|Dick Kelsy was one of the earliest sett_The Swamp Doctor's Adventures in The South-West Containing the Whole of The Louisiana Swamp Doctor; Streaks of Squatter Life; and Far-Western Scenes; In a Series of Forty-Two Humorous Southern and Western Sketches, Descriptive of Incidents and Character

country, and a more open-hearted or careless son of Kentucky, never

squatted in the “Far West.” He had wandered from his parent state more

for a change of location than any desire to improve his condition,

and if a spot offered easy hunting facilities, it mattered not what

contingencies were added, Dick “sot himself down thar.” Tall, raw-boned,

good-natured and fearless, he betrayed no ambition to excel, except in

his rifle, and the settlers generally conceded that his “shooting-iron”

was particularly _certain!_ A spot upon one of the tributaries of the

Missouri won Dick's heart at first sight--it bordered upon a beautiful

stream;--had a far spreading prairie, skirted by a fine grove of timber,

for a landscape, and abounded with all sorts of game, from a prairie

fowl to an _Indian_. Here Dick built his cabin, beneath the shadow of

his own cotton tree, and he used to tell his neighbours that nature had,

after practising on the rest of creation, spread her finishing touches

on his claim. Its wild beauty deserved his lavish praise.

In this western habitation our hero held undisturbed sway, his only

companion being a negro slave, who was at once his master's attendant

and friend. Kelsy and the negro had been raised together, and from

association, although so opposite their positions, had imbibed a lasting

affection for each other,--each would have freely shed blood in the

other's defence. The bonds of servitude were, consequently, moulded

into links of friendship and affection, securing to them a feeling of

confidence in their lonely habitation in the wilderness. Their nearest

neighbours were situated at a small trading settlement, some ten miles

distant, where Dick always repaired to exchange his furs for ammunition

and other essentials. Here he also learned the news from the far-off

seat of government; but the busy world beyond little interested these

roving sons of the western forests,--a brush with the _red skins_, or

a challenge shooting match, possessed much more interest for them. At

length, however, these western pioneers were aroused from their

quietude and inactivity by the news that Congress had passed the famous

_Pre-emption Law_. As yet none in the region we write of knew its

provisions, or, distinctly, what rights it conferred; each squatter,

therefore, laid out the bounds of his claim in accordance with his own

desire, and stood ready to defend the title against all encroachments.

The fever of emigration became an epidemic, and soon that speculating

mania, which, in imagination, built fortunes in a day, spread even

to the confines of civilization. The axe of the pioneer soon began to

startle the wild denizens of the forest, where for ages the hunter alone

had disturbed their repose.

One bright morning a _ripple_ of the advancing tide, in the persons of

two strangers, was discovered by Dick about a quarter of a mile from his

cabin, where, apparently, they had rested for the night. The first was

a man about middle stature, of a dark swarthy complexion, with an

uneasy eye, prominent teeth, and clad in a dilapidated suit of Kentucky

jean;--an old chip hat surmounted his figure, and in his right hand he

held the sceptre of the pioneer--a _rifle!_ His companion was a pale,

sickly-looking little woman, clad in a coarse linsey-woolsey gown, and

in her hand she held a faded calico sun-bonnet; close by stood a small

wagon, with a quilt cover, to which was harnessed a horse, bearing

evident marks of long travel and hard fare.

“How are you, strangers?” was Dick's first query. “Judgin' from

appearances, you're lookin' out a location.”

“Yes,” replied the man, in a surly tone, “I've been lookin' all along,

but I aint found any yet fit fur a _white_ man.”

“Well, you've jest got to the spot now,” says Dick. “Creation aint laid

out any place prettier, and arter takin' a view of it, you'll say so.

You and the missus better go up to my cabin and rest till you can take

a good look at its best _pints_, and I predicate you'll come to a

conclusion.”

“Well, guess I'll stay a spell,” was the stranger's response, and

following Dick, he was introduced beneath the Kentuckian's hospitable

roof, after which Dick started to the settlement for some notions with

which to entertain them more comfortably. On his arrival the whole

conversation at the settlement was the _pre-emption act_, and during

the debate on its merits, he mentioned the “new arrival” in his

neighbourhood, of the strangers. They had passed through the settlement,

and as all new comers are a subject of interest, various opinions were

expressed in regard to these.

“Judgin' from that stranger's frontispiece,” said one, “I shouldn't like

him fur a near neighbour?”

“He's rayther a sour lookin' customer,” added another; “and how dreadful

poorly his wife looks.”

“I've invited him to locate near me,” remarked Kelsy, “and I can't

say he's got a very pleasin' look; but the rough shell may have a good

kernel, boys.”

After providing necessaries, Dick gave the settlers an invitation to

come up and help the stranger to raise a cabin. All agreed to be thar

on the next Saturday, and homeward he started. On his arrival, Sam

was cooking the evening meal of wild game and corn bread, all the

time expatiating to the guests what a good man “Massa Dick” was, and

particularly impressing upon their minds that he, (Sam,) was “Massa

Dick's 'strordinary niggah!” Sam's efforts at amusement failed upon the

strangers, for one was quietly weeping, while the other wore a scowl of

anger. Dick noticed their looks on entering, and endeavoured to cheer

them--

“Don't look down hearted, strangers,” said he, “you aint among Ingins ef

you are near 'em--thar aint a spot in the universal yearth calkilated to

make you feel better than whar you are now. Sam and me never felt bad

sence we located here,--only when the Ingins penned us in the cabin fur

three days, while all our bar meat was hangin' on the outside.”

“It's this cussed woman,” answered the stranger,

“that makes me feel bad--she's etarnally whimperin' about bein' so fur

from home--I wish she was in h--ll!”

“Stop that, stranger,” said Dick, in a determined tone; “the love I have

for an old Kentucky mother won't permit me to see or hear one of her sex

abused beneath my cabin roof, ef it is in the wilderness,--I don't like

red skins, none of 'em, but even a _squaw_ couldn't be abused here!”

“Well, I'm done,” was the reply. “I'll git a cabin of my own, and then I

guess I'll do as I please.”

“No you won't,” said Dick; “ef you stay in these diggins and abuse her,

you're in a hotter place than whar you jest now wished her.”

It may be supposed that the host and his guest retired, the first night

of their meeting, with no favourable impression of each other; and

while Sam and his master were making all right for the night, the former

ventured to remark--

“Dar aint much good in _dat_ white man, Massa Dick.”

“Not a _heap_, Sam,” was his master's reply; “but he shan't pisin us

long with his company;” and with this comfortable resolve they turned in

for the night.

At daylight Dick started out with his rifle on his arm, to observe the

foot-prints around his dwelling, and note whether they were biped or

quadruped, the close proximity of the Indian tribes and their frequent

thefts, making caution and care necessary to preserve, not only

property, but life. As he was returning to his cabin a _scream_ startled

him from his careless gait--it was a new sound in that wilderness; and

many a day had passed since Dick heard anything akin to it. He started

forward with a bound, convulsively clutching his rifle, while his blood

urged into rapid action by the movement, was again forced back to his

heart, chilled by another fearful scream of a woman in distress. In a

moment he emerged from the strip of woods, within view of his cabin, and

there beheld the stranger with his arm raised to strike; fronting him

stood Sam, poising a large hunting knife in defence, while upon

the other arm of the muscular negro, hung the trembling form of

the stranger's sickly wife. A few moments and Dick was beside the

combatants, inquiring the cause of their hostile attitude. When Sam

informed him that the stranger had twice, with his fist, felled the

woman to the earth, his rifle raised instinctively to his shoulder, as

if justice demanded instant and dreadful punishment for such a dastard

act. Dick slowly remarked, as he directed his aim--“I'll sarve you out,

you infernal _savage!_”

[Illustration: 0341]

The stricken wife observing the action, threw herself before the weapon,

imploring the enraged host to spare her husband's life.

“Well, woman is woman,” soliloquised Dick; “for they'll stick to

the devil, ef they ever take a notion to him. If you have the least

hankerin' arter the mean varmint, in course I'll let him _slide_; but he

must clar out of my diggins--I can't be near whar anythin' of his breed

grows,--so arter breakfast we'll separate.”

When the morning meal was ended, the stranger drew up his wagon, thrust

his companion into it, and sullenly departed, muttering a threatening

farewell.

“God help that poor creatur,” said Dick, as his late guests disappeared

from view, “_she's got a hard row to hoe_, and as for that sarpent with

her, he'd better keep out of my tracks. I should be mightily tempted to

sarch his carcass to see ef he had a heart in it. Sam,” continued he,

“_you're_ a nigger, but thar's more real white man under your black skin

than could be found in an acre of such varmints as that _sucker_. Give

me your fist, old fellar; while Dick Kelsy's got anythin' in this world,

you shall share it!”

While this bond of closer friendship was being formed between master and

slave, malice was holding her revel in the heart of their late guest. He

had observed Dick's love for the spot where he had squatted, and judging

rightly that he had neglected to file his claim to it in the Land

Office, he stopped a short distance below him, intending to remain,

and, if possible gain possession of it. Kelsy had his dislike for the

stranger increased by finding him remain on his section, and he ordered

him to leave forthwith. The stranger gave as an excuse, that his wife

was so sick that she couldn't travel, and ended with a request that he

would let him erect a hut to shelter her, while he went in search of a

permanent location. In pity for _her_, Dick consented, and the stranger

proceeded to prepare timber for a small cabin. The following Saturday

the neighbors gathered, and by nightfall placed a roof over their

heads, kindly supplied them with some necessaries, and left, each more

confirmed in his dislike for the stranger. The next morning he started

off, as many supposed, never to return; the natural kindness of the

settlers was immediately manifested towards his wife, and nothing

that would conduce to her comfort, was lacking in the cabin of this

heart-broken woman.

After the lapse of several days, contrary to all expectation,

the stranger returned, and a visible change was manifested in his

manner--his surliness assumed a more impudent and offensive character,

and on receiving a further intimation that it was time he was _moving_,

he insolently told Dick to “clear out,” himself, for that he, (the

stranger,) was the rightful owner of the claim. Dick laughed at him, and

told him to be off quietly, that his carcass was safe while that woman

clung to him.

Kelsy was laughing next day, down at the settlement, as he related the

stranger's words, and described his insolent bearing; but his smile of

scorn was turned to a frown of wrath, when the Land Agent, who happened

to hear him, informed the unsuspecting squatter, that the stranger had,

indeed, entered the claim his cabin was upon. Dick, on hearing this

news, shivered the bottle in his hand to atoms, and drawing his breath

through his teeth until it fairly whistled, he remarked--

“That stranger may have _some_ of my claim, but his share shall be my

_signature to the title_.”

The sun was fast sinking when Dick started home, rather limber from the

effects of wrath and liquor. Having resigned himself to the care of his

horse, he swung from side to side, in a state of dozing unconsciousness.

When he neared his cabin, it had become pitch dark, to which, if

possible, the woods bordering his claim, added a gloomier shade. The

instant his horse entered beneath the foliage, a sharp pain shot through

the side of the rider, so acute as to wake his powers suddenly into

full consciousness. The spring he made in the saddle startled his horse

forward into a rapid gait, and in an instant more, a sickly sensation

robbed him of all consciousness. When he opened his eyes with returning

animation, his look fell upon his faithful slave, who was bending, with

an anxious countenance, over the rude couch of his master.

“Bress God! Massa Dick, you knows Sam, your ole nigga--I sees you

does--dars life in you yet, massa,--dar is, but dis poor nigga had amost

gib you up, for sartain!”

An unseen hand had, in the darkness, plunged a knife into Dick's body,

as he entered the wood; he had clung to his horse's mane, until the

animal stopped at his cabin door, where Sam, waiting for his master, had

caught his bleeding and unconscious body in his arms as it fell reeling

from the saddle. The faithful negro had staunched the blood, and applied

every restorative his rude knowledge could devise; but it was long

ere the eyes he so loved opened to the recollection of past events and

present injury.

“That was a foul dig in the ribs, Sam,” murmured his exhausted master;

“but ef I don't trail up the sarpint and pull his sting out, it'll be

because I and that ar old rifle of mine has to part company!”

The natural strength of the patient, together with Sam's careful

nursing, soon restored him to his legs, and a few days' gentle exercise

imparted strength enough to his frame to support the weight of his

rifle. A fixed resolve to trace the assassin added a severe cast to

Dick's pale features--Sam, as he observed him, quietly shook his

head, with the remark--“Ah, ah! Massa Dick's soon goin' Ingin

huntin'--_sure!_”

One morning, early, Kelsy ordered Sam to saddle his horse, and proceeded

himself to clean his rifle; with more than usual care he adjusted each

particular of his accoutrements, and started off to the settlement,

taking the road leading by his neighbor's cabin. On his arrival, he

gathered a few of his cronies together, who all knew of the dastardly

attempt on his life, and imparted to them a scheme he had been maturing,

for discovering if the stranger was the “stabber in the dark,”--which

few seemed to doubt, but of which he wished to be certain.

As the sun inclined to the west, Kelsy made preparation for return,

and changing his dress for a suit belonging to one of his friends, he

stuffed his own with straw, surmounted the figure with his fur cap,

and mounted it upon his horse before him, where it was secured to the

saddle; four of his friends accompanied him, and thus prepared, they

bent their course towards Dick's cabin. Night set in while they were

on their march, and soon the moon rose, casting her soft light over a

prairie landscape, as beautiful as ever the eye of man rested upon. It

was a western scene of wild and picturesque loveliness, grand in its

vastness of extent, and rich in its yet hidden resources. Its lonely

quietude was calculated to subdue the wild passions which throbbed in

the hearts of those who now broke its stillness; but a glance at the

firm features of the party, proved that its beauty was unheeded by them

as they swept onward to the dread business of their march. When Within a

mile of Dick's habitation, they halted in a secluded hollow, where they

resigned their horses to the care of one of the party, with instructions

to turn Kelsey's horse loose about the time he supposed they, by a

circuitous route, on foot, had reached the woods, and when he heard a

shot, to follow with their other horses. Dick and his companions stole

unperceived beneath the shadow of the wood, and cautiously approached

the trail leading to his cabin; ere they had reached the spot, however,

one of the party descried the horse leisurely wending his way across a

strip of prairie, the figure seated upon his back swaying from side

to side, so like his owner when “half sprung,” that they could with

difficulty suppress a laugh. The sound of the horse's hoofs brought

from concealment another figure, whose form was indistinctly visible,

emerging from behind a thick covert; and the excitement of the moment,

at thus having securely trapped the offender, had almost discovered

them--their game, however, was too intent on his purpose, or he would

have heard the slight exclamation which burst from the lips of one of

the party. Moving stealthily to a good position he awaited horse and

rider, and taking deliberate aim, _fired_. No movement of the figure

indicated a _hit_, and the party could hear his exclamation of

disappointment. The horse sauntered along undisturbed by the report,

perceiving which, the assassin hastily reloaded, while Dick and his

friends crept up unperceived almost to his side. Raising his rifle

again, he steadily poised his aim, and pulled the trigger--erect

the figure held its place, and resting his rifle upon the ground, he

exclaimed--“I've hit him, or he's the devil himself!”

“I guess its the old gentleman come for you, stranger,” said Dick, as he

snatched the rifle from his hand, and the whole party closed in a circle

round him.

The detected squatter looked paralyzed--his tongue refused its office,

while his form, quivering with apprehension, could scarcely keep erect,

and his usually cold, uneasy eyes seemed fixed balls of light, so

dreadful were they in their expression of coward fear. The party

proposed to settle his business at once, and this movement loosened his

tongue--he broke forth in piteous accents of supplication--“Oh, God! oh,

God!” cried he, “you won't kill me--will you?”

“Well,” said one of the party, “_we won't do anything else!_”

Kelsy interposed, and suggested that his death be deferred until

daylight, in order that the stranger might see how it was done, and be

put to sleep respectably. They immediately adjourned to Dick's cabin,

where they found Sam holding the straw figure in his arms, and looking

in a state of stupor at the horse; he thought his master was “done

for;” but great was his joy when the well-known sounds of Kelsy's voice

assured him of his safety.

The party seated themselves in a circle in the cabin, with the culprit

in the centre, and his shrinking form, trembling with fear, and pallid,

imploring countenance, looked most pitiful. As Kelsy gazed upon him

the form of his sickly wife seemed to twine her arms around his neck,

beseeching as when she before interposed herself between him and death,

and the vision of his mind searched out a tender spot in Dick's heart.

He resolved to give him a chance of escape, and, therefore, proposed

to the party that they should decide by a _game of cards_, whether the

stranger should die or be permitted to leave the country. Dick's friends

protested against such mercy; but after an earnest appeal from him, in

behalf of the woman, they yielded--cards were produced, and one of the

party selected to play against the culprit. By Kelsy's entreaty, also,

he was allowed the choice of his own game, and he selected _euchre_.

All seated themselves closer around the players--breathing seemed almost

suspended--a beam of hope lent a slight glow to the pallid countenance

of the stranger, while the compressed lips and frowning brow of his

antagonist, gave assurance that no mercy would temper his play for this

fearful stake. The rest of the party shared his dislike for the culprit,

who was looked upon as a common foe, and their flashing eyes were bent

upon his swarthy countenance with an expression of deadly hate, which

forced out the cold drops of perspiration upon his sickly brow, and

sunk his heart with fear. The cards were cut, and the stranger won

the _deal_--he breathed with hope--he dealt and turned up the _right

bower_--his antagonist _passed_, and the stranger raising the _bower_,

bid him play. The hand was soon finished and the stranger counted

two! His visage lighted up, and he wiped his brow with a feeling of

confidence in his luck The next hand the stranger ordered the card up

and was _euchered_--they now stood _even_, and he again looked anxious.

In the next two hands they successively won, each a single count, and

it was the stranger's deal again--he turned up a _king_, and held in his

hand the queen and _ten of trumps_, together with the _eight of diamonds

and the king and ten of clubs_. His antagonist ordered the _king_ up,

and as the stranger discarded his _diamond_, a gleam of certain success

overspread his visage--the rigid face of his antagonist betrayed no sign

of exultation, but his brow, on the contrary, became closer knit into

a scowl, which, by his party, was looked upon as a presage of defeat.

Dick's friend led the _jack of clubs_--the stranger followed suit with

his _ten of clubs_--then came the _ace of trumps_--the stranger paused

a moment, and played his _ten spot_--out came the _right bower_, and

he yielded his _queen_--the _left_ fell before his eyes, and his last

_trump_, the king, was swept away! At each play his countenance grew

more and more ashy in its expression of despair and dread; his lips had

lost their color, and his eyes had gained an intenseness of expression

that seemed as if they could look into the very soul of the frowning

figure before him, and read there his impending doom. For the first time

a slight smile played upon the features of Dick's friend as slowly he

spread before him the _ace of clubs!_ The stranger crushed his _King_

within his trembling hands and threw it from him, as he sunk into a

state of stupor, the very counterpart of death.

“Your game's up, stranger,” coolly remarked the winner; “yes, it's

up--played very neat--but it's up! And you've jest won a small patch of

Kelsy's claim--about six foot by two, or thereabouts.”

The sun had begun to tip the tops of the forest trees, when this

exciting contest was ended, and all the party adjourned to the outside,

with the doomed stranger in their midst. They moved with silence, for a

deed of blood was to be enacted. The law of the wilderness was about to

offer up a victim for common safety--the midnight assassin to expiate

his guilt upon the spot, and by the hand of him whom he had there

endeavored to consign to death.--The music of the morning songsters met

no harmonious accord in the hearts of those who now strode amid their

melodies--the sweet morning air kissed brows fevered with passion,

and the light breeze that played amid the forest grove and skipped

innocently across the far spread prairie, was about to bear upon its

pinions the shriek of agony. Having arrived at a suitable spot, they

bound the culprit to a sapling, and he hung in his bonds already,

apparently, bereft of life.

“Stick him up at a hundred yards, boys,” said Dick; “ef he is a _snake_,

give him a 'small show' for life, and ef I miss him at the first fire

we'll let him _slip_.”

The culprit aroused on hearing this, and plead for the smallest chance

in the world.

“Don't shoot me like a _mad dog!_” he exclaimed, in most piteous

accents.

“You're worse, you hound,” said his late antagonist; “and if Dick don't

wind up your business for you, _I_ will.”

“Come, boys,” continued Dick, “you all know that this old iron's

_certain_, so give the varmint this chance--it'll please him, and he'll

die off all the easier!”

After some persuasion, Dick's request was acceded to, and the parties

took their positions. Life hung, for the culprit, by but a thread, and

that thread the will of Kelsy. Slowly the latter raised his rifle, while

the party, breathless, intently fixed their eyes upon the victim. Dick's

hand began to tremble, and his aim became unsteady, for the sickly form

of the stranger's wife again seemed to rise and plead for mercy--he

rested his rifle on the ground, without the heart to fire; but, in an

instant the vision fled, and his eye fell clear upon the countenance of

the stranger; a morning ray lighting up his features, exhibited a gleam

of mingled triumph, hatred, hope, and revenge--there was no mistaking

its dark expression of contending passions. The pity that had almost

unnerved Kelsy and saved his foe, vanished, and raising his rifle sudden

as thought, the weapon rung out the stranger's knell. As the ball from

its muzzle sped through his brain, a wild shriek arose upon the air,

and all was again still--they loosened his bonds, and he fell forward,

_dead!_

His remains were consigned to the earth without a tear, even from his

companion, to whom the tragedy-had been imparted. His cruelties had long

since obliterated from her heart the last spark of early fondness; all

she requested, when the grave had closed over him, was to be sent to her

friends in Ohio, which was kindly done by the settlers--Dick bestowing

upon her his whole stock of fine furs to defray her expenses.

Kelsy set himself down in undisturbed possession of his claim, and Sam,

his faithful slave, often points to the small green mound at the edge of

the grove, with the remark--

“Dat's Massa Dick's signature to dis land claim--_dat is!_”

YALLEK PLEDGES; OR, THE FIGHT ABOUT SALLY SPILLMAN.

|It aint natral fur a fellar to tell of his gittin' licked, but I must

tell you about that thar fight between me and Jess Stout--it war a

screamer, by thunder! and ef I did gin in, it warn't in the course of

human natur' to do any how else. That gal _spontenaceously_ hankered

arter Jess, and besides, he'd piled up the affection in her, by an

amazin' long spell of courtin'. I did kinder edge into her likin',

and gin to speckelate big on throwin' Jess, but that fight knocked my

calculations all to fritters. I'm some in a bar fight, and considerable

among panters, but I warn't no whar in that fight with Jess. In course,

I'll tell you, boys, so sot yourselves round, and pass along that corn

juice.

“You see, every time I come up from Lusiane, I found Jess hangin' round

that gal, Sally Spillman, lookin' orful sweet, and a fellar couldn't go

near her without risin' his dander--he was jealous as a hen with young

chickens. I sot my eyes on her, to find out what Jess saw in her so

amazin' inticin', and I swar ef a close examination didn't make me

yearn arter her like a weaned yearling. She was all sorts of a gal--thar

warn't a sprinklin' too much of her--she stuck out all over jest far

enough without cushinin'--had an eye that would make a fellar's heart

try to get out of his bosom, and then sich har;--her step was as light

as a panter's, and her breath sweet as a prairie flower. In my opinion,

the mother of all human natur' warn't an atom slicker model; she

desarved the pick of a whole creation, and I jest felt that I was made a

purpose for her!

“At all the frolicks round the country, down in the Missouri bottom, or

up the Osage, Jess was hangin' arter that gal, lookin' honey at her, and

pizin at the fellars who spoke pleasin' to her. I thort I'd try my hand

at makin' him oneasy, so one night, at a frolick, I sidled up to her

and axed how she wur, and ef that ailin' nigger of her daddy's wur

improvin', what 'ud be the probable amount of the old man's tobaccer

crop this season, and some other interestin' matters of talk. She said

that she was thrivin', as usual, the nigger wur comin' on as well

as could be expected, and the old man's crop promised to be purty

considerable. Nothin' could be more satisfying so I kept on a talkin',

and she got a laffin', and Jess begun a scowlin'. I seed he warn't

pleased, but I didn't estimate him very tall, so I kept on, got a

dancin' with Sally, and ended by kissin' her good by, that night, and

makin' Jess jealous as a pet pinter!

“I wur agoin to start to Lusiane next day, with a flat load of tobaccer

and other groceries, and afore I went, I thort I'd send a present of my

pet 'bar cub' over to Sally, jest to have a sorter hitch on her till I'd

git back; so I gits my nigger Jim and gins him the followin' note, with

the bar cub, and special directions that he wur to give 'em both to

Sally, herself:

“'Panter Crik, near Bar Diggins,

Juin twenty 4.

“'To the captivatin' Miss Sally Spillman:

“'Your tender adorer, Sam Crowder, sends you the followin'

fust trofy of a hunt on the Osage; the condition of this bar

are somethin' like him, the bar are all fat, he are all

tenderness! Hopin' that you will gin up a small corner of

your heart to the writer, while he is among the furriners of

Lusiane, he will ever remember you, and be sure not to

furgit to bring a pledge of affection from the sunny south,

to bind our openin' loves.

“'Yours, with stream, or agin it.

“'Sam Crowder.

“I studdyed that out with considerable difficulty, and writ it with

more, and 'stick me on a sand-bar' ef that Jess didn't way-lay Jim and

read the note! Maybe it didn't stir up the alluvial bottom of his love

fur Sally--the varmint's countenance looked as riled as the old Missouri

in a June rise.

“Off I started next day, with my flat, for the imporium of the south,

and as I war floating along, I couldn't help turnin' over in my mind

what a scrougin smart family the Crowders would be, when Sally and I

agreed upon annexation. I jest thort I could see 'young Sam,' the fust

boy, standin' on the other eend of the flat, strong as a bar--eye like

an Ingin--spry as a catamount--fair as Sally and keen as his daddy--I

swar, I yelled rite out, thinkin' on it.

“While I was in this way rollin' in clover, by pic-turin' what was

to be, they wur tarin' my character all to _chitlins_ up at home.

My perlite note was raisin' a parfect freshet of wrath agin me. That

display of larnin', about bringin' home a _pledge of affection_, from

the sunny south, most onaccountably oversot my whole family prospects.

It wur a stumper to Sally, so she got Jess to explain it, and the way he

did it was _enormous_.

“'Why, don't you see,' ses Jess, 'he means to bring you up one of his

nigger children, from the south, to _nuss!_ Nothing can be plainer--thar

aint no other 'pledges of affection' than children, that I know on.'

“Well, I swar ef she didn't believe him.

“'The nasty dog,' ses Sally, 'does he think I'm agoin to nuss any of

his yaller pledges--ef them thar is all he's got to offer, he aint wuth

shucks, and ef you don't lick him fur his onmannerly note, you aint wuth

shucks, nuther.'

“Not dreamin' of the row at home, I was a huntin' through Noo Orlins fur

presents fur Sally. I bought a roll of ribbon, a pocket full of lace,

and a bran new, shinin' silk parasol, and was comin' along, slow and

easy, by the St. Louis Exchange, when I heerd Major Beard cryin' off

a lot of field hands. I jest sauntered in as he was puttin' up a

picanninny 'yaller gal,' about five years old. The little gal had no

mammy livin', and looked sorter sickly, so nobody seemed anxious to git

her. I hollered fifty dollars, and the little creatur' brightened up

when she seed who was a biddin'; I didn't look like a sugar or cotton

planter, and the creatur' seemed glad that I warn't. Some cotton fellar

here bid sixty dollars, and she wilted rite down--I thort what a slick

present she'd be fur Sally, and how well she'd do to tend the children,

so I sung out seventy dollars; she knew my voice, and I could see her

eyelids trimble. No sooner did the Major drop the hammer on seventy

dollars, than she looked wuth a hundred, she was so pleased at my

buyin' her. She was a nice little creatur', but her _har_ was oncommon

straight.

“I started up home next day, with my purchases, and sich a time as I had

on the way. I got dreamin' so strong about bein' married to Sally, that

I was etarnally wakin' up huggin' and kissin' the pillows, as ef they

wur gals at a huskin'. At last I got home, tickled all to death at my

future prospects. I met Jess at the landin'--he gin me a starr, looked

at the little yaller gal, and then spread himself with a guffaw, as ef

he wur goin' into fits. I riled up a little, but thought thar wur time

enough to sarve him out, so I passed on. The fellars in the settlement

seemed to be allfired pleased at my gittin' back, fur they kept a

grinnin' and bowin' and lookin' at my little yaller gal.

“'Wont you take a little suthin', Sam,' said Jim Belt, the grocery

keeper.

“'Not now, I thank you, Jim, ses I.' “'What, you aint agoin' in fur

temperance _pledges_, too, are you?' asked Jim, and then the boys all

holler'd as ef they'd bust thar heads.

“'Not ex-a-c-t-ly!' ses I, rather slow, tryin' all the time to find out

what the fun war, but I couldn't get it through my kiverin' of _har_, so

I gin it up and went home. Next day thar wur to be a campmeetin' down

in the bottom, and all the boys and gals wur agoin' to it; so, to make

a shine with Sally, I sent over word that I would call that mornin' and

bring with me my fust _pledge of affection_, meanin' the parasol, and

hoped it would be to her mind both in _textur_ and color. Back came this

note in anser:

“'Kune Holler, Juli 8.

“'Miss Spillman's compliments “'To Sam Crowder, Esq.; the

fust pledge of his affections is a little too yaller, and

the textur of its har is too tight a curl, and, more'n that,

she aint ambitious to hev any of his pledges ef tha wur all

white.

“'Sally Spillman.'

“I nigh onto bust with madness!--I could feel every har on my head

kindlin' at the eend, 'cause I knew sum cussed lie had been told her,

and I blamed Jess fur doin' it. I jest swar a bible oath, I'd spile his

pictur' so he couldn't enjoy campmeetin' much; so next mornin,' bright

and airly, I _accidentally_ fell in with Jess, goin' arter Sally, with

all his Sunday kiverin' on, lookin' as nice as a 'stall fed two year

old.' I rite up and asked him what he meant by tellin' lies to the galls

about me; that I'd hearn on 'em all over the settlement.

“'I haint told no lie on you,' ses Jess, 'fur what's told, you told

yourself--ef you hev _nigger babies_ in the south, you needn't insult

decent white gals by offerin' to let 'em _nuss_ 'em--'

“I didn't wait till he finished afore I hit him, _biff_, alongside of

his smeller, and went into him _all-fours_, catamount fashion. The thing

had now cum to a windin' up pint--this fight war to eend the matter

about Sally, and as I didn't want to gin her up easy, I laid myself out

fur a purty long spell. I could soon see by the way Jess went to work

that he'd kalculated upon a pretty big _chunk_ of a fight, too, so we

both began to save ourselves. I had a leetle the advantage of Jess, for

he didn't want to spile his Sunday fix-ups, while I didn't care a cuss

fur my old boat suit. When I'd grab his trowsers and gin 'em a hitch,

he'd ease off, and then I'd lend him a staggerer, which was generally

follered by his makin' me fly round like a weazel--cre-a-tion, how tough

he war!

“While we wur havin' a rite smart time together, nary one of us seed

Sally ridin' along down the wagin track, lookin' out fur Jess, but she

seed us, hitched her horse, and climbed onto a stump to see the fight

out. As I war carfully reachin' fur Jess' ear with my grinders, I heerd

her sing out--

“'Tech it ef you _dar!_--you nigger cannibal!'

“Her hollerin' gin Jess an advantage and helped his strength powerfully,

fur the next minit I war on my back and him right astraddle on me.

“'_Sock_ your teeth into him, Jess!' screamed Sally, and about then,

_je-e-e-miny_ fellars, I leaped as ef lightnin' had hit me, fur his

grinders had met through the flesh she called his attention to. I

squirmed, and struggled, and chawed meat, but he held on--I grabbed his

new trowsers, and tore them like paper--he was agoin to let go to kiver

his coat tails over the torn place, but Sally hollered out agin--

“'Whip the varmint fust and then I'll mend 'em up!'” I squealed enough!

rite out--it warn't no use a fightin' agin such odds. Arter Jess let

me up, Sally looked at me, and puckered up her mouth as ef she had been

eatin' unripe persimmons--

“'_Enough!_' ses she, 'well, may I git ager fits, ef you're fit fur

anythin' but to be the father of _yaller pledges!_”

[Illustration: 0359]

GEORGE MUNDAY, THE HATLESS PROPHET.

|This odd character has lately favored the west with a visit, and during

two successive evenings he edified audiences, numbering about a thousand

persons, in the rotunda of the St. Louis court-house. Some took him

for the _Wandering Jew_, and as he inveighed against the evils of these

modern days, they looked at him with a feeling of awe. One day opposite

the Planter's house, during a military parade, George was engaged

selling his edition of the “Advocate of Truth,” when a tall hoosier, who

had been gazing at him with astonishment for some time, roared out in an

immoderate fit of laughter.

“What do you see so funny in me, to laugh at?” inquired George.

“Why, hoss,” said the hoosier, “I wur jest a thinkin' ef I'd seed you

out in the woods, with all that har on, they would a been the d--dest

runnin' done by this coon ever seen in them diggins--you're ekill to the

_elephant!_ and a leetle the _har_-yest small man I've seen _scart_ up

lately.”

A sight at George, on his western tour, has brought to my recollection

an anecdote, which entitles him to a place in our collection of odd

characters;--it occurred several years since, in Philadelphia, and the

writer was an eye witness of the occurrence.

George's favorite neighborhood for “holding forth,” was in and about the

famous old “State House,” where, bare-headed--with unshorn beard, and

adorned with a simple wooden cross, he, in a few moments, would collect

a crowd. At length the police arrested him, for obstructing the passage,

and George was sent to the Alms-House. In a few days, he escaped from

the institution, and, boiling with indignation, hastened back to his old

haunt, to lay his grievances before the people. Having provided himself

with a couple of gimlets, he entered the building, raised the

large window above the back entrance, and, placing himself on the

old-fashioned entablature over the door-way, (the same spot where the

Declaration of Independence was read from,) he shut down the window

behind him, securing himself from interruption by boring his gimlets

through the sash, into the frame. Then, with much solemnity, he

proceeded to paraphrase the “Declaration,” applying it to his own

particular case. The scene was truly ludicrous. Below, was one of the

high constables and an assistant policeman, together with a numerous

crowd of curious hearers.

“When, in the course of human events”--began George.

“Will you come down from there?” demanded the constable.

“A long train of abuses and takings up without authority,--”

“Aint you a comin'; now?--if you don't I'll bring you,” threatened

authority.

“Our mayor, like the kings of old, set upon us swarms of corrupt and

drunken officers to put the prophets of truth into pestilential abodes.”

“Now, do, George, stop your lingo--that's a good fellow,” said the

officer, coaxingly, seeing that the usual means of reaching the offender

were cut off; “and come down without bother.”

“Look up!” shouted the indignant advocate of truth, “lookup, you

stiff-necked, corrupt son of Belial!--you dog in office!--you, that

belch forth the corrupt effluvium of liquid death, commonly styled

rum!--you are the chief of a band of authorised knaves, composed of evil

expounders of the law, otherwise called pettifoggers, and certain other

rogues in office, who are styled 'the police.'--You lead captive the

senses of the mayor, who is as much bridled by your wickedness as the

beast of the same name!--you cause him by your false tongues to do evil,

but, there is a day coming--there is! when, at a bar where your credit

has long since been chalked out, I'll make an ajffidavy will knock you

so far into the regions of darkness, that the final trump will sound

like a penny whistle to your ear!--do you hear that!”

The policeman did hear that, but his amiability could stand it no

longer; so, procuring a watchman's ladder, he commenced climbing to the

prophet, who coolly unscrewed his gimblets, hoisted the window, lifted

up his robes, and, shouting “woe to the wicked,” beat a successful

retreat.

COURTING IN FRENCH HOLLOW.

|Courtin' is all slick enough when every body's agreed, and the gal aint

got no mischief in her, but when an extensive family, old maids, cross

daddy, and a romantic old mommy, all want to put thur fingers into the

young uns dish of sweet doin's, and the gal's fractious besides, why a

fellar that's yearnin' arter matrimony is mity likely to git his fires

dampened, or bust his biler.”

Thus reasoned Tom Bent to a select party of river cronies, who were

seated around him upon the boiler deck of a Mississippi steamer, as she

sped along one bright night in June, somewhere in the neighborhood of

Bayou Teche. The subject was courting, and on that particular question

Tom was considered an oracle, for, besides having a strong penchant

for the fair sex, he had run many risks to ingratiate himself in their

affections. Tom was now fast falling into the sear and yellow leaf of

bachelorism, and although he had vowed unalterable affection to at least

one fair one in each town between the mouth and the rapids, he still

remained in unblessed singleness.

“How about that afarr of your'n with old Fecho's gal, in St. Louis,

Tom?” inquired one of the circle.

“What, that little French gal?” inquired Tom, with a grin; “well, that

thar was a salty scrape, boys, and though the laugh is agin me thar, I'm

blessed if I don't gin you the sarcumstince.” So Tom squared himself

for a yarn, wet his lips with a little corn juice, took a small strip of

Missouri weed, and “let out.”

“That gal of old Fecho's wur about the pootyest creatur, fur a

foreigner, I ever took a _shute_ arter; her eyes jest floated about in

her head like a star's shadow on a Massissippi wave, and her model

was as trim as the steamer Eagle, 'sides, her paddles wur the cleanest

shaped fixins that ever propelled anythin' human, and her laugh rung

like a challenge bell on a 'fast trip'--it couldn't be beat. She run

into my affecshuns, and I couldn't help it. I danced with her at some

on the balls in Frenchtown, and thar I gin to edge up and talk tender at

her, but she ony laughed at my sweet'nin'. Arter a spell, when I cum

it strong about affecshun, and the needcessity of towin' side and side

together, she told me that her old daddy wouldn't let her marry an

American! Ef I warn't snagged at this, I wouldn't say so. The old fellar

wur a sittin' on a bench smokin' and lookin' on at the dance, and I jest

wished him a hot berth for a short spell. 'Well, Marie,' said I, c ef I

melt the old man down will you gin in?'

“'Oh,' says she, 'you so vair strong at de vat you call _coax_, I shall

not know how to say von leetel no.' So havin' fixed it all with her

smooth as a full freight and a June rise, I drew up alongside of the old

fellar, jest as he had cleared his chimley for a fresh draw of his pipe.

Old Fecho had been a mountain trader, was strong timbered, not much

the worse fur wear, and looked wicked as a tree'd bear. I fired up and

generated an inch or two more steam, and then blew off at him. 'That's

an onconscionable slick gal of your'n, Mounseer,' says I, to begin with,

and it did tickle his fancy to have her cracked up, 'cause he thought

her creation's finishin' touch,--so did I! 'Oui, sair,' says old Fecho,

'she vair fine leetel gal, von angel wizout de ving, she is, sair, mine

only von _fille_.'

“'Well, she is a _scrouger_,' answered I, 'a parfect high pressure, and

no dispute!'

“'Vat you mean by him, eh? vat you call s-c-r-r-r-ouge, eh? vat is he,

sair, my leetel gal no vat you call von s-c-r-r-r-ouge, sair!' and here

old Fecho went off into a mad fit, jest as ef I'd called her bad names.

I tried to put down his 'safety valve,' but he would blow off his wrath,

and workin' himself into a parfect freshet of rage, he swore he would

take the little gal off home; and I'm blessed ef he didn't. As soon as

I eyed the old fellar startin' I got in his wake and follered him,

detarmined to find out whar he located, and arter an eternal long

windin' through one street arter another, down he dived into French

Hollow. Jest as he wur about to enter a house built agin the side of

the hill, the old fellar heered my footsteps, and turnin' round in the

darkness, he shouted--

“'Ah, ha! von sneak Yankee doodel, vat call my leetel gall von

s-c-r-r-r-ouger, I shall cut you all up into von leetel piece vidout von

whole.'

“You know, boys, I aint easy skeer'd, but I own up that old fellar did

kind a make me skeery; they told sich stories about the way he used to

skin Ingins, that I gin to think it was about best to let him have both

sides of the channel ef he wanted it, so I didn't darr go to see Marie

fur a long spell. One day I felt a strong hankerin', and jest strolled

along the holler to git a glimpse on her, and sure enough thar she wur,

a leanin' out the winder, smilin' like the mornin' sun on a sleepin'

bayou. I sidled up to the house, and asked her ef I darr cum and sit up

with her that evenin'. I told her I was jest fritterin' away all to

nothin' thinkin' on her, and a small mite of courtin' would spur me up

amazin', and then I gin her sich a look, that she fluttered into consent

as easy as a mockin' bird whistles.

“'Oh, oui, you shall come sometime dis night, when _mon pere_ is gone to

de _cabaret_; but you must be vair quiet as von leetel rat, vat dey call

de mouse, and go vay before he come back to de _maison_.'

“In course I promised to do jest as she said. I kissed my hand to her,

and said _aur ravoir_, as the French say for good by, and then paddled

off to wait for night. I felt wuss than oneasy until the time arriv,

and when it did git round I gin to crawl all over--I swar I was a leetle

skeered. Hows'ever, it warn't manly to back out now when the gal was

expectin' me, so I started for the Hollow. I think a darker night was

never mixed up and spread over this yearth--you remember, Bill, the

night you steered the old Eagle square into the bank at Milliken's

bend? well, it wur jest a mite darker than that! A muddy run winds along

through the ravine whar the house stands, and I wur particularly near

flop-pin' into it several times. A piece of candle in the winder lighted

me to whar the little gall was a waitin', and when I tapped at the door

below, she pattered down and piloted me up to the sittin' room, whar we

sot down and took a good look at each other. She looked pooty enough

to tempt a fellar to bite a piece out on her. I had all sorts of good

things made up to say when a chance offered, and here the chance wur,

but cuss me ef I could get out the fust mutter. Whether it wur skeer

at the idee of the old Frenchman, or a bilin' up of affecshun fur his

darter that stuck my throat so tight, I'm unable to swar, but thar

I wur, like a boat fast on a sand-bar, blowin' some, but makin' mity

little headway.

“'Vat is de mattair wiz you, Mounseer?' said Marie, 'you look vair much

like de leaf in von grand storm, all ovair wiz de shake!'

“'Well,' says I, 'I do feel as ef I wur about to collapse a flue, or

bust my biler, for the fact of the marter is, Marie, they say your old

daddy's a tiger, and ef I git caught here thar'll be suthin' broke--a

buryin' instead of a weddin';--not that I'm the least mite skeered fur

myself, but the old man might git hurt, and I should be fretted to do

any sech a thing.'

“'Oh, mon amie, nevair be fear fur him, he is von great, strong as vat

you call de gentleman cow?--von bull,--but, mon Dieu! what shall I do

wiz you, suppose he come, eh? He vill cut you into bits all ovair!'

“'But, my angel,' ses I, 'he shant ketch me, fur I'll streak it like

a fast boat, the moment I hear steam from his scape-pipe--the old man

might as well try to catch a Massissippi _catty_ with a thread line, as

git his fingers on me.' I had no sooner said so, than _bang!_ went the

door below, and old Fecho, juicy as a melon, came feelin' his way up

stairs, mutterin' like a small piece of fat thunder, and swarin' in

French, orfully. I know'd thar warn't much time to spare, so I histed

the winder and backed out. Jest as I was about to drop, Marie says to

me--'Oh, mon Dieu! don't drop into de _vell!_' and instanter shut the

winder. My har riz on eend in a moment--'_don't drop into the well!_'

I'll tell you what, boys, a souse into the Massissippi in ice time

warn't half as cold as her last warnin' made me. It was so etarnal dark

that I couldn't begin to tell which side of the buildin' I wur on, and

that wur an all important perticuler, fur it wur jest _three_ stories

high on one side, towards the Hollow, and it warn't only _one_ on the

side next the hill--in course, all the chances wur in favor of the

_well_ bein' on the low side. I'd gin all I had then to know which side

was waitin' below fur me. I looked up, as I hung on, to see ef thar

warn't a star shinin' somewhare, jest to give a hint of what was below,

but they'd all put on thar night caps, and wouldn't be coaxed from under

the kiver; then I'd look below, and listen, until I made sartin in my

mind that I could hear the droppin' of water, somewhare about _fifty

feet_ below me! Old Fecho was a tearin' through the room, and a rippin'

out French oaths, in an oncommon rapid manner, and declarin' that he

knew some one had bin thar, fur he'd bin told so. Two or three times he

appeared to be a rushin' for the winder, and the little gal would coax

him back agin, and then he'd cuss de Yankee doodels, and grit his teeth

most owdaciously. Well, ef I warn't in an oneasy situation all this

time, then I'm more than human--my arms jest stretched out to about

a yard and a half in length, and gin to cramp and git orful weak. I

couldn't fur the life of me think on any prayer I'd ever heerd--at last,

jest as one hand was givin' way its hold, I thort of a short one I used

to say when I was a younker, and mutterin'--'Here I drop me down deep,

I pray the Lord my bones to keep!' I sot my teeth together, drew a long

breath, shut my eyes, and let go!--whiz!--r-r-r-ip!--bang! I went--as I

supposed--about fifty feet; and didn't I holler, when I lit and rolled

over, and the water soused all round me! 'Murder! oh, git me out,

oh-o-o-o, murder! The people came a rushin' out of their houses,

with lights, and sich another jargon of questions as they showered at

me--askin', all together, who'd bin a stabbin' me? what wur the marter?

and who'd hit me? I opened my eyes to tell 'em I'd fell from the third

story, and broke every bone in my body, when, on lookin' up, thar wur

the old Frenchman and his darter, grinnin' out of the top winder, about

_ten feet_ above me! The fact wur, boys, I'd dropped out on the _hill

side_ of the house, and jumped down jest _four feet_ from whar my toes

reached,--I had lit on the edge of a water pail, and it flowed about me

when I fell over! Arter old Fecho told them the joke, they pretty nigh

busted a larfin' at me. I crawled off, arter firin' a volly at old

Mounseer, of the hardest kind of cusses, and from that day to this I

han't gone a courtin' in French Hollow!

THE SECOND ADVENT! TOM BANGALL, THE ENGINEER, AND MILLERISM.

|About the period fixed upon by Father Miller, for the general blowing

up of the world, some of the engineers upon our western waters, who had

been used to blowing up its inhabitants, became a little frightened at

the prospect of having to encounter, in another world, the victims of

steamboat disaster. Among these was Tom Bangall, the engineer of

the Arkansas Thunder. Tom was a rearing, tearing, _bar_ state

scrouger--could chaw up any single specimen of the human race--any

quantity of tobacco, and drink steam without flinching!--A collapsed

flue had blown him once somewhere in the altitude of an Alpine height,

but dropped him unharmed into the Arkansas, and he used to swear that

after the steam tried to jerk him apart and found it couldn't do it,

why, it just dropped the subject, as the stump speakers say, by dropping

him into the “drink”--he therefore incontinently set water, hot or cold,

at defiance. Tom was, withal, a generous, open-hearted, whole-souled

fellow, and his cheering words to the emigrants on the boiler deck, and

many a kind act to a suffering passenger, proved that beneath his rough

exterior he had a heart open to gentle influences. As a further proof

of this, Tom had a wife, a good wife, too, and what's more he tenderly

loved her; but she in vain tried to cure him of drinking and swearing.

Tom swore that he would swear, that a steamboat wouldn't work without

some swearing, and if a fellar didn't drink he'd bust, and, therefore,

it was necessary to take a bust now and then to keep out of danger.

“There is no use,” he would say, “in blowing off steam from your

'scape-pipe agin it, for it has to be _did!_”

One day on Tom's return home, he found Mrs. Mary Bangall weeping

bitterly, and Tom became, instantly, correspondingly distressed.

“Why, Polly,” inquired he, “what's the matter, gal?--what's hurt

you?--is anythin' broke loose that can't be mended?--what the thunder

makes you take on so?--Come, out with the cause, or I shall git a

blubberin' too.”

“Only look here, Tom,” said Mary, “here's a whole account of how the

world is going to be destroyed this April.--Every thing has been counted

up by Father Miller, and the sum total's a general _burn!_ Now, Tom,

don't swear, nor drink any more or you won't be able to stand the fire

no more than gunpowder!”

Tom indulged in a regular guffaw at her distress, and told her she was a

fool to be frightened at that--it was all moonshine, humbug--smoke,--

that Father Miller was an old granny, and it warn't possible--anyhow he

warn't afraid of fire, “so it might _fire away!_”

“But, Tom,” continued Mary, “let me read to you the proof--it's

irresistible, Tom,--the _times_ and the _half times_, are so correctly

added up that there can be no mistake, and if you don't make some

preparation we will be separated for ever.”

The idea of a separation from Mary troubled Tom, but full of incredulity

he sat down to listen, more to please her, and find something in

the adding up of the catastrophe that would upset it. Mary commenced

reading, and Tom quietly listening, but as she read the awful evidences

of a general conflagration, the signs of the times, the adding up of

the times, the proof of their meaning, and the dreadful consequences of

being unprepared--with ascension robes, Tom grew serious, and at length

looked a little frightened. He didn't want Mary to see its effect upon

him, and so assumed an over quantity of indifference, but it was useless

for him to attempt hiding his feelings from her prying eyes--she saw

Miller's doctrine was grinding a hopper of fear in Tom's heart, and

felt glad to see its effect. When she ceased he remarked, with a

half-frightened laugh, that Father Miller ought to be burnt for thus

trying to frighten people, and, “as for them eastern fellars, they are

half their life crazy any how!”

Having tried thus to whisper unconcern to his troubled spirit, Tom set

out for the boat, with the firm resolve, if he caught a Millerite to

save him from the threatened burning by drowning him, for disseminating

any such fiery doctrines. When he got on board he told the captain what

had transpired at home,--how his wife had got hold of a Miller document

from a travelling disciple, and, as well as he could, rehearsed the

awful contents which she had read to him. The captain, observing the

effect they had produced on Tom, seriously answered that the matter

looked squally, and he was afraid them documents were all too true.

“True!” shouted Tom, “why, you aint green enough to swallow any such

yarn--its parfectly rediculous to talk about burnin' every thing up. I'd

like to see old Miller set fire to the Massissippi!”

“Its 110 funny matter, Tom,” replied the captain, “and if you keep going

on this way you will find it so.”

“Here, give us somethin' to drink!” shouted Tom to the bar-keeper, (he

began to get terrified at the serious manner with which the captain

treated Millerism) “come, Bill,” said he, addressing the clerk, “let's

take a drink.”

The clerk, who was a wag, saw through the captain's joke in a minute and

when he winked at him, refused to taste, adding as an apology that

“on the eve of so awful an event as the destruction of the world, he

couldn't daringly indulge as he formerly did, so he must excuse him.”

“Well, go to h--ll, then,” says Tom, half mad.

The captain sighed, and the clerk put his hand upon his heart, and

turned his eyes upward, as if engaged in inward prayer for his wicked

friend. Tom swallowed his glass, and bestowing a fierce look upon the

pair remarked, that “they couldn't come any of them thar shines over

him, he wasn't any of that _chicken breed!_”

“Poor fellow,” muttered the captain.

“Alas! Thomas,” chimed in the clerk.

Tom slammed the cabin door after him as he went out to descend below,

swearing at the same time that all the rest of the world were turning

damned fools as well as old Miller.

Steam was raised and the Thunder started. For a time Tom forgot the

predicted advent, but every time he came up to the bar to get a drink,

the serious look of the captain and the solemn phiz of the clerk,

threw a cold chill over him, and made him savage with excitement. Every

passenger appeared to be talking about Millerism, besides, a waggish

friend of the captain's, a passenger on board, having been informed of

the engineer's state of mind, passed himself off as a preacher of the

doctrine, and talked learnedly on the prophecies whenever the engineer

was nigh. It was comic to see the fierce expression of their victim's

countenance, and how, in spite of himself, he would creep up to the

circles where they were discussing the Second Advent, and listen with

all ears to the rehearsal of its terrible certainty, then making for the

bar, take another drink, and thrusting his hands deep into his pockets

start down to the engine, with a scowl upon his swart countenance that

would almost start a flue head from its fastenings.

“I'd quit this boat,” said Tom to his assistant, “if it warn't so near

'the 25th of April,'--cuss me if I'd stay aboard another minit, fur

captain and all hands are a set of cowardly _pukes!_”

“Why, what's the 25th of April got to do with your leavin', Tom?”

inquired his partner.

“Nothin' particular, but if this confounded blow up or burn up should

come off on that day, I wan't to be on the river--its safer; but if I

should leave now I couldn't get on another boat by that time, and then

I'd be in a _hot_ fix.”

Here was a tacit confession by Tom, that he thought there was danger,

and that there might be some truth in old Miller's prediction. The fact

of his fears was forthwith communicated to the captain and clerk by

Tom's partner, and his sufferings became increased--he could hear no

sounds but--_advent--Miller--bloe-up--dreadful destruction!_--until his

suspense became so horrible, that he wished for any termination so it

would put an end to his dread. His partner ventured to increase his

uneasiness by talking to him on the subject, but Tom threatened to brain

him if he said anything about it in his presence--he remarked that “the

noise of the engine was his only peace, and no frightened, lubberly

sucker should disturb it by talking Millerism--if Miller was a goin' to

burn the world, why, let him burn and be-(here, Tom for the first time

checked an oath, and finished the sentence with) never mind, just let

him _burn_, that's all.”

Starting up to the bar, without looking to right or left, he presented

a bottle, had it filled with liquor and retreated, resolved to go

as little as possible near either captain or clerk, for their solemn

looking faces were contagious--they looked disaster.

At length the 25th of April dawned, and with its advancing hours Tom

got _tight_, that is to say, so near intoxicated that he could only

move around with extreme difficulty--he knew what he was about, but very

little more. Sundry mutterings which he gave voice to, now and then,

proclaimed the spirit at work within, and it would say:--

“Burn, ha!--burn up, will it?--goin' to take a regular bust and blow

itself out! Great world, this!--g-r-e-a-t world, and a nice little fire

it will be!” Then, thinking of Mary, he would continue--“Poor Mary--what

a shock it will be to her, but she's on the safe side, for she belongs

to meetin,”--and then he would get wrathy--“Let the old world burn, and

go to splintered lightnin'--who cares?--The captain and clerk's got

on the safe side, too,--they're afraid of the fire, eh?” Then he would

cautiously emerge from his place by the engine, and peep out upon the

sky, to see if the work of destruction was about to commence, and then

returning, take another pull at the whiskey, until, by his frequent

libations, he not only got _blue_, but every thing he looked at was

multiplying--he was surrounded by a duplicate set of machinery--even

his fist, that he shook at the intruding cylinder and piston rod, became

doubled before his eyes, and all assumed the color of a brimstone blue!

Tom became convinced, in his own mind, that the first stage of the

general convulsion had commenced!

“Hello!--back her!” shouted the captain, “give her a lick

back!--starboard wheel, there!”

“It's all up, now,” muttered Tom, “let's see you _lick_ her back out of

this scrape,” and staggering towards the steam valves, to try the amount

of water in the boilers, he fell sprawling; at that moment the boat

struck the bank with a bang that shook every timber in her; the

concussion, also, injured a conducting steam-pipe just enough to scald

Tom's face and hands severely, without endangering his life. As the

stream of hot vapour hit him, he rolled over, exclaiming:--

“Good God!--it's all up, now!” and soon became utterly insensible

Tom was picked up and carried into the Social Hall, where restoratives

were administered to recall him to consciousness, and remedies applied

to heal his burns. All gathered in silence and anxiety around his

pallet, watching for returning sensibility, the captain and clerk among

the number, really grieved at the mishap, which they had no doubt

was caused by their jest. While all breathlessly looked on, Tom gave

manifestations of returning consciousness: of course, with sensibility

returned feeling, and his burns appealed, most touchingly, to that

sense. Twisting himself up, and drawing his breath through his teeth, he

slowly remarked:--

“Jest as I thought--the d------l's got me, s-l-i-c-k enough, and I'm

burnt already to a cinder!”

There was no resisting this--all hands burst into a roar of laughter.

Tom couldn't open his eyes, but he could hear, and after they had done

laughing, he quietly remarked:--

“These imps are mightily glad because they've got _me!_ Here followed

another roar, and when it subsided, the captain approached him, and

called his name--

“Tom, old fellow,” said he, “you're safe!”

“What, you here, too, captain? I thought you had jined meetin' and saved

your bacon.--So they've got you, too,--well, a fellar aint alone then.”

Here the clerk spoke to him.

“What, you, too, Bill?--well, 'there's a party of us,' any how, but it's

so confounded dark I can't see you, and its hotter than-(here he checked

himself with a shudder, and added,) Yes, I'm certain we're _thar!_”

sighing heavily, he murmured--“Poor Mary--Oh, my Mary.”

By the efforts of the captain and clerk Tom was made to understand the

true state of the case, and through their kindness and attention, was

soon able to return to duty, and though he would after laugh at a jest

about old Father Miller, yet he was never again known to drink whiskey.

When irritated now, Tom always shuts his lips tight, and chokes down the

rising oath. Mary is gratified with the change, although she wept at the

severity of the means by which he was converted.

SETTLEMENT FUN. BILL SAPPER'S LETTER TO HIS COUSIN.

Liberti, Missury, May 6t. 18 forty 5.

|Cousin Jim, tha aint nuthin' occurred wuth ritin' about in our

settlement fur a long spell, but about the beginnin' of last week, thur

war a rumor sot afloat in town, which kept the wimen for two or three

days in a continooal snigger, and it war half a day afore the men could

find out the rights of the marter--sech anuther fease as all the gals

got inter, war delightful to contemplate. The boys kept a askin'

one anuther, what in the yearth wur the marter, that the gals kept a

whisperin' and laffin' round town so--at last it cum out! and what do

you think, Jim, wur the marter?--You couldn't guess in a week. It aint

no common occurrence, and yet it's mighty natral. Little Jo Allen,

the shoemaker, had an addition to his family, amountin' to jest three

babbys--one boy and two gals! His wife is a leetle creatur', but I

reckon she's “some” in countin' the census, and sech anuther excitement

as her little brood of pretty babbys has kicked up among the wimen, is

perfectly inticin' to bachelors. When the interestin' marter war furst

noised about, the wimen wouldn't believe it, but to know the rights of

it tha put on thur bonnets and poured down to see little Mrs. Allen,

in a parfect stream of curiosity; and, sure enough, thar tha wur, three

raal peert lookin' children, all jest alike. Bein' an acquaintance of

Jo's he tuck me in to see his family, and it wur raaly an interestin'

sight to see the little creaturs. Thar tha wur, with thur tiny faces

aside each other, hevin on the prettiest caps,--all made and fixed by

the young wimen, as a present to the mother,--and then thur infantile

lips jest openin', like so many rose buds poutin', while thur bits of

hands, transparent as sparmacity, wur a curtin' about and pushin', all

doubled up, agin thur little noses, and thur mother all the time lookin'

at 'em so peert and pleased, jest as ef she war feelin' in her own

mind tha war hard to beat--addid to which, thar stood thur daddy,

contemplating with a glow of parentil feelin', the whole unanimous

pic-tur! It aint in me, Jim, to fully describe the univarsel merits of

sech a scene, and I guess it couldn't receive raal jestis from any man's

pen, 'cept he'd ben the father of twins at least.

“Gracious me,” sed Mrs. Sutton, a very literary worain, who allays talks

history on extra occasions, “ef that little Mrs. Allen aint ekill to the

mother of the Grashi!”

She looked at little Jo, the daddy, fur a spell, and tuk to admirin'

him so that she could scacely keep her hands off on him--she hadn't no

babbys, poor womin!

“Ah, Mister Allen,” ses she, “you are suthin' like a husbind--you're

detarmin'd to descend a name down to your ancesters!”

I raaly believe she'd a kissed him ef thur hadn't ben so many wimen

thar. The father of the babbys wur mitely tickled at furst, 'cause all

the wimen wur a praisin' him, but arter a spell he gin to look skary,

for go whar he would, he found some wimen tryin' to git a look at

him--tha jest besieged his shop winder, all the time, and kept peepin'

in, and lookin' at him, and askin' his age, and whar he cum from? At

last sum of the gals got so curious tha asked him whar he did cum from,

any how, and as soon as he sed Indianee, Dick Mason becum one of the

popularest young men in the settlement, among the wimen, jest 'cause he

war from the same state.

Things went on this way fur a spell, till at last tha heerd of 'em in

the country, and the wimen all about found some excuse to come to town

to git store goods, jest a purpose to see the babbys and thur parents.

The little daddy war wusser plagued now, and they starr'd at him so that

he couldn't work--the fact wur his mind war gittin' troubled, and some

of the wimen noticed the skary look he had out of his eyes, and kept a

wonderin' what it meant. One mornin' it war noticed by some of the gals

that his shop warn't open'd, so tha got in-quirin' about him, and

arter a sarch he cum up missin'--well, I'm of the opinion thar wur an

excitement in town then, fully ekill to the president's election. Every

womin started her husbind out arter Jo, with orders not to cum back

without him, and sech a scourin' as tha gin the country round would a

caught anythin' human--it did ketch Jo--on his road to Texas! When tha

got him back in the town agin, a committee of married men held a secret

talk with him, to larn what the marter wur, that he wanted to clear

out, and Jo told 'em that the wimen kept a starin' at him so he couldn't

work, and ef he war kept from his bisness, and his family continooed

to increase three at a time, he'd git so cussed poor he'd starve, and

tharfore he knew it 'ud be better to clar out, for the wimen would be

sure to take good care of his wife and the babbys.

Old Dr. Wilkins wur appinted by the men to wait on a meetin' of the

wimen, and inform them of the fact, that tha wur annoyin' the father

of the three babbys, and had amost driven him out'n the settlement The

Doctor, accordin' to appintment, informed the wimen, and arter he had

retired tha went into committee of the whole, upon the marter, and

appinted three of thur number to report at a meetin', on the next

evenin', a set of resolutions tellin' what tha'd do in the premises, and

governin' female action in the partickler case of Jo Allen, his little

wife, and three beautiful healthy babbys.

When the hour of meetin' had arriv, Mrs. Sutton's parlors wur crowded

with the wimen of the settlement, and arter appinten Widder Dent to

the cheer tha reported the committee on resolves reddy, and Mrs. Sutton

bein' the head of the committee she sot to work and read the followin'

drawn up paper:--

Whereas, It has ben sed by the wise Solomon of old that the world must

be peopled, tharfore, we hold it to be the inviolate duty of every man

to git married, and, moreover, rear up citizens and future mothers to

our glorious republick; and,

Whereas, It is gratifyin' to human natur', the world in gineral, Missury

at large, and Liberty in partickler, that this seltlement has set an

example to the ancesters of future time; which will not only make the

wimen of this enlightened state a pattern for thur children, but a envy

to the royal wimen of Europe, not forgettin' the proud mother of the

Lions of Ingland, but will elevate and place in and among the furst

families, fur ever here-arter, the mother that has shed such lustre upon

the sex in gineral; and

Whereas, It is the melancholy lot of some to be deprived of doin'

thar duty in the great cause of human natur', because the young men is

back'ard about speak-in' out, it is time that some measures be taken

inimical to our general prosperity, and encouragin' to the risin'

generation of young fellars round town; tharfore,

Resolved, That, as married wimen, our sympathies, like the heavin' of

natur's bosom, yearns with admiration and respect fur that little womin,

Mrs. Allen, and as we see her three dear little babbys, reclinin' upon

thur mother's female maternal bosom, our beatin' hearts with one accord

wish we could say ditto.

Resolved, That in the case of Mrs. Allen we see an illustrious example

of the intarnal and extarnal progress of that spreadin' race, the Angel

Saxons; and time will come when the mothers of the west will plant thar

glorious shoots from one pinnacle of the Rocky Mountains to the tother,

and until thar cry of liberti will be hollered from one pint to the next

in a continooal skreech!

Resolved, That Mister Joseph Allen, the father of these three dear

little babbys, shall receive a monument at his deth, and while he is

livin', the wimen shall ony visit his shop once a week to look at him,

'cept the married wimen, who shall be permitted to see him twice a week

and no offener, pervided and exceptin' tha want to git measured fur a

par of shoes.

Resolved, Mister Joseph Allen shall hev the custom of the whole

settlement, for he is a glorious livin' example of a dotin' husbind.

Arter these resolutions had ben unanimously passed, Mrs. Sutton

addressed the meetin', in a stream of elegance, wharin she proved, clar

as a whistle, that a family war the furst consideration fur a settler

in a new country and town lots the arter question. “She acknowledged

the corn,” she sed, “that it war soothin' to look often at thur neighbor

Allen, but his peace of mind war the property of his family, and she

hoped the ladies wouldn't disturb it, 'cause the loss of sech a husbind,

would be a sufferin' calamity to the settlement.” The meetin' adjourned,

and Jo went back to work, singin' and whistlin' as happy as usual, and

ever sence he's had a parfect shower of work, for the gals all round

the country keep goin' to him to git measured, tha say he desarves to be

incouraged.

Your furst Cousin,

Bill Sapper.

“DOING” A LANDLORD. A STORY OF SHAPE AND TALENT.

|Tom C. H--------, Esq., a genius, whose ideas of life were on such a

magnificent scale that they outran his interest, capital and all,

was seated upon the porch of a fashionable hotel, in a large eastern

village, one bright Monday morning, cogitating how, in the nature of

things, it was possible for him to compass a dinner. The long score,

unpaid, which stood recorded on the books within, precluded the idea

of getting one there without the _tin_, and numerous searches through

sundry pockets about his person were unrewarded by a single shiner.

The case was desperate, but great minds are always equal to great

emergencies, and Tom's was of that order. His coat had been renovated

by a scourer, for whom he had written a love letter, his hat had been

ironed by a good-natured hatter, who had enjoyed his custom in better

days, a new coat of japan varnish had been lavished upon his cane,

his dicky was passable, and no gentleman would think of examining the

extremities of his covering, or pry into the shifts he had been put to

for a shirt. Tom thought himself passable, and he resolved to pass off

for a dinner, if possible. A stranger lolling easily on a settee near

him looked vulnerable, and Tom, approaching him in a very bland and

friendly manner, remarked:--

“Excuse me, sir, but you look so like an old friend of mine, J.

B--------, who has resided for years in the south, that I can't help

addressing you.”

“I am from the south, sir,” answered the stranger, courteously, “but not

the person you speak of--know him, however, and am pleased to encounter

a friend of his.”

“That's it,” said Tom to himself, “got him as easy as rolling off a

log!”

An animated conversation ensued, which ended by Tom being asked to dine,

and when the gong proclaimed the table spread, in walked the stranger

and Tom, arm-in-arm, large as life and twice as natural. He called the

waiters with an air of ease, passed the stranger's wine with friendly

freedom, laughed musically, jested with spirit, wiped his mouth with

grace, and, in short, completely captivated the southerner. During

the period of Tom's luxuriating, he was observed by the landlord, who,

indignant, sent a servant to order him from the table. Tom had “come it”

over him for so many odd dinners, without a shadow of prospect for pay,

that he would stand it no longer. The servant approached, whispered in

his ear, and stood off to give him room to _move_. Tom clutched the wine

bottle, with the intention of hurling it at his head, but altered his

purpose, and poured out another glass, drank it off, looked daggers at

the servant, and in a moment more smiled confidence upon his friend.

“Would you believe it,” said Tom, to the southerner, “that since

my absence from the city for a few days past, a rival house of our

_shipping firm_ has whispered the possibility of our failure, and this

rascally landlord, having heard the calumny, has insulted me here at

table by sending a servant to demand the trifling sum I owe him.”

The southerner was burning with indignation.

“It is too humiliating;” added Tom, “not dreaming of such an outrage, I

am entirely unprovided at the moment.”

“Here, my dear fellow,” promptly proffered his friend, “here is my

pocket-book, make use of it without hesitation.”

“You're very kind,” said Tom, “very, I will but borrow this thousand

dollar bill for a moment--I know the rascal can't change it!”

With an air of offended dignity, Tom approached the office of the hotel,

the landlord, frowning with anger, stood at the desk, the offended

“diner out,” put his hand to his eyes, as if hiding deep emotion, and

then addressing the landlord in a grief-stricken voice, he said:

“I never dreamed of such an insult from _you_, sir, at such a time, too,

just as my uncle in the south has expired,--and his agent with me

to deliver up the portion bequeathed to me--it is--it--sir, I cannot

express in language my feelings. Take out of that the paltry sum I owe

you,”--throwing down the thousand dollar bill,--“and henceforth I never

will enter your door. Just at a time too,” he further added, “when I had

intended to make your house my home, and endeavor to make some return

for your forbearance. It is too much--my feelings are lacerated,” and

here he became almost overpowered by emotion.

The strip of crape around his hat--put there to hide the greasy

band--the thousand dollar bill, and the renovated coat, which looked

like new on the possessor of such a sum, all assured the landlord that

he had been _hasty_. He, therefore, denied the indignity, straight,

said that it was an impertinence of his servant, who had _twice_ before

offended his best guests by his insolence, and assured Tom that he would

discharge the fellow forthwith--pushed back to him the thousand dollar

bill, and begged he would forget the circumstance--indeed, he felt

shocked that such an outrage had been perpetrated upon his _oldest_

friend and customer. These warm expressions mollified Tom's wrath, and

folding up his bill he walked back, resumed his seat, returned the bill

to the southerner, merely remarking he had “brought the landlord to his

feelings,” and cheerfully sipped a _little_ iced champagne. As he left

the table arm-in-arm with his friend, the landlord approached, bowing,

and begged to know where he should send for his trunk, as No. 24, a fine

airy room, which would suit him to a charm, was at present empty. Tom

said he would send the baggage up, and after lighting a choice Havana,

strolled out with an air aristocratic.

In good time, the trunk arrived--a rude one, but _very heavy_. The

landlord winked as the servant bent beneath its weight, and remarked,

as he paid the porterage, that a large quantity of bullion was generally

rather heavy. Tom was in clover--the thousand dollar bill got whispered

about, and one of his creditors, a fashionable tailor, insisted on

trusting him for another suit; he yielded after much persuasion, and it

was astonishing how everything altered with Tom's appearance. His

note was good for any small sum now, and it was a pleasure to make his

acquaintance.

In the course of about six months the landlord thought he would just

hint to Tom that a small check would be agreeable, as they were hard

pushed. The hint was given, and he received a _check_--anything but a

cash one, though. Tom very coolly informed him that the agent who had

raised his hopes was a rascally impostor.

“But the thousand dollar bill, Mr. H.?” said the landlord, inquiringly.

“Was handed to me, by the rogue, to keep up appearances,” coolly

responded Tom.

“I shall seize your baggage, sir!” cried the enraged host.

“I can't help it, my dear fellow,” said Tom; “you know if I had a

'pocket full of rocks,' you should share them, for I like you, vastly--I

do--cuss me if I don't; so keep cool, and keep the baggage until I make

a draw and raise the little sum.”

The trunk was seized, and so roughly that it burst open, when the

landlord discovered that if Tom had no pocket full of rocks, it was

because he had stowed them all in his trunk, and that accounted very

naturally for its being so heavy!

WHO IS SIR GEORGE SIMPSON? AN EXTRAORDINARY CIRCUMSTANCE ABOUT HIM.

|An esteemed friend of ours, who now, heaven rest his spirit, sleeps in

the tomb, had a curious method of relating a story; and if his hearer

was of an impatient nature, it would be sorely tried before he heard the

conclusion of any yarn the “Consul” might start to favor him with. On

one occasion, some months since, he seated himself at my elbow, while I

was busily perusing a piece of news in which Sir George Simpson's name

appeared, and taking the knight's cognomen for a text, he insisted

on relating to me an extraordinary circumstance, which drew forth a

correspondingly extraordinary remark from the said Sir George. With a

pencil, unperceived by the relater, I stenographed his story, nearly

word for word, and as it is replete with interest, I do not feel

justified in withholding it at the present time from the public; so,

here it is:--

“I'll tell you an _extraordinary_ circumstance about George Simpson,”

said the “Consul.” “You see, when I was at my brother's, on Staten

Island, some years since--at his country seat, living with his

family--(my brother Bill, it was)--there was some six children, and I

lived at home there--the oldest not more than fourteen, and I used to

take him out hunting with me;--the young rascal was a good shot, too!

You see I was there at that time on my oars, doing nothing, and had

plenty of time to spare, which I used to fill up by fishing and hunting,

sometimes for days together--pretty poor luck at that, often, but I

didn't care, as time wasn't valuable. Well, you see, my brother Bill

used to invite some of the people in the neighborhood to dinner, and

often there were distinguished visiters on the island--it's a first rate

place in summer--and Bill had every thing nice on his table; he took

some trouble to keep it fine, and he had a reputation for being a good

liver. You could see he liked good things by his appearance, for he was

corpulent. Well, you see, Sir George Simpson happened to be invited to

dine--Sir George, the Scotchman, old fellow--belonging to the Hudson Bay

Fur Company; Scotch as the devil!--old tory at that; he has travelled

all over the north-western territory, and Oregon, and clear up to

Behring's Strait; knows the worth of a wild-cat skin in any market in

the world, old Sir George does--a cursed old Jew, too! Well, as we were

all seated at the table--I on my brother Bill's right, and Sir George

on his left--(Sir George was dressed in check pants and a snuff-colored

coat, looking as pompous as the red lion of England, although he was

only a Scotch clerk of the Fur Company)---just as Bill's oldest boy

asked for something at table, and I was help-him to a bit of veal

kidney--the young rascal was fond of kidney, and would have it when it

was on the table--says Sir George, says he--and my brother Bill, who was

just turning up his plate at the time, stopped and laid down his fork,

and I turned round to hear what he had to say--(the old fellow always

spoke slow, with considerable Scotch accent, and every body wanted to

hear--it's the most extraordinary circumstance or remark, whichever you

please, as I said, that ever I heard)--says Sir George, says he, '_I

shouldn't wonder if we have to fight about Oregon yet!_'”

LETTERS FROM A BABY. BY A FORWARD CHILD.

|St. Louis has obtained the reputation of being a dangerous climate

for infants, and the bills of mortality, as they have from time to time

exhibited an alarming number of deaths among children, have called forth

learned disquisitions from the “medicine men,” and some new views from

those who are without the pale of regular practice. All seemed to agree

that the mortality every summer was alarming, but no two united in

assigning the same cause for the fatal result. After listening patiently

to both sides, I sought information from the suffering party, and their

opinion may be gathered from the complaints of their correspondent

_Bub_. He says:

Dear Sir:--Of late I perceive the public are making some stir about us

babies; may heaven vouchsafe healthy children to our defenders. I have

a string of sorrows to relate myself, and my poor bowels cry out for

protection; you must therefore permit me to say a few words. My Ma is

what you would call a fashionable woman, and although she loves her

baby, yet she says it is not fashionable for mammas in the southern

states to nurse their own babies; I am, consequently, turned over to the

care of nigger Molly, and Lord preserve me, such nursing as I get would

kill a young _Indian_. I am fed with every thing, from a green apple

to a chunk of fat pickled pork, and the sufferings which I undergo

therefrom, would crack a sucking bottle, or rend a diaper in tatters.

After feeding me into sickness, they set a doctor at me, who physics me

into a state of quiet insensibility, and they then say, “bess its ittle

bessed heart it's ditten better, it is.” I get a little peace until I

get strong enough to cry out, and then nigger Molly stuffs me to keep me

quiet, and I go through another spell. I see our dog Flora watching her

pups, and if any person goes near them she is almost ready to tear

them to pieces; I wish my Ma was as careful of me. I see a poor woman

opposite kissing her baby, and I envy that child; nobody kisses me but

black Molly, and she does it to smother my cries of suffering. I don't

know what kills other babies, but this treatment will soon finish me

Bub.

NO. II.-BUB IN PERIL.

_How are you?_--You have published my letter, and I am glad to see that

nigger Molly cannot smother my cry to the public--if I don't give her

_scissors_, it will be because she smothers me outright. You must know

Molly keeps two bottles filled with liquid, one of which she administers

to me, and the other to herself, and they both have about the same

effect, only hers smells worst. Hers she calls _whiskey_, mine

_cordial_. The other morning Molly set me down on the floor, beside

a pan of water, and commenced taking comfort from her bottle, and I,

feeling feverish, commenced comforting myself by dabbling in the pan

until I was all wet; Molly perceiving this picked me up to _slap_ me,

but her cordial floored her. I should have been glad of this, only she

nearly killed me in her fall, and because I screamed, as any baby would

do, she clapped her black lips to mine, smelling horribly as they were

of whiskey, and kept in my breath until I was as black in the face as

herself. I yelled at this double outrage, and she silenced me by pouring

a double dose of _cordial_ down my throat, which threw me into a state

of insensibility, from which I awoke almost dead. My mother asked to see

me, and when she heard me moaning, she said “the ittle bessed dear

is suffering wis its too-sys.” I aint suffering with my teeth--I'm

suffering with nigger Moll's nursing.

Bub.

NO. III.--BUB RESCUED.

_Hello, boys_:--Flourish trumpets! merrily beat your drums--I'm a saved

_sucker!_ A day of hope and promise has shed its light upon my infantile

head, and bright visions of a pair of small breeches to be worn by me,

float airily round my head--they appear plain and palpable in the

vista of the future--buttons, pockets, suspenders and all--_vive

la pantalons!_ The other morning my Pa drew forth the copies of the

Reveille from his book case, and commenced reading them for Ma's

amusement. Suddenly he cast his eye on my letters, and straight he

commenced them--he laughed, and then Ma laughed, and then I crowed. By

and by, as he proceeded, Ma began to look angry; she cast a glance at

me, and then her conscience smote her--I was wasted to a shadow--on

went Pa with the letters; Ma wept, I crowed, and nigger Molly gave me a

_pinch_--a yell followed and the clouds burst!

“Give me that child, you hateful jade, you; how dare you hurt it?” cried

Ma.

“Please God, I didn't do nuffin ob de sort, missus; I'd do any thin

else, missus, dan hurt de baby,” answered Moll.

“Get out of my sight, you hussy!” cried my enraged mamma; “you have

nearly killed de bessed ittle pet--mamma's dear, bess its heart--get out

of my sight; if ever you touch it again, I'll punish you severely.”

Molly fled, Pa chuckled to himself, and I crowed again--I tried to

hurrah! How shall I describe the change which stole over me, body and

spirit, as, nestling in my mother's sweet bosom and receiving her fond

caress, I was permitted abundantly to drink at “Nature's pure fount,

which, at my cry, sent forth a pearly stream to cherish my enamelled

veins.” A sweet sleep visited my pillow again, and the fond endearments

which waited on my waking moments were life and joy to me. My Ma, now,

is rapidly improving in health--I, of course, will grow fat; and just

wait until I'm able to wear them breeches and beat a small drum, if I

don't visit the Reveille office and give you the serenade of “Oh, be

joyful,” until your petrified stump will execute a double shuffle, then

say my name aint Bub.

NO. IV.--BUB FLOURISHING.

_Hello, Drummers_:--Whoop! hey! cock-a-doodle-doo-o-o! If I aint some by

this time I wouldn't say so! You remember what a sickly state I was in

when I commenced telling you my grievances?--how my complaints wrought

improvement and rescued me from nigger Molly? Well, ever since then,

it's a surprise to learn the way my body has spread--I'm a

small Lambert, and have got six teeth. Aint I some? Talk of your

Missouriums!--only look at me! Well, between you and me, I didn't cut

them teeth for nothing; I find a fellow don't get knowledge without

paying for it; I suffered in teething, but I learned some. Women who

pay no attention to their babies, envy me my fat--I'm a kind of living

rebuke to them, and, for a year old, I'm rather a heavy rebuke. They

every now and then say: “Why, bless me, Mrs. T--------, you'll kill

yourself nursing that big fat child.” The answer they get, generally,

is, “Well, it will get killed if I don't!” That's the way to tell

it!--bravo, Ma! “Well, but, Mrs. T--------, why don't you let Molly

relieve you of such a load?” Ma answers, “It's because Molly nearly

relieved me of him altogether--he would have died from her nursing.”

That's a fact!--hit 'em again, Ma. “My children,” says Mrs. Nevernurse,

“get along very well without me.”

“Yes,” answered Ma, again, “you have only two living out of six.” That

was a wiper!--how she twisted her face at it! I think I'm safe enough,

but my peace is sadly troubled with fear when I hear some of these old

women giving Ma advice. It would do you good to see old Molly look at

me, now and then, saying, with her big eyes, “Well, bress de Lord, I'm

clar ob dat brat, but I should jis like to hab him for a a week, I'd

take de sassy look out ob his face.” I'd like to try my six new teeth on

her black hide.

_You_ shall have that serenade, Drummers, and no mistake. Bub.

NO. V.-BUB AGAIN IN DANGER.

_Gents:--How d'ye do?_ I've just had a good long pull at the titty, and

have got on a clean warm diaper; and feeling pretty comfortable, I think

I'll give you another small epistle. I'm going to get into trouble--I

feel it in my bones. My Ma has quarreled with her old physician, and has

employed a new one, young Dr. Pliant--between you and me, I think they

should have named him _Verdant_. This new doctor wants to please, so

anything the women propose is exactly right. “Don't you think, Doctor,”

says one, “that Mrs. T-------- will destroy her health, nursing that fat

child?”

“Certainly, maam, most unquestionably, Mrs. Helpalong; the strength

of the mother being inadequate to the sufficient indevelopment of the

ponderous system of meat-gather-upon-its-bones-ativeness of the infant,

it consequently follows that the thin-down-to-a-light-alti-tudity of

the fill-up-and-get-strong-ative powers of the mother naturally must

result.”

“I thought so, Doctor,” says Mrs. Helpalong, and this clear-as-mud

evidence against my comfort is reiterated to my mother. “Do you really

think, Dr. P., that I am endangering my health?”

“That depends upon how you feel,” says the doctor. “Why,” says Ma, “I

feel as well as ever I did in my life.”

“Your system, then,” says the doctor, “is what we call in the south _sui

generis_--that is, you can stand nursing, and, consequently, the babe

having a tendency to the natural milk which surreptitiously flows, I

might say, from the secretive portion of the female _os frontis_ of

the breast, it must follow, as a result from these multifarious and

indigenous effects, that no danger can ensue from your nursing.” I'm

safe as long as my mother keeps in good health; but Lord bless me,

should she get ill, I'm a gone _sucker_--this new physician would dose

her and me into kingdom come in about a week. I heard quite a discussion

about his merits yesterday. Mrs. Enquiry says that he used to be a

fiddler about two years ago, but Mrs. Helpalong says it is no such

thing--that he always was a gentleman, and taught school before he took

up the profession--that he studied regularly a whole season, and took

his diploma in the spring;--she sticks to that, Mrs. Helpalong does, and

I guess she is about right. Aint my case critical? Bub.

NO. VI.-bub's RECEPTION OF A SILVER PAP SPOON.

_I'm here again_:--Important events having transpired since I last wrote

to you, it has been deemed proper to send a synopsis of them to you for

publication, in order that the world in general may know western babies

are _some_, and when well nursed a good deal _more_ than some. A most

gratifying reformation has been effected in certain circles by my

letters, and, indeed, wherever they have been read, nigger nurses,

paregoric, sucking-bottles, coarse diapers, and sundry other abuses have

entirely disappeared. The effect has been a corresponding improvement

in babies, generally, and your correspondent in particular, who is now

admitted to be a _whapping_ child for a small family.

On last Christmas, a number of our parents having met together to

celebrate the day, all of us youngsters were put into the nursery

together, and the clatter of discussion which followed would have thrown

a peevish nurse into hysterics. Charley Wilgus proposed that a meeting

should be held upon the spot, and a _silver pap spoon_ voted to me for

my able letters in defence of infantile rights. Asa Keemle seconded the

motion, and it was unanimously carried. Charley Wilgus was thereupon

chosen chairman, and Asa Keemle, secretary. The president mounted a

pillow, and called the meeting to order by ringing the bells on his

coral. On motion, a committee was then appointed to draft resolutions

expressive of the sense of the meeting, and the following boys, having

cut their eye-teeth, were selected to draft said resolutions:

Augustus Vinton, Edward Shade, John Charless, Christopher Wigery, John

Dalrymple and Wallace Finney.

The committee having retired, Colton A. Presbury, Jr., offered the

following resolution, which he prefaced by some very pertinent remarks:

_Resolved_, That cutting teeth is a sharp operation, and should

therefore, be deferred until maturity.

Presbury G. A. Colton, a little fellow who had just cut his first

“double,” opposed this resolution, on the ground of its interfering with

“future prospects,”--he went in for teeth now, and the cutting to come

being left an open question. The resolution was rejected.

Rucker Smith now rose to address the meeting, when some objection was

made to him because he sucked milk from a bottle; it was, however,

concluded that he might address the chair if his diaper was pinned

tight; on examination he was permitted to proceed. He commenced

describing the horrors of a _cold bath_, and was interrupted by

the president, who informed him that the subject of water came

more particularly under the head of streams, and could not then be

entertained by the meeting. He then proceeded to describe the delights

of a _sucking-bottle_, and was cried down by the unanimous voice of the

meeting. Some one now commenced a speech against _paregoric_, whereupon

the assembly, speaker and all, went immediately to _sleep!_

They were aroused from their slumber by the return of the committee,

which, through their chairman, Augustus Vinton, reported the following

resolutions:

_Resolved_, That babies are, and of right ought to be, natural-born

_suckers_.

_Resolved_, That the introduction of negro nurses among white babies was

a _dark_ era in infantile history.

_Resolved_, That all artificial efforts, in regard to babies, are no go,

and that the old fashion defies the ingenuity of Yankeedom to improve on

it.

_Resolved_, That “being born with a silver spoon in your mouth” is a

good thing, but an unlimited chance at the _titty_ is a better.

_Resolved_, That all anti-nursing mothers are undeserving of lively

husbands.

_Resolved_, That we look with feelings of compassion upon those who have

_adopted_ children.

_Resolved_, That _Bub_ deserves a _silver pap spoon_, and shall have

one.

These resolutions having been unanimously adopted by the meeting, it

was--

On motion of O. M. Ridgely, seconded by Edward 'Shade, adjourned.

A general call was now made for refreshments, which anxious mothers

promptly supplied.

Yours, Bub.

SETH TINDER'S FIRST COURTSHIP, HOW HIS FLAME WAS QUENCHED!

|You knew Seth Tinder,--No?--“git eout!”--you did know Seth, every body

knew him, and they couldn't help it, for Seth would know every body. He

was, perhaps, the “cutest critter,” in some things, that ever calculated

the success of a notion expedition, and he was among the first of his

genus that ever strayed, on such an expedition, as far west as St.

Louis. If you really didn't know Seth, it is time your ignorance was

enlightened.

Seth was remarkably cute at driving a bargain--that was an innate

propensity; Seth was inquisitive, and frequently looked into hall doors,

and peeped into kitchen windows--that was Yankee human nature; Seth

winked at the girls--that was an acquired habit; he resolved to possess

one--that was a _calculation_. Now, this winking at the girls, when

performed by a handsome individual, is looked upon as a matter of

course; but Seth was so notoriously ugly, that his wink was an outrage,

and his overtures of love, perfect atrocities. His short, bow-legged

figure was thatched with the most obstinate bunch of carroty hair that

ever bid defiance to bear's oil, and the windows of his mind as the eyes

are poetically styled, appeared looking intently at the tip of his nose,

as if apprehensive that, ere long, it would burst into a blaze. A kind

of half-burnt-prairie garnished his chin, which would have made a very

warm looking goatee, if Seth could have transplanted it all to one spot;

but there lay the difficulty, for though cute at driving a bargain,' he

could make none with nature--she made him ugly without his consent, and

wouldn't agree to any alteration. Seth, nevertheless, would wink at the

girls.

His first tender effort was made upon the heart of a German butcher's

fair, fat, rosy daughter, whose round cheeks and well-fed form was, to

his eye, the very perfection of female beauty. No artificial making

up about her--no exterior padding, it was all done naturally, on the

inside. As she luxuriated upon the door steps of an evening, Seth

would linger near, wink, and grin all sorts of affection, but, like all

bashful swains, hesitated about coming to close quarters. He had

imbibed the erroneous opinion, that all true courting must be done

clandestinely; but all his hints to draw his inamorata into a secret

treaty, was a failure. At length, he ventured in a desperate manner up

to the door step, and whispered hurriedly:--

“Look out--comin' to set up with you to-night--round the back way--over

the fence--be a-waitin'!”

“You'd petter pe ketch'd,” was the fair one's rejoinder, accompanied by

a malicious laugh, which Seth interpreted as an approving one.

The darkness of the night favored Seth's clandestine opinions and

practice--it was just the thing for a nocturnal visit; therefore,

agreeable to notice, he made his appearance at the fence, round the back

way. Leaning over the barrier, he ventured to sound a cautious “hist,”

which was immediately answered by a low “wou-ugh.” That must be Dutch

for “come,” reasoned Seth, and straight he mounted the fence; but

politician never took an uneasier seat on the same line of division

than he _enjoyed_ on the present occasion, for, no sooner had one pedal

extremity reached the other side and placed him fairly astride, than

a remarkably savage dog seized the intruding member, with a fierce

“wou-ugh-ugh-ugh-u.”

“Git eout, you blasted critter!” shouted Seth.

“Wou-ugh-ugh!” roared the dog.

A struggle ensued, in which Seth, unfortunately, fell on the wrong side,

right into the jaws of his antagonist. The attitude in which he reached

terra firma, offered the dog a change of grip, and, like a skilful

sentinel, he seized the advantage and Seth's seat of honor at the same

time. Our hero sprang nearly erect, with a howl more like his antagonist

than any human noise, and a desperate struggle, mingled with strange

cries, aroused the dozing butcher from his pipe, and the fair cause of

the disturbance from her knitting.

[Illustration: 0401]

“Sum tam rascal's after der sausages in der smoke haus!” was the

butcher's first exclamation; the rosy daughter smiled assent, and “arm

and out,” was the work of an instant. They found their trusty sentry

baulking all Seth's efforts to retreat over the fence, and keeping

him “_a-wailin'_” when he would have given worlds to leave. The

reinforcement made at him with whip and broomstick, and this terrible

odds aroused him to superhuman exertions;--with a “mazzle” he floored

the Dutchman and his pipe, charged on the flinty-hearted daughter,

captured her broomstick, beat a parley with it on the dog's head, and

retreated over the fence with “flying colors”--_stickinng through a rent

of his inexpressibles_.

THE DEATH STRUGGLE; OR, THE WAY SMITH DID UP JONES.

|You all knew Smith--every body knew Smith, and Smith was known by every

body--consequently, Smith was considered somebody. A body is supposed

to contain a soul; Smith's body not only contained a soul, but certain

parts of Smith's body made and mended other men's _soles_. Smith was

enterprising, industrious, and won thereby the sole control of the boot

and shoe business of the flourishing town of Kipp. Smith was a thriving

man, a persevering man; Smith was, in fact, a strip of upper-leather.

Just about the time of his greatest success, when the tide of fortune

appeared to bear upon its surface a perfect skin of Smith's manufactured

high-lows, and earth shook beneath the tread of his patent cork soles,

along came _Jones_. Strange freak of fate! Jones was an adventurer,--a

desperate adventurer,--a fellow who had made _soles_ his study and upper

leather his dream; he was a Napoleon in his business, and could slash

calf-skin into a killing shape for pedal extremities;--in short, he was

boot No. 1, both in the manufacture and sale of the article. In Jones'

wanderings along the streets of Kipp, his eye fell upon the broad sign

of “_Smith, Fashionable Boot and Shoe Maker_.” There was something

prosperous and aristocratic about it, but, at the “Fashionable,” Jones

turned up his nose.

“Ox-hide fashion,” says Jones, “Good common article, but won't sell

alongside of a prime one. I'll drive that fellow, Smith, out of Kipp

town--have it all to myself--do a smashing business--re-sole the

town--become upper-leather in the community--president of town

council--die mayor of the borough, and have all my own manufactured

shoes walking at my funeral.--Lofty thought,” added Jones.

In a very short time, upon the principal street in Kipp, in sight of

Smith's, out swung a large _flag_, with the name of “Jones, importer,

manufacturer, and patent leather boot and shoe _artiste_.” Smith stared,

the flag fluttered, and Jones chuckled. Customers began to patronise

Jones, and the flag seemed saucily to triumph, as it floated upon the

breeze blowing towards Smith's door. Smith was a man of energy, though,

and out came his new “patent gaiter boot;” the tide turned and Smith

was again in the ascendant. Now began a leather war--Jones up and Smith

down, Smith up again and Jones down, as each rival, alternately, brought

out something new. At length, one bright morning, the inhabitants

of Kipp, who had taken sides in the contest, were astounded by the

appearance of the front of Smith's store--it was one entire sign, from

the pavement to the roof. Jones looked blue, the flag fluttered like

a tattered rag. Smith rose in importance--his friends felt proud

of him--it was a Kipp triumph over foreign capital--the Jones party

wavered!--not so Jones; his great mind had conceived a stupendous

overthrow for Smith, and ere admiration for his rival had settled into

sure success, it was diverted to himself. An immense flag, _of stone_,

with his name in large letters, was scientifically planted right in the

centre of Jones' pavement.

The town now became feverish with excitement, and it was rumored that

the town council intended to consider the matter--the “signs of the

times” grew alarming.

Glorious Smith!--Smith for ever!--unyielding to the last! In this

emergency, when the horizon seem'd heavy with defeat, when a vast stone

seemed to press his fortunes into the earth, Smith arose, Phonix like,

“from a boot,” and gave assurance to the world that he was no common

leather. Rapid as the thought which conceived the idea, he had a vast

boot constructed, placed upon a post in front of his door, and with a

sample of his manufacture in each hand, he mounted into it, to exhibit

to the passers by not only a spectacle of indomitable energy, but

un-_flag_ging perseverance.

“What do you think of Smith now?” said the adherents of the “big

boot,”--“bravo, Smith!” shouted the Kippites. Here was a climax to which

ingenuity could discover no parallel, it was indeed the _ne plus ultra_.

Jones put his hands behind his coat-tails, and looked up street at the

big boot and its tenant, then at the stone flag beneath his feet, and

his countenance settled into a calm and desperate determination. “I'll

do it!” exclaimed he. The expression was caught up by his friends,

wafted through the town, and whispered in each dwelling, until the

excitement and expectation grew painful. Everybody was aching to see

what Jones _would do_.

Jones cut out a capacious pair of boots, set his workmen at them,

had them finished, sent every living soul away from his shop at early

candle-light, closed it up, and all remained a mystery for the remainder

of the night. Morning broke--astonishment and horror!--terrible

Jones!--triumphing in death! He had drawn on the immense boots, fastened

them by suspenders across his shoulders, and then suspended himself from

the flag-staff right over the _flag-stone_. Beneath him fluttered a

postscript attached to the boots; its substance was, “Has Smith the sole

to imitate this?” _Smith hadn't_.

“WHO ARE THEY?” A QUESTION OF VITAL IMPORT.

|How often, in our democratic land, the query which forms our caption

has caused the aspirants after aristocratic distinction to shudder,

and how silent become their voices of high pretension, when, by some

unfortunate remark, or the recalling of some reminiscence, they have

been forced to take a retrospective glance into the past for a few

generations. Happy are they if memory does not wake up a sturdy ancester

pounding the leather upon his lapstone, or that necessary craftsman, the

tailor, plying his busy needle upon the shop-board. The morbid desire of

us republicans to be ignorant of the _vulgar_ callings of life, is often

very amusing; and the struggles to rake up a pedigree, to give character

to growing prosperity, has often caused more trouble and vexation than

the building up of a fortune, which it was necessary thus to adorn.

“Who are they?” was the general query at a soiree given by a high United

States' officer, at the city of Washington, a short period previous to

the death of the lamented General Harrison. The parties who called forth

the query were a western member of congress and his highly gifted lady.

The member was in the prime of life, of acknowledged talents in his

profession, and betrayed, in his manners, the high breeding of a

gentleman. A conscious power lent ease to his frankness, and the men

of the west clustered around him with pride. His lady, simply attired,

attracted all eyes; her _distingue_ figure and intellectual face

proclaimed her a peerless woman, and when she smiled a ray of heaven's

own light beamed forth from human eyes. There was a kindness in her

smile which won hearts before they knew her; there was no hollow mockery

in it; it came forth from a happy heart, and where its influence fell,

good feelings sprung up and sweet thoughts clustered; but--Who is she?

Ah, that's the question; and how often the inquiry was passed from lip

to lip during that evening! Amid the throng in which they moved, and

wherever they lingered, an admiring coterie surrounded them. The husband

was a strong man in the political world; had accepted a seat in congress

more to gratify his friends than in accordance with his own wishes,

and his party felt strengthened by his presence. His lady, ever

distinguished at home, was now creating no small sensation at

Washington; but--“who are they?” That all-absorbing question remained

unanswered, even to the close of the evening, and they departed, leaving

it still an “open question.”

Judge W. had been seen conversing very familiarly with them, and an

anxious company soon surrounded him, uttering, the query, “Who are

they?” He informed them, that it was Mr. H. and his wife, Mrs. H., of

M--------. “Oh! they all knew that, but what was their family?”

“Upon my life, ladies,” answered the good-natured Judge, “I don't know;

but if you will only wait until to-morrow evening, I will endeavor to

find out.”

The task of postponing curiosity, though difficult, was, nevertheless,

unavoidable; and the party broke up with a living hope, that ere another

day had ended, the important query would be solved.

“Who are you? H.,” said the Judge to his friend the next day, as they

sat conversing together in H.'s parlor.

“Well, that is a hard question, Judge,” replied H.--“but perhaps Mary

can answer that question better than I can;” and calling his wife away

from a boquet of flowers which she was arranging in a vase; he took

her hand in his, as she leaned affectionately over his shoulder, and

repeated the inquiry--“Who am I, Mary?--the Judge wishes to know.”

“I think I can inform you, Judge,” replied the wife, “for he is not a

whit changed since the day he taught me my first lesson in the 'free

school' of L. He is Henry H.--formerly assistant teacher in a down-east

_free school_, and now, the Hon. Henry H., of M.; moreover, the husband

of Mary H., formerly a _factory girl_ in that same town, but now, I need

not tell you, Judge, the Hon. Mrs. H., also of M.; I have really become

quite enamored of this title.”

“It is true, Judge,” continued Mr. H., “I first beheld Mary at a _free

school_, taught her her first lesson, learned another from her eyes, and

never became satisfied until I possessed the book, that throughout

life I might continue to peruse the beauties of the page. But come,

Judge,--now that you have traced our pedigree, give some account of

yourself; from what ancient stock have you sprung?--Who are you?”

“I am the son of Adam!” (a laugh here interrupted him,) “not the Adam

spoken of in the Bible; I mean old Adam W., a _shoemaker_ of Albany,

who once used his stirrup rather lavishly upon me, and for which good

office, I left him one fine morning, without bidding good by. I will not

relate to you the many changes of fortune which befel me, until I found

myself upon the _bench_, in a United States' court, instead of the

_bench_ in my father's shop. Suffice it to say, that my good parent,

until his dying day, expressed the opinion that it was a good thing I

took to the law early, for I was fit for no _useful purpose_.”

At Secretary E.'s on the next evening, a crowd surrounded the Judge,

but all wore upon their countenances an air of incredulity--the Judge's

story of the “factory girl” “wouldn't go down.”

“It's a fact, ladies,” said the Judge; “just about the time I was

learning to make shoes these people were in the situations I tell you.”

They all pronounced the Judge a wag, and would not believe the story. A

matron, more resolved than her friends to sift the truth of the matter,

applied to Mrs. H., herself, and told her what a _fib_ the Judge had

been telling them.

“I assure you it is true,” replied Mrs. H.

“Yes, but my dear, the best of families have been reduced,” says Mrs.

Enquiry, “you are, no doubt, descended from the 'Pilgrim Fathers.'”

“I have every reason to believe so,” answered Mrs. H. “I told you so,”

said Mrs. Enquiry, exultingly, to her circle of acquaintances; “she is a

daughter of one of the 'Pilgrim Fathers.'”

The wheels of government, which had well nigh ceased to move during the

pendency of this important question, received a new impetus from the

intelligence, and the republic was pronounced “out of danger,” for its

“heads of wisest censure” had discovered _who they were!_--

THE END.

The Swamp Doctor's Adventures in The South-West Containing the Whole of The Louisiana Swamp Doctor; Streaks of Squatter Life; and Far-Western Scenes; In a Series of Forty-Two Humorous Southern and Western Sketches, Descriptive of Incidents and Character · 第 6 / 6 章

|Dick Kelsy was one of the earliest settlers in the Upper Missouri