showman grated his teeth, and cursed the piano man
to himself; but the fellow sat there like a knot on a
log, and seemed to think he was doing first-rate.

"After things got quiet the showman thought he
would make one more stagger at it anyway, though
his confidence was beginning to get mighty shaky.
The supes started the panorama grinding along again,
and he says:

"'Ladies and gentlemen, this exquisite painting
represents the raising of Lazarus from the dead by
our Saviour. The subject has been handled with
marvelous skill by the artist, and such touching
sweetness and tenderness of expression has he
thrown into it that I have known peculiarly sensi-
tive persons to be even affected to tears by looking
at it. Observe the half-confused, half-inquiring look
upon the countenance of the awakened Lazarus.
Observe, also, the attitude and expression of the
Saviour, who takes him gently by the sleeve of his
shroud with one hand, while He points with the
other toward the distant city.'

"Before anybody could get off an opinion in the
case the innocent old ass at the piano struck up:
"'Come rise up, William Ri-i-ley,And go along with me!'

"Whe-ew! All the solemn old flats got up in a
huff to go, and everybody else laughed till the win-
dows rattled.

---

"The showman went down and grabbed the
orchestra and shook him up and says:

"'That lets you out, you know, you chowder-
headed old clam. Go to the doorkeeper and get
your money, and cut your stick—vamose the
ranche! Ladies and gentlemen, circumstances over
which I have no control compel me prematurely to
dismiss the house.'"

---

CURING A COLD*

Written about 1864.

It is a good thing, perhaps, to write for the amuse-
ment of the public, but it is a far higher and
nobler thing to write for their instruction, their
profit, their actual and tangible benefit. The latter
is the sole object of this article. If it prove the
means of restoring to health one solitary sufferer
among my race, of lighting up once more the fire of
hope and joy in his faded eyes, or bringing back to
his dead heart again the quick, generous impulses of
other days, I shall be amply rewarded for my labor;
my soul will be permeated with the sacred delight a
Christian feels when he has done a good, unselfish
deed.

Having led a pure and blameless life, I am justi-
fied in believing that no man who knows me will
reject the suggestions I am about to make, out of
fear that I am trying to deceive him. Let the public
do itself the honor to read my experience in doctor-
ing a cold, as herein set forth, and then follow in
my footsteps.

When the White House was burned in Virginia

---

City, I lost my home, my happiness, my constitu-
tion, and my trunk. The loss of the two first-
named articles was a matter of no great conse-
quence, since a home without a mother, or a sister,
or a distant young female relative in it, to remind
you, by putting your soiled linen out of sight and
taking your boots down off the mantel-piece, that
there are those who think about you and care for
you, is easily obtained. And I cared nothing for
the loss of my happiness, because, not being a poet,
it could not be possible that melancholy would abide
with me long. But to lose a good constitution and
a better trunk were serious misfortunes. On the
day of the fire my constitution succumbed to a
severe cold, caused by undue exertion in getting
ready to do something. I suffered to no purpose,
too, because the plan I was figuring at for the
extinguishing of the fire was so elaborate that I
never got it completed until the middle of the fol-
lowing week.

The first time I began to sneeze, a friend told me
to go and bathe my feet in hot water and go to bed.
I did so. Shortly afterwards, another friend advised
me to get up and take a cold shower-bath. I did
that also. Within the hour, another friend assured
me that it was policy to "feed a cold and starve a
fever." I had both. So I thought it best to fill
myself up for the cold, and then keep dark and let
the fever starve a while.

In a case of this kind, I seldom do things by

---

halves; I ate pretty heartily; I conferred my custom
upon a stranger who had just opened his restaurant
that morning; he waited near me in respectful
silence until I had finished feeding my cold, when
he inquired if the people about Virginia City were
much afflicted with colds? I told him I thought
they were. He then went out and took in his sign.

I started down toward the office, and on the way
encountered another bosom friend, who told me that
a quart of salt water, taken warm, would come as
near curing a cold as anything in the world. I
hardly thought I had room for it, but I tried it any-
how. The result was surprising. I believed I had
thrown up my immortal soul.

Now, as I am giving my experience only for the
benefit of those who are troubled with the distemper
I am writing about, I feel that they will see the
propriety of my cautioning them against following
such portions of it as proved inefficient with me,
and acting upon this conviction, I warn them against
warm salt water. It may be a good enough remedy,
but I think it is too severe. If I had another cold
in the head, and there were no course left me
but to take either an earthquake or a quart of warm
salt water, I would take my chances on the earth-
quake.

After the storm which had been raging in my
stomach had subsided, and no more good Samaritans
happening along, I went on borrowing handkerchiefs
again and blowing them to atoms, as had been my

---

custom in the early stages of my cold, until I came
across a lady who had just arrived from over the
plains, and who said she had lived in a part of the
country where doctors were scarce, and had from
necessity acquired considerable skill in the treatment
of simple "family complaints." I knew she must
have had much experience, for she appeared to be a
hundred and fifty years old.

She mixed a decoction composed of molasses,
aquafortis, turpentine, and various other drugs, and
instructed me to take a wine-glass full of it every
fifteen minutes. I never took but one dose; that
was enough; it robbed me of all moral principle,
and awoke every unworthy impulse of my nature.
Under its malign influence my brain conceived
miracles of meanness, but my hands were too feeble
to execute them; at that time, had it not been that
my strength had surrendered to a succession of
assaults from infallible remedies for my cold, I am
satisfied that I would have tried to rob the grave-
yard. Like most other people, I often feel mean,
and act accordingly; but until I took that medicine
I had never revelled in such supernatural depravity,
and felt proud of it. At the end of two days I was
ready to go to doctoring again. I took a few more
unfailing remedies, and finally drove my cold from
my head to my lungs.

I got to coughing incessantly, and my voice fell
below zero; I conversed in a thundering bass, two
octaves below my natural tone; I could only com-

---

pass my regular nightly repose by coughing myself
down to a state of utter exhaustion, and then the
moment I began to talk in my sleep, my discordant
voice woke me up again.

My case grew more and more serious every day.
Plain gin was recommended; I took it. Then gin
and molasses; I took that also. Then gin and
onions; I added the onions, and took all three. I
detected no particular result, however, except that I
had acquired a breath like a buzzard's.

I found I had to travel for my health. I went to
Lake Bigler with my reportorial comrade, Wilson.
It is gratifying to me to reflect that we traveled in
considerable style; we went in the Pioneer coach,
and my friend took all his baggage with him, con-
sisting of two excellent silk handkerchiefs and a
daguerreotype of his grandmother. We sailed and
hunted and fished and danced all day, and I doc-
tored my cough all night. By managing in this
way, I made out to improve every hour in the
twenty-four. But my disease continued to grow
worse.

A sheet-bath was recommended. I had never re-
fused a remedy yet, and it seemed poor policy to
commence then; therefore I determined to take a
sheet-bath, notwithstanding I had no idea what sort
of arrangement it was. It was administered at mid-
night, and the weather was very frosty. My breast
and back were bared, and a sheet (there appeared
to be a thousand yards of it) soaked in ice-water,

---

was wound around me until I resembled a swab for
a Columbiad.

It is a cruel expedient. When the chilly rag
touches one's warm flesh, it makes him start with
sudden violence, and gasp for breath just as men do
in the death agony. It froze the marrow in my
bones, and stopped the beating of my heart. I
thought my time had come.

Young Wilson said the circumstance reminded
him of an anecdote about a negro who was being
baptized, and who slipped from the parson's grasp,
and came near being drowned. He floundered
around, though, and finally rose up out of the
water considerably strangled, and furiously angry,
and started ashore at once, spouting water like a
whale, and remarking, with great asperity, that
"one o' dese days some gen'l'man's nigger gwyne
to get killed wid jis' such dam foolishness as dis!"

Never take a sheet-bath—never. Next to meet-
ing a lady acquaintance, who, for reasons best
known to herself, don't see you when she looks at
you, and don't know you when she does see you, it
is the most uncomfortable thing in the world.

But, as I was saying, when the sheet-bath failed
to cure my cough, a lady friend recommended the
application of a mustard plaster to my breast. I
believe that would have cured me effectually, if it
had not been for young Wilson. When I went to
bed, I put my mustard plaster—which was a very
gorgeous one, eighteen inches square—where I

---

could reach it when I was ready for it. But young
Wilson got hungry in the night, and—here is food
for the imagination.

After sojourning a week at Lake Bigler, I went to
Steamboat Springs, and, beside the steam baths, I
took a lot of the vilest medicines that were ever
concocted. They would have cured me, but I had
to go back to Virginia City, where, notwithstanding
the variety of new remedies I absorbed every day, I
managed to aggravate my disease by carelessness
and undue exposure.

I finally concluded to visit San Francisco, and the
first day I got there, a lady at the hotel told me to
drink a quart of whisky every twenty-four hours,
and a friend up town recommended precisely the
same course. Each advised me to take a quart;
that made half a gallon. I did it, and still live.

Now, with the kindest motives in the world, I
offer for the consideration of consumptive patients
the variegated course of treatment I have lately gone
through. Let them try it; if it don't cure, it can't
more than kill them.

---

A CURIOUS PLEASURE EXCURSION*

Published at the time of the "Comet Scare" in the summer
of 1874.

["We have received the following advertisement, but, inasmuch as it
concerns a matter of deep and general interest, we feel fully justified in
inserting it in our reading columns. We are confident that our conduct
in this regard needs only explanation, not apology.—Ed. N. Y. Herald.]ADVERTISEMENT

This is to inform the public that in connection
with Mr. Barnum I have leased the comet for
a term of years; and I desire also to solicit the
public patronage in favor of a beneficial enterprise
which we have in view.

We propose to fit up comfortable, and even
luxurious, accommodations in the comet for as
many persons as will honor us with their patronage,
and make an extended excursion among the heavenly
bodies. We shall prepare 1,000,000 staterooms in
the tail of the comet (with hot and cold water, gas,
looking-glass, parachute, umbrella, etc., in each),
and shall construct more if we meet with a suffi-
ciently generous encouragement. We shall have
billiard rooms, card rooms, music rooms, bowling

---

alleys and many spacious theaters and free libraries;
and on the main deck we propose to have a driving
park, with upward of 100,000 miles of roadway in
it. We shall publish daily newspapers also.

departure of the comet.

The comet will leave New York at 10 p. m. on
the 20th inst., and therefore it will be desirable that
the passengers be on board by eight at the latest, to
avoid confusion in getting under way. It is not
known whether passports will be necessary or not,
but it is deemed best that passengers provide them,
and so guard against all contingencies. No dogs
will be allowed on board. This rule has been made
in deference to the existing state of feeling regarding
these animals, and will be strictly adhered to. The
safety of the passengers will in all ways be jealously
looked to. A substantial iron railing will be put up
all around the comet, and no one will be allowed to
go to the edge and look over unless accompanied by
either my partner or myself.

the postal service

will be of the completest character. Of course
the telegraph, and the telegraph only, will be em-
ployed; consequently friends occupying staterooms
20,000,000 and even 30,000,000 miles apart, will be
able to send a message and receive a reply inside of
eleven days. Night messages will be half rate. The
whole of this vast postal system will be under the
personal superintendence of Mr. Hale of Maine.

---

Meals served at all hours. Meals served in state-
rooms charged extra.

Hostility is not apprehended from any great
planet, but we have thought it best to err on the
safe side, and therefore have provided a proper
number of mortars, siege guns, and boarding pikes.
History shows that small, isolated communities,
such as the people of remote islands, are prone to
be hostile to strangers, and so the same may be the
case with
the inhabitants of stars of the tenth or twentieth magnitude. We shall in
no case wantonly offend the people of any star, but
shall treat all alike with urbanity and kindliness,
never conducting ourselves toward an asteroid after
a fashion which we could not venture to assume
toward Jupiter or Saturn. I repeat that we shall not
wantonly offend any star; but at the same time we
shall promptly resent any injury that may be done
us, or any insolence offered us, by parties or
governments residing in any star in the firmament.
Although averse to the shedding of blood, we shall
still hold this course rigidly and fearlessly, not only
toward single stars, but toward constellations. We
shall hope to leave a good impression of America
behind us in every nation we visit, from Venus to
Uranus. And, at all events, if we cannot inspire
love we shall at least compel respect for our country
wherever we go. We shall take with us, free of
charge,

---

a great force of missionaries, and shed the true light upon all the celestial orbs
which, physically aglow, are yet morally in dark-
ness. Sunday-schools will be established wherever
practicable. Compulsory education will also be
introduced.

The comet will visit Mars first, and proceed to
Mercury, Jupiter, Venus, and Saturn. Parties con-
nected with the government of the District of
Columbia and with the former city government of
New York, who may desire to inspect the rings, will
be allowed time and every facility. Every star of
prominent magnitude will be visited, and time
allowed for excursions to points of interest inland.

the dog star

has been stricken from the programme. Much time
will be spent in the Great Bear, and, indeed, of
every constellation of importance. So, also, with
the Sun and Moon and the Milky Way, otherwise
the Gulf Stream of the skies. Clothing suitable for
wear in the sun should be provided. Our pro-
gramme has been so arranged that we shall seldom
go more than 100,000,000 of miles at a time without
stopping at some star. This will necessarily make
the stoppages frequent and preserve the interest of
the tourist. Baggage checked through to any point
on the route. Parties desiring to make only a part
of the proposed tour, and thus save expense, may
stop over at any star they choose and wait for the
return voyage.

---

After visiting all the most celebrated stars and
constellations in our system and personally inspect-
ing the remotest sparks that even the most powerful
telescope can now detect in the firmament, we shall
proceed with good heart upon
a stupendous voyage of discovery among the countless whirling worlds
that make turmoil in the mighty wastes of space that
stretch their solemn solitudes, their unimaginable
vastness billions upon billions of miles away beyond
the farthest verge of telescopic vision, till by com-
parison the little sparkling vault we used to gaze at
on Earth shall seem like a remembered phosphores-
cent flash of spangles which some tropical voyager's
prow stirred into life for a single instant, and which
ten thousand miles of phosphorescent seas and
tedious lapse of time had since diminished to an
incident utterly trivial in his recollection. Children
occupying seats at the first table will be charged full
fare.

first class fare

from the Earth to Uranus, including visits to the
Sun and Moon and all the principal planets on the
route, will be charged at the low rate of $2 for every
50,000,000 miles of actual travel. A great reduc-
tion will be made where parties wish to make the
round trip. This comet is new and in thorough
repair and is now on her first voyage. She is con-
fessedly the fastest on the line. She makes 20,-

---

000,000 miles a day, with her present facilities; but,
with a picked American crew and good weather, we
are confident we can get 40,000,000 out of her.
Still, we shall never push her to a dangerous speed,
and we shall rigidly prohibit racing with other
comets. Passengers desiring to diverge at any point
or return will be transferred to other comets. We
make close connections at all principal points with all
reliable lines. Safety can be depended upon. It is
not to be denied that the heavens are infested with
old ramshackle comets that have not been inspected or overhauled in 10,000
years, and which ought long ago to have been de-
stroyed or turned into hail barges, but with these we
have no connection whatever. Steerage passengers
not allowed abaft the main hatch.

Complimentary round trip tickets have been
tendered to General Butler, Mr. Shepherd, Mr.
Richardson, and other eminent gentlemen, whose
public services have entitled them to the rest and
relaxation of a voyage of this kind. Parties desiring
to make the round trip will have extra accommoda-
tion. The entire voyage will be completed, and the
passengers landed in New York again on the 14th
of December, 1991. This is, at least, forty years
quicker than any other comet can do it in. Nearly
all the back pay members contemplate making the
round trip with us in case their constituents will
allow them a holiday. Every harmless amusement
will be allowed on board, but no pools permitted on

---

the run of the comet—no gambling of any kind.
All fixed stars will be respected by us, but such stars
as seem to need fixing we shall fix. If it makes
trouble we shall be sorry, but firm.

Mr. Coggia having leased his comet to us, she
will no longer be called by his name but by my
partner's. N. B.—Passengers by paying double
fare will be entitled to a share in all the new stars,
suns, moons, comets, meteors, and magazines of
thunder and lightning we may discover. Patent
medicine people will take notice that
we carry bulletin boards and a paint brush along for use in the constellations,
and are open to terms. Cremationists are reminded
that we are going straight to—some hot places—
and are open to terms. To other parties our enter-
prise is a pleasure excursion, but individually we
mean business. We shall fly our comet for all it is
worth.

for further particulars,

or for freight or passage, apply on board, or to
my partner, but not to me, since I do not take
charge of the comet until she is under weigh. It is
necessary, at a time like this, that my mind should
not be burdened with small business details.

---

RUNNING FOR GOVERNOR*

Written about 1870.

A few months ago I was nominated for Governor
of the great State of New York, to run against
Mr. John T. Smith and Mr. Blank J. Blank on an
independent ticket. I somehow felt that I had one
prominent advantage over these gentlemen, and that
was—good character. It was easy to see by the
newspapers that if ever they had known what it was
to bear a good name, that time had gone by. It
was plain that in these latter years they had become
familiar with all manner of shameful crimes. But
at the very moment that I was exalting my advan-
tage and joying in it in secret, there was a muddy
undercurrent of discomfort "riling" the deeps of
my happiness, and that was—the having to hear
my name bandied about in familiar connection with
those of such people. I grew more and more dis-
turbed. Finally I wrote my grandmother about it.
Her answer came quick and sharp. She said:
"You have never done one single thing in all your life to be
ashamed of—not one. Look at the newspapers—look at them and com-
prehend what sort of characters Messrs. Smith and Blank are, and then

---

see if you are willing to lower yourself to their level and enter a public
canvass with them."

It was my very thought! I did not sleep a single
moment that night. But after all I could not recede.
I was fully committed, and must go on with the
fight. As I was looking listlessly over the papers at
breakfast I came across this paragraph, and I may
truly say I never was so confounded before.

"Perjury.—Perhaps, now that Mr. Mark Twain is before the peo-
ple as a candidate for Governor, he will condescend to explain how he
came to be convicted of perjury by thirty-four witnesses in Wakawak,
Cochin China, in 1863, the intent of which perjury being to rob a poor
native widow and her helpless family of a meagre plantain-patch, their
only stay and support in their bereavement and desolation. Mr. Twain
owes it to himself, as well as to the great people whose suffrages he
asks, to clear this matter up. Will he do it?"

I thought I should burst with amazement! Such
a cruel, heartless charge. I never had seen Cochin
China! I never had heard of Wakawak! I didn't
know a plantain-patch from a kangaroo! I did not
know what to do. I was crazed and helpless. I
let the day slip away without doing anything at all.
The next morning the same paper had this—noth-
ing more:
"Significant.—Mr. Twain, it will be observed, is suggestively
silent about the Cochin China perjury."

[Mem.—During the rest of the campaign this
paper never referred to me in any other way than as
"the infamous perjurer Twain."]

Next came the Gazette, with this:
"Wanted to Know.—Will the new candidate for Governor deign

---

to explain to certain of his fellow-citizens (who are suffering to vote for
him!) the little circumstance of his cabin-mates in Montana losing small
valuables from time to time, until at last, these things having been
invariably found on Mr. Twain's person or in his 'trunk' (newspaper he
rolled his traps in), they felt compelled to give him a friendly admoni-
tion for his own good, and so tarred and feathered him, and rode him
on a rail, and then advised him to leave a permanent vacuum in
the place he usually occupied in the camp. Will he do this?"

Could anything be more deliberately malicious
than that? For I never was in Montana in my life.

[After this, this journal customarily spoke of me
as "Twain, the Montana Thief."]

I got to picking up papers apprehensively—
much as one would lift a desired blanket which he
had some idea might have a rattlesnake under it.
One day this met my eye:
"The Lie Nailed.—By the sworn affidavits of Michael O'Flan-
agan, Esq., of the Five Points, and Mr. Snub Rafferty and Mr. Catty
Mulligan, of Water Street, it is established that Mr. Mark Twain's vile
statement that the lamented grandfather of our noble standard-bearer,
Blank J. Blank, was hanged for highway robbery, is a brutal and
gratuitous lie, without a shadow of foundation in fact. It is dishearten-
ing to virtuous men to see such shameful means resorted to to achieve
political success as the attacking of the dead in their graves, and defiling
their honored names with slander. When we think of the anguish this
miserable falsehood must cause the innocent relatives and friends of the
deceased, we are almost driven to incite an outraged and insulted public
to summary and unlawful vengeance upon the traducer. But no! let us
leave him to the agony of a lacerated conscience (though if passion
should get the better of the public, and in its blind fury they should do
the traducer bodily injury, it is but too obvious that no jury could con-
vict and no court punish the perpetrators of the deed)."

The ingenious closing sentence had the effect of
moving me out of bed with dispatch that night, and
out at the back door also, while the "outraged and

---

insulted public" surged in the front way, breaking
furniture and windows in their righteous indignation
as they came, and taking off such property as they
could carry when they went. And yet I can lay
my hand upon the Book and say that I never
slandered Mr. Blank's grandfather. More: I had
never even heard of him or mentioned him up to
that day and date.

[I will state, in passing, that the journal above
quoted from always referred to me afterward as
"Twain, the Body-Snatcher."]

The next newspaper article that attracted my at
tention was the following:
"A Sweet Candidate.—Mr. Mark Twain, who was to make such
a blighting speech at the mass meeting of the Independents last night,
didn't come to time! A telegram from his physician stated that he had
been knocked down by a runaway team, and his leg broken in two
places—sufferer lying in great agony, and so forth, and so forth, and a
lot more bosh of the same sort. And the Independents tried hard to
swallow the wretched subterfuge, and pretend that they did not know
what was the real reason of the absence of the abandoned creature whom
they denominate their standard-bearer. A certain man was seen to
reel into Mr. Twain's hotel last night in a state of beastly intoxica-
tion. It is the imperative duty of the Independents to prove that this
besotted brute was not Mark Twain himself. We have them at last!
This is a case that admits of no shirking. The voice of the people
demands in thunder-tones, 'Who was that man?'"

It was incredible, absolutely incredible, for a mo-
ment, that it was really my name that was coupled
with this disgraceful suspicion. Three long years
had passed over my head since I had tasted ale,
beer, wine, or liquor of any kind.

---

[It shows what effect the times were having on
me when I say that I saw myself confidently dubbed
"Mr. Delirium Tremens Twain" in the next issue
of that journal without a pang—notwithstanding I
knew that with monotonous fidelity the paper would
go on calling me so to the very end.]

By this time anonymous letters were getting to be
an important part of my mail matter. This form
was common:
"How about that old woman you kiked of your premisers which
was beging. Pol Pry."

And this:
"There is things which you have done which is unbeknowens to any-
body but me. You better trot out a few dols. to yours truly, or you'll
hear through the papers from Handy Andy."

This is about the idea. I could continue them till
the reader was surfeited, if desirable.

Shortly the principal Republican journal "con-
victed" me of wholesale bribery, and the leading
Democratic paper "nailed" an aggravated case of
blackmailing to me.

[In this way I acquired two additional names:
"Twain the Filthy Corruptionist," and "Twain the
Loathsome Embracer."]

By this time there had grown to be such a clamor
for an "answer" to all the dreadful charges that
were laid to me that the editors and leaders of my
party said it would be political ruin for me to re-
main silent any longer. As if to make their appeal

---

the more imperative, the following appeared in one
of the papers the very next day:
"Behold the Man!—The independent candidate still maintains
silence. Because he dare not speak. Every accusation against him has
been amply proved, and they have been endorsed and re-endorsed by
his own eloquent silence, till at this day he stands forever convicted.
Look upon your candidate, Independents! Look upon the Infamous
Perjurer! the Montana Thief! the Body-Snatcher! Contemplate your
incarnate Delirium Tremens! your Filthy Corruptionist! your Loathsome
Embracer! Gaze upon him—ponder him well—and then say if you can
give your honest votes to a creature who has earned this dismal array of
titles by his hideous crimes, and dares not open his mouth in denial of
any one of them!"

There was no possible way of getting out of it,
and so, in deep humiliation, I set about preparing to
"answer" a mass of baseless charges and mean
and wicked falsehoods. But I never finished the
task, for the very next morning a paper came out
with a new horror, a fresh malignity, and seriously
charged me with burning a lunatic asylum with all
its inmates, because it obstructed the view from my
house. This threw me into a sort of panic. Then
came the charge of poisoning my uncle to get his
property, with an imperative demand that the grave
should be opened. This drove me to the verge of
distraction. On top of this I was accused of em-
ploying toothless and incompetent old relatives to
prepare the food for the foundling hospital when I
was warden. I was wavering—wavering. And at
last, as a due and fitting climax to the shameless
persecution that party rancor had inflicted upon me,
nine little toddling children, of all shades of color

---

and degrees of raggedness, were taught to rush on
to the platform at a public meeting, and clasp me
around the legs and call me Pa!

I gave it up. I hauled down my colors and sur-
rendered. I was not equal to the requirements of a
Gubernatorial campaign in the State of New York,
and so I sent in my withdrawal from the candidacy,
and in bitterness of spirit signed it, "Truly yours,
once a decent man, but now

Mark Twain, I.P., M.T., B.S., D.T., F.C., and
L.E."

---

A MYSTERIOUS VISIT

The first notice that was taken of me when I
"settled down" recently, was by a gentleman
who said he was an assessor, and connected with
the U. S. Internal Revenue Department. I said I
had never heard of his branch of business before,
but I was very glad to see him all the same—would
he sit down? He sat down. I did not know any-
thing particular to say, and yet I felt that people
who have arrived at the dignity of keeping house
must be conversational, must be easy and sociable
in company. So, in default of anything else to
say, I asked him if he was opening his shop in our
neighborhood.

He said he was. [I did not wish to appear igno-
rant, but I had hoped he would mention what he
had for sale.]

I ventured to ask him "How was trade?" And
he said "So-so."

I then said we would drop in, and if we liked his
house as well as any other, we would give him our
custom.

He said he thought we would like his establish-

---

ment well enough to confine ourselves to it—said
he never saw anybody who would go off and hunt up
another man in his line after trading with him once.

That sounded pretty complacent, but barring that
natural expression of villainy which we all have, the
man looked honest enough.

I do not know how it came about exactly, but
gradually we appeared to melt down and run to-
gether, conversationally speaking, and then every-
thing went along as comfortably as clockwork.

We talked, and talked, and talked—at least I
did; and we laughed, and laughed, and laughed—
at least he did. But all the time I had my presence
of mind about me—I had my native shrewdness
turned on "full head," as the engineers say. I
was determined to find out all about his business in
spite of his obscure answers—and I was determined
I would have it out of him without his suspecting
what I was at. I meant to trap him with a deep,
deep ruse. I would tell him all about my own busi-
ness, and he would naturally so warm to me during
this seductive burst of confidence that he would for-
get himself, and tell me all about his affairs before
he suspected what I was about. I thought to
myself, My son, you little know what an old fox
you are dealing with. I said:

"Now you never would guess what I made lectur-
ing this winter and last spring?"

"No—don't believe I could, to save me. Let
me see—let me see. About two thousand dollars,

---

maybe? But no; no, sir, I know you couldn't
have made that much. Say seventeen hundred,
maybe?"

"Ha! ha! I knew you couldn't. My lecturing
receipts for last spring and this winter were fourteen
thousand seven hundred and fifty dollars. What do
you think of that?"

"Why, it is amazing—perfectly amazing. I will
make a note of it. And you say even this wasn't
all?"

"All! Why bless you, there was my income
from the Daily Warwhoop for four months—about
—about—well, what should you say to about eight
thousand dollars, for instance?"

"Say! Why, I should say I should like to see
myself rolling in just such another ocean of afflu-
ence. Eight thousand! I'll make a note of it.
Why man!—and on top of all this I am to under-
stand that you had still more income?"

"Ha! ha! ha! Why, you're only in the suburbs
of it, so to speak. There's my book, 'The Inno-
cents Abroad'—price $3.50 to $5, according to
the binding. Listen to me. Look me in the eye.
During the last four months and a half, saying noth-
ing of sales before that, but just simply during the
four months and a half, we've sold ninety-five thou-
sand copies of that book. Ninety-five thousand!
Think of it. Average four dollars a copy, say. It's
nearly four hundred thousand dollars, my son. I
get half."

---

"The suffering Moses! I'll set that down
Fourteen-seven-fifty—eight—two hundred. Total,
say—well, upon my word, the grand total is about
two hundred and thirteen or fourteen thousand dol-
lars! Is that possible?"

"Possible! If there's any mistake it's the other
way. Two hundred and fourteen thousand, cash, is
my income for this year if I know how to cipher."

Then the gentleman got up to go. It came over
me most uncomfortably that maybe I had made my
revelations for nothing, besides being flattered into
stretching them considerably by the stranger's aston-
ished exclamations. But no; at the last moment
the gentleman handed me a large envelope, and said
it contained his advertisement; and that I would
find out all about his business in it; and that he
would be happy to have my custom—would, in
fact, be proud to have the custom of a man of such
prodigious income; and that he used to think there
were several wealthy men in the city, but when they
came to trade with him, he discovered that they
barely had enough to live on; and that, in truth, it
had been such a weary, weary age since he had seen
a rich man face to face, and talked to him, and
touched him with his hands, that he could hardly
refrain from embracing me—in fact, would esteem
it a great favor if I would let him embrace me.

This so pleased me that I did not try to resist,
but allowed this simple-hearted stranger to throw
his arms about me and weep a few tranquilizing

---

tears down the back of my neck. Then he went his
way.

As soon as he was gone I opened his advertise-
ment. I studied it attentively for four minutes. I
then called up the cook, and said:

"Hold me while I faint! Let Marie turn the
griddle-cakes."

By and by, when I came to, I sent down to the
rum mill on the corner and hired an artist by the
week to sit up nights and curse that stranger, and
give me a lift occasionally in the daytime when I
came to a hard place.

Ah, what a miscreant he was! His "advertise-
ment" was nothing in the world but a wicked tax-
return—a string of impertinent questions about my
private affairs, occupying the best part of four fools-
cap pages of fine print—questions, I may remark,
gotten up with such marvelous ingenuity, that the
oldest man in the world couldn't understand what
the most of them were driving at—questions, too,
that were calculated to make a man report about
four times his actual income to keep from swearing
to a falsehood. I looked for a loophole, but there
did not appear to be any. Inquiry No. 1 covered
my case as generously and as amply as an umbrella
could cover an ant hill:
"What were your profits, during the past year, from any trade
business, or vocation, wherever carried on?"

And that inquiry was backed up by thirteen
others of an equally searching nature, the most

---

modest of which required information as to whether
I had committed any burglary or highway robbery,
or by any arson or other secret source of emolu-
ment had acquired property which was not enumer-
ated in my statement of income as set opposite to
inquiry No. 1.

It was plain that that stranger had enabled me to
make a goose of myself. It was very, very plain;
and so I went out and hired another artist. By
working on my vanity, the stranger had seduced me
into declaring an income of $214,000. By law,
$1,000 of this was exempt from income tax—the
only relief I could see, and it was only a drop in the
ocean. At the legal five per cent., I must pay to
the Government the sum of ten thousand six hun-
dred and fifty dollars, income tax!

[I may remark, in this place, that I did not do it.]

I am acquainted with a very opulent man, whose
house is a palace, whose table is regal, whose out-
lays are enormous, yet a man who has no income,
as I have often noticed by the revenue returns; and
to him I went for advice in my distress. He took
my dreadful exhibition of receipts, he put on his
glasses, he took his pen, and presto!—I was a
pauper! It was the neatest thing that ever was.
He did it simply by deftly manipulating the bill of
"Deductions." He set down my "State, national,
and municipal taxes" at so much; my "losses by
shipwreck, fire, etc.," at so much; my "losses on
sales of real estate"—on "live stock sold"—on

---

"payments for rent of homestead"—on "repairs,
improvements, interest"—on "previously taxed
salary as an officer of the United States army,
navy, revenue service," and other things. He got
astonishing "deductions" out of each and every
one of these matters—each and every one of them.
And when he was done he handed me the paper,
and I saw at a glance that during the year my in-
come, in the way of profits, had been one thousand
two hundred and fifty dollars and forty cents.

"Now," said he, "the thousand dollars is ex-
empt by law. What you want to do is to go and
swear this document in and pay tax on the two hun-
dred and fifty dollars."

[While he was making this speech his little boy
Willie lifted a two dollar greenback out of his vest
pocket and vanished with it, and I would wager
anything that if my stranger were to call on that
little boy to-morrow he would make a false return
of his income.]

"Do you," said I, "do you always work up the
'deductions' after this fashion in your own case,
sir?"

"Well, I should say so! If it weren't for those
eleven saving clauses under the head of 'Deduction'
I should be beggared every year to support this
hateful and wicked, this extortionate and tyrannical
government."

This gentleman stands away up among the very
best of the solid men of the city—the men of moral

---

weight, of commercial integrity, of unimpeachable
social spotlessness—and so I bowed to his example.
I went down to the revenue office, and under the
accusing eyes of my old visitor I stood up and swore
to lie after lie, fraud after fraud, villainy after
villainy, till my soul was coated inches and inches
thick with perjury, and my self-respect gone forever
and ever.

But what of it? It is nothing more than thou-
sands of the richest and proudest, and most re-
spected, honored, and courted men in America do
every year. And so I don't care. I am not
ashamed. I shall simply, for the present, talk little,
and eschew fire-proof gloves, lest I fall into certain
dreadful habits irrevocably.

THE END.