Page.
1 Steel Portrait 1
2 Darwin & Whiskey 11
3 Essays 33
4 Perfectly Satisfied 34
5 Fashuns Prayer 40
6 Fastidiousness 43
7 Biles 50
8 The Lam & Duv 54
9 In a horn 60
10 Connubial Bliss 64
11 Horace Greeley 65
12 Whissling 70
13 An Oration 78
14 Esops Jackass 83
15 Comik Lekture 90
16 Fuss & Feathers 93
17 Animated Natur 97
18 A newfoundland Dog 98
19 The Pole Kat 104
20 A Yaller Dog 111
21 A Sly Fox 117
22 A phool of a hen 123
23 Goose talk 127
24 Spice-box 129
25 Cat and Kangaroo 134
26 Annimated Natur 136
27 The Fly 140
28 A nightmare 145
29 The Musketo 152
30 The Rabbit 157
31 The Mule 163
32 The Shanghi 167
33 Snaix 173
34 Publik Institutions 174
35 Feathered ones 179
36 Kats 186
37 The Game Chicken 190
38 More Snaix 194
39 The Blujay 198
40 Vermin 203
41 Affurisms 206
42 Ramrods 207
43 Molasis Kandy 212
44 Christmas Pie 218
45 Koarse Shot 223
46 Glass Dimonds 229
47 Tadpoles 234
48 Hooks & Eyes 241
49 A Musical Duett 244
50 Odds & Ends 246
51 First Impressions 249
52 Voting 253
53 The World on fire 257
54 Stray Children 264
55 Lightning bugs 272
56 Nest Eggs 278
58 Hard tack 284
59 Ink-lings 289
60 Hot Korn 295
61 Remnants 302
62 Saws 306
63 Nosegays 312
64 Shooting stars 317
66 The Interviewer 321
67 The Yankee 327
68 Spinsters 332
69 Injuns 335
70 Frequent Kritters 341
71 Peculiar ones 349
72 Coquet & prude 354
73 The neat Person 360
74 John Bascomb 362
76 Good Rezolushuns 367
77 Korns 371
78 Lektur Committees 374
79 Temperance Klub 378
80 Pordunk Sowing Society 382
81 A Bookeeper 384
82 Takes a drink 392
83 At Long Branch 397
84 Grate men 401
86 The Hoss 405
87 A hoss-laff 410
88 Mi Washerwoman 414
89 Beer 417
90 Science 420
91 Long Branch 425
92 Tadpoles 431
93 Tew late 435
95 Skating akcident 437
96 At Prayers 441
97 Tew mutch whiskey 443
98 Private opinions 448
99 Latest news 453
100 The Races 459
101 Spinning Yarns 466
102 Pordunk Churchyard 469
103 To Correspondents 472
104 Letter boxes 473
105 Hiz Washerwoman 478
106 Wimmins Rongs 483
107 Meeting a Bear 488
108 Among Beasts 490
109 Hotel Porter 494
113 A Domestik Scene 498
124 Democratic Orator 500
129 Suicide 504
BIOGRAPHICAL INTRODUCTION.
ADAPTED FROM THE LONDON EDITION.
In the United States of America a "show" is the generic name comprising
every description of entertainment, being equally applied to an
equestrian performance, a dramatic company, an operatic concert, a
political oration, or a lecture on the geology of the oil district of
Pennsylvania. A few years ago, when I did not know America quite so well
as I do now, I was asked by Mr. Barnum to meet him on a matter of
business at his celebrated Museum on Broadway. Every one who has visited
New York and called in at that strangely-jumbled exhibition, will
remember a small room on the first landing, with "Mr. Barnum--Private"
painted on the door. I don't know whether any show-case in the Museum
was as attractive to the crowds of country visitors as that little room
proved to be. Though privacy was written on the post, publicity was ever
peeping in at the door. Shrewd, astute, and _rusA(C)_ as Barnum is, none
knew better than he that the greatest object of interest in the Museum
was himself. Hence he arranged to have his private room immediately in
front of the public staircase, with the door always a little open, to
pique curiosity, unless really important business required absolute
seclusion. In this room, or rather in this glass-case, for its three
sides were of glass, like the cases containing the wax-figures and the
stuffed animals, Barnum and I met. He conversed about different
speculations he had on hand, and various ideas which he wished to carry
out. Some of them were very characteristic of the man and his spirit of
enterprise. One, was to organize an expedition to the mouth of Davis's
Straits at the proper season, select a very large iceberg, bring it down
in the tow of two or three steamers to New York Bay, put a floating
fence around it, exhibit the iceberg at twenty-five cents admission, and
realize a large profit by making and vending sherry cobblers with ice
from the real iceberg! Another idea suggested by the man of many shows
was to get the American Minister at the Court of Constantinople to apply
to the Sultan for a firman to permit Barnum or his agent to visit the
mosque at Hebron, traditionally asserted to be built over the Cave of
Machpelah, in which the remains of the patriarchs were buried. "If we
could only get the remains of Abraham and bring them to New York!"
exclaimed the _deus ex machinAc_ of the Museum, rubbing his hands with
delight at the ingenuity of the thought. Then, after a moment's
reflection, and knowing me to be well acquainted with England, he
remarked, inquiringly, "What do you think of Spurgeon for a show? Could
he be got over here?" To me unused as I then was to American can
manners, the association of a clergyman with Bartlemy Fair and Barnum's
Museum seemed ludicrously incongruous. Subsequently my experience taught
me to believe that some of the preachers of the United States look at
their position from the same point of view as did Mr. Barnum in wishing
to speculate in Spurgeon.
A "showman," as well as an author, _Josh Billings_ is now regarded in
the cities of the Union. In England we would style him a facetious
lecturer, but the lecturing business in America is carried out with all
the arts, formulA| and appurtenances of showmanship. There are the large
posters, the puff advertisements, the agent in advance, and the
lithographs plain or colored, all brought into requisition. It is quite
true that if Charles Dickens visited Manchester or Birmingham to read
"Doctor Marigold" or "The Christmas Carol," he also had his agent and
his yellow window-bills with the black and red printing; but the
window-bill is limited to a size and is printed in a style fitting to
the superior class of entertainment; while, in America, the posters of
the popular lecturer are as showy and as exciting as those of Van
Amburgh with his wild beasts, or the Hanlon Brothers with their feats on
the trapeze. Quaintness, however, is an essential requisite in the
placard of the facetious lecturer. _Artemus Ward_ used to announce in
large letters on the walls that he would "Speak a Piece" at a certain
place and on a certain date. _Josh Billings_ announces in a still more
mystic manner, strongly reminding the observer of Ruskin's bizarre,
grotesque, enigmatical titles. I have before me, as I write, a printed
notice which reads thus:--
"ALLYN HALL, HARTFORD.
JOSH BILLINGS,
On the 7th,
WITH HIS
HOBBY HORSE."
The reader who is anxious to know what _Josh Billings_ means by an
advertisement so eccentric in its character can have his curiosity
satisfied by turning to page 404 of this work. The chapter is headed
"How to pick out a good Horse," and the caption is assuredly none the
more inappropriate or infelicitous than are the titular conundrums of
the "Seven Lamps of Architecture," "Unto this Last," or "A Crown of Wild
Olives." John Ruskin and _Josh Billings_ understand with equal clearness
the value of a title which shall arrest attention by not being too easy
of comprehension.
I first heard of _Josh Billings_ several years ago when crossing the
Isthmus of Panama by that remarkable railway which connects the Atlantic
and Pacific oceans. When Nunez de Balboa in the olden time had his first
peep of the Pacific, and beheld the ocean which no European had before
seen, from an eminence which is now a station of the railway, he little
thought that in a few centuries hence the steam engine would haul
thousands upon thousands of Christians up to the same summit, and allow
them to enjoy the same sight at so many American dollars each. Terribly
prosaic is this earth becoming! And, despite Schiller and Coleridge, it
is scarcely Jupiter who "brings whate'er is good," or Venus "who brings
everything that's fair." A locomotive or a steamboat will bring or take
you to both; and a railway it was which brought me to know of _Josh
Billings_. The incident was simply this:
Midway on the Panama railway there is a station at which travellers
alight while the engineer looks after his supply of wood and water. A
beautifully picturesque station it is, looking from it along the road
which you have come, or adown that portion of the railway track which
you have to go--a luxuriance of tropical vegetation meets the eye,
overpowering the mind with the wild profusion of its beauty. Nature
seems to revel in a wealth of verdure. Palms, bananas, and trees
innumerable of every graceful form tower upwards to the unclouded sky,
or arch over the flower-garnished earth. The trunk of each is invisible;
for creeping plants of the most delicate growth entwine around the wood,
hang in loops from the boughs, connect tree to tree with a lace-work of
exquisite elegance and sun-dyed brilliancy, and sway in wreaths of
natural arabesque to and fro in the fragrant, moist, and enervating air.
The station lies back from the road, and, if I remember rightly, is
thatched with palm leaves. As I alighted at it, groups of native
New-Grenadians clustered around me, the younger ones being almost in a
state of nudity. Some offered me oranges, some bananas, some milk in a
green-glass bottle, and one of them wished me to buy a monkey. Pushing
through them, I made my way for the station, the sultry atmosphere
having rendered me languid and a gentle stimulus being desirable. I
expected to find the refreshment department in the care of a native, or,
at any rate, of a Spaniard; but the ubiquitous Yankee was master of the
premises, and a forlorn ague-stricken, quinine-and-calomel-looking
master he seemed to be. His whiskey was something not to be forgotten;
nor were his dogs, half a dozen of which were running about the place,
the greatest burlesques of the race canine I had hitherto seen. They
were all lean, hungry, and wolfish-eyed. Their tails drooped mournfully,
as if the seething heat had melted the sinews and softened the bones;
they whined peevishly, but bark there was none--their owner required it
all to keep the ague away. I had drunk my whiskey, become Christian in
my feelings, and was silently pitying the poor animals, when the
proprietor of the miserable dog-flesh, stationing himself beside me, and
placing his hands on his hips, sententiously observed,--
"Them critturs are the pride of the Isthmus. They're a pair of the most
elegant puppies in this State. Nary one of 'em would flunk out before
any dog."
"They look very cowardly about the tail," I remarked.
"That's the way of dogs' tails on the Isthmus," was his response. "Do
you know what _Josh Billings_ says about dogs' tails?"
I frankly confessed that I did not; adding, that I was profoundly
ignorant of _Josh Billings_, and pleasantly intimating that I supposed
him to be one of the guards on the line.
"I guess you haven't read the papers lately," continued my new
acquaintance, as though pitying my ignorance. "_Josh Billings_ knows
that there are some dogs' tails which can't be got to curl no ways, and
some which will, and you can't stop 'em. He says, that if you bathe a
curly-tailed dog's tail in oil and bind it in splints, you cannot get
the crook out of it; and _Josh_, who says a sight of good things, says
that a man's way of thinking is the crook in the dog's tail, and can't
be got out, and that every one should be allowed to wag his own
peculiarity in peace."
That my Yankee acquaintance was partial to _Josh Billings_, and that
anything which related to dogs was congenial with his tastes, I
furthermore ascertained by noticing two scraps of paper posted on the
rough wall of his cabin. I copied both. One was in prose and the other
in rhyme. Here is the prose one:--