Produced by Suzanne Lybarger, Annie McGuire, Brian Janes
and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at
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Transcriber's Note: To aid in finding items through
the index, the following list contains the page
numbers covered in each volume:
Volume 1 - 1 - 220
Volume 2 - 221 - 402
Volume 3 - 403 - 584
Volume 4 - 585 - 802
Volume 5 is not Library Edition and has
different page numbering
Volume 6 - 985 - 1216
Volume 7 - 1217 - 1398
Volume 8 - 1399 - 1634
Volume 9 - 1635 - 1800
Volume 10 - 1801 - 2042
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Library Edition
THE WIT AND HUMOR OF AMERICA
In Ten Volumes
VOL. X
[Illustration: FRANK L. STANTON]
THE WIT AND HUMOR OF AMERICA
EDITED BY MARSHALL P. WILDER
_Volume X_
Funk & Wagnalls Company
New York and London
Copyright MDCCCCVII, BOBBS-MERRILL COMPANY
Copyright MDCCCCXI, THE THWING COMPANY
CONTENTS
PAGE
Araminta and the Automobile Charles Battell Loomis 1825
At Aunty's House James Whitcomb Riley 2007
Backsliding Brother, The Frank L. Stanton 1972
Biggs' Bar Howard D. Sutherland 1967
Bookworm's Plaint, A Clinton Scollard 1878
Breitmann in Politics Charles Godfrey Leland 1943
Concord Love Song, A James Jeffrey Roche 1913
Contentment Oliver Wendell Holmes 1952
Demon of the Study, The John Greenleaf Whittier 1869
Der Oak Und Der Vine Charles Follen Adams 1823
Double-Dyed Deceiver, A O. Henry 1927
Dum Vivimus Vigilamus John Paul 2005
Evidence in the Case of
Smith vs. Jones, The Samuel L. Clemens 1918
Fall Styles in Faces Wallace Irwin 1992
"Festina Lente" Robert J. Burdette 2016
Genial Idiot Discusses Leap
Year, The John Kendrick Bangs 2018
Great Prize Fight, The Samuel L. Clemens 1903
Had a Set of Double Teeth Holman F. Day 1994
Height of the Ridiculous, The Oliver Wendell Holmes 1832
Her Brother: Enfant Terrible Edmund L. Sabin 2001
Hezekiah Bedott's Opinion Frances M. Whicher 1893
His Grandmother's Way Frank L. Stanton 1901
Invisible Prince, The Henry Harland 1836
Jackpot, The Ironquill 2003
Jacob Phoebe Cary 1898
Johnny's Pa Wilbur D. Nesbit 1802
Lay of Ancient Rome, A Thomas Ybarra 2013
Little Bopeep and Little Boy Blue Samuel Minturn Peck 2015
Love Song Charles Godfrey Leland 1950
Maxims Benjamin Franklin 1804
Meeting, The S. E. Riser 1915
Mister Rabbit's Love Affair Frank L. Stanton 1887
Mother of Four, A Juliet Wilbor Tompkins 1976
Mothers' Meeting, A Madeline Bridges 1886
Nevada Sketches Samuel L. Clemens 1805
New Year Idyl, A Eugene Field 2011
Old-Time Singer, An Frank L. Stanton 1941
Oncl' Antoine on 'Change Wallace Bruce Amsbary 1891
Our Hired Girl James Whitcomb Riley 1888
Plain Language from Truthful James Bret Harte 1997
Poe-'em of Passion, A Charles F. Lummis 1879
Possession William J. Lampton 2000
Real Diary of a Real Boy, The Henry A. Shute 1881
Reason, The Ironquill 1890
Rubaiyat of Mathieu Lattellier Wallace Bruce Amsbary 1965
Settin' by the Fire Frank L. Stanton 1821
Shining Mark, A Ironquill 1877
"There's a Bower of Bean-Vines" Phoebe Cary 1916
To Bary Jade Charles Follen Adams 1899
Tom's Money Harriett Prescott Spofford 1955
Trial that Job Missed, The Kennett Harris 1917
Trouble-Proof Edwin L. Sabin 1801
Uncle Bentley and the Roosters Hayden Carruth 1873
Unsatisfied Yearning R. K. Munkittrick 1835
What Lack We Yet Robert J. Burdette 1897
When Lovely Woman Phoebe Cary 1834
Whisperer, The Ironquill 1822
Why Wait for Death and Time? Bert Leston Taylor 1866
Willy and the Lady Gelett Burgess 2009
Winter Dusk R. K. Munkittrick 1975
Winter Joys Eugene Field 1868
Ye Legende of Sir Yroncladde Wilbur D. Nesbitt 1973
COMPLETE INDEX AT THE END OF VOLUME X.
TROUBLE-PROOF[1]
BY EDWIN L. SABIN
Never rains where Jim is--
People kickin', whinin';
He goes round insistin',--
"Sun is _almost_ shinin'!"
Never's hot where Jim is--
When the town is sweatin';
He jes' sets and answers,--
"Well, _I_ ain't a-frettin'!"
Never's cold where Jim is--
None of _us_ misdoubt it,
Seein' we're nigh frozen!
_He_ "ain't _thought_ about it!"
Things that rile up others
Never seem to strike him!
"Trouble-proof," I call it,--
Wisht that I was like him!
FOOTNOTES:
[1] Lippincott's Magazine.
JOHNNY'S PA
BY WILBUR D. NESBIT
My pa--he always went to school,
He says, an' studied hard.
W'y, when he's just as big as me
He knew things by the yard!
Arithmetic? He knew it all
From dividend to sum;
But when he tells me how it was,
My grandma, she says "Hum!"
My pa--he always got the prize
For never bein' late;
An' when they studied joggerfy
He knew 'bout every state.
He says he knew the rivers, an'
Knew all their outs an' ins;
But when he tells me all o' that,
My grandma, she just grins.
My pa, he never missed a day
A-goin' to the school,
An' never played no hookey, nor
Forgot the teacher's rule;
An' every class he's ever in,
The rest he always led.
My grandma, when pa talks that way,
Just laughs an' shakes her head.
My grandma says 'at boys is boys,
The same as pas is pas,
An' when I ast her what she means
She says it is "because."
She says 'at little boys is best
When they grows up to men,
Because they know how good they was,
An' tell their children, then!
MAXIMS
BY BENJAMIN FRANKLIN
Never spare the parson's wine, nor the baker's pudding.
A house without woman or firelight is like a body without soul or
spirit.
Kings and bears often worry their keepers.
Light purse, heavy heart.
He's a fool that makes his doctor his heir.
Ne'er take a wife till thou hast a house (and a fire) to put her in.
To lengthen thy life, lessen thy meals.
He that drinks fast pays slow.
He is ill-clothed who is bare of virtue.
Beware of meat twice boil'd, and an old foe reconcil'd.
The heart of a fool is in his mouth, but the mouth of a wise man is in
his heart.
He that is rich need not live sparingly, and he that can live sparingly
need not be rich.
He that waits upon fortune is never sure of a dinner.
NEVADA SKETCHES
BY SAMUEL L. CLEMENS
IN CARSON CITY
I feel very much as if I had just awakened out of a long sleep. I
attribute it to the fact that I have slept the greater part of the time
for the last two days and nights. On Wednesday, I sat up all night, in
Virginia, in order to be up early enough to take the five o'clock stage
on Thursday morning. I was on time. It was a great success. I had a
cheerful trip down to Carson, in company with that incessant talker,
Joseph T. Goodman. I never saw him flooded with such a flow of spirits
before. He restrained his conversation, though, until we had traveled
three or four miles, and were just crossing the divide between Silver
City and Spring Valley, when he thrust his head out of the dark stage,
and allowed a pallid light from the coach lamps to illuminate his
features for a moment, after which he returned to darkness again, and
sighed and said, "Damn it!" with some asperity. I asked him who he meant
it for, and he said, "The weather out there." As we approached Carson,
at about half past seven o'clock, he thrust his head out again, and
gazed earnestly in the direction of that city--after which he took it in
again, with his nose very much frosted. He propped the end of that organ
upon the end of his finger, and looked pensively upon it--which had the
effect of making him cross-eyed--and remarked, "O, damn it!" with great
bitterness. I asked him what was up this time, and he said, "The cold,
damp fog--it is worse than the weather." This was his last. He never
spoke again in my hearing. He went on over the mountains with a lady
fellow passenger from here. That will stop his chatter, you know, for he
seldom speaks in the presence of ladies.
In the evening I felt a mighty inclination to go to a party somewhere.
There was to be one at Governor J. Neely Johnson's, and I went there and
asked permission to stand around a while. This was granted in the most
hospitable manner, and the vision of plain quadrilles soothed my weary
soul. I felt particularly comfortable, for if there is one thing more
grateful to my feelings than another, it is a new house--a large house,
with its ceilings embellished with snowy mouldings; its floors glowing
with warm-tinted carpets, with cushioned chairs and sofas to sit on, and
a piano to listen to; with fires so arranged you can see them, and know
there is no humbug about it; with walls garnished with pictures, and
above all mirrors, wherein you may gaze and always find something to
admire, you know. I have a great regard for a good house, and a girlish
passion for mirrors. Horace Smith, Esq., is also very fond of mirrors.
He came and looked in the glass for an hour with me. Finally it
cracked--the night was pretty cold--and Horace Smith's reflection was
split right down the centre. But where his face had been the damage was
greatest--a hundred cracks converged to his reflected nose, like spokes
from the hub of a wagon wheel. It was the strangest freak the weather
has done this winter. And yet the parlor seemed warm and comfortable,
too.
About nine o'clock the Unreliable came and asked Gov. Johnson to let him
stand on the porch. The creature has got more impudence than any person
I ever saw in my life. Well, he stood and flattened his nose against the
parlor window, and looked hungry and vicious--he always looks that
way--until Colonel Musser arrived with some ladies, when he actually
fell in their wake and came swaggering in looking as if he thought he
had been anxiously expected. He had on my fine kid boots, my plug hat,
my white kid gloves (with slices of his prodigious hands grinning
through the bursted seams), and my heavy gold repeater, which I had been
offered thousands and thousands of dollars for many and many a time. He
took those articles out of my trunk, at Washoe City, about a month ago,
when we went there to report the proceedings of the convention. The
Unreliable intruded himself upon me in his cordial way, and said, "How
are you, Mark, old boy? When d'you come down? It's brilliant, ain't it?
Appear to enjoy themselves, don't they? Lend a fellow two bits, can't
you?" He always winds up his remarks that way. He appears to have an
insatiable craving for two bits.
The music struck up just then and saved me. The next moment I was far,
far at sea in the plain quadrille. We carried it through with
distinguished success; that is, we got as far as "balance around" and
"half-a-man-left," when I smelled hot whisky punch, or something of that
nature. I tracked the scent through several rooms, and finally
discovered a large bowl from which it emanated. I found the omnipresent
Unreliable there, also. He set down an empty goblet and remarked that he
was diligently seeking the gentlemen's dressing room. I would have shown
him where it was, but it occurred to him that the supper table and the
punch bowl ought not to be left unprotected; wherefore we stayed there
and watched them until the punch entirely evaporated. A servant came in
then, to replenish the bowl, and we left the refreshments in his charge.
We probably did wrong, but we were anxious to join the hazy dance. The
dance was hazier than usual, after that. Sixteen couples on the floor at
once, with a few dozen spectators scattered around, is calculated to
have its effect in a brilliantly lighted parlor, I believe. Everything
seemed to buzz, at any rate. After all the modern dances had been danced
several times, the people adjourned to the supper-room. I found my
wardrobe out there, as usual, with the Unreliable in it. His old
distemper was upon him: he was desperately hungry. I never saw a man eat
as much as he did in my life. I have various items of his supper here in
my note-book. First, he ate a plate of sandwiches; then he ate a
handsomely iced poundcake; then he gobbled a dish of chicken salad;
after which he ate a roast pig; after that, a quantity of blanc-mange;
then he threw in several dozen glasses of punch to fortify his appetite,
and finished his monstrous repast with a roast turkey. Dishes of
brandy-grapes, and jellies, and such things, and pyramids of fruits
melted away before him as shadows fly at the sun's approach. I am of the
opinion that none of his ancestors were present when the five thousand
were miraculously fed in the old Scriptural times. I base my opinion on
the twelve bushels of scraps and the little fishes that remained over
after that feast. If the Unreliable himself had been there, the
provisions would just about have held out, I think.
... At about two o'clock in the morning the pleasant party broke up and
the crowd of guests distributed themselves around town to their
respective homes; and after thinking the fun all over again, I went to
bed at four o'clock. So having been awake forty-eight hours, I slept
forty-eight, in order to get even again.
CITY MARSHAL PERRY
John Van Buren Perry, recently re-elected City Marshal of Virginia City,
was born a long time ago, in County Kerry, Ireland, of poor but honest
parents, who were descendants, beyond question, of a house of high
antiquity. The founder of it was distinguished for his eloquence; he was
the property of one Baalam, and received honorable mention in the Bible.
John Van Buren Perry removed to the United States in 1792--after having
achieved a high gastronomical reputation by creating the first famine in
his native land--and established himself at Kinderhook, New Jersey, as a
teacher of vocal and instrumental music. His eldest son, Martin Van
Buren, was educated there, and was afterwards elected President of the
United States; his grandson, of the same name, is now a prominent New
York politician, and is known in the East as "Prince John;" he keeps up
a constant and affectionate correspondence with his worthy grandfather,
who sells him feet in some of his richest wildcat claims from time to
time.
While residing at Kinderhook, Jack Perry was appointed Commodore of the
United States Navy, and he forthwith proceeded to Lake Erie and fought
the mighty marine conflict, which blazes upon the pages of history as
"Perry's Victory." In consequence of this exploit, he narrowly escaped
the Presidency.
Several years ago Commodore Perry was appointed Commissioner
Extraordinary to the Imperial Court of Japan, with unlimited power to
treat. It is hardly worth while to mention that he never exercised that
power; he never treated anybody in that country, although he patiently
submitted to a vast amount of that sort of thing when the opportunity
was afforded him at the expense of the Japanese officials. He returned
from his mission full of honors and foreign whisky, and was welcomed
home again by the plaudits of a grateful nation.
After the war was ended, Mr. Perry removed to Providence, Rhode Island,
where he produced a complete revolution in medical science by inventing
the celebrated "Pain Killer" which bears his name. He manufactured this
liniment by the ship-load, and spread it far and wide over the suffering
world; not a bottle left his establishment without his beneficent
portrait upon the label, whereby, in time, his features became as well
known unto burned and mutilated children as Jack the Giant Killer's.
When pain had ceased throughout the universe Mr. Perry fell to writing
for a livelihood, and for years and years he poured out his soul in
pleasing and effeminate poetry.... His very first effort, commencing:
"How doth the little busy bee
Improve each shining hour," etc.--
gained him a splendid literary reputation, and from that time forward no
Sunday-school library was complete without a full edition of his
plaintive and sentimental "Perry-Gorics." After great research and
profound study of his subject, he produced that wonderful gem which is
known in every land as "The Young Mother's Apostrophe to Her Infant,"
beginning:
"Fie! fie! oo itty bitty pooty sing!
To poke oo footsy-tootsys into momma's eye!"
This inspired poem had a tremendous run, and carried Perry's fame into
every nursery in the civilized world. But he was not destined to wear
his laurels undisturbed: England, with monstrous perfidy, at once
claimed the "Apostrophe" for her favorite son, Martin Farquhar Tupper,
and sent up a howl of vindictive abuse from her polluted press against
our beloved Perry. With one accord, the American people rose up in his
defense, and a devastating war was only averted by a public denial of
the paternity of the poem by the great Proverbial over his own
signature. This noble act of Mr. Tupper gained him a high place in the
affection of this people, and his sweet platitudes have been read here
with an ever augmented spirit of tolerance since that day.
The conduct of England toward Mr. Perry told upon his constitution to
such an extent that at one time it was feared the gentle bard would fade
and flicker out altogether; wherefore, the solicitude of influential
officials was aroused in his behalf, and through their generosity he was
provided with an asylum in Sing Sing prison, a quiet retreat in the
state of New York. Here he wrote his last great poem, beginning:
"Let dogs delight to bark and bite,
For God hath made them so--
Your little hands were never made
To tear out each other's eyes with--"
and then proceeded to learn the shoemaker's trade in his new home, under
the distinguished masters employed by the commonwealth.
Ever since Mr. Perry arrived at man's estate his prodigious feet have
been a subject of complaint and annoyance to those communities which
have known the honor of his presence. In 1835, during a great leather
famine, many people were obliged to wear wooden shoes, and Mr. Perry,
for the sake of economy, transferred his bootmaking patronage from the
tan-yard which had before enjoyed his custom, to an undertaker's
establishment--that is to say, he wore coffins. At that time he was a
member of Congress from New Jersey, and occupied a seat in front of the
Speaker's throne. He had the uncouth habit of propping his feet upon his
desk during prayer by the chaplain, and thus completely hiding that
officer from every eye save that of Omnipotence alone. So long as the
Hon. Mr. Perry wore orthodox leather boots the clergyman submitted to
this infliction and prayed behind them in singular solitude, under mild
protest; but when he arose one morning to offer up his regular petition,
and beheld the cheerful apparition of Jack Perry's coffins confronting
him, "The jolly old bum went under the table like a sick porpus" (as Mr.
P. feelingly remarks), "and never shot off his mouth in that shanty
again."
Mr. Perry's first appearance on the Pacific Coast was upon the boards of
the San Francisco theaters in the character of "Old Pete" in Dion
Boucicault's "Octoroon." So excellent was his delineation of that
celebrated character that "Perry's Pete" was for a long time regarded as
the climax of histrionic perfection.
Since John Van Buren Perry has resided in Nevada Territory, he has
employed his talents in acting as City Marshal of Virginia, and in
abusing me because I am an orphan and a long way from home, and can
therefore be persecuted with impunity. He was re-elected day before
yesterday, and his first official act was an attempt to get me drunk on
champagne furnished to the Board of Aldermen by other successful
candidates, so that he might achieve the honor and glory of getting me
in the station-house for once in his life. Although he failed in his
object, he followed me down C street and handcuffed me in front of Tom
Peasley's, but officers Birdsall and Larkin and Brokaw rebelled against
this unwarranted assumption of authority, and released me--whereupon I
was about to punish Jack Perry severely, when he offered me six bits to
hand him down to posterity through the medium of this Biography, and I
closed the contract. But after all, I never expect to get the money.
A SUNDAY IN CARSON
I arrived in this noisy and bustling town of Carson at noon to-day, per
Layton's express. We made pretty good time from Virginia, and might have
made much better, but for Horace Smith, Esq., who rode on the box seat
and kept the stage so much by the head she wouldn't steer. I went to
church, of course,--I always go to church when I--when I go to
church--as it were. I got there just in time to hear the closing hymn,
and also to hear the Rev. Mr. White give out a long-metre doxology,
which the choir tried to sing to a short-metre tune. But there wasn't
music enough to go around: consequently, the effect was rather singular,
than otherwise. They sang the most interesting parts of each line,
though, and charged the balance to "profit and loss;" this rendered the
general intent and meaning of the doxology considerably mixed, as far as
the congregation were concerned, but inasmuch as it was not addressed to
them, anyhow, I thought it made no particular difference.
By an easy and pleasant transition, I went from church to jail. It was
only just down stairs--for they save men eternally in the second story
of the new court house, and damn them for life in the first. Sheriff
Gasheric has a handsome double office fronting on the street, and its
walls are gorgeously decorated with iron convict-jewelry. In the rear
are two rows of cells, built of bomb-proof masonry and furnished with
strong iron doors and resistless locks and bolts. There was but one
prisoner--Swazey, the murderer of Derrickson--and he was writing; I do
not know what his subject was, but he appeared to be handling it in a
way which gave him great satisfaction....
ADVICE TO THE UNRELIABLE ON CHURCH-GOING
In the first place, I must impress upon you that when you are dressing
for church, as a general thing, you mix your perfumes too much; your
fragrance is sometimes oppressive; you saturate yourself with cologne
and bergamot, until you make a sort of Hamlet's Ghost of yourself, and
no man can decide, with the first whiff, whether you bring with you air
from Heaven or from hell. Now, rectify this matter as soon as possible;
last Sunday you smelled like a secretary to a consolidated drug store
and barber shop. And you came and sat in the same pew with me; now don't
do that again.
In the next place when you design coming to church, don't lie in bed
until half past ten o'clock and then come in looking all swelled and
torpid, like a doughnut. Do reflect upon it, and show some respect for
your personal appearance hereafter.
There is another matter, also, which I wish to remonstrate with you
about. Generally, when the contribution box of the missionary department
is passing around, you begin to look anxious, and fumble in your vest
pockets, as if you felt a mighty desire to put all your worldly wealth
into it--yet when it reaches your pew, you are sure to be absorbed in
your prayer-book, or gazing pensively out of the window at far-off
mountains, or buried in meditation, with your sinful head supported by
the back of the pew before you. And after the box is gone again, you
usually start suddenly and gaze after it with a yearning look, mingled
with an expression of bitter disappointment (fumbling your cash again
meantime), as if you felt you had missed the one grand opportunity for
which you had been longing all your life. Now, to do this when you have
money in your pockets is mean. But I have seen you do a meaner thing. I
refer to your conduct last Sunday, when the contribution box arrived at
our pew--and the angry blood rises to my cheek when I remember with what
gravity and sweet serenity of countenance you put in fifty cents and
took out two dollars and a half....
THE UNRELIABLE
EDS. ENTERPRISE--I received the following atrocious document the morning
I arrived here. It was from that abandoned profligate, the Unreliable,
and I think it speaks for itself:
CARSON CITY, Thursday Morning.
_To the Unreliable:_
SIR--Observing the driver of the Virginia stage hunting after you this
morning, in order to collect his fare, I infer you are in town.
In the paper which you represent, I noticed an article which I took to
be an effusion from your muddled brain, stating that I had "cabbaged" a
number of valuable articles from you the night I took you out of the
streets of Washoe City and permitted you to occupy my bed.
I take this opportunity to inform you that I will compensate you at the
rate of $20 _per head_ for every one of these _valuable_ articles that I
received from you, providing you will relieve me of their presence. This
offer can be either accepted or rejected on your part: but providing you
don't see proper to accept it, you had better procure enough lumber to
make a box 4x8, and have it made as early as possible. Judge Dixon will
arrange the preliminaries if you don't accede. An early reply is
expected by RELIABLE.
Not satisfied with wounding my feelings by making the most extraordinary
reference to allusions in the above note, he even sent a challenge to
fight, in the same envelop with it, hoping to work upon my fears and
drive me from the country by intimidation. But I was not to be
frightened; I shall remain in the Territory. I guessed his object at
once, and determined to accept his challenge, choose weapons and things,
and scare him, instead of being scared myself. I wrote a stern reply to
him, and offered him mortal combat with boot-jacks at a hundred yards.
The effect was more agreeable than I could have hoped for. His hair
turned black in a single night, from excess of fear; then he went into a
fit of melancholy, and while it lasted he did nothing but sigh, and sob,
and snuffle, and slobber, and say "he wished he was in the quiet tomb;"
finally he said he would commit suicide--he would say farewell to the
cold, cold world, with its cares and troubles, and go to sleep with his
fathers, in perdition. Then rose up this young man, and threw his
demijohn out of the window, and took up a glass of pure water, and
drained it to the dregs. And then he fell to the floor in a swoon. Dr.
Tjader was called in, and as soon as he found that the cuss was
poisoned, he rushed down to the Magnolia Saloon and got the antidote,
and poured it down him. As he was drawing his last breath, he scented
the brandy and lingered yet a while on earth, to take a drink with the
boys. But for this he would have been no more--or possible a great deal
less--in a moment. So he survived; but he has been in a mighty
precarious condition ever since. I have been up to see how he was
getting along two or three times a day.... He is a very sick man; I was
up there a while ago, and I could see that his friends had begun to
entertain hopes that he would not get over it. As soon as I saw that,
all my enmity vanished; I even felt like doing the poor Unreliable a
kindness, and showing him, too, how my feelings toward him had changed.
So I went and bought him a beautiful coffin, and carried it up and set
it down on his bed and told him to climb in when his time was up. Well,
sir, you never saw a man so affected by a little act of kindness as he
was by that. He let off a sort of war-whoop, and went to kicking things
around like a crazy man; and he foamed at the mouth and went out of one
fit into another faster than I could take them down in my note-book....
I did not return to Virginia yesterday, on account of the wedding. The
parties were Hon. James H. Sturtevant, one of the first Pi-Utes of
Nevada, and Miss Emma Curry, daughter of the Hon. A. Curry, who also
claims that his is a Pi-Ute family of high antiquity.... I had heard it
reported that a marriage was threatened, so felt it my duty to go down
there and find out the facts of the case. They said I might stay, as it
was me.... I promised not to say anything about the wedding, and I
regard that promise as sacred--my word is as good as my bond.... Father
Bennett advanced and touched off the high contracting parties with the
hymeneal torch (married them, you know), and at the word of command from
Curry, the fiddle bows were set in motion, and the plain quadrilles
turned loose. Thereupon, some of the most responsible dancing ensued
that I ever saw in my life. The dance that Tam O'Shanter witnessed was
slow in comparison to it. They kept it up for six hours, and then
carried out the exhausted musicians on a shutter, and went down to
supper. I know they had a fine supper, and plenty of it, but I do not
know much else. They drank so much shampin around me that I got
confused, and lost the hang of things, as it were.... It was mighty
pleasant, jolly and sociable, and I wish to thunder I was married
myself. I took a large slice of bridal cake home with me to dream on,
and dreamt that I was still a single man, and likely to remain so, if I
live and nothing happens--which has given me a greater confidence in
dreams than I ever felt before. I cordially wish my newly-married couple
all kinds of happiness and prosperity, though.
YE SENTIMENTAL LAW STUDENT
EDS. ENTERPRISE--I found the following letter, or Valentine, or whatever
it is, lying on the summit, where it had been dropped unintentionally, I
think. It was written on a sheet of legal cap, and each line was duly
commenced within the red mark which traversed the sheet from top to
bottom. Solon appeared to have had some trouble getting his effusion
started to suit him. He had begun it, "Know all men by these presents,"
and scratched it out again; he had substituted, "Now at this day comes
the plaintiff, by his attorney," and scratched that out also; he had
tried other sentences of like character, and gone on obliterating them,
until, through much sorrow and tribulation, he achieved the dedication
which stands at the head of his letter, and to his entire satisfaction,
I do cheerfully hope. But what a villain a man must be to blend together
the beautiful language of love and the infernal phraseology of the law
in one and the same sentence! I know but one of God's creatures who
would be guilty of such depravity as this: I refer to the Unreliable. I
believe the Unreliable to be the very lawyer's-cub who sat upon the
solitary peak, all soaked in beer and sentiment, and concocted the
insipid literary hash I am talking about. The handwriting closely
resembles his semi-Chinese tarantula tracks.
SUGAR LOAF PEAK, February 14, 1863.
To the loveliness to whom these presents shall come, greeting:--This is
a lovely day, my own Mary; its unencumbered sunshine reminds me of your
happy face, and in the imagination the same doth now appear before me.
Such sights and scenes as this ever remind me, the party of the second
part, of you, my Mary, the peerless party of the first part. The view
from the lonely and segregated mountain peak, of this portion of what is
called and known as Creation, with all and singular the hereditaments
and appurtenances thereunto appertaining and belonging, is
inexpressively grand and inspiring; and I gaze, and gaze, while my soul
is filled with holy delight, and my heart expands to receive thy
spirit-presence, as aforesaid. Above me is the glory of the sun; around
him float the messenger clouds, ready alike to bless the earth with
gentle rain, or visit it with lightning, and thunder, and destruction;
far below the said sun and the messenger clouds aforesaid, lying prone
upon the earth in the verge of the distant horizon, like the burnished
shield of a giant, mine eyes behold a lake, which is described and set
forth in maps as the Sink of Carson; nearer, in the great plain, I see
the Desert, spread abroad like the mantle of a Colossus, glowing by
turns, with the warm light of the sun, hereinbefore mentioned, or darkly
shaded by the messenger clouds aforesaid; flowing at right angles with
said Desert, and adjacent thereto, I see the silver and sinuous thread
of the river, commonly called Carson, which winds its tortuous course
through the softly tinted valley, and disappears amid the gorges of the
bleak and snowy mountains--a simile of man!--leaving the pleasant valley
of Peace and Virtue to wander among the dark defiles of Sin, beyond the
jurisdiction of the kindly beaming sun aforesaid! And about said sun,
and the said clouds, and around the said mountains, and over the plain
and the river aforesaid, there floats a purple glory--a yellow mist--as
airy and beautiful as the bridal veil of a princess, about to be wedded
according to the rites and ceremonies pertaining to, and established by,
the laws or edicts of the kingdom or principality wherein she doth
reside, and whereof she hath been and doth continue to be, a lawful
sovereign or subject. Ah! my Mary, it is sublime! it is lovely! I have
declared and made known, and by these presents do declare and make known
unto you, that the view from Sugar Loaf Peak, as hereinbefore described
and set forth, is the loveliest picture with which the hand of the
Creator has adorned the earth, according to the best of my knowledge and
belief, so help me God.
Given under my hand, and in the spirit-presence of the bright being
whose love has restored the light of hope to a soul once groping in the
darkness of despair, on the day and year first above written.
(Signed)
SOLON LYCURGUS.
Law Student, and Notary Public in and for the said County of Storey, and
Territory of Nevada.
To Miss Mary Links, Virginia (and may the laws have her in their holy
keeping).
SETTIN' BY THE FIRE
BY FRANK L. STANTON
Never much on stirrin' roun'
(Sich warn't his desire),
Allers certain to be foun'
Settin' by the fire.
When the frost wuz comin' down--
Col' win' creepin' nigher,
Spent each day jest thataway--
Settin' by the fire.
When the dancin' shook the groun'--
Raised the ol' roof higher,
Never swung the gals eroun'--
Sot thar' by the fire.
Same ol' corner night an' day--
Never 'peared to tire;
Not a blessed word to say!
Jest sot by the fire.
When he died, by slow degrees,
Folks said: "He's gone higher;"
But it's my opinion he's
Settin' by the fire.
THE WHISPERER
BY IRONQUILL
He never tried to make a speech;
A speech was far beyond his reach.
He didn't even dare to try;
He did his work upon the sly.
He took the voter to the rear
And gently whispered in his ear.
He never wrote; he could not write;
He never tried that style of fight.
No argument of his was seen
In daily press or magazine.
He only tried to get up near
And whisper in the voter's ear.
It worked so well that he became
A person of abundant fame.
He couldn't write; he couldn't speak,
But still pursued his course unique.
He had a glorious career--
He whispered in the voter's ear.
DER OAK UND DER VINE
BY CHARLES FOLLEN ADAMS
I don'd vas preaching voman's righdts,
Or anyding like dot,
Und I likes to see all beoples
Shust gondented mit dheir lot;
Budt I vants to gondradict dot shap
Dot made dis leedle shoke:
"A voman vas der glinging vine,
Und man, der shturdy oak."
Berhaps, somedimes, dot may be drue;
Budt, den dimes oudt off nine,
I find me oudt dot man himself
Vas peen der glinging vine;
Und ven hees friendts dhey all vas gone,
Und he vas shust "tead proke,"
Dot's ven der voman shteps righdt in,
Und peen der shturdy oak.
Shust go oup to der paseball groundts
Und see dhose "shturdy oaks"
All planted roundt ubon der seats--
Shust hear dheir laughs und shokes!
Dhen see dhose vomens at der tubs,
Mit glothes oudt on der lines;
Vhich vas der shturdy oaks, mine friendts,
Und vhich der glinging vines?
Vhen sickness in der householdt comes,
Und veeks und veeks he shtays,
Who vas id fighdts him mitoudt resdt,
Dhose veary nighdts und days?
Who beace und gomfort alvays prings,
Und cools dot fefered prow?
More like id vas der tender vine
Dot oak he glings to, now.
"Man vants budt leedle here below,"
Der boet von time said;
Dhere's leedle dot man he _don'd_ vant,
I dink id means, inshted;
Und ven der years keep rolling on,
Dheir cares und droubles pringing,
He vants to pe der shturdy oak,
Und, also, do der glinging.
Maype, vhen oaks dhey gling some more,
Und don'd so shturdy peen,
Der glinging vines dhey haf some shance
To helb run Life's masheen.
In helt und sickness, shoy und pain,
In calm or shtormy veddher,
'T was beddher dot dhose oaks und vines
Should alvays gling togeddher.
ARAMINTA AND THE AUTOMOBILE
BY CHARLES BATTELL LOOMIS
Some persons spend their surplus on works of art; some spend it on
Italian gardens and pergolas; there are those who sink it in golf, and I
have heard of those who expended it on charity.
None of these forms of getting away with money appeal to Araminta and
myself. As soon as it was ascertained that the automobile was
practicable and would not cost a king's ransom, I determined to devote
my savings to the purchase of one.
Araminta and I lived in a suburban town; she because she loves Nature
and I because I love Araminta. We have been married for five years.
I am a bank clerk in New York, and morning and night I go through the
monotony of railway travel, and for one who is forbidden to use his eyes
on the train and who does not play cards it _is_ monotony, for in the
morning my friends are either playing cards or else reading their
papers, and one does not like to urge the claims of conversation on one
who is deep in politics or the next play of his antagonist; so my
getting to business and coming back are in the nature of purgatory. I
therefore hailed the automobile as a Heaven-sent means of swift motion
with an agreeable companion, and with no danger of encountering either
newspapers or cards. I have seen neither reading nor card-playing going
on in any automobile.
The community in which I live is not progressive, and when I said that I
expected to buy an automobile as soon as my ship came in I was frowned
upon by my neighbors. Several of them have horses, and all, or nearly
all, have feet. The horsemen were not more opposed to my proposed
ownership than the footmen--I should say pedestrians. They all thought
automobiles dangerous and a menace to public peace, but of course I
pooh-poohed their fears and, being a person of a good deal of stability
of purpose, I went on saving my money, and in course of time I bought an
automobile of the electric sort.
Araminta is plucky, and I am perfectly fearless. When the automobile was
brought home and housed in the little barn that is on our property, the
man who had backed it in told me that he had orders to stay and show me
how it worked, but I laughed at him--good-naturedly yet firmly. I said,
"Young man, experience teaches more in half an hour than books or
precepts do in a year. A would-be newspaper man does not go to a school
of journalism if he is wise; he gets a position on a newspaper and
learns for himself, and through his mistakes. I know that one of these
levers is to steer by, that another lets loose the power, and that there
is a foot-brake. I also know that the machine is charged, and I need to
know no more. Good day."
Thus did I speak to the young man, and he saw that I was a person of
force and discretion, and he withdrew to the train and I never saw him
again.
Araminta had been to Passaic shopping, but she came back while I was out
in the barn looking at my new purchase, and she joined me there. I
looked at her lovingly, and she returned the look. Our joint ambition
was realized; we were the owners of an automobile, and we were going out
that afternoon.
Why is it that cheap barns are so flimsily built? I know that our barn
is cheap because the rent for house and barn is less than what many a
clerk, city pent, pays for a cramped flat, but again I ask, why are they
flimsily built? I have no complaint to make. If my barn had been built
of good stout oak I might to-day be in a hospital.
It happened this way. Araminta said, "Let me get in, and we will take
just a little ride to see how it goes," and I out of my love for her
said, "Wait just a few minutes, dearest, until I get the hang of the
thing. I want to see how much go she has and just how she works."
Araminta has learned to obey my slightest word, knowing that love is at
the bottom of all my commands, and she stepped to one side while I
entered the gayly-painted vehicle and tried to move out of the barn. I
moved out. But I backed. Oh, blessed, cheaply built barn. My way was not
restricted to any appreciable extent. I shot gayly through the barn into
the hen yard, and the sound of the ripping clapboards frightened the
silly hens who were enjoying a dust-bath, and they fled in more
directions than there were fowls.
I had not intended entering the hen yard, and I did not wish to stay
there, so I kept on out, the wire netting not being what an automobile
would call an obstruction. I never lose my head, and when I heard
Araminta screaming in the barn, I called out cheerily to her, "I'll be
back in a minute, dear, but I'm coming another way."
And I did come another way. I came all sorts of ways. I really don't
know what got into the machine, but she now turned to the left and made
for the road, and then she ran along on her two left wheels for a
moment, and then seemed about to turn a somersault, but changed her
mind, and, still veering to the left, kept on up the road, passing my
house at a furious speed, and making for the open country. With as much
calmness as I could summon I steered her, but I think I steered her a
little too much, for she turned toward my house.
I reached one end of the front piazza at the same time that Araminta
reached the other end of it. I had the right of way, and she deferred to
me just in time. I removed the vestibule storm door. It was late in
March, and I did not think we should have any more use for it that
season. And we didn't.
I had ordered a strongly-built machine, and I was now glad of it,
because a light and weak affair that was merely meant to run along on a
level and unobstructed road would not have stood the assault on my
piazza. Why, my piazza did not stand it. It caved in, and made work for
an already overworked local carpenter who was behind-hand with his
orders. After I had passed through the vestibule, I applied the brake,
and it worked. The path is not a cinder one, as I think them untidy, so
I was not more than muddied. I was up in an instant, and looked at the
still enthusiastic machine with admiration.
"Have you got the hang of it?" said Araminta.
Now that's one thing I like about Araminta. She does not waste words
over non-essentials. The point was not that I had damaged the piazza. I
needed a new one, anyway. The main thing was that I was trying to get
the hang of the machine, and she recognized that fact instantly.
I told her that I thought I had, and that if I had pushed the lever in
the right way at first, I should have come out of the barn in a more
conventional way.
She again asked me to let her ride, and as I now felt that I could
better cope with the curves of the machine I allowed her to get in.
"Don't lose your head," said I.
"I hope I shan't," said she dryly.
"Well, if you have occasion to leave me, drop over the back. Never jump
ahead. That is a fundamental rule in runaways of all kinds."
Then we started, and I ran the motor along for upward of half a mile
after I had reached the highway, which I did by a short cut through a
field at the side of our house. There is only a slight rail fence
surrounding it, and my machine made little of that. It really seemed to
delight in what some people would have called danger.
"Araminta, are you glad that I saved up for this?"
"I am mad with joy," said the dear thing, her face flushed with
excitement mixed with expectancy. Nor were her expectations to be
disappointed. We still had a good deal to do before we should have ended
our first ride.
So far I had damaged property to a certain extent, but I had no one but
myself to reckon with, and I was providing work for people. I always
have claimed that he who makes work for two men where there was only
work for one before, is a public benefactor, and that day I was the
friend of carpenters and other mechanics.
Along the highway we flew, our hearts beating high, but never in our
mouths, and at last we saw a team approaching us. By "a team" I mean a
horse and buggy. I was raised in Connecticut, where a team is anything
you choose to call one.
The teamster saw us. Well, perhaps I should not call him a teamster
(although he was one logically): he was our doctor, and, as I say, he
saw us.
Now I think it would have been friendly in him, seeing that I was more
or less of a novice at the art of automobiling, to have turned to the
left when he saw that I was inadvertently turning to the left, but the
practice of forty years added to a certain native obstinacy made him
turn to the right, and he met me at the same time that I met him.
The horse was not hurt, for which I am truly glad, and the doctor joined
us, and continued with us for a season, but his buggy was demolished.
Of course I am always prepared to pay for my pleasure, and though it was
not, strictly speaking, my pleasure to deprive my physician of his
turn-out, yet if he _had_ turned out it wouldn't have happened--and, as
I say, I was prepared to get him a new vehicle. But he was very
unreasonable; so much so that, as he was crowding us--for the seat was
not built for more than two, and he is stout--I at last told him that I
intended to turn around and carry him home, as we were out for pleasure,
and he was giving us pain.
I will confess that the events of the last few minutes had rattled me
somewhat, and I did not feel like turning just then, as the road was
narrow. I knew that the road turned of its own accord a half-mile
farther on, and so I determined to wait.
"I want to get out," said the doctor tartly, and just as he said so
Araminta stepped on the brake, accidentally. The doctor got out--in
front. With great presence of mind I reversed, and so we did not run
over him. But he was furious and sulphurous, and that is why I have
changed to homeopathy. He was the only allopathic doctor in Brantford.
I suppose that if I had stopped and apologized, he would have made up
with me, and I would not have got angry with him, but I couldn't stop.
The machine was now going as she had done when I left the barn, and we
were backing into town.
Through it all I did not lose my coolness. I said: "Araminta, look out
behind, which is ahead of us, and if you have occasion to jump now, do
it in front, which is behind," and Araminta understood me.
She sat sideways, so that she could see what was going on, but that
might have been seen from any point of view, for we were the only things
going on--or backing.
Pretty soon we passed the wreck of the buggy, and then we saw the horse
grazing on dead grass by the roadside, and at last we came on a few of
our townfolk who had seen us start, and were now come out to welcome us
home. But I did not go home just then. I should have done so if the
machine had minded me and turned in at our driveway, but it did not.
Across the way from us there is a fine lawn leading up to a beautiful
greenhouse full of rare orchids and other plants. It is the pride of my
very good neighbor, Jacob Rawlinson.
The machine, as if moved by _malice prépense_, turned just as we came to
the lawn, and began to back at railroad speed.
I told Araminta that if she was tired of riding, now was the best time
to stop; that she ought not to overdo it, and that I was going to get
out myself as soon as I had seen her off.
I saw her off.
Then after one ineffectual jab at the brake, I left the machine
hurriedly, and as I sat down on the sposhy lawn I heard a tremendous but
not unmusical sound of falling glass----
I tell Araminta that it isn't the running of an automobile that is
expensive. It is the stopping of it.
THE HEIGHT OF THE RIDICULOUS
BY OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES
I wrote some lines once on a time
In wondrous merry mood,
And thought, as usual, men would say
They were exceeding good.
They were so queer, so very queer,
I laughed as I would die;
Albeit, in the general way,
A sober man am I.
I called my servant, and he came;
How kind it was of him
To mind a slender man like me,
He of the mighty limb!
"These to the printer," I exclaimed,
And, in my humorous way,
I added, (as a trifling jest,)
"There'll be the devil to pay."
He took the paper, and I watched,
And saw him peep within;
At the first line he read, his face
Was all upon the grin.
He read the next; the grin grew broad,
And shot from ear to ear;
He read the third; a chuckling noise
I now began to hear.
The fourth; he broke into a roar;
The fifth; his waistband split;
The sixth; he burst five buttons off,
And tumbled in a fit.
Ten days and nights, with sleepless eye,
I watched that wretched man,
And since, I never dare to write
As funny as I can.
WHEN LOVELY WOMAN
BY PHOEBE CARY
When lovely woman wants a favor,
And finds, too late, that man won't bend,
What earthly circumstance can save her
From disappointment in the end?
The only way to bring him over,
The last experiment to try,
Whether a husband or a lover,
If he have feeling is--to cry.
UNSATISFIED YEARNING
BY R. K. MUNKITTRICK
Down in the silent hallway
Scampers the dog about,
And whines, and barks, and scratches,
In order to get out.
Once in the glittering starlight,
He straightway doth begin
To set up a doleful howling
In order to get in.
THE INVISIBLE PRINCE[2]
BY HENRY HARLAND