coupled up with the McClintock in Milwaukee. Mac was an Irish
Presbyterian, and was proud of it; he came out of the Black North and
was the most acute harp, mentally, that I had ever had anything to do
with. The Chosen People are not noted for commercial density; but a Jew
could enter Mac's presence attired in the height of fashion and leave it
with only his shoe strings and a hazy recollection as to how the thing
was done.
"Now, when a team like Cap. and Mac took to pulling together, there just
naturally had to be something doing. They began with a small show under
canvas, and their main card was a twenty-foot boa-constrictor, which
they billed as 'Mighty Mardo.' Then they had a boy with three legs, one
of which they neglected to state was made of wood; also a blushing
damsel with excess embonpoint to the extent of four hundred pounds. With
this outfit they campaigned for one season; in the fall they bought a
museum in St. Louis and settled themselves as impresarios.
"Now, in my numerous meetings with Cap. I had never thought to ask his
name, so when I saw an 'ad' in the _Clipper_ stating that Sheldon &
McClintock was in need of a good full-toned lecturer that doubled in
brass, I just sat me down in my ignorance and dropped them a line. They
sent me a ticket to where I was sidetracked up in Michigan, and I
hurried down.
"'Oh, it's you, is it?' says Cap., as I piked into the ten by twelve
office and announced myself. 'Well, I've heard you throw a spiel and
think you'll do. But I didn't know that you played brass. What's your
instrument?'
"Now, I had a faint sentiment from the beginning that this clause in
their bill of requirements would get me into trouble, for I knew no more
about band music than a he goat knows about the book of common prayer.
"'I do the cymbals,' says I.
"'What!' snorts Cap., rearing up; 'I thought you wrote that you played
brass?'
"'Well,' says I, 'ain't cymbals brass?'
"It must have been my cold nerve that won Cap.'s regard, for he placed
me as 'curio hall' lecturer and advertising man at twenty a week.
"The museum of Sheldon & McClintock proved to be a great notch. More
fake freaks were thought out, worked up and exhibited during the course
of that winter season than I would care to count. Then there was a small
theater attached in which they put on very bad specialties and where
painful-voiced young men and women warbled sentimental ballads about
their childhood homes and stuff of that character. These got about ten
dollars a week and had to do about thirty turns a day; they lived in
their make-up and got so accustomed to grease paint before the end of
their engagements that they felt only half dressed without it.
"The trick made money, and in about a year McClintock cut loose and went
into a patent promoting scheme.
"Shortly afterward the first 'continuous house' was opened in St. Louis,
and the novelty of the thing was a body blow to Cap. He made a good
fight, but lost money every day; and at last he imparted to me in
confidence that if business did not improve he could see himself getting
out the shells and limbering up on them preparatory to going out and
facing the world once more.
"'The bank will stand for three hundred thousand dollars' worth more of
my checks,' says he, 'and after they're used up I'm done.'
"He began to cut down expenses with the reckless energy of a man who saw
the poor-house looming ahead for him; the results was that his bad shows
grew worse, and the attendance wasn't enough to dust off the seats. The
biggest item of expense about the place was 'Mighty Mardo,' the
boa-constrictor; his diet was live rabbits, and a twenty-foot snake with
a body as thick as a four-inch pipe can dispose of good and plenty of
them when he takes the notion. Cap. began to feed him live rats, and the
mighty one soon began to show the effects of it.
"'He'll die on you,' says I to Cap. one day.
"'Let him,' says he; 'the rabbits stay cut out.'
"One day a fellow came along with a high-schooled horse that he wanted
to sell. He had more use for ready money just then than he had for the
nag, so he offered to put it in cheap. But Cap. waved him away.
"'I'll need the money to buy meals with before long,' says he to the
fellow, 'so tempt me not to my going hungry.'
"This little incident seemed to make the old man feel bad; he locked
himself up in the office for four hours or so communing with his inner
self; but when he came out he was looking bright and gay.
"'Say,' says he, 'I've changed my mind and just bought that horse.'
"'I didn't see the man come back,' says I.
"'I made the deal over the 'phone,' says Cap. Then he pushes a thick wad
of penciled stuff at me. 'Here's some truck I want you to take over to
the printing house,' he goes on. 'When it's out and up the brute will be
well known.'
"I takes a look over the copy, and my hat was lifted two inches straight
off my head. The first one read something like this:
ADMIRAL
THE TALKING HORSE
TALKS LIKE A HUMAN BEING
VOCAL ORGANS DEVELOPED LIKE THOSE OF
A MAN
HEAR HIM SING THE BASS SOLO
"DOWN IN THE DEPTHS"
TEN THOUSAND DOLLARS
TO ANY ONE PROVING THESE CLAIMS
FAKE IN THE SLIGHTEST DEGREE
"'Reads good, don't it?' asks Cap., sort of beaming through his
nose-pinzes. 'But give a look at the others.'
"The next one was as bad as the first:
ADMIRAL!!!
THE HORSE WHO RECITES
THE DECLARATION OF INDEPENDENCE
IN A DEEP BASS VOICE
AND WITH PERFECT ENUNCIATION
"'I didn't hear the fellow say the skate could do that kind of stuff,'
says I, just a bit dazed, after looking over a lot more of it.
"'He only handed it to me as a sort of last card,' says Cap., 'and
that's what made me change my mind about buying him. Get five thousand
twelve sheets in yellow and red; ten thousand three sheets; fifteen
thousand block one sheets with cut of the horse. And you can place an
order for as many black and white dodgers as they can turn out between
this and the end of the week. It's a big card and we're going into it up
to our eyebrows.'
"If I had had time to consider anything but hustling, I might have
thought the thing was a fake. But it was the old man's game and I left
him to do the worrying. I threw rush orders into the printers and soon
had the presses banging away on the stuff desired.
"Next day Cap. started a four-inch double-column notice in every paper
in town. I hired an army of distributers and began to put out the
dodgers as they came hot off the bat; then I got a couple of Guinea
bands, put them in open wagons, done up with painted muslin
announcements, and sent them forth to tear off the melody and otherwise
delight the eye and ear of the town. As the big stuff came off the press
it was slapped up on every blank wall and fence in the city that wasn't
under guard; and when the job was finished, St. Louis fairly glared with
it. If there was a person who hadn't heard of the Talking Horse by the
end of the week, they must have been deaf, dead or in jail.
"The nag was to make his first appearance on Monday, and the last sheet
of paper had been put up and the last hand bill disposed of by Saturday
afternoon.
"'How does she look?' says Cap. to me when I came in.
"'Great,' says I. 'If they ain't tearing the place down to get in on
Monday, why my bump of prophecy has a dent in it.'
"'Let 'em come,' says Cap., looking very much tickled. 'We need the
money and we ain't turning nobody away. The horse has reached town and
will be brought around to-morrow morning; so you make it a point to be
on hand to let it and the handler in.'
"I was around bright and early on Sunday morning, and along comes the
horse. He was got up in the swellest horse stuff I ever saw--beaded
blankets of plush and silk, with his name embroidered on them, and all
that kind of goods. The handler was a husky with one lamp and a bad one
at that.
"'Where do I put him?' says he.
"'On the top floor,' says I. 'We've got planks on the stairs and a
rigging fixed to haul him up by.'
"When we got him safely landed and the glad coverings off, I looked him
over.
"'His intellect must sort of tell on him, don't it?' asks I.
"'Why, he is some under weight,' says the fellow in charge.
"'He don't look over-bright to me,' I goes on.
"'He never does on Sundays,' the husky comes back. 'It's sort of an off
day with him.'
"Then I went out to lunch and stayed about two hours; when I got back I
found a gang of cops and things buzzing all over the place. Cap. was in
the office, his plug hat on the back of his head and a cigar in his
mouth.
"'What's the trouble?' says I.
"'Had a hell of a time around here,' says he. 'I was called up on the
'phone and got down as soon as I could. Just take an observation of that
fellow over there.'
"The fellow referred to was the handler of the Talking Horse. His left
arm was done up in splints and bandaged from finger-tips to shoulder,
and he had a clump of reporters around him about six feet thick.
"'What hit him?' asks I.
"'About everything on the top floor,' says Cap., solemnly. 'The Talking
Horse is dead. Mighty Mardo broke out of his showcase about an hour ago,
took a couple of half hitches around the Admiral and crushed him to
death.'
"'Go 'way!' says I.
"'Sure thing,' says Cap. 'Come up stairs and have a look.'
"We went up and did so. The place was a wreck; the horse was the deadest
I ever saw and the constrictor was still twined about him.
"'Why, the snake's passed out, too,' says I.
"Cap. folds his hands meekly across his breast in a resigned sort of
way.
"'Yes,' says he; 'he, too, was killed in the dreadful struggle. He must
have went straight for the Admiral as soon as he got loose. The handler
was down in the office, alone, when the uproar started; he came jumping
upstairs six steps to the jump and when he sees Mardo putting in that
bunch of body holds on his intelligent charge, why, he took a hand. The
result was a dead snake for me and a crippled wing for him. When I got
here, Doc. Forbes was tying him up,' Cap. goes on rather sorrowful like;
'and when I sees what's happened, I know that I'm a ruined man. So I
'phones for the police and reporters to come down and view my finish.'
"From the way he talked I expected to see him carted home before the
hour was up; but he wasn't. As soon as the newspaper fellows cleared out
with all the facts of the case in their note-books, Cap. sends for a
fellow and puts him right to work fixing up the horse and snake so's
they'll keep, and then lays them out.
"Next morning the newspapers slopped over with scare headlines telling
of the battle. According to their way of looking at it, the struggles in
the arena of old Rome were scared to death in comparison, and modern
times did not come anywhere near showing a parallel of the combat
between the terrible constrictor and the horse with the human voice. The
result of this was that when the time came to open the doors at noon we
had to have a squad of police to keep the mob from blocking traffic for
squares around. Cap. had changed and doubled the size of his ads. over
night.
"The horse was done up in a big black coffin covered with flowers; and
the lid with his name, age and wonderful accomplishment engraved upon a
plate stood beside him. The remains of Mighty Mardo, stuffed with baled
hay and excelsior, were embracing the dead Admiral with monster coils;
and the crowds came, gazed, and marveled; then they went forth to tell
their friends that they might come and do likewise.
"For weeks the coin came into the box like a spring freshet in the hill
country, and Cap. must have kept the bank working after hours; at any
rate, he sat around and smoked with a smile so angelic, that, to look at
him, one wondered how he could wear it and not drift away into the
ethereal blue. It was a good month before the thing lost its pulling
power, and when it stopped Cap. had planted the stake that boosted him
into the company he now keeps and set him to handling voices that cost
thousands of simoleons an hour.
"When all was over, I found time to take the husky, with the damaged
fin out and throw a few drinks into him. Then he told me the whole
story.
"'The old man didn't think you could do the thing justice if you were
wise,' says he, 'so he kept you out. This ain't the horse the fellow
offered to sell him, at all. He bought it at a bazar for ten dollars,
the day before I brought it around. When you went out for lunch Cap. he
comes in. We done for the plug in a minute, and as Mighty Marda was all
but gone, on account of his rat diet, we finished him, too. Then we
wrecked the place up some, took a couple of turns about the horse with
Mardo, called in Doc. Forbes, who stood in, to fix up the fictitious
fracture, and then rung in the show.'
"Yes," observed Bat, thoughtfully, after a pause, "I've made up my mind
that H. Wellington Sheldon is a wise plug."
THE OWL-CRITIC
BY JAMES T. FIELDS
"Who stuffed that white owl?" No one spoke in the shop,
The barber was busy, and he couldn't stop;
The customers, waiting their turns, were all reading
The "Daily," the "Herald," the "Post," little heeding
The young man who blurted out such a blunt question;
Not one raised a head, or even made a suggestion;
And the barber kept on shaving.
"Don't you see, Mr. Brown,"
Cried the youth, with a frown,
"How wrong the whole thing is,
How preposterous each wing is
How flattened the head is, how jammed down the neck is--
In short, the whole owl, what an ignorant wreck 'tis!
I make no apology;
I've learned owl-eology.
I've passed days and nights in a hundred collections,
And can not be blinded to any deflections
Arising from unskilful fingers that fail
To stuff a bird right, from his beak to his tail.
Mister Brown! Mister Brown!
Do take that bird down,
Or you'll soon be the laughing-stock all over town!"
And the barber kept on shaving.
"I've _studied_ owls,
And other night-fowls,
And I tell you
What I know to be true;
An owl can not roost
With his limbs so unloosed;
No owl in this world
Ever had his claws curled,
Ever had his legs slanted,
Ever had his bill canted,
Ever had his neck screwed
Into that attitude.
He can't _do_ it, because
'Tis against all bird-laws.
Anatomy teaches,
Ornithology preaches,
An owl has a toe
That _can't_ turn out so!
I've made the white owl my study for years,
And to see such a job almost moves me to tears!
Mr. Brown, I'm amazed
You should be so gone crazed
As to put up a bird
In that posture absurd!
To _look_ at that owl really brings on a dizziness;
The man who stuffed _him_ don't half know his business!"
And the barber kept on shaving.
"Examine those eyes.
I'm filled with surprise
Taxidermists should pass
Off on you such poor glass;
So unnatural they seem
They'd make Audubon scream,
And John Burroughs laugh
To encounter such chaff.
Do take that bird down;
Have him stuffed again, Brown!"
And the barber kept on shaving.
"With some sawdust and bark
I could stuff in the dark
An owl better than that.
I could make an old hat
Look more like an owl
Than that horrid fowl,
Stuck up there so stiff like a side of coarse leather.
In fact, about _him_ there's not one natural feather."
Just then, with a wink and a sly normal lurch,
The owl, very gravely, got down from his perch,
Walked round, and regarded his fault-finding critic
(Who thought he was stuffed) with a glance analytic,
And then fairly hooted, as if he should say:
"Your learning's at fault _this_ time, anyway;
Don't waste it again on a live bird, I pray.
I'm an owl; you're another. Sir Critic, good day!"
And the barber kept on shaving.
THE MOSQUITO
BY WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT
Fair insect! that, with thread-like legs spread out,
And blood-extracting bill, and filmy wing,
Dost murmur, as thou slowly sail'st about,
In pitiless ears, fall many a plaintive thing,
And tell how little our large veins should bleed
Would we but yield them to thy bitter need.
Unwillingly, I own, and, what is worse,
Full angrily, men listen to thy plaint;
Thou gettest many a brush and many a curse,
For saying thou art gaunt, and starved, and faint.
Even the old beggar, while he asks for food,
Would kill thee, hapless stranger, if he could.
I call thee stranger, for the town, I ween,
Has not the honor of so proud a birth:
Thou com'st from Jersey meadows, fresh and green,
The offspring of the gods, though born on earth;
For Titan was thy sire, and fair was she,
The ocean-nymph that nursed thy infancy.
Beneath the rushes was thy cradle swung,
And when at length thy gauzy wings grew strong,
Abroad to gentle airs their folds were flung,
Rose in the sky and bore thee soft along;
The south wind breathed to waft thee on thy way,
And danced and shone beneath the billowy bay.
Calm rose afar the city spires, and thence
Came the deep murmur of its throng of men,
And as its grateful odors met thy sense,
They seemed the perfumes of thy native fen.
Fair lay its crowded streets, and at the sight
Thy tiny song grew shriller with delight.
At length thy pinion fluttered in Broadway,--
Ah, there were fairy steps, and white necks kissed
By wanton airs, and eyes whose killing ray
Shone through the snowy veils like stars through mist;
And fresh as morn, on many a cheek and chin,
Bloomed the bright blood through the transparent skin.
Sure these were sights to tempt an anchorite!
What! do I hear thy slender voice complain?
Thou wailest when I talk of beauty's light,
As if it brought the memory of pain.
Thou art a wayward being--well, come near,
And pour thy tale of sorrow in mine ear.
What say'st thou, slanderer! rouge makes thee sick?
And China Bloom at best is sorry food?
And Rowland's Kalydor, if laid on thick,
Poisons the thirsty wretch that bores for blood?
Go! 'twas a just reward that met thy crime;
But shun the sacrilege another time.
That bloom was made to look at,--not to touch;
To worship, not approach, that radiant white;
And well might sudden vengeance light on such
As dared, like thee, most impiously to bite.
Thou shouldst have gazed at distance, and admired,--
Murmured thy admiration and retired.
Thou'rt welcome to the town; but why come here
To bleed a brother poet, gaunt like thee?
Alas! the little blood I have is dear,
And thin will be the banquet drawn from me.
Look round: the pale-eyed sisters in my cell,
Thy old acquaintance, Song and Famine, dwell.
Try some plump alderman, and suck the blood
Enriched by generous wine and costly meat;
On well-filled skins, sleek as thy native mud,
Fix thy light pump, and press thy freckled feet.
Go to the men for whom, in ocean's halls,
The oyster breeds and the green turtle sprawls.
There corks are drawn, and the red vintage flows,
To fill the swelling veins for thee, and now
The ruddy cheek and now the ruddier nose
Shall tempt thee, as thou flittest round the brow;
And when the hour of sleep its quiet brings,
No angry hand shall rise to brush thy wings.
"TIDDLE-IDDLE-IDDLE-IDDLE-BUM! BUM!"
BY WILBUR D. NESBIT
When our town band gets on the square
On concert night you'll find me there.
I'm right beside Elijah Plumb,
Who plays th' cymbals an' bass drum;
An' next to him is Henry Dunn,
Who taps the little tenor one.
I like to hear our town band play,
But, best it does, I want to say,
Is when they tell a tune's to come
With
"Tiddle-iddle-iddle-iddle-
Bum-Bum!"
O' course, there's some that likes the tunes
Like _Lily Dale_ an' _Ragtime Coons_;
Some likes a solo or duet
By Charley Green--B-flat cornet--
An' Ernest Brown--th' trombone man.
(An' they can play, er no one can);
But it's the best when Henry Dunn
Lets them there sticks just cut an' run,
An' 'Lijah says to let her hum
With
"Tiddle-iddle-iddle-iddle-
Bum-Bum!"
I don't know why, ner what's the use
O' havin' that to interduce
A tune--but I know, as fer me
I'd ten times over ruther see
Elijah Plumb chaw with his chin,
A-gettin' ready to begin,
While Henry plays that roll o' his
An' makes them drumsticks fairly sizz,
Announcin' music, on th' drum,
With
"Tiddle-iddle-iddle-iddle-
Bum-Bum!"
MY FIRST CIGAR
BY ROBERT J. BURDETTE
'Twas just behind the woodshed,
One glorious summer day,
Far o'er the hills the sinking sun
Pursued his westward way;
And in my safe seclusion
Removed from all the jar
And din of earth's confusion
I smoked my first cigar.
It was my first cigar!
It was the worst cigar!
Raw, green and dank, hide-bound and rank
It was my first cigar!
Ah, bright the boyish fancies
Wrapped in the smoke-wreaths blue;
My eyes grew dim, my head was light,
The woodshed round me flew!
Dark night closed in around me--
Black night, without a star--
Grim death methought had found me
And spoiled my first cigar.
It was my first cigar!
A six-for-five cigar!
No viler torch the air could scorch--
It was my first cigar!
All pallid was my beaded brow,
The reeling night was late,
My startled mother cried in fear,
"My child, what have you ate?"
I heard my father's smothered laugh,
It seemed so strange and far,
I knew he knew I knew he knew
I'd smoked my first cigar!
It was my first cigar!
A give-away cigar!
I could not die--I knew not why--
It was my first cigar!
Since then I've stood in reckless ways,
I've dared what men can dare,
I've mocked at danger, walked with death,
I've laughed at pain and care.
I do not dread what may befall
'Neath my malignant star,
No frowning fate again can make
Me smoke my first cigar.
I've smoked my first cigar!
My first and worst cigar!
Fate has no terrors for the man
Who's smoked his first cigar!
SHONNY SCHWARTZ
BY CHARLES FOLLEN ADAMS
Haf you seen mine leedle Shonny,--
Shonny Schwartz,--
Mit his hair so soft und yellow,
Und his face so blump und mellow;
Sooch a funny leedle fellow,--
Shonny Schwartz?
Efry mornings dot young Shonny--
Shonny Schwartz--
Rises mit der preak off day,
Und does his chores oup righdt avay;
For he gan vork so vell as blay,--
Shonny Schwartz.
Mine Katrina says to Shonny,
"Shonny Schwartz,
Helb your barents all you gan,
For dis life vas bud a shban:
Py und py you'll been a man,
Shonny Schwartz."
How I lofes to see dot Shonny--
Shonny Schwartz--
Vhen he schgampers off to schgool,
Vhere he alvays minds der rule!
For he vas nopody's fool,--
Shonny Schwartz.
How I vish dot leedle Shonny--
Shonny Schwartz--
Could remain von leedle poy,
Alvays full off life und shoy,
Und dot Time vould not annoy
Shonny Schwartz!
Nefer mindt, mine leedle Shonny,--
Shonny Schwartz;
Efry day prings someding new:
Alvays keep der righdt in view,
Und baddle, den, your own canoe,
Shonny Schwartz.
Keep her in der channel, Shonny,--
Shonny Schwartz:
Life's voyich vill pe quickly o'er;
Und den ubon dot bedder shore
Ve'll meet again, to bart no more,
Shonny Schwartz.
A BULLY BOAT AND A BRAG CAPTAIN
_A Story of Steamboat Life on the Mississippi_
BY SOL SMITH
Does any one remember the _Caravan_? She was what would now be
considered a slow boat--_then_ (1827) she was regularly advertised as
the "fast running," etc. Her regular trips from New Orleans to Natchez
were usually made in from six to eight days; a trip made by her in five
days was considered remarkable. A voyage from New Orleans to Vicksburg
and back, including stoppages, generally entitled the officers and crew
to a month's wages. Whether the _Caravan_ ever achieved the feat of a
voyage to the Falls (Louisville) I have never learned; if she did, she
must have "had a _time_ of it!"
It was my fate to take passage in this boat. The Captain was a
good-natured, easy-going man, careful of the comfort of his passengers,
and exceedingly fond of the _game of brag_. We had been out a little
more than five days, and we were in hopes of seeing the bluffs of
Natchez on the next day. Our wood was getting low, and night coming on.
The pilot on duty _above_ (the other pilot held three aces at the time,
and was just calling out the Captain, who "went it strong" on three
kings) sent down word that the mate had reported the stock of wood
reduced to half a cord. The worthy Captain excused himself to the pilot
whose watch was _below_ and the two passengers who made up the party,
and hurried to the deck, where he soon discovered by the landmarks that
we were about half a mile from a woodyard, which he said was situated
"right round yonder point." "But," muttered the Captain, "I don't much
like to take wood of the yellow-faced old scoundrel who owns it--he
always charges a quarter of a dollar more than any one else; however,
there's no other chance." The boat was pushed to her utmost, and in a
little less than an hour, when our fuel was about giving out, we made
the point, and our cables were out and fastened to trees alongside of a
good-sized wood pile.
"Hallo, Colonel! How d'ye sell your wood _this_ time?"