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HUMOROUS MASTERPIECES
FROM
AMERICAN LITERATURE
EDITED BY
EDWARD T. MASON
NEW YORK & LONDON
G.P. PUTNAM'S SONS
The Knickerbocker Press
1886
COPYRIGHT
G.P. PUTNAM'S SONS
1886
Press of
G.P. PUTNAM'S SONS
New York
CONTENTS.
BAYARD TAYLOR
Selections from the Experiences of the A.C.
WILLIAM ALLEN BUTLER
Dobbs His Ferry
JOHN WILLIAM DE FOREST
Father Higgins's Preferment
JOHN TOWNSEND TROWBRIDGE
Fred Trover's Little Iron-Clad
OLIVER BELL BUNCE
Mr. Bluff Discourses on the Country and Kindred Themes
CHARLES DUDLEY WARNER
Garden Ethics
FRANCES LEE PRATT
Captain Ben's Choice
LOUISA MAY ALCOTT
Street Scenes in Washington
Selections from Transcendental Wild Oats
WILLIAM WIRT HOWE
Conversational Depravity
CHARLES FARRAR BROWNE ("_Artemus Ward_")
The Tower of London
Science and Natural History
From the "Lecture"
FRANK R. STOCKTON
Our Tavern
A Piece of Red Calico
HARRIETT PRESCOTT SPOFFORD
Aunt Pen's Funeral
SAMUEL LANGHORNE CLEMENS ("_Mark Twain_")
The Celebrated Jumping Frog of Calaveras County
FITZ HUGH LUDLOW
Ben Thirlwall's School-days
Selections from a Brace of Boys
THOMAS BAILEY ALDRICH
A Rivermouth Romance
BAYARD TAYLOR.
(BORN, 1825--DIED, 1878)
* * * * *
SELECTIONS FROM THE EXPERIENCES OF THE A.C.
"Bridgeport! Change cars for the Naugatuck Railroad!" shouted the
conductor of the New York and Boston Express Train, on the evening of
May 27, 1858.... Mr. Johnson, carpet-bag in hand, jumped upon the
platform, entered the office, purchased a ticket for Waterbury, and was
soon whirling in the Naugatuck train towards his destination.
On reaching Waterbury, in the soft spring twilight, Mr. Johnson walked
up and down in front of the station, curiously scanning the faces of the
assembled crowd. Presently he noticed a gentleman who was performing the
same operation upon the faces of the alighting passengers. Throwing
himself directly in the way of the latter, the two exchanged a steady
gaze.
"Is your name Billings?" "Is your name Johnson?" were simultaneous
questions, followed by the simultaneous exclamations,--"Ned!" "Enos!"
Then there was a crushing grasp of hands, repeated after a pause, in
testimony of ancient friendship, and Mr. Billings, returning to
practical life asked:
"Is that all your baggage? Come, I have a buggy here: Eunice has heard
the whistle, and she'll be impatient to welcome you."
The impatience of Eunice (Mrs. Billings, of course) was not of long
duration; for in five minutes thereafter she stood at the door of her
husband's chocolate-colored villa, receiving his friend....
J. Edward Johnson was a tall, thin gentleman of forty-five.... A year
before, some letters, signed "Foster, Kirkup, & Co., per Enos Billings,"
had accidentally revealed to him the whereabouts of the old friend of
his youth with whom we now find him domiciled....
"Enos," said he, as he stretched out his hand for the third cup of tea
(which he had taken only for the purpose of prolonging the pleasant
table-chat), "I wonder which of us is most changed."
"You, of course," said Mr. Billings, "with your brown face and big
moustache. Your own brother wouldn't have known you, if he had seen you
last, as I did, with smooth cheeks and hair of unmerciful length. Why,
not even your voice is the same!"
"That is easily accounted for," replied Mr. Johnson. "But in your case,
Enos, I am puzzled to find where the difference lies. Your features seem
to be but little changed, now that I can examine them at leisure; yet it
is not the same face. But really, I never looked at you for so long a
time, in those days. I beg pardon; you used to be so--so remarkably
shy."
Mr. Billings blushed slightly, and seemed at a loss what to answer. His
wife, however, burst into a merry laugh, exclaiming:
"Oh, that was before the days of the A.C.!"
He, catching the infection, laughed also; in fact, Mr. Johnson laughed,
but without knowing why.
"The 'A.C.'!" said Mr. Billings. "Bless me, Eunice! how long it is since
we have talked of that summer! I had almost forgotten that there ever
was an A.C.... Well, the A.C. culminated in '45. You remember something
of the society of Norridgeport, the last winter you were there? Abel
Mallory, for instance?"
"Let me think a moment," said Mr. Johnson, reflectively. "Really, it
seems like looking back a hundred years. Mallory,--wasn't that the
sentimental young man, with wispy hair, a tallowy skin, and big, sweaty
hands, who used to be spouting Carlyle on the 'reading evenings' at
Shelldrake's? Yes, to be sure; and there was Hollins, with his clerical
face and infidel talk,--and Pauline Ringtop, who used to say, 'The
Beautiful is the Good.' I can still hear her shrill voice singing,
'Would that _I_ were beautiful, would that _I_ were fair!'"
There was a hearty chorus of laughter at poor Miss Ringtop's expense. It
harmed no one, however; for the tar-weed was already thick over her
Californian grave.
"Oh, I see," said Mr. Billings, "you still remember the absurdities of
those days. In fact, I think you partially saw through them then. But I
was younger, and far from being so clearheaded, and I looked upon those
evenings at Shelldrake's as being equal, at least, to the _symposia_ of
Plato. Something in Mallory always repelled me. I detested the sight of
his thick nose, with the flaring nostrils, and his coarse, half-formed
lips, of the bluish color of raw corned-beef. But I looked upon these
feelings as unreasonable prejudices, and strove to conquer them, seeing
the admiration which he received from others. He was an oracle on the
subject of 'Nature.' Having eaten nothing for two years, except Graham
bread, vegetables without salt, and fruits, fresh or dried, he
considered himself to have attained an antediluvian purity of
health,--or that he would attain it, so soon as two pimples on his left
temple should have healed. These pimples he looked upon as the last
feeble stand made by the pernicious juices left from the meat he had
formerly eaten and the coffee he had drunk. His theory was, that through
a body so purged and purified none but true and natural impulses could
find access to the soul. Such, indeed, was the theory we all held....
"Shelldrake was a man of more pretence than real cultivation, as I
afterwards discovered. He was in good circumstances, and always glad to
receive us at his house, as this made him virtually the chief of our
tribe, and the outlay for refreshments involved only the apples from his
own orchard, and water from his well....
"Well, 't was in the early part of '45,--I think in April,--when we
were all gathered together, discussing, as usual, the possibility of
leading a life in accordance with Nature. Abel Mallory was there, and
Hollins, and Miss Ringtop, and Faith Levis, with her knitting,--and also
Eunice Hazleton, a lady whom you have never seen, but you may take my
wife as her representative....
"I wish I could recollect some of the speeches made on that occasion.
Abel had but one pimple on his temple (there was a purple spot where the
other had been), and was estimating that in two or three months more he
would be a true, unspoiled man. His complexion, nevertheless, was more
clammy and whey-like than ever.
"'Yes,' said he, 'I also am an Arcadian! This false dual existence which
I have been leading will soon be merged in the unity of Nature. Our
lives must conform to her sacred law. Why can't we strip off these
hollow Shams,' (he made great use of that word,) 'and be our true
selves, pure, perfect, and divine?' ...
"Shelldrake, however, turning to his wife, said,--
"'Elviry, how many up-stairs rooms is there in that house down on the
Sound?'
"'Four,--besides three small ones under the roof. Why, what made you
think of that, Jesse?' said she.
"'I've got an idea, while Abel's been talking,' he answered. 'We've
taken a house for the summer, down the other side of Bridgeport, right
on the water, where there's good fishing and a fine view of the Sound.
Now, there's room enough for all of us,--at least, all that can make it
suit to go. Abel, you and Enos, and Pauline and Eunice might fix matters
so that we could all take the place in partnership, and pass the summer
together, living a true and beautiful life in the bosom of Nature. There
we shall be perfectly free and untrammelled by the chains which still
hang around us in Norridgeport. You know how often we have wanted to be
set on some island in the Pacific Ocean, where we could build up a true
society, right from the start. Now, here's a chance to try the
experiment for a few months, anyhow.'
"Eunice clapped her hands (yes, you did!) and cried out,--
"'Splendid! Arcadian! I'll give up my school for the summer.' ...
"Abel Mallory, of course, did not need to have the proposal repeated.
He was ready for any thing which promised indolence, and the indulgence
of his sentimental tastes. I will do the fellow the justice to say that
he was not a hypocrite. He firmly believed both in himself and his
ideas,--especially the former. He pushed both hands through the long
wisps of his drab-colored hair, and threw his head back until his wide
nostrils resembled a double door to his brain.
"'O Nature!' he said, 'you have found your lost children! We shall obey
your neglected laws! we shall hearken to your divine whispers! we shall
bring you back from your ignominious exile, and place you on your
ancestral throne!' ...
"The company was finally arranged to consist of the Shelldrakes,
Hollins, Mallory, Eunice, Miss Ringtop, and myself. We did not give much
thought, either to the preparations in advance, or to our mode of life
when settled there. We were to live near to Nature: that was the main
thing.
"'What shall we call the place?" asked Eunice.
"'Arcadia!' said Abel Mallory, rolling up his large green eyes.
"'Then,' said Hollins, 'let us constitute ourselves the Arcadian
Club!'"
--"Aha!" interrupted Mr. Johnson, "I see! The A.C.!"
"Yes, you see the A.C. now, but to understand it fully, you should have
had a share in those Arcadian experiences.... It was a lovely afternoon
in June when we first approached Arcadia.... Perkins Brown, Shelldrake's
boy-of-all-work, awaited us at the door. He had been sent on two or
three days in advance, to take charge of the house, and seemed to have
had enough of hermit-life, for he hailed us with a wild whoop, throwing
his straw hat half-way up one of the poplars. Perkins was a boy of
fifteen, the child of poor parents, who were satisfied to get him off
their hands, regardless as to what humanitarian theories might be tested
upon him. As the Arcadian Club recognized no such thing as caste, he was
always admitted to our meetings, and understood just enough of our
conversation to excite a silly ambition in his slow mind....
"Our board, that evening, was really tempting. The absence of meat was
compensated to us by the crisp and racy onions, and I craved only a
little salt, which had been interdicted, as a most pernicious substance.
I sat at one corner of the table, beside Perkins Brown, who took an
opportunity, while the others were engaged in conversation, to jog my
elbow gently. As I turned towards him, he said nothing, but dropped his
eyes significantly. The little rascal had the lid of a blacking-box,
filled with salt, upon his knee, and was privately seasoning his onions
and radishes. I blushed at the thought of my hypocrisy, but the onions
were so much better that I couldn't help dipping into the lid with him.
"'Oh,' said Eunice, 'we must send for some oil and vinegar! This lettuce
is very nice.'
"'Oil and vinegar?' exclaimed Abel.
"'Why, yes,' said she, innocently: 'they are both vegetable substances.'
"Abel at first looked rather foolish, but quickly recovering herself,
said,--
"'All vegetable substances are not proper for food: you would not taste
the poison-oak, or sit under the upas-tree of Java.'
"'Well, Abel,' Eunice rejoined, 'how are we to distinguish what is best
for us? How are we to know _what_ vegetables to choose, or what animal
and mineral substances to avoid?'
"'I will tell you,' he answered, with a lofty air. 'See here!' pointing
to his temple, where the second pimple--either from the change of air,
or because, in the excitement of the last few days, he had forgotten
it--was actually healed. 'My blood is at last pure. The struggle between
the natural and the unnatural is over, and I am beyond the depraved
influences of my former taste. My instincts are now, therefore, entirely
pure also. What is good for man to eat, that I shall have a natural
desire to eat: what is bad will be naturally repelled. How does the cow
distinguish between the wholesome and the poisonous herbs of the meadow?
And is man less than a cow, that he cannot cultivate his instincts to an
equal point? Let me walk through the woods and I can tell you every
berry and root which God designed for food, though I know not its name,
and have never seen it before. I shall make use of my time, during our
sojourn here, to test, by my purified instinct, every substance, animal,
mineral, and vegetable, upon which the human race subsists, and to
create a catalogue of the True Food of Man!' ...
"Our lazy life during the hot weather had become a little monotonous.
The Arcadian plan had worked tolerably well, on the whole, for there
was very little for any one to do,--Mrs. Shelldrake and Perkins Brown
excepted. Our conversation, however, lacked spirit and variety. We were,
perhaps unconsciously, a little tired of hearing and assenting to the
same sentiments. But, one evening, about this time, Hollins struck upon
a variation, the consequences of which he little foresaw. We had been
reading one of Bulwer's works, (the weather was too hot for Psychology,)
and came upon this paragraph, or something like it:--
"'Ah, Behind the Veil! We see the summer smile of the Earth,--enamelled
meadow and limpid stream,--but what hides she in her sunless heart?
Caverns of serpents, or grottoes of priceless gems? Youth, whose soul
sits on thy countenance, thyself wearing no mask, strive not to lift the
masks of others! Be content with what thou seest; and wait until Time
and Experience shall teach thee to find jealousy behind the sweet smile,
and hatred under the honeyed word!'
"This seemed to us a dark and bitter reflection but one or another of us
recalled some illustration of human hypocrisy, and the evidences, by the
simple fact of repetition, gradually led to a division of
opinion,--Rollins, Shelldrake, and Miss Ringtop on the dark side, and
the rest of us on the bright. The last, however, contented herself with
quoting from her favorite poet Gamaliel J. Gawthrop:--
"'I look beyond thy brow's concealment!
I see thy spirit's dark revealment!
Thy inner self betrayed I see:
Thy coward, craven, shivering ME!'
"'We think we know one another,' exclaimed Rollins; 'but do we? We see
the faults of others, their weaknesses, their disagreeable qualities,
and we keep silent. How much we should gain, were candor as universal as
concealment Then each one, seeing himself as others see him, would truly
know himself. How much misunderstanding might be avoided, how much
hidden shame be removed, hopeless because unspoken love made glad,
honest admiration cheer its object, uttered sympathy mitigate
misfortune,--in short, how much brighter and happier the world would
become, if each one expressed, everywhere and at all times, his true and
entire feeling! Why, even Evil would lose half its power!'
"There seemed to be so much practical wisdom in these views that we were
all dazzled and half-convinced at the start. So, when Hollins, turning
towards me, as he continued, exclaimed,--'Come, why should not this
candor be adopted in our Arcadia? Will any one--will you, Enos--commence
at once by telling me now--to my face--my principal faults?' I answered,
after a moment's reflection,--'You have a great deal of intellectual
arrogance, and you are, physically, very indolent.'
"He did not flinch from the self-invited test, though he looked a little
surprised.
"'Well put,' said he, 'though I do not say that you are entirely
correct. Now, what are my merits?'
"'You are clear-sighted,' I answered, 'an earnest seeker after truth,
and courageous in the avowal of your thoughts.'
"This restored the balance, and we soon began to confess our own private
faults and weaknesses. Though the confessions did not go very deep,--no
one betraying any thing we did not all know already,--yet they were
sufficient to strengthen Hollins in his new idea, and it was unanimously
resolved that Candor should thenceforth be the main charm of our
Arcadian life....
"The next day, Abel, who had resumed his researches after the True
Food, came home to supper with a healthier color than I had before seen
on his face.
"'Do you know,' said he, looking shyly at Hollins, 'that I begin to
think Beer must be a natural beverage? There was an auction in the
village to-day, as I passed through, and I stopped at a cake-stand to
get a glass of water, as it was very hot. There was no water,--only
beer: so I thought I would try a glass, simply as an experiment. Really,
the flavor was very agreeable. And it occurred to me, on the way home,
that all the elements contained in beer are vegetable. Besides,
fermentation is a natural process. I think the question has never been
properly tested before.'
"'But the alcohol!' exclaimed Hollins.
"'I could not distinguish any, either by taste or smell. I know that
chemical analysis is said to show it; but may not the alcohol be
created, somehow, during the analysis?'
"'Abel,' said Hollins, in a fresh burst of candor, 'you will never be a
Reformer, until you possess some of the commonest elements of
knowledge.'
"The rest of us were much diverted: it was a pleasant relief to our
monotonous amiability.
"Abel, however, had a stubborn streak in his character. The next day he
sent Perkins Brown to Bridgeport for a dozen bottles of 'Beer.' Perkins,
either intentionally or by mistake, (I always suspected the former,)
brought pint-bottles of Scotch ale, which he placed in the coolest part
of the cellar. The evening happened to be exceedingly hot and sultry;
and, as we were all fanning ourselves and talking languidly, Abel
bethought him of his beer. In his thirst, he drank the contents of the
first bottle, almost at a single draught.
"'The effect of beer,' said he, 'depends, I think, on the commixture of
the nourishing principle of the grain with the cooling properties of the
water. Perhaps, hereafter, a liquid food of the same character may be
invented, which shall save us from mastication and all the diseases of
the teeth.'
"Hollins and Shelldrake, at his invitation, divided a bottle between
them, and he took a second. The potent beverage was not long in acting
on a brain so unaccustomed to its influence. He grew unusually talkative
and sentimental, in a few minutes.
"'Oh, sing, somebody!' he sighed in hoarse rapture: 'the night was made
for Song.'
"Miss Ringtop, nothing loath, immediately commenced, 'When stars are in
the quiet skies'; but scarcely had she finished the first verse before
Abel interrupted her.
"'Candor's the order of the day, isn't it?' he asked.
"'Yes!' 'Yes!' two or three answered.
"'Well, then,' said he, 'candidly, Pauline, you've got the darn'dest
squeaky voice'--
"Miss Ringtop gave a faint little scream of horror.
"'Oh, never mind!' he continued. 'We act according to impulse, don't we?
And I've the impulse to swear; and it's right. Let Nature have her way.
Listen! Damn, damn, damn, damn! I never knew it was so easy. Why,
there's a pleasure in it! Try it, Pauline! try it on me!'
"'Oh-ooh!' was all Miss Ringtop could utter.
"'Abel! Abel!' exclaimed Hollins, 'the beer has got into your head.'
"'No, it isn't Beer,--it's Candor!' said Abel. 'It's your own proposal,
Hollins. Suppose it's evil to swear: isn't it better I should express
it, and be done with it, than keep it bottled up, to ferment in my
mind? Oh, you're a precious, consistent old humbug, _you_ are!'
"And therewith he jumped off the stoop, and went dancing awkwardly down
towards the water, singing in a most unmelodious voice, ''Tis home
where'er the heart is.' ...
"We had an unusually silent breakfast the next morning. Abel scarcely
spoke, which the others attributed to a natural feeling of shame, after
his display of the previous evening. Hollins and Shelldrake discussed
Temperance, with a special view to his edification, and Miss Ringtop
favored us with several quotations about 'the maddening bowl,'--but he
paid no attention to them....
"The forenoon was overcast, with frequent showers. Each one occupied his
or her room until dinner-time, when we met again with something of the
old geniality. There was an evident effort to restore our former flow of
good feeling. Abel's experience with the beer was freely discussed. He
insisted strongly that he had not been laboring under its effects, and
proposed a mutual test. He, Shelldrake, and Hollins were to drink it in
equal measures, and compare observations as to their physical
sensations. The others agreed,--quite willingly, I thought,--but I
refused....
"There was a sound of loud voices, as we approached the stoop. Hollins,
Shelldrake and his wife, and Abel Mallory were sitting together near the
door. Perkins Brown, as usual, was crouched on the lowest step, with one
leg over the other, and rubbing the top of his boot with a vigor which
betrayed to me some secret mirth. He looked up at me from under his
straw hat with the grin of a malicious Puck, glanced towards the group,
and made a curious gesture with his thumb. There were several empty pint
bottles on the stoop.
"'Now, are you sure you can bear the test?' we heard Hollins ask, as we
approached.
"'Bear it? Why, to be sure!' replied Shelldrake 'if I couldn't bear it,
or if _you_ couldn't, your theory's done for. Try! I can stand it as
long as you can.'
"'Well, then,' said Hollins, 'I think you are a very ordinary man. I
derive no intellectual benefit from my intercourse with you, but your
house is convenient to me. I'm under no obligations for your
hospitality, however, because my company is an advantage to you. Indeed,
if I were treated according to my deserts, you couldn't do enough for
me.'
"Mrs. Shelldrake was up in arms.
"'Indeed,' she exclaimed, 'I think you get as good as you deserve, and
more too.'
"Elvira,' said he, with a benevolent condescension, 'I have no doubt you
think so, for your mind belongs to the lowest and most material sphere.
You have your place in Nature, and you fill it; but it is not for you to
judge of intelligences which move only on the upper planes.'
"'Hollins,' said Shelldrake, 'Elviry's a good wife and a sensible woman,
and I won't allow you to turn up your nose at her.'
"'I am not surprised,' he answered, 'that you should fail to stand the
test. I didn't expect it.'
"'Let me try it on _you_!' cried Shelldrake. 'You, now, have some
intellect,--I don't deny that,--but not so much, by a long shot, as you
think you have. Besides that, you're awfully selfish in your opinions.
You won't admit that anybody can be right who differs from you. You've
sponged on me for a long time; but I suppose I've learned something from
you, so we'll call it even. I think, however, that what you call acting
according to impulse is simply an excuse to cover your own laziness.'
"'Gosh! that's it!' interrupted Perkins, jumping up; then, recollecting
himself, he sank down on the steps again, and shook with a suppressed
'Ho! ho! ho!'
"Hollins, however, drew himself up with an exasperated air.
"'Shelldrake,' said he, 'I pity you. I always knew your ignorance, but I
thought you honest in your human character. I never suspected you of
envy and malice. However, the true Reformer must expect to be
misunderstood and misrepresented by meaner minds. That love which I bear
to all creatures teaches me to forgive you. Without such love, all plans
of progress must fail. Is it not so, Abel?'"
"Shelldrake could only ejaculate the words, 'Pity!' 'Forgive!' in his
most contemptuous tone; while Mrs. Shelldrake, rocking violently in her
chair, gave utterance to that peculiar clucking '_ts, ts, ts, ts_,'
whereby certain women express emotions too deep for words.
"Abel, roused by Hollins' question, answered, with a sudden energy,--
"Love! there is no love in the world. Where will you find it? Tell me,
and I'll go there. Love! I'd like to see it! If all human hearts were
like mine, we might have an Arcadia; but most men have no hearts. The
world is a miserable, hollow, deceitful shell of vanity and hypocrisy.
No: let us give up. We were born before our time: this age is not worthy
of us.'
"Hollins stared at the speaker in utter amazement. Shelldrake gave a
long whistle, and finally gasped out,--
"'Well, what next?'
"None of us were prepared for such a sudden and complete wreck of our
Arcadian scheme. The foundations had been sapped before, it is true; but
we had not perceived it; and now, in two short days, the whole edifice
tumbled about our ears. Though it was inevitable, we felt a shock of
sorrow, and a silence fell upon us. Only that scamp of a Perkins Brown,
chuckling and rubbing his boot, really rejoiced. I could have kicked
him.
"We all went to bed, feeling that the charm of our Arcadian life was
over.... In the first revulsion of feeling, I was perhaps unjust to my
associates. I see now, more clearly, the causes of those vagaries, which
originated in a genuine aspiration, and failed from an ignorance of the
true nature of Man, quite as much as from the egotism of the
individuals. Other attempts at reorganizing Society were made about the
same time by men of culture and experience, but in the A.C. we had
neither. Our leaders had caught a few half-truths, which, in their
minds, were speedly warped into errors." ...--_The Atlantic Monthly_,
February, 1862.
WILLIAM ALLEN BUTLER.
(BORN, 1825.)
* * * * *
DOBBS HIS FERRY.
A Legend of the Lower Hudson.
The days were at their longest,
The heat was at its strongest,
When Brown, old friend and true,
Wrote thus: "Dear Jack, why swelter
In town when shade and shelter
Are waiting here for you?
Quit Bulls and Bears and gambling,
For rural sports and rambling
Forsake your Wall Street tricks;
Come without hesitation,
Check to Dobbs' Ferry Station,
We dine at half-past six."
I went,--a welcome hearty,
A merry country party,
A drive, and then croquet,
A quiet, well-cooked dinner,
Three times at billiards winner,--
The evening sped away;
When Brown, the dear old joker,
Cried, "Come, my worthy broker,
The hour is growing late;
Your room is cool and quiet,
As for the bed, just try it,
Breakfast at half-past eight."
I took Brown's hand, applauded
His generous care, and lauded
Dobbs' Ferry to the skies.
A shade came o'er his features,
"We should be happy creatures,
And this a paradise,
But, ah! the deep disgrace is,
This loveliest of places
A vulgar name should blight!
But, death to Dobbs! we'll change it,
If money can arrange it,
So, pleasant dreams; good night!"
I could not sleep, but, raising
The window, stood, moon-gazing,
In fairyland a guest;
"On such a night," _et cetera_--
See Shakespeare for much better a
Description of the rest,--
I mused, how sweet to wander
Beside the river, yonder;
And then the sudden whim
Seized my head to pillow
On Hudson's sparkling billow,
A midnight, moonlight swim!
Soon thought and soon attempted;
At once my room was emptied
Of its sole occupant;
The roof was low, and easily,
In fact, quite Japanese-ily,
I took the downward slant,
Then, without stay or stopping,
My first and last eaves-dropping,
By leader-pipe I sped,
And through the thicket gliding,
Down the steep hillside sliding,
Soon reached the river's bed.
But what was my amazement,--
The fair scene from the casement,
How changed! I could not guess
Where track or rails had vanished,
Town, villas, station, banished,--
All was a wilderness.
Only one ancient gable,
A low-roofed inn and stable,
A creaking sign displayed,
An antiquated wherry,
Below it--"DOBBS HIS FERRY"--
In the clear moonlight swayed.
I turned, and there the craft was,
Its shape 'twixt scow and raft was,
Square ends, low sides, and flat,
And standing close beside me,
An ancient chap who eyed me,
Beneath a steeple-hat;
Short legs--long pipe--style very
Pre-Revolutionary,--
I bow, he grimly bobs,
Then, with some perturbation,
By way of salutation,
Says I, "How are you, Dobbs!"
He grum and silent beckoned,
And I, in half a second,
Scarce knowing what I did,
Took the stern seat, Dobbs throwing
Himself 'midships, and rowing,
Swift through the stream we slid;
He pulled awhile, then stopping,
And both oars slowly dropping,
His pipe aside he laid,
Drew a long breath, and taking
An attitude, and shaking
His fist towards shore, thus said:--
"Of all sharp cuts the keenest,
Of all mean turns the meanest,
Vilest of all vile jobs,
Worse than the Cow-Boy pillagers,
Are these Dobbs' Ferry villagers
A going back on Dobbs!
'Twould not be more anom'lous
If Rome went back on Rom'lus
(Old rum-un like myself),
Or Hail Columbia, played out
By Southern Dixie, laid out
Columbus on the shelf!
"They say 'Dobbs' ain't melodious,
It's 'horrid,' 'vulgar,' 'odious,'
In all their crops it sticks;
And then the worse addendum
Of 'Ferry' does offend 'em
More than its vile prefix.
Well, it does seem distressing,
But, if I'm good at guessing,
Each one of these same nobs,
If there was money in it,
Would ferry in a minute,
And change his name to Dobbs!
"That's it, they're not partic'lar,
Respecting the auric'lar,
At a stiff market rate;
But Dobbs' especial vice is,
That he keeps down the prices
Of all their real estate!
A name so unattractive
Keeps villa-sites inactive,
And spoils the broker's jobs;
They think that speculation
Would rage at 'Paulding's Station,'
Which stagnates now at 'Dobbs.'
"'Paulding's!"--that's sentimental!
An old Dutch Continental,
Bushwhacked up there a spell;
But why he should come blustering
Round here, and filibustering,
Is more than I can tell;
Sat playing for a wager,
And nabbed a British major.
Well, if the plans and charts
From Andre's boots he hauled out,
Is his name to be bawled out
Forever, round these parts?
"Guess not! His pay and bounty
And mon'ment from the county
Paid him off, every cent,
While this snug town and station,
To every generation,
Shall be Dobbs' monument;
Spite of all speculators
And ancient-landmark traitors,
Who, all along this shore,
Are ever substitutin'
The modern, highfalutin',
For the plain names of yore.
"Down there, on old Manhattan,
Where land-sharks breed and fatten,
They've wiped out Tubby Hook.
That famous promontory,
Renowned in song and story,
Which time nor tempest shook,
Whose name for aye had been good,
Stands newly christened 'Inwood,'
And branded with the shame
Of some old rogue who passes
By dint of aliases,
Afraid of his own name!
"See how they quite outrival,
Plain barnyard Spuytenduyvil,
By peacock Riverdale,
Which thinks all else it conquers,
And over homespun Yonkers
Spreads out its flaunting tail!
There's new-named Mount St. Vincent,
Where each dear little inn'cent
Is taught the Popish rites,--
Well, ain't it queer, wherever
These saints possess the river
They get the finest sites!
"They've named a place for Irving,
A trifle more deserving
Than your French, foreign saints,
But if he has such mention,
It's past my comprehension
Why Dobbs should cause complaints;
Wrote histories and such things,
About Old Knick and Dutch things,
Dolph Heyligers and Rips;
But no old antiquary
Like him could keep a ferry,
With all his authorships!
"By aid of these same showmen,
Some fanciful cognomen
Old Cro'nest stock might bring
As high as Butter Hill is,
Which, patronized by Willis,
Leaves cards now as 'Storm-King!'
Can't some poetic swell-beau
Re-christen old Crum Elbow
And each prosaic bluff,
Bold Breakneck gently flatter,
And Dunderberg bespatter,
With euphony and stuff!
"'T would be a _magnum opus_
To bury old Esopus
In Time's sepulchral vaults,
Or in Oblivion's deep sea
Submerge renowned Poughkeepsie,
And also ancient Paltz;
How it would give them rapture
Brave Stony Point to capture,
And make it face about;
Bid Rhinebeck sound much smoother
Than in the tongue of Luther,
And wipe the Catskills out!
"Well, DOBBS is DOBBS, and faster
Than pitch or mustard-plaster
Shall it stick hereabouts,
While Tappan Sea rolls yonder,
Or round High Torn the thunder
Along these ramparts shouts.
No corner-lot banditti,
Or brokers from the City--
Like you--" Here Dobbs began
Wildly both oars to brandish,
As fierce as old Miles Standish,
Or young Phil Sheridan.
Sternwards he rushed,--I, ducking,
Seized both his legs, and chucking
Dobbs sideways, splash he went,--
The wherry swayed, then righted,
While I, somewhat excited,
Over the water bent;
Three times he rose, but vainly
I clutched his form ungainly,
He sank, while sighs and sobs
Beneath the waves seemed muttered,
And all the night-winds uttered
In sad tones, "Dobbs! Dobbs! Dobbs!"
Just then some giant boulders
Upon my head and shoulders
Made sudden, fearful raids,
And on my face and forehead,
With din and uproar horrid,
Came several Palisades;
I screamed, and woke, in screaming,
To see, by gaslight's gleaming,
Brown's face above my bed;
"Why, Jack, what is the matter?
We heard a dreadful clatter
And found you on the shed!
"It's plain enough, supposing
You sat there, moon-struck, dozing,
Upon the window's edge,
Then lost yourself, and falling,
Just where we found you, sprawling,
Struck the piazza ledge;
A lucky hit, old fellow,
Of black and blue and yellow
It gives your face a touch,
You saved your neck, but barely;
To state the matter fairly,
You took a drop too much!"
I took the train next morning,
Some lumps my nose adorning,
My forehead, sundry knobs,
My ideas slightly wandering,
But, as I went, much pondering
Upon my night with Dobbs;
Brown thinks it, dear old sinner,
A case of "after dinner,"
And won't believe a word,
Talks of "hallucination,"
"Laws of association,"
And calls my tale "absurd."
Perhaps it is, but never,
Say I, should we dissever
Old places and old names;
Guard the old landmarks truly,
On the old altars duly
Keep bright the ancient flames.
For me the face of Nature,
No luckless nomenclature
Of grace or beauty robs;
No, when of town I weary,
I'll make a strike in Erie,
And buy a place at DOBBS!
--_Poems._
JOHN WILLIAM DE FOREST.
(BORN, 1826.)
* * * * *
FATHER HIGGINS'S PREFERMENT.
Father Higgins was not the kind of divine who easily finds preferment in
the Catholic Church, or who would be apt to make a shining mark in any
other.
Fat and red-faced and pudding-headed was Father Higgins; uncommonly in
the way of good eating, and now and then disposed for good drinking; as
lazy as he dared be, ignorant enough for a hermit, and simple enough for
a monk. His chief excellence lay in his kindliness of heart, which would
doubtless have made him very serviceable and comfortable to his
fellow-men, had it not been for his indolence, his spare intellectual
gifts, and perhaps a little leaven of selfishness.
Such as he was, however, Father Higgins had no small "consate" of
himself, and sometimes thought that even a bishopric would not be
"beyant his desarts." He pleased himself with imagining how finely he
would fill an episcopal chair, what apostolic labors he would accomplish
in his diocese, what swarms of heretics or pagans he would convert, what
a self-sacrificing and heroic life he would lead, and what a saintly
name he would leave. One day, or to speak with a precision worthy of
this true history, one evening, he became a bishop.
It happened on this wise. Father Higgins had ventured to treat himself
to a spectacle. He had attended, for the first time in his life, an
exhibition of legerdemain; this one being given by that celebrated
master of the black-art, Professor Heller. He had seen the professor
change turnips into gold watches, draw a dozen live pigeons in
succession out of an empty box, send rings into ladies' handkerchiefs at
the other end of the hall, catch a bullet out of an exploded pistol in
his hand, and perform other marvels equally irrational and disturbing.
From this raree-show Father Higgins had gone home feeling that he had
witnessed something about as unearthly as he was likely to be confronted
with in the next world.
For an hour or more he sat in his elbow-chair, puzzling over the
professor's "diviltries," and crossing himself at the remembrance of
each one of them. It was black midnight, and stormy at that; there was
such an uproar in the elm branches over his house as if all the Salem
witches were holding Sabbath there; the whole village of Sableburg
swarmed with windy rushings and shriekings and slammings. It was one of
those midnights when the devil evidently "has business on his hand."
Of a sudden there was a rustle in the room, and looking around to
discover the cause of it, Father Higgins beheld a tall and dark man with
startling black eyes, in whom he recognized Professor Heller.
"What's yer will, sir?" demanded the Father, a good deal astonished, but
not a bit frightened.
"I understand, sir, that you would like to be a bishop," replied the
professor, bowing politely, but seating himself unceremoniously.
"That's thrue enough, sir," replied Father Higgins, who somehow felt
curiously at his ease, and disposed at once to be confidential with this
utter stranger. "I've often imagined meself a bishop, an' doin' wondhers
in me office. But it's nonsinse."
"What post would suit you?" inquired the visitor. "The diocese of New
York?"
"No, no," said the father. "I'm not ayqual to sich a risponsebility;
that is, not at wanst, ye ondherstand. I'd like best to come up to sich
a place as that gintly an' by degrays. It's been a drame av mine to
begin my prefarmint as biship av some far-away continent or archypilago,
like, an' convart slathers av haythins an' cannebals for a practice. It
ud plase me imagenation to prache among corrils an' coky-nuts an' naked
crachurs. Y' are aware, I suppose, Misther Heller--or Professor
Heller--av sich islands as Owyhee an' the Marquesas, famous a'ready in
the history av the Propaganda Fide. Jist suppose me havin' me episkepal
raysedence on wan av 'um, an' makin' me progresses to the others. There
be great devoshin to a spiritual father among thim simple people, I'm
thinkin.' I'd be a god to 'um, like. Sich obeyjince ud jist shuit me.
Yes, I'd enj'y bein' Biship av the Cannebal Islands, or even av wan av
um."
"Faith is necessary," replied Heller. "You must believe that you are to
be Bishop of the Cannibal Islands."
"Sure an' it's not aisy at this distance to belave in the islands
thimselves, let alone bein' spiritual father av the same," smiled the
priest. "Howandiver, there's no harrum in tryin' to belave, an' so here
goes for the exparimint. If ye'll kape silence a bit, I'll jist collect
me moind on the subject, an' we'll see what happens."
For a moment the gray, piggish eyes of the Father, and the black,
gleaming, mysterious orbs of his visitor were fixed upon each other. In
the next moment Heller, bowing with a ceremonious air of respect,
inquired, "What are your commands, my lord bishop?"
Startled by a consciousness of some wonderful change, doubtful in what
land he was, or even in what age of the world, Father Higgins stared
about him in expectation. A sunny shore, scattered groves of cocoa-nut
trees, distant villages of circular huts, beyond them far-stretching
forests and a smoking volcano; on the hither side bays alive with carved
and painted canoes, near at hand a gathering crowd of half-naked
savages--such were the objects that filled his vision.
"So this is me diocese," he said, without feeling the least surprise.
"Well, the climate is deloightful. Let us hope that the coky-nuts will
agree wid us, an' that the natives won't urge upon us the blissins av
martyrdom. Professor, what may be the spiritual condition av things
hereaway, do ye think?"
"A clear field--not a convert yet. Your predecessor, who went through
the office of being eaten a year ago, had not even learned the
language."
"The blissid saints watch over us! To hear the likes av that, whin I
expected to be a god, like, among these wretches! Well, it's our duty we
must do, Heller; we mustn't run away from our post; indade, we can't.
Moreover, I feel a sthrong confidence that the howly Catholic Church is
to be greatly glorified by me on these islands. What do ye say now to
meself exhibitin' the gift av miracles an' tongues? If I should
discoorse to these cannebals in their own contimptible language, would
it surprise ye, Heller?"
"No," smiled the professor. "I have seen greater marvels in my time. I
have seen men preach not merely words, but feelings and faiths, that
they were ignorant of."
Father Higgins, closely followed by Heller, now advanced to a green
hillock, a few rods from the shelly and pebbly beach, knelt down upon
the thin sward, and repeated a prayer. Meantime the population gathered;
behind them canoe after canoe touched the shore; before them there was
a swift, tumultuous hurrying from the villages; presently they were
surrounded by a compact, eager, barbaric multitude. The babble of its
wonder turned to silence as the priest rose, extended his fat hands, and
commenced a sermon.
Father Higgins was not a bit astonished at hearing himself pour forth a
torrent of words which he did not understand, nor at seeing in the faces
of his wild listeners that they perfectly comprehended his discourse. It
was merely a supernatural inspiration; it was but another exhibition of
the heavenly gifts of the Church; he was as much at his ease as if he
had been in the habit of working miracles from his cradle. At the close
of his harangue he took out his breviary, and translated a prayer into
the unknown tongue. Evidently the auditors understood this also, for
while some crouched to earth in undisguisable terror, others looked
upward as if expecting an answer from the sky.
Presently a savage, in a many-colored robe of feathers, stepped in front
of the multitude, and uttered a few sentences.
"It's a mighty quare providence that this miracle works ownly wan way,"
observed Father Higgins to Heller. "It's meself can prache acceptably to
this poor haythin, an' it's meself, loikewise, can't sense a blissid
word he gabbles."
"He is comparing you with your predecessor," exclaimed the professor.
"He says the other man called himself a messenger from God; but as he
could not talk Feejee, they saw that he was a liar, because God knows
every language; and so, having found him a liar, they fattened him with
fish and cocoa-nuts, and ate him. As for you, they admit that you are a
heavenly personage, and they mean to worship you."
"How came ye to larn the language, annyway?" demanded the priest.
"I have wandered to and fro in the earth a good deal," replied Heller.
"I have performed some of my best black-art in these islands."
Father Higgins, rather bothered by these statements, was about to ask
further questions, when he was seized by four sturdy natives, who
mounted him upon their naked shoulders, while four others uplifted the
professor in like manner, all then setting off rapidly toward the
village, followed by the whole crowd in procession.
"An' what if I should tell ye I had conscientious scruples agenst
lettin' meself be adored for a heavenly personage?" objected the good
Father.
"Don't think of it," counselled Heller. "Being worshipped is infinitely
more agreeable than being eaten. Besides, consider the interests of the
Church. If you are set up as a god, you can use the position to sprinkle
holy water on your adorers, and so convert the whole island without
trouble."
"Sure y' are mighty well varsed in the precepts and customs av the
Jesuit Fathers," answered the priest, with a stare of wonder and
admiration. "I moind me now that the missionaries in Chaynee baptized
lashins av haythin babies under pretinse av rubbin' um with medicine.
An' it's a maxim that whin the ind is salvatory, the manes are
justified. It's a maxim, also, that y' ave no business to lead yer
felly-crachurs into sin. Now cannebalism is a sin; it ud be a sin
capital for these fellies to ate us; an', av coorse, it follies that it
ud be a sin in me to timpt um to do it. But, by sufferin' meself to be
worshipped I prevint that same. So, I advise an' counsel, Heller, that
we go on as we are for a bit longer, until a proper time comes to
expose the whole av the thrue faith."
Beguiling the way with such like discourse, Father Higgins journeyed on
to the nearest village, where his bearers halted before an unusually
large hut, evidently serving as a temple. In the door of this building
the principal chief took post, and waving his hand toward the crowd,
made the following speech:
"Hear, O chiefs! hear, O priests of our religion ye men of Feejee, hear!
The god who can come over the waters is greater than the god who can
only abide upon the land, and shall have his house and his sacrifices.
Whosoever disapproves of this, let him offer himself for the trial of
the sacred poison; if he is not ready so to do, let him hereafter hold
his peace and submit."
No one objecting, the chief beckoned the bearers to follow him, and led
the way into the temple. Mounting a platform eight or ten feet high, he
advanced to an ugly scarecrow of an idol, slapped it, kicked it, and
toppled it to the ground. Then, with vast labor and much joyful
shouting, the ponderous form of Father Higgins was hoisted aloft, and
installed in the seat of the dethroned deity. Next Professor Heller was
set down upon his feet beside an altar which stood in front of the
platform.
"What are ye afther doin', Heller?" inquired the clergyman from his
eminence.
"I am about to sacrifice to your divinity two green cocoa-nuts, two
roasted bread-fruit, and half a dozen fishes," was the answer.
"Well, I suppose it must be permitted," sighed Father Higgins. "Go on
wid yer sacrifice, me dear felly. I presume, av coorse, that it will be
in ordher for me to ate some av it. Let the fishes be well cooked,
by-the-way, and sarved wid some kind av sauce. I'd almost as lave be
devoured meself as devour raw fishes."
"Really, I have some scruples," smiled the mischievous professor. "You
might shock the devotional feelings of your new worshippers."
"I insist upon it, Heller. I tell ye I won't ate raw fishes to convart a
continent av haythins, much less a little bit island av 'um."
The fish being promptly broiled on the coals of the altar, were handed
up to Father Higgins on a large leaf, together with one of the
cocoa-nuts and a bread-fruit. The worthy man immediately proceeded to
make a hearty meal, vastly to the delight and confirmation in the faith
of his worshippers, they having never before been blessed with a god
who could fairly and squarely eat his dinner. After another brief speech
from the chief, and a benediction from the padre, the multitude
dispersed.
"Is it me unavoidable duty to live on this perch, Heller?" demanded
Father Higgins. "Me opinion is that in that case I shall get mightily
tired av me mission. I'd about as lave be a parrot, an' sit in a tin
ring."
"My dear Father, remember that blessed saint who roosted for twenty
years on the top of a pillar," urged the professor. "Stay where you are
until you have got a firm grip on the faith of these cannibals."
"Very good," assented Higgins, with a yawn. "But get me a bucket of
wather, me dear felly. Sure I must have some blessed an' ready for use.
The next time sarvice is conducted here I propose to sprinkle the
worshippers. It'll benefit um in more ways nor wan, if I'm a judge of
ayther sowl or body."
Such was the installation of Bishop Higgins, or, as the Feejeeans
insisted upon considering him, Divinity Higgins, over the diocese of the
Pacific.