Dobbs makes "a Pint."

Dobbs walked into a _Dry Goodery_, on Court street, and began to look

around. A double _jinted_ clerk immediately appeared to Dobbs.

"What can I _do_ for you, sir?" says he.

"A good deal," says Dobbs, "but I bet you won't."

"I'll bet I will," says the knight of the yard-stick, "if I _can_."

"What'll you bet of that?" says the imperturbable Dobbs.

"I'll bet a fourpence!" says the clerk, with a cute _nod_.

"I'll go it," says Dobbs. "Now, trust me for a couple of dollars' wuth

of yur stuffs!"

"_Lost_, by Ned!" says yard-stick. "Well, there's the fourpence."

"Thank you; call again when I want to _trade!_" says Dobbs.

"Do, if you please; wouldn't like to lose your custom," says the clerk,

"no how."

Polite young man that--as soon as his chin vegetates, provided his

dickey don't cut his throat, he'll be arter the gals, Dobbs thinks!

Used Up.

I am tempted to believe, that few--very few men can start in the

world--say at twenty, with a replete invoice of honesty, free and

easy--kind, generous--good-natured disposition, and keep it up, until

they greet their fortieth year. There are, doubtless, plenty of men--I

hope there are, who _would_ be entirely and perfectly generous-hearted,

if they _could_, with any degree of consistency; and I know there are

multitudes who wouldn't exhibit an honorable or manly trait, of any

human description, if they could. That class thrive best, it appears to

me--if the accumulation of dollars and dimes be Webster, Walker, or

Scriptural interpretation of that sense--in this sublunary world.

Meanness and dishonesty win what good nature and honesty lose, hence the

more thrift to the former, and the less gain, pecuniarily considered, to

the latter. The subject is very prolific, and as my present purpose is

as much to point a humorous _sketch_ as to adorn a _moral_, I needs must

cut speculative philosophistics for facts, in the case of my friend John

Jenks, an emphatic--"used up" good fellow.

Jenks started in this world with a first-rate opinion of himself and the

rest of mankind. No man ever started with a larger capital of good

nature, human benevolence, and common honesty, than honest John. Few men

ever started with better general prospects, for "a good time," and

plenty of it, than Jenks. He _graduated_ with honor to himself and the

Institute of his native State, and with but little knowledge beyond the

college library and the social circles of his immediate friends. At

twenty-three, John Jenks went into business on his own hook.

Of course John soon formed various and many business acquaintances; he

learned that men were brothers--should love, honor, and respect one

another, from precepts set him at his father's fireside. He formed the

opinion, that this brotherhood was not to be alienated in matters of

business, for he never refused to act kindly to all; he freely loaned

his _autograph_ and purse to his business acquaintances; but, being

backed up by a snug business capital, he seldom felt the necessity of

claiming like accommodation, or he would have gotten his eye teeth cut

cheaper and sooner.

"Jenks," said a business man, stopping in at Jenks' counting room one

September morning, "Perkins & Ball, I see, have _stopped_--gone to

smash!"

"Have they?" quickly responded Jenks.

"They have, and a good many fingers will be burnt by them," replied the

informant. "By the way, Barclay says you have some of their _paper_ on

hand; is it true?" continued the man.

"I have some, not much," answered Jenks--"not enough at all events to

create any alarm as to their willingness or ability to take it up."

But in looking over his "accounts," Jenks found a considerably larger

amount of Perkins & Ball's _paper_ on hand, than an experienced business

man might have contemplated with entire Christian resignation. The

gazette, in the course of a few days, gave publicity to the _smash_ of

the house of Perkins, Ball & Co. There was a buzz "on 'change;" those

losers by the _smash_ were bitter in their denunciatory remarks, while

those gaining by the transaction snickered in their sleeves and kept

mum. Jenks heard all, and said nothing. He reasoned, that if the firm

were _smashed_ by imprudences, or through dishonest motives, they were

getting "an elegant sufficiency" of public and private vituperation,

without his aid. Though far from his thoughts of entering into such

"lists," and inclined to hold on and see how things come out--Jenks,

for the credit of common humanity, seldom recapitulated the amount, by

discounting, &c.--he was likely to be _in_ for, if P. & B. were really

"done gone." This resolve, like some _rules_, worked both ways.

As "honest John" was drawing on his gloves to leave his commercial

institution, after the above occurrences had had some ten days' _grace_;

one evening, the senior partner of the house of Perkins & Ball came in.

Greetings were cordial, and in the private office of Jenks, an hour's

discourse took place between the merchants; which, in brief

transcription, may be summed up in the fact, that Jenks received a

two-third indemnification on all _his_ liabilities _for_ the _smashed_

house of P. & B., which the senior partner assured him, arose from the

fact of his, Jenks', gentlemanly forbearance in not joining the clamor

against them, in the adverse hour, nor pushing his claims, when he had

reason to believe that they were down; quite down at the heel. Jenks

"hoped" he should never be found on the wrong or even doubtful side of

humanity, gentlemanly courtesy, or Christian kindness; they shook hands

and parted; the senior partner of the exploded firm requesting, and

Jenks agreeing, to say every thing he could towards sustaining the honor

of the house of P. & B., and recreating its now almost extinguished

credit. Those who fought the bankrupt merchants most got the least, and

because Jenks preserved an undisturbed serenity, when it was known that

he was as deeply a loser, they supposed, as any one, they were staggered

at his philosophy, or amused at his extreme good nature. This latter

result seemed the most popular and accepted notion of Jenks' character,

and proved the ground-work of his pecuniary destruction.

The firm of Perkins & Ball crept up again; Jenks had, on all occasions,

spoken in the most favorable terms of the firm; he not only freely

endorsed again for them, but stood their _referee_ generally. In the

meantime, Jenks' celebrity for good nature and open-heartedness had

drawn around him a host of patrons and admirers. Jenks' name became a

circulating medium for half his business acquaintances. If Brown was

short in his cash account, five hundred or a thousand dollars----

"Just run over to Jenks'," he'd say to his clerk; "ask him to favor me

with a check until the middle of the week." It was done.

"Terms--thirty days with good endorsed paper," was sufficient for the

adventurous Smith to _buy_ and depend on Jenks' _autograph_ to _secure_

the goods. When in funds, Bingle went where he chose; when a little

_short_, Jenks had his patronage. Jenks kept but few memorandums of acts

of kindness he daily committed; hence when the evil effects of them

began to revolve upon him--if not mortified or ashamed of his

"bargains," he at least was astounded at the results. Brown, whose due

bills or memorandums Jenks held, to the amount of seven thousand

dollars, accommodation _loans_, took an apoplectic, one warm summer's

day, after taking a luxurious dinner. Jenks had hardly learned that

Brown's affairs were pronounced in a state of deferred bankruptcy, when

the first rumor reached him that Smith had _bolted_, after a heavy

transaction in "woolens"--Jenks his principal endorser--Smith not

leaving assets or assigns to the amount of one red farthing.

"By Jove!" poor Jenks muttered, as he tremulously seated himself in his

back counting room--"that's shabby in Smith--very shabby."

The next morning's Gazette informed the community that Bingle had

failed--liabilities over $200,000--prospects barely giving hopes of ten

per cent, all around; and even this hope, upon Jenks' investigation,

proved a forlorn one; by a _modus operandi_ peculiar to the heartless,

self-devoted, _they_ got all, Jenks and the _few_ of his ilk, got

nothing!

For the first time in his life, Jenks became pecuniarily moody. For the

first time, in the course of his mercantile career, of some six years,

the force of reflection convinced him, that he had not acted his part

judiciously, however "well done" it might be, in point of honor and

manliness.

The next day Jenks devoted to a scrutiny of his accounts in general with

the business world. He found things a great deal "mixed up;" his

balance-sheet exhibited large surplusages accumulated on the score of

his leniency and good nature; by the credit of those with whom he held

business relations. A council of war, or expediency, rather,--_solus_,

convinced Jenks, he had either mistaken his business qualifications, or

formed a very vague idea of the soul--manners and customs of the

business world; and he broke up his council, a sadder if not a wiser

man.

"By Jove, this is discouraging; I'll have to do a very disagreeable

thing, very disagreeable thing: _make an assignment!_"

"Who'd thought John Jenks would ever come to that?" that individual

muttered to himself, as he proceeded to his hotel. And ere he reached

his plate, at the tea-table, a servant whispered that a gentleman with a

message was out in the "office" of the hotel, anxious to see Mr. Jenks.

"Mr. Jenks--John Jenks, I believe, sir?" began the person, as poor

Jenks, now on the _tapis_ for more ill news, approached the person in

waiting.

"Precisely, that's my name, sir," Jenks responded.

"Then," continued the stranger, "I've disagreeable business with you,

Mr. Jenks; _I hold your arrest!_"

"Good God!" exclaimed Jenks; "my arrest? What for?"

"There's the writ, sir; you can read it."

"A _writ_? Why, God bless you, man, I don't _owe_ a dollar in the world,

but what I can liquidate in ten minutes!"

"Oh, it's not debt, sir; you may see by the writ it's _felony!_"

If the man had drawn and cocked a revolver at Jenks, the effect upon his

nervous system could not have been more startling or powerful. But he

recovered his self-possession, and learned with dismay, that he was

arrested--yes, _arrested_ as an accessory to a grand scheme of fraud and

general villany, on the part of Smith, a conclusion arrived at, by those

most interested, upon discovery that Jenks had pronounced Smith "good,"

and endorsed for him in sums total, enormously, far beyond Jenks' actual

ability to make good!

It was in vain Jenks declared, and no man before ever dreamed of

doubting his word, his entire ability to meet all liabilities of his own

and others, for whom he kindly become responsible; for when the _bulk_

of Smith's _paper_ with Jenks' endorsement was thrust at him, he gave

in; saw clearly that he was the victim of a heartless _forger_.

But his calmness, in the midst of his affliction, triumphed, and he

rested comparatively easy in jail that night, awaiting the bright future

of to-morrow, when his established character, and "troops of friends"

should set all right. But, poor Jenks, he reckoned indeed without his

host; to-morrow came, but not "a friend in need;" they saw, in their

far-reaching wisdom, a sinking ship, and like sagacious rats, they

deserted it!

"I always thought Jenks a very good-natured, or a very _deep_ man," said

one.

"I knew he was too generous to last long!" said another.

"I told him he was _green_ to endorse as freely as he did," echoed a

third.

"Good fellow," chimed a fourth--"but devilish imprudent."

"He knows what he's at!" cunningly retorted a fifth, and so the good

but misguided Jenks was disposed of by his "troops of friends!"

But Perkins & Ball--they had got up again, were flourishing; they, Jenks

felt satisfied, would not show the "white feather," and the thought came

to him, in his prison, as _merrily_ as the reverse of that fond hope

made him _sad_ and sorrowful, when at the close of day, his attorney

informed him, that Perkins & Ball regretted his perplexing situation,

but proffered him no aid or comfort. They said, sad experience had shown

them, that there were no "bowels of compassion" in the world for the

fallen; men must trust to fortune, God, and their own exertions, to

defeat ill luck and rise from difficulties; _they_ had done so; Mr.

Jenks must not despair, but surmount his misfortunes with a stout heart

and a clear conscience, and profit, as they had, _by reverses!_

"Profit!" said Jenks, in a bitter tone, "_profit_ by reverses as _they_

have!"

"Why, Powers," he continued to his counsel, "do you know that if I had

been a tithe part as base and conscienceless as they are _now_, Perkins

& Ball would be beggars, if not inmates of this prison! Yes, sir, my

casting vote, of all the rest, would have done it. But no matter; I had

hoped to find, in a community where I had been useful, generous and

just, friends enough for all practical purposes, without carrying my

business difficulties to the fireside of my parents and other relations.

But that I must do now; if, _if they fail me, then---- I cave!_"

Two days after that conference of the lawyer and the merchant, "honest

John" learned, with sorrow, that his father was dead; estate involved,

and his friends at home in no favorable mood in reference to what they

heard of John Jenks and his "bad management" in the city.

John Jenks--heard no more--he "caved!" as he agreed to.

We pass over Jenks' _Smithsonian_ difficulty, which a prudent lawyer and

discerning jury brought out all right.

We come to 1850--some fifteen or eighteen years after John Jenks

"caved." The John Jenks of 183- had been ruined by his good nature, set

adrift moneyless, in a manner, with even a spotted reputation to begin

with; he "profited by his reverses," he was now a man of family--fifty,

fat, and wealthy, and altogether the meanest and most selfish man you

ever saw!

Jenks freely admits his originality is entirely--"_used up!_" The reader

may affix the _moral_ of my sketch--at leisure.

The Greatest Moral Engine.

Say what you will, it's no use talking, poverty is more potent and

powerful, as a moral engine, than all the "sermons and soda water," law,

logic, and prison discipline, ever started. All a man wants, while he

_has_ a chance to be honest, and to get along smoothly, is a good

situation and two dollars a day; give him five dollars a day, and he

gets lazy and careless; while at ten, or a hundred a day, he is sure to

cultivate beastly feeling, eat and sleep to stupefaction, become a

_roue_, or a rotten politician. A poor man, in misery, applies to God

for consolation, while a rich man applies to his banker, and tries on a

"bender," or goes on a tour to Europe, and studies foreign folly and

French license. Poverty is great; in a Christian community, or a

thriving village, it is equal to "martial law," in suppressing moral

rebellion and keeping down the "dander!" And how faithful, too, is

poverty, says Dr. Litterage, for it sticks to a man after all his

friends and the rest of mankind have deserted him!

The Story of Capt. Paul.

I love to speak, I love to write of the mighty West. I have passed ten

happy and partly pleasant years travelling over the immense tracts of

land of the West and South. I have, during that time, garnered up

endless themes for my pen. It was my custom, during my travels, to keep

a "log," as the mariners have it, and at the close of the day I always

noted the occurrences that transpired with me or others, when of

interest, and opportunities were favorable to do so.

Several years ago I was stopping at Vevay, Indiana, a small village on

the Ohio river, waiting for a steamboat to touch there and take me up to

Louisville, Ky. It was in the fall of the year, water was very low, and

but few boats running. Shortly after breakfast, I took my rifle and

ammunition and started down along the river to amuse myself, and kill

time by hunting. Game was scarce, and after strolling along until noon,

I got tired and came out to the river to see if any boats were in sight,

as well as take shelter from a heavy shower of rain that had come on. I

sought an immense old tree, whose broad crown and thick foliage made my

shelter as dry as though under a roof, and here I sat down, bending my

eyes along the placid, quiet and noble river, until I was quite lost in

silent reverie. The rain poured down, and presently I heard a footstep

approaching from the woods behind, and at the same moment a rough, curly

dog came smelling along towards me. The dog came up to within a few rods

of me and stopped, took a grin at me and then disappeared again. But

my further anxiety was soon relieved by the appearance of a tall,

gaunt man, dressed in the usual costume of a western woodsman, jean

trowsers, hunting shirt, old slouched felt hat, rifle, powder horn,

bullet pouch, and sheath knife. He was an old man, face sallow and

wrinkled, and hair quite a steelish hue.

"Mornin', stranger," said he; "rayther a wet day for game?"

I replied in the affirmative, and welcomed him to my shelter. Having

taken a seat near me, on the fallen trunk of a small tree, the old man,

half to himself and partly to me, sighed--

"Ah! yes, yes, _our_ day is fast gwoin over; an entire new set of folks

will soon people this country, and the old settler will be all gone, and

no more thought of."

"I imagine," said I, interrupting his soliloquy, "that you are an old

settler, and have noted vast, wonderful changes here in the Ohio

Valley?"

"Wonderful; yes, yes, stranger, thar you're right; I have seen wonderful

changes since I first squatted 'yer, thirty-five years ago. Every thing

changes about one so, that I skearse know the old river any more. 'Yer

they've brought their steamboats puffin', and blowin', and skeerin' off

the game, fish, and alligators. 'Yer they've built thar towns and thar

store houses, and thar nice farm houses, and keep up sich a clatter and

noise among 'em all, that one fond of our old quiet times in the woods,

goes nigh bein' distracted with these new matters and folks."

"Well," said I, "neighbor, you old woodsmen will have to do as the

Indians have done, and as Daniel Boone did, when the advancing axe of

civilization, and the mighty steam and steel arms of enterprise and

improvement make the varmints leave their lairs, and the air heavy and

clamorous with the gigantic efforts of industry, genius, and wealth, you

must _fall back_. Our territories are boundless, and there are yet

dense forests, woods, and wilds, where the Indian, lone hunter, and

solitary beast, shall rove amid the wild grandeur of God's infinite

space for a century yet to come."

"Ah, yes, yes, young man; I should have long since up stakes and rolled

before this sweeping tide of new settlers, only I can't bar to leave

this tract 'yer; no, stranger, I can't bar to do it."

"Doubtless," I replied; "one feels a strong love for old homes, a

lingering desire to lay one's bones to their final resting place, near a

spot and objects that life and familiarity made dear."

"Yes, yes, stranger, that's it, that's it. But look down thar--thar's

what makes this spot dear to me--thar, do you see yon little

hillock--yon little mound? Thar's what keeps old Tom Ward 'yer for

life."

The old man seemed deeply affected, and sighed heavily, as he wiped the

moisture from his eyes with the back of his hand. I gazed down towards

the spot he had called my attention to, and there I beheld, indeed,

something resembling a solitary and lonely grave; wild flowers bloomed

around it, and a flat stone stood at the head, and a small stake at the

foot.

"'Tisn't often one comes this way to ask the question, and the Lord

knows, stranger, I'm always willing to tell the sad story of that lonely

grave. Well, well, it's no use to grieve always, the red whelps have

paid well for thar doins, and now, but few of 'em are spared to

repent--the Lord forgive 'em all," to which I involuntarily

echoed--"Amen!"

"Well, stranger, you see, about five-and-thirty years ago, I left

Western Virginia to come down 'yer in the Ohio valley. I well remember

the first glimpse I got of this stream; it war a big stream to me, and I

gloried in the sight of it. Thar war but few settlements then upon its

banks, and thar war none of your roarin', splashin' steamboats about;

but I like the steamboats--thar grand creatures, and go it like

high-mettled horses. Well, I war a young man then; me and my brother and

our old mother joined in with a neighbor, built a family boat, put in

our goods, and started off down the stream, towards the lower part thar

of Kentucky.

"Captain Paul, our neighbor, war an old woodsman, though he war a young

man; he had a wife and several fine, growin' children along with us, and

our journey for many days war prosperous and pleasant. Capt. Paul's

wife's sister war along with us, a fine young creature she war too. My

brother and her I always carc'lated would make a match of it when we

reached our journey's end; but poor Ben, God bless the boy, he little

dreampt he'd be cut off so soon in the prime of life, and leave his

bones 'yer to rot. I war young too, then, and little thought I should

ever come to be this old, withered-up creature you see me now,

stranger."

"Why, you appear to be a hearty, hale man yet," said I, encouraging the

old man to proceed in his narrative, "and no doubt shoot as well and see

as keenly and far as ever?"

"Ay, ay, I can drive a centre purty well yet; but my hand begins to

tremble sometimes, and I'm failing--yes, yes, I know I'm failing. But,

to go on with my story: I acted as sort of pilot. Then the country were

yet pretty full of Ingins, and mighty few cabins war made along the

river in them times. The whites and red-skins war eternally fighting. I

won't say which war to blame; the whites killed the creatures off fast

enough, and the Ingins took plenty of scalps and war cruel to the white

man whenever they fastened on him.

"Our old ark or boat war well loaded down; a few loose boards served as

a shelter from the sun and rain, and a few planks spiked to the sides

'bove water, kept the swells from rollin' in on us. Two black boys

helped the captain and I to manage the boat, and an old black woman

waited on the wimin folks and did the cooking.

"You see yon pint thar, up the river?" continued the narrator, pointing

his long, bony finger towards a great bend, and a point on the Kentucky

side of the stream.

"Yes," I replied, "I see it distinctly."

"Well, it war thar, or jest above thar, about sunset of a pleasant day,

that we came drifting along with our flat-boat, or _broad horn_, as they

were called in them days, when Captain Paul said he thought it would be

a snug place just behind the pint, to tie up to them same big trees yet

standin' thar as they did then. Ben, poor Ben and I concluded too, it

would be a clever place to camp for the night; so we headed the boat

in--for, you see, we always kept in the middle of the stream, as near as

possible, to keep clear of the red skins who committed a mighty heap of

depredations upon the movers and river traders, by decoyin' the boat on

shore, or layin' in ambush and firin' their rifles at the incautious

folks in the boats that got too nigh 'em. Guina and Joe, the two black

boys, rowed enough to get around the pint. We had no fear of the Ingins,

as we expected we war beyond thar haunts just thar; mother war gettin'

out the supper things, and Captain Paul's wife and sister were nestling

away the children. Just then, as we got cleverly under the lee of the

shore thar, I heard a crack like a dry stick snappin' under foot--

"'Thar's a deer or bar,' said the captain.

"'Hold on your oars,' says I--'boys, I don't like that--it 'tain't a

deer's tread, nor a bar's nether,' says I.

"By this time we had got within thirty yards of the bank--another slight

noise--the bushes moved, and I sung out--'Ingins, by the Lord! back the

boat, back, boys, back!'

"Poor Ben snatched up his rifle, so did the captain; but before we could

get way on the boat, a band of the bloody devils rushed out and gave us

a volley of shouts and shower of balls, that made these hills and river

banks echo again. Poor Ben fell mortally wounded and bleeding, into the

bottom of the boat; two of the captain's children were killed, his wife

wounded, and a bullet dashed the cap off my head.

"I shouted to the boys to pull, and soon got out of reach of the Ingins.

They had no canoes, bein' only a scoutin' war party; they could not

reach us. The wounded horses and cows kicked and plunged among the

goods, the wimin and children screamed.

"Oh! stranger, it war a frightful hour; one I shall remember to my dyin'

day, as it war only yesterday I saw and heard it. It war now dark, the

boat half filled with water, my brother dyin', Captain Paul nerveless

hangin' over his wife and children, cryin' like a whipped child. I still

clung on to my oar, and made the poor blacks pull for this side of the

river, as fast and well as thar bewildered and frightened senses allowed

'em.

"My poor mother leaned over poor Ben. She held his head in her lap; she

opened his bosom and the blood flowed out. He still breathed faintly--

"'Benjamin, my son,' said she, 'do you know me?'

"'Mother,' he breathed lowly. Mother tried to have him drink a cup of

water from the river, but he war past nourishment--and she asked him if

he knew he war dyin'?

"He gasped, 'Yes, mother, and may the Lord our God in heaven be merciful

to me, thus cut from you and life, mother--'

"'God's will be done,' cried my mother, as the pale face of her darlin'

boy fell upon her hand--he was gone.

"We reached shore, but dar not kindle a light, for fear the Ingins might

be prowlin' about on this side; yes, under this very tree, did we 'camp

that gloomy night. The whole of us, livin', dead, and wounded, lay 'yer,

fearin' even to weep aloud. About midnight, I took the two blacks, and

we dug yon grave and laid poor Ben in it, and the two children by his

side. It war an awful thing--awful to us all; and our sighs and sobs,

mingled with the prayers of the old mother, went to God's footstool, I'm

sure. We made such restin' places as circumstances permitted. I lay

down, but the cries of poor Captain Paul's wife and sister, cries of the

two survivin' children, and moans of us all, made sleep a difficult

affair. By peep of day I went down to the grave, and thar sat the old

mother. She had sat thar the live-long night; the sudden shock had been

too much for her.

"Two days afterwards the grave was opened and enlarged, and received two

more bodies, the wife of Captain Paul, and our kind, good old mother.

Thirty-five years have now passed. Could I leave this place? No; not a

day at a time have I missed seeing the grave, when within miles of it.

No, here must I rest too."

The old man seemed deeply affected. I could not refrain from taking up

the thread of his narrative to inquire what had become of Captain Paul

and his wife's sister.

"Well, poor thing, you see it war natural enough for her to love her

sister's children, and the captain, he couldn't help lovin' her too, for

that. The captain settled down here, about two miles back, and in a few

years the sister-in-law and he war man and wife, and a kind, good old

wife she is too. I've 'camped with 'em ever since, and with 'em I'll

die, and be put thar--thar, to rest in that little mound with the rest.

But I must bide my time, stranger--we must all bide our time. Now,

stranger, I've told you my sad story, I must ax a favor. Seeing as you

are a town-bred person, perhaps a preacher, I want you to kneel down by

that grave and make a prayer. I feel that it is a good thing to pray,

though we woods people know but little about it."

I told him I was not a minister in the common acceptation of the term,

but considering we all are God's ministers that study God's will and our

own duty to man, I could pray, did pray, and left the poor woodsman with

an exalted feeling, I hope, of divine and infinite grace to all who seek

it.

A boat touched Vevay that evening, and I left, deeply impressed with

this little story.

Hereditary Complaints.

Meanness is as natural to some people, as gutta percha beefsteaks in a

cheap boarding-house. Schoodlefaker says he saw a striking instance in

Quincy market last Saturday. An Irish woman came up to a turkey

merchant, and says she--

"What wud yees be after axin' for nor a chicken like that?"

"That's a turkey, not a chicken," says the merchant.

"Turkey? Be dad an' it's a mighty small turkey--it's stale enough, too,

I'd be sworn; poor it is, too! What'd yees ax for 'un?"

"Well, seein' it's pooty nigh night, and the last I've got, I'll let you

have it for _two and six_."

"Two and six? Hoot! I'd give yees half a dollar fur it, and be dad not

another cint."

"Well," says the _satisfied_ poultry merchant, "take it along; I won't

dicker for a cent or two."

Mrs. Doolygan paid over the half, boned the turkey, and went on her way

quite elated with the brilliancy of her talents in financiering! There's

one merit in meanness, if it disgusts the looker-on, it never fails to

carry a pleasing sensation to the bosom of the gamester.

Nights with the Caucusers.

Office-Seeking has become a legitimatized branch of our every-day

business, as much so as in former times "reduced gentlemen" took to

keeping school or posting books. In former times, men took to politics

to give zest to a life already replete with pecuniary indulgences, as

those in the "sere and yellow leaf" are wont to take to religion as a

solacing comfort against things that are past, and pave the way to a

very desirable futurity. But now, politicians are of no peculiar class

or condition of citizens; the success of a champion depends not so much

upon the matter, as upon the manner, not upon the capital he may have in

real estate, bank funds or public stocks, but upon the fundamental

principle of "confidence," gutta percha lungs and unmistakable amplitude

of--brass and bravado! If any man doubts the fact, let him look around

him, and calculate the matter. Why is it that _lawyers_ are so

particularly felicitous in running for, securing, and usurping most of

all the important or profitable offices under government? Lungs--gutta

percha lungs and everlasting impudence, does it. A man might as well try

to bail out the Mississippi with a tea-spoon, or shoot shad with a

fence-rail, as to hope for a seat in Congress, merely upon the

possession of patriotic principles, or double-concentrated and refined

integrity. Why, if George Washington was a Virginia farmer to-day, his

chance for the Presidency wouldn't be a circumstance to that of Rufus

Choate's, while there is hardly a lawyer attached to the Philadelphia

bar that would not beat the old gentleman out of his top boots in

running for the Senate! But we'll _cut_ "wise saws" for a modern

instance; let us attend a small "caucus" where incipient Demostheneses,

Ciceros, and Mark Antonies most do congregate, and see things "workin'."

It is night, a ward meeting of the unterrified, meat-axe,

non-intervention--hats off--hit him again--butt-enders, have called a

meeting to _caucus_ for the coming fall contest. "Owing to the

inclemency of the weather," and other causes too tedious to mention, of

some eight hundred of the _unterrified, non-intervention--Cuban

annexation--Wilmot proviso, compromise, meat-axe, hats off--hit him

again--butt-enders_--only eighty attend the call. Of these eighty

faithful, some forty odd are on the wing for office; one at least wants

to work his way up to the gubernatorial chair, five to the Senate, ten

to the "Assembly," fifteen to the mayoralty, and the balance to the

custom house.

Now, before the "curtain rises," little knots of the anxious multitude

are seen here and there about the corners of the adjacent neighborhood

and in the recesses of the caucus chamber, their heads

together--caucusing on a small scale.

"Flambang, who'd you think of puttin' up to-night for the _Senate_, in

our ward?" asks a cadaverous, but earnest _unterrified_, of a brother in

the same cause.

"Well, I swan, I don't know; what do you think of Jenkins?"

"Jenkins?" leisurely responded the first speaker; "Jenkins is a pooty

good sort of a man, but he ain't known; made himself rather unpop'ler by

votin' agin that _grand junction railroad to the north pole_ bill, afore

the Legislature, three years ago; besides he's served two years in the

Legislature, and been in the custom house two years; talks of going to

California or somewhere else, next spring--so I-a, I-a--don't think much

of Jenkins, anyhow!"

"Well, then," says Flambang, "there's Dr. Rhubarb; what do you think of

him? He's a sound _unterrified_, good man."

"A--ye-e-e-s, the doctor's pooty good sort of a man, but I don't think

its good policy to run doctors for office. If they are defeated it sours

their minds equal to cream of tartar; it spiles their practice, and

'tween you and I, Flambang, if they takes a spite at a man that didn't

vote for 'em, and he gets sick, they're called in; how easy it is _for

'em to poison us!_"

"Good gracious!--you don't say so?"

"I _don't_ say, of course I don't say so of Dr. Rhubarb. I only supposed

a case," replied the wily _caucuser_.

"A case? Yes-s-s; a feller would be a case, under them circumstances.

I'm down on doctors, then, Twist; but what do you say to Blowpipes? He's

one of our best speakers--"

"_Gas!_" pointedly responded Twist.

"Gas? Well, you voted for him last year, when he run for Congress; you

were the first man to nominate him, too!"

"So I was, and I voted for him, drummed for him, fifed and blowed; that

was no reason for my thinking him the best man we had for the office.

He's a demagogue, an ambitious, sly, selfish feller, as we could skeer

up; but, he was in our way, we couldn't get shut of him; I proposed the

nomination, and tried to elect him, so that we should get him out of the

way of our local affairs, and more deserving and less pretendin' men

could get a chance, don't you see? Now, Flambang, you're the man I'm

goin' in for to-night!"

"Me! Mr. Twist? Why, bless your soul, I don't want office!"

"Come, now, don't be modest. I'll lay the ground-work, you'll be

nominated--I'll not be known in it--you'll get the nomination--called

out for a speech--so be on the trigger--give 'em a rouser, and you're

in!"

Poor Flambang, a modest, retiring man, peaceable proprietor of a small

shop, in which, by the force of prudence and economy, he has laid up

something, has a voice among his fellow-citizens and some influence, but

would as soon attempt to carry a blazing pine knot into a powder

magazine, or "ship" for a missionary to the Tongo Islands, as to run for

the Legislature _and make a speech in public!_ Twist knows it; he

guesses shrewdly at the effect.

"Why don't you run?" says Flambang, after many efforts to get his

breath.

"Me? Well, if you don't want to _run_."

"_Run?_ I would as soon think of jumping over the moon, as running for

office!" answers Flambang. "But I thank you, thank _you_ kindly, for

your good intentions, for _your_ confidence(!), Twist, and whatever good

I can do for you, I'll do, and--"

Twist having secured the first step to his _plot_, enters the caucus

chamber in deep and earnest consultation with Flambang, and while

preparations are being made to "histe the rag," he is seen making

converts to his sly purposes, upon the same principle by which he

converted his modest friend, Flambang.

"Who are you going in for to-night?" asks another "ambitious for

distinction" _unterrified_ of "a brother."

"Well, I don't know; it's hard to tell; good many wants to be nominated,

and good many more than will be," was the cogent reply.

"That's a fact!" was the equally clear response. "But 'tween you and I,

Pepper--I'd like to get the nomination for the Senate myself!"

"No-o-o?"

"Yes, sir; why shouldn't I? Hain't I stood by the party?"

"Well, and hain't I stood by it, hung by it, fastened to it?"

"Pepper, you have; so have I; now, I'll tell you what I'll do. You hang

by me, for the Senate, and I'll go in for you for the House."

"Agreed; hang by 'em, give 'em a blast, first opening, and while you are

fifing away for me, I'll go around for you, Captain Johns."

"Flammer, you going to go in for Smithers, to-night?" asks another of

"the party," of a confederate.

"Smithers? I don't know about that; I don't think he's the right kind of

a man for mayor, any how; do you?"

"Well, you know he's an almighty peart chap in talkin', and I guess

he'll be elected, if he's nominated and goes around speaking; but here

he is; let's feel his pulse." After a confab of some minutes between

Flammer, Smithers, and Skyblue, things seem to be fixed to mutual

satisfaction, and something is "dropped" about "go in for me for the

Mayoralty, I'll go in for you for the Senate," etc.

"Don't let on, that I'm _anxious_, at all, you know," says Smithers, to

which the two allies Skyblue and Flammer respond--"O, of course not!"

Now the curtain rises, the meeting's organized, with as much formality,

fuss and fungus as the opening of the House of Parliament; soon is heard

the work of balloting for nominations, and soon it is known that _Twist_

is _the_ man for the Senate--this calls _Twist_ out; he spreads--feels

overpowered--this unexpected (!) event--attending as a spectator, not

anticipating any thing for himself--proud of the unexpected honor--had

long served as a _private_ in the ranks of the _unterrified_--die in the

front of battle, if his friends thought proper, etc., etc. And Twist

falls back, mid great applause of the multitude, to give way to Capt.

Johns, who also felt overpowered by the unexpected rush of honor put

upon him, in connecting his name with the senatorial ticket. He was

proud of being thought capable of serving his country, etc., etc.; gave

his friend Pepper "a first-rate notice." Pepper was nominated, made a

speech, and so highly piled up the agony in favor of Smithers, that

Smithers was nominated--made a speech in favor of Skyblue and Flammer,

upon the force of which both were nominated--the wheel within a wheel

worked elegant; and the organs next day were sublimely eloquent upon the

result of the grand caucus--candidates--unanimity--etc., etc., of these

subterranean politicians. So are our great men manufactured for the

public.

Affecting Cruelty.

A hard-fisted "old hunker," who has made $30,000 in fifty-one years, by

saving up rags, old iron, bones, soap-grease, snipping off the edges of

halves, quarters, and nine-pences, raised the whole neighborhood t'other

evening. He came across a full-faced Spanish ninepence, and in an

attempt to extract the jaw-teeth of the head, the poor thing squealed

so, that the bells rang, and the South End watchmen hollered fire for

about an hour! This "old gentleman" has a way of _sweating_ the crosses

from a smooth fourpence, and makes them look so bran new, that he passes

them for ten cent pieces! One case of his benevolence is "worthy of all

praise;" he recently _gave away_ to a poor Irishman's family, a bunch of

cobwebs, and an old hat he had worn since the battle of Bunker Hill;

upon these bounties the Irishman started into business; he boiled the

hunker's hat, and it yielded a bar of soap and a dozen tallow candles!

If old Smearcase continues to fool away his hard-earned wealth in that

manner, his friends ought to buy an injunction on his _will!_

The Wolf Slayer.

In 1800 the most of the State of Ohio, and nearly all of Indiana, was a

dense wilderness, where the gaunt wolf and naked savage were masters of

the wild woods and fertile plains, which now, before the sturdy blows of

the pioneer's axe, and the farmer's plough, has been with almost magical

effect converted into rich farms and thriving, beautiful villages.

In the early settlement of the west, the pioneers suffered not only from

the ruthless savage, but fearfully from the _wolf_. Many are the tales

of terror told of these ferocious enemies of the white man, and his

civilization. Many was the hunter, Indian as well as the Angle-Saxon,

whose bones, made marrowless by the prowling hordes of the dark forest,

have been scattered and bleached upon the war-path or Indian trail of

the back-woods. In 1812-13, my father was contractor for the

north-western army, under command of Gen. Wm. Henry Harrison. He

supplied the army with beef; he bought up cattle along the Sciota valley

and Ohio river, and drove them out to the army, then located at

Sandusky. Chillicothe, then, was a small settlement on the Sciota river,

and protected by a block house or rude fort, in which the inhabitants

could scramble if the Indians made their appearance. My father resided

here, and having collected a large drove of cattle, he set out up the

valley with a few mounted men as a kind of guard to protect the drove

against the prowling minions of Tecumseh.

The third day out, late in the afternoon, being very warm weather, there

arose a most terrific thunder-storm; the huge trees, by the violence of

the wind and sharp lightning, were uprooted and rent into thousands of

particles, and the panic-stricken herd scattered in every direction. I

have seen the havoc made in forests through which one of these tornadoes

has taken its way, or I should be incredulous to suppose whole acres of

trees, hundreds of years old, could be torn up, or snapped off like

reeds upon the river side.

The fury of the whirlwind seemed to increase as the night grew darker,

until cattle, men and horses, were killed, crippled and dispersed. My

father crawled under the lee of a large sycamore that had fell, and

here, partly protected from the rain and falling timber, he lay down. I

have camped out some, and can readily anticipate the comfort of the old

gentleman's situation, and not at all disposed was he to go to sleep

mounted upon such guard.

At length the work of destruction and ruin being done, the storm abated,

the rain ceased to _pour_ and the winds to wag their noisy tongues so

furiously. A wolf _howl_, and of all fearful howls, or yelps uttered by

beasts of prey, none can, I think, be more alarming and terrific to the

ear than the _wolf_ howl as he scents carnage. A wolf howl broke

fearfully upon the drover's ear as he lay crouched beneath the sycamore.

It was a familiar sound, and therefore, and _then_ the more dreadful.

The drover carried a good Yeager rifle, knife, and pistols, but a man

laden with arms in the midst of a troop of famished wolves, was as

helpless as the tempest-tossed mariner in the midst of the ocean's

storm. The _howl_ had scarcely echoed over the dark wood, before it was

answered by dozens on every side! And as the drover's keen eye pierced

the gloom around him, the dancing, fiery glare of the wolf's eyes met

his wistful gaze.

The forest now resounded with the maddened banqueting beast, and as the

glaring eyes came nearer and nearer, the drover hugged his Yeager

tightly, and prepared to defend life while yet it lasted. Suddenly the

sharp crack of a rifle was heard, and then a loud scream or cry of

terror burst upon the air, a rushing sound, a man pursued by a troop of

wolves fled by the drover and his cover; scream after scream rent the

air, and the drover knew that a companion had fell a victim to the wolf

in his attempt at self-defence. The night was a long one, and thus,

among the savage beasts, a fearful one. The report of another rifle

again broke upon the ear, and again, and again did the hunting iron

speak, and the wolf howl salute it. A pair of eyes glared hurriedly upon

the drover, and he could not resist the desire to use his Yeager, and

the wolf taking the contents of the rifle in his mouth, rolled over,

while a score rushed up to fill his place. Oh! how dreadful must have

been the suspense and feelings of the drover as he lay crouched under

the old tree, surrounded by this horde of glaring eyes, his ears split

with their awful _howl_, and their hot and venomous breath fairly in his

face! But the wolf is a base coward, and will not meet a man eye to eye,

and so protected lay the drover, with his clenched teeth and unquivering

eye, that the wolf had no chance to attack, but by rushing up to his

very front. The red tongue lapped, the fierce teeth were arrayed and the

demon eyes glaring, but the drover quailed not, and the cowardly wolf

stood at bay. The sharp crack of the distant rifle still smote upon the

air and the loud howl still went up over the forest around. The first

faint streaks that deck the sky at morn, the fresh breath of coming day

caught the keen scent of the bloody prowlers, and they began to skulk

off. The drover gave the retreating cowards a farewell shot from his

pistols, tumbled a lank, grey demon over, and the wolf howl soon died

off in the distance.

Daylight now appeared, and the drover crawled from his lair. His loud

_whoop!_ to the disbanded men and drove was answered by the neigh of a

horse, who came galloping up, and proved to be his own good hunter, who

seemed happy indeed to meet his master. Another _whoop-e_ brought a

responsive shout, and finally four men out of the twelve, with seven

horses and a few straggling cattle, were mustered. The forest was strewn

with torn carcasses of cattle and horses, mostly killed by the falling

timber, and partly devoured by the ravenous wolves. A few hundred yards

from the tree where the drover lay, was found a few fragments of

clothes, the knife and rifle, and a half-eaten body of one of the

soldiers. He had fought with the desperation of a mad man, and the dead

and crippled wolves lay as trophies around the bold soldier. In a hollow

near the river they found a horse and man partly eaten up, and several

cattle that had apparently been hotly pursued and torn to death by the

rapacious beasts. They started out in search of the spot from whence the

drover had heard the firing in the night. They soon discovered the

place; at the foot of a large dead sycamore stump, some twelve feet high

lay the carcasses of a dozen or twenty wolves. Each wolf had his scalp

neatly taken off, and his head elaborately bored by the rifle ball. An

Indian ladder, that is, a scrubby saplin', trimmed with footholds left

on it, was laying against the old tree, at the top of which was a sort

of a rude scaffold, contrived, evidently, by a hunter. At a distance, in

a hollow, was seen a great profusion of wolf skulls and bones, but no

sign of a human being could there be traced. The party made a fire, and

as beef lay plenty around, they regaled themselves heartily, after their

night of horror and disaster. Having finished their repast, they

separated, each taking different courses to hunt and drive up such of

the stray cattle as could be found. My father, whom I have designated as

the drover, pursued his way over the vast piles of fallen, tangled

timber, leaping from one tree to the other. As he was about to throw

himself over the trunk of a mighty prostrate oak, he found himself

within two feet of one of the largest and most ferocious wolves that

ever expanded its broad jaws and displayed its fierce tushes to the eye

of man. Both parties were taken so suddenly by surprise, by this

collision, that they seemed to be rooted to the spot without power to

move. I have heard of serpents charming birds, said the drover, but I

never believed in the theory until I found myself fairly magnetized by

this great she-wolf. The wolf stood and snarled with its golden fiery

eye bent upon the drover, who never moved his steady gaze from the

wolf's face.

There is not a beast in existence that will attack a man if he keeps his

eyes steady upon the animal, but will cower and sneak off, and so did

the wolf. But no sooner had she turned her head and with a howl started

off, than a blue pill from the drover's Yeager split her skull, and

brought her career to a speedy termination.

_Whoo-ep!_

A shout so peculiar to the lusty lungs of the western hunter made the

welkin ring again, and as the astonished drover turned towards the

shouter, he beheld a sight that proved quite as formidable as the wolf

he had just slain.

"Well done, stranger; you're the man for me; I like you. That shot done

my heart good, though I was about to do the old she devil's business for

ye, seeing as you war sort o' close quartered with the varmint."

"Thank you," responded the drover, addressing the speaker, a tall,

gaunt, iron-featured, weather-beaten figure, with long grey hair, and a

rude suit of wolf-skin clothing, cap and moccasins. He held in his long

arms a large rifle, a knife in his belt, and a powder horn slung over

his side. He seemed the very patriarch of the woods, but good humored,

and with his rough hilarity soon explained his presence there.

"Well, stranger," said he, "you have had a mighty chance of bad luck yer

last night, and I never saw them cursed varmints so crazy afore."

"Do you live in these parts?" inquired the drover.

"Ha! ha! yes, yes," replied the hunter. "I live yer, I live anywhar's

whar wolf can be found. But you don't know me, I reckon, stranger?"

"I do not," said the drover.

"Ha! ha! well, that's quare, mighty quare. I thought thar warn't a man

this side the blue ridge but what knows me and old _kit_ here, (his

rifle.) Well, seeing you are a stranger, I'll just take that old

sarpent's top-knot off, and have a talk with ye."

With this introductory of matters, the hunter in the wolf-skins scalped

the wolf, and tucking the scalp in his belt, motioned the drover to

follow. He led the way in deep silence some half a mile to a small

stream, down which they proceeded for some distance, until they came to

a low and rudely-constructed cabin. Here the hunter requested the drover

to take a seat on a log, in front of the cabin, while he entered through

a small aperture in his hut, and brought forth a pipe, tobacco, and some

dried meat. These dainties being discussed, old Nimrod the mean time

kept chuckling to himself, and mumbling over the idea that there should

be a white man or _Ingin_ this side the blue ridge that didn't know

_him_.

"Ha! ha! well, well, I swar, it is curious, stranger, that you don't

know me, _me_ that kin show more _Ingin_ skelps than any white man that

ever trod these war paths; _me_, who kin shoot more wolves and fetch in

more of the varmints' skelps in one night than any white man or _Ingin_

that ever trod this wilderness. But I'm gittin' old, very old,

forgotten, and here comes a white man clean and straight from the

settlements and he don't know me; I swar I've lived to be clean ashamed

o' myself." And with this soliloquy, half to himself and partly

addressed to the drover, the old hunter seemed almost fit to cry, at his

imaginary insignificance and dotage.

"But, friend," said the drover, "as you have not yet informed me by what

name I may call you--"

"_Call_ me, stranger? why I _am_"--and here his eyes glared as he threw

himself into a heroic attitude--"Chris Green, _old_ Chris Green, the

_wolf slayer!_ But, God bless ye, stranger, p'r'aps you're from t'other

side the ridge, and don't know old Chris's history."

"That I frankly admit," replied the drover.

"Well, God bless ye, I love my fellow white men, yes, I do, though I

live yer by myself, and clothe myself with the varmints' skins, go but

seldom to the settlements, and live on what old kit thar provides me.

"Well, stranger, my history's a mighty mournful one, but as yer unlucky

like myself and plenty of business to 'tend to 'fore night, I'll make my

troubles short to ye.

"Well, you see about thirty years ago, I left the blue ridge with a

party of my neighbors to come down yer in the Sciota country, to see it,

and lay plans to drive the cussed red skins clean out of it. Well, the

red skins appeared rather quiet, what few we fell in with, and monstrous

civil. But cuss the sarpints, there's no more dependence to be put in

'em than the cantankerous wolves, and roast 'em, I always sets old kit

talkin' Dutch to them varmints, the moment I claps eyes on 'em. The

wolf's my nat'ral inimy--I'd walk forty miles to git old kit a wolf

skelp. Well, we travelled all over the valley, and we gin it as our

opinion that the Sciota country was the garden spot o' the world, and if

we could only defend ourselves 'gainst the inimy we should move right

down yer at once. We went back home, and the next spring a hull

settlement on us came down yer. My neighbors thought it best for us all

to settle down together at Chillicothe, whar a few Ingin huts and cabins

war. I had a wife, and son and da'ter; now, stranger, I loved 'em as

dearer to me 'nor life or heart's blood itself. Well, the red skins soon

began to show their pranks--they stole our cre'ters (horses), shot down

our cattle, and made all manner o' trouble for the little settlement. At

last I proposed we should build a clever-sized block house, strong and

stanch, in which our wimen folks and children, with a few men to guard

'em, could hold out a few days, while a handful o' us scoured Paint

hills and the country about, and peppered a few of the cussed red

devils. We had been out some four or five days when we fell in with the

inimy; it war just about sunset, and the red skins war camped in a

hollow close by this spot. We intended to let 'em get through their

smoking and stretch themselves for the night, and then squar our

accounts with 'em. Stranger, I've lived in these woods thirty years, I

never saw such a hurricane as we had yer last night, 'cept once. The

night we lay in ambush for the _Ingins_, six-and-twenty years ago, thar

came up a hurricane, the next mornin' eleven of the bodies of my

neighbors lay crushed along the bottom yer, and for a hundred miles

along the Sciota, whar the hurricane passed, the great walnuts and

sycamore lay blasted, root and branch, just as straight as ye'd run a

bee line; no timber grow'd upon these bottoms since. Five on us escaped

the hurricane, but before day we fell in with a large party of red

skins, and we fought 'em like devils; three on us fell; myself and the

only neighbor left war obliged to fly to the hills. I made my way to the

settlement.

"Stranger, when I looked down from the hills of Paint creek, and saw the

block house scattered over the bottom, and not a cabin standin' or a

livin' cre'ter to be seen in the settlement of Chillicothe, my heart

left me; I become a woman at once, and sot down and cry'd as if I'd been

whipped to death." The old man's voice grew husky, and the tears

suffused his eyes, but after a few sighs and a tear, he proceeded:

"Well, you see, stranger, a man cannot always be a child, nor a woman,

either; my crying spell appeared to ease my heart amazin'ly. I

shouldered old kit here, and down I went to examine things. The

hurricane had scattered every thing; the fire had been at work too, but,

great God! the bloody _wolf_ had been thar, the settlement was kivered

with the bloody bones of my own family and friends; if any had escaped

the hurricane, the fire or wolf, the _Ingins_ finished 'em, for I never

seen 'em afterwards; I couldn't bear to stay about the place, I'd no

home, friend, or kindred. I took to the woods, and swore eternal death

to the red skins and my nat'ral inimy, the _wolf!_ I've been true to my

word, stranger; that cabin is lined with skelps and ornamented with

Ingin _top-knots!_ Look in, ha! ha! see there! they may well call old

Chris the _Wolf Slayer!_"

The drover regaled his eyes on the trophies of the old forlorn hunter,

and then visited the _perch_, which was situated close by a "deer lick,"

where wolves resorted to fall upon their victims. And from this _perch_

old _Wolf Slayer_ had made fearful work upon his nat'ral inimy the night

previous. The old hunter assisted, during the day, to collect such of

the scattered drove as yet were alive or to be found; the men came with

another of their companions, and the small drove and men left the scene

of terror and disaster, wishing a God-speed to the _Wolf Slayer_.

The Man that knew 'em All.

If you have ever "been around" some, and taken notice of things, you

have doubtless seen the man who knows pretty much every thing and every

body!

I've seen them frequently. As the old preacher observed to a venerable

lady, in reference to _forerunners_, "I see 'em now." Well, talking of

that rare and curious specimen of the human family, the man that knows

every body, I've rather an amusing reminiscence of "one of 'em."

Stopping over night at the Virginia House, in that jumping off place of

Western Virginia, Wheeling, some years ago, I had the pleasure or

pastime of meeting several of the big guns of the nation, on their way

from Washington city, home. It was in August, I think, when, as is most

generally the case, the Ohio river gets monstrous low and feeble; when

all of the large steamers are past getting up so far, and travelling

down the river becomes quite amusing to amateurs, and particularly

tedious and monotonous to business people, bound home. Three hundred

travellers, more or less, were laying back at the "Virginia" and "United

States," in the aforesaid hardscrabble of a city, or town, waiting for

the river to get up, or some means for them to get down.

The session of Congress had closed at Washington, some time before, and

as almost all of the M. C.'s, U. S. S.'s, wire pullers, hangers on,

blacklegs, horse jockeys, etc., etc., came over "the National Road" to

Wheeling, to take the river for Southern and Western destinations, of

course the assemblage at that place, at that time, was promiscuous, and

quite interesting; at least, Western and Southern men always make

themselves happy and interesting, home or abroad, and particularly so

when travelling. It was a glorious thing for the proprietors of the

hotels, to have such a host of guests, as a house full of company always

is a "host," the guests having nothing else to do but lay back, eat,

drink, and be merry, and foot the bills when ready, or when opportunity

offers, to---- go.

They drank and smoked, and drank again, and told jests, and played games

and tricks, and thus passed the time along. Among the multitude was one

of those ever-talkative and chanting men of the world, who knew all

places and all men--as _he_ would have it. Just after removing the

cloth, at dinner, a knot of the old jokers, bacchanalians and wits,

settled away in a cluster, at the far end of a long table, and were

having a very pleasant time. The man of all talk was there; he was the

very _nucleus_ of all that was being said or done. He was from below,

somewhere, on his way, as he informed the crowd, to Washington city,

upon affairs of no slight importance to himself and the country in

general.

"Oho!" says one of the party, a sly, winking, fat and rosy gentleman,

whom we shall designate hereafter, "you're bound to the capital, eh?"

"Yes, _sir_," responded the man of all talk.

"Of course you've been there before?" says the interrogator, nudging a

friend, and winking at the rest.

"_What?_ Me been in Washington before? Ha, ha! _me_ been _there_ before!

Bless you, me _been_ in Washington city!"

"Oho! ha, ha!" says the interrogator, "you're one of the caucus folks,

eh? One of them wire pullers we read about, eh?"

"_Me?_ Caucus? Ha, ha! Mum's the word, gents, (looking killingly

cunning.) Come, gentlemen, let's fill up. Ha, ha! me pulling the--ha,

ha! Well, here's to the old Constitution; let's hang by her, while

there's a--a--a button on Jabe's coat."

And they all responded, of course, to this eloquent sentiment.

"Here's to Jabe's buttons, coat, hat, and breeches."

"Excuse me," continued the first operator, after the toast was wet down,

"you'll please excuse me, in behalf of some of my friends here; as

you've been down in that dratted place, and must know a good deal of the

goings on there, I'd like to inquire about a few things we Western folks

don't more than get an inkling of, through the papers."

"Certainly; go on, sir," says the victim, assuming all the dignity and

depth of a man that's appealed to to settle a ponderous matter.

"I'd like to inquire if those Kitchen Cabinet disclosures of the

Pennsylvania Senator, were true. Had you ever any means of satisfying

yourself that there is, or was, a real service of gold in the

President's house?"

"Aye! that's what we'd all like to know," says another.

"How many pieces were there?"

"_What_ were they?"

"Aye, and what their _heft_ was?"

"Mum, gentlemen; let's drink--no tales out of school, ha, ha! No,

no--mum's the word." And looking funny and deep, merry and wise, all at

one and the same time, the man of all talk proposed to drink and

keep---- _mum_.

But they wouldn't drink, and insisted on the secret being let out--they

wanted a decided and positive answer, from a man who knew the ropes.

"Gentlemen," said the victim, dropping his voice into a sort of

melo-dramatic stage whisper, and stooping quite over the table, so as to

collect the several heads and ears as close into a phalanx as possible:

"gentlemen, it's a _fact!_"

"What?" says the party.

"All gold!" says the victim.

"A gold service?" inquires the party.

"_Thirty-eight pieces!_" continued the victim.

"Solid gold?" chimed the rest.

"_Just half a ton in heft!_"

"You don't tell us _that_?"

"Know it; eat out of 'em, _then weighed 'em all!_"

"P-h-e-w!" whistled some, while others went into stronger exclamations.

"_Fact, by the great_ ----"

"Oh, it's all right, sir; no doubt of it now, sir," said the mover of

the business, grasping the victim's upraised arm.

"Then, of course, sir, you're well acquainted with Matty Van; on good

terms with the little Magician," continued the leading wag.

"_Me?_ me on good terms with Matty? Ha, ha! that is a good joke; never

go to Washington without cracking a bottle with the little fox, and

staying over night with him. _Me_ on good terms with Matty? _We've had

many a spree together!_ Yes, _sir!_" and the knowing one winked right

and left.

"Well, there's old Bullion," continued one of the interrogators, a fine

portly old gent, "you know him, of course?"

"What, Tom Benton? Bless your souls, I don't know my letters half as

well as I know old Tom."

"And Bill Allen, of Ohio?" asked another. "What sort of a fellow is

Bill?"

"Bill Allen? Lord O! isn't he a coon? Bill Allen? I wish I had a dime

for every horn, and game of bluff, we've had together."

"Well, there's another of 'em," inquiringly asked a fat, farmer-looking

old codger: "Dr. Duncan, how's he stand down there about Washington?"

"Oh, well, he's a pretty good sort of an old chap, but, gents, between

you and I, (with another whisper,) there is a good deal of the 'old

fogie' senna and salts about him. But then he's death and the pale hoss

on poker."

"What, Doctor Duncan?" says they.

"Why, y-e-e-s, of course. Didn't he skin me out of my watch last winter,

playing poker, at Willard's?"

"Well," continued the fat farmer-looking man, "I didn't know Duncan

_gambled_?"

"Mum, not a word out of school; ha, ha! Let's drink, gents. Gamble? Lord

bless you, it's common as dish-water down there--I've played euchre for

hours with old Tom Benton, Harry Clay and Gen. Scott, _right behind the

speaker's chair!_"

_Then_ they all _drank_, of course, and some of the party liked to have

choked. The company now proposed to adjourn to the smoking room, and

they arose and left the table accordingly. The man of all talk

promenaded out on to the steps, and in course of half an hour, says the

leading spirit of the late dinner, or wine party, to him:--

"Mr. ----a--a--?"

"Ferguson, sir; George Adolphus Ferguson is my address, sir," responded

the victim.

"Mr. Ferguson, did you know that your friend Benton was in town?"

inquired the wag.

"What, Tom Benton here?"

"And Allen," continued the wag.

"What, Bill Allen, too?" says the victim.

"And Doctor Duncan."

"You don't tell me all them fellows are here?"

"Yes, sir, your friends are all here. Come in and see them; your friends

will be delighted," says the wag, taking Mister Ferguson by the arm, to

lead him in.

"Ha, ha! I'm a--a--ha, ha! _won't_ we have a time? But you just step

in--I a--I'll be in in one moment," but in less than half the time, Mr.

Ferguson mizzled, no one knew whither!

The gentlemen at the table, it is almost needless to say, were no others

than Benton, Allen, Duncan, and some three or four other arbiters of the

fate of our immense and glorious nation, in her councils, and fresh from

the capital.

Ferguson has not been heard of since.

A Severe Spell of Sickness.

It is the easiest thing under heaven to be sick, if you can afford it.

What it costs some rich men for family sickness per annum, would keep

all the children in "a poor neighborhood" in "vittels" and clothes the

year round. When old Cauliflower took sick, once in a long life-time, he

was prevailed upon to send for Dr. Borax, and it was some weeks before

Cauliflower got down stairs again. At the end of the year Dr. Borax sent

in his bill; the amount gave Cauliflower spasms in his pocket-book, and

threatened a whole year's profits with strangulation.

"Doctor," says Cauliflower, "that bill of yours is all-fired steep,

isn't it?"

"No, sir," says Borax; "your case was a dangerous case--I never raised a

man from the grave with such difficulty, in all my practice!"

"But, fifty-three _calls_, doctor, one hundred and six dollars."

"Exactly--two dollars a visit, sir," said the urbane doctor.

"And twenty-seven prescriptions, four plasters, &c.--eighty-one

dollars!"

"One hundred and eighty-seven dollars, sir."

"Well," says Cauliflower, "this may be all very _well_ for people who

can af-_ford_ it, but I can't; there's your money, doctor, but I'll bet

you won't catch me sick as that again--_soon!_"

The Race of the Aldermen.

In 183-, it chanced in the big city of New York, that the aldermen elect

were a sort of _tie_; that is, so many whigs and so many democrats. Such

a thing did not occur often, the democracy usually having the supremacy.

They generally had things pretty much all their own way, and distributed

their favors among their partizans accordingly. The whigs at length

_tied_ them, and the _locos_, beholding with horror and misgivings, the

new order of things which was destined to turn out many a holder of fat

office, many a pat-riot overflowing with democratic patriotism, whose

devotion to the cause of the country was manifest in the tenacity with

which he clung to his place, were extremely anxious to devise ways and

means to keep the whigs at bay; and as the day drew near, when the

assembled Board of Aldermen should have their sitting at the City Hall,

various _dodges_ were proposed by the locos to out-vote the whigs, in

questions or decisions touching the distribution of places, and

appointment of men to fill the various stations of the new municipal

government.

"I have it--I've got it!" exclaimed a round and jolly alderman of a

democratic ward. "To-night the Board meets--we stand about eight and

eight--this afternoon, let two of us invite two of the whigs, Alderman

H---- and Alderman J----, out to a dinner at Harlem, get H---- and J----

tight as wax, and then we can slip off, take our conveyance, come in,

and vote the infernal whigs just where we want them!"

"Capital! prime! Ha, ha, ha!" says one.

"First rate! elegant! ha, ha, ha!" shouts another.

"Ha, ha! haw! haw! he, he, he!" roared all the locys.

"Well, gentlemen, let's all throw in a V apiece, to defray expenses; we,

you know, of course, must put the whigs _through_, and we must give them

a rouse they won't forget soon. Champagne and turtle, that's the ticket;

coach for four _out_ and two _in_. Ha, ha!--The whigs shall see the

elephant!"

Well, the purse was made up, the coach hired, and the two victims, the

poor whigs, were carted out under the pretence of a grand aldermanic

feast to Harlem, the scene of many a spree and jollification with the

city fathers, and other bon vivants and gourmands of Gotham.

Dinner fit for an emperor being discussed, sundry bottles of "Sham" were

uncorked, and their effervescing contents decanted into the well-fed

bodies of the four aldermen. Toasts and songs, wit and humor, filled up

the time, until the democrats began to think it was time that one of

them slipped out, took the carriage back to the city, leaving the other

to _fuddle_ the two whigs, and detain them until affairs at "the Tea

Room," City Hall, were settled to the entire satisfaction of the

democrats.

"Landlord," says one of the democrats, whom we will call Brown,

"landlord, have you any conveyance, horses, wagons, carriages or carts,

by which any of my friends could go back to town to-night, if they

wish?"

"Oh, yes," says the landlord, "certainly--I can send the gentlemen in if

they wish."

"Very well, sir,--they may get very _tight_ before they desire to

return--they are men of families, respectable citizens, and I do not

wish them, under any circumstances, to leave your house until morning.

Whatever the bill is I will foot, provided you deny them any of your

means to go in to-night. You understand!"

"Oh! yes, sir--if you request it as a matter of favor, that I shall

keep your friends here, I will endeavor to do so--but hadn't you better

attend to them yourself?"

"Well, you see," says Brown, "I have business of importance to

transact--must be in town this evening. Give the party all they

wish--put that in your fob--(handing the host an X)--post up your bill

in the morning, and I'll be out bright and early to make all square. Do

you hark?" says Brown.

"Oh, yes, sir--all right," responded the landlord.

Brown gave his confederate the _cue_, stepped out, promising to "be in

in a minute," and then, getting into a carriage, he drove back to the

city, almost tickled to death with the idea of how nicely the whigs

would be "dished" when they all met at the City Hall, and came up minus

_two!_

Smith, Brown's loco friend, did his best to keep the thing up, by

calling in the New Jersey thunder and lightning--vulgarly known as

Champagne--and even walked into the aforesaid t. and l. so deeply

himself, that a man with half an eye might see Smith would be as blind

as an owl in the course of the evening. But Smith was bound to do the

thing up brown, and thought no sacrifice too great or too expensive to

preserve the loaves and fishes of his party. All of a sudden, however,

night was drawing on a pace, the whigs began to smell a _mice_. The

absence of Brown, and the excessive politeness and liberality of Smith,

in hurrying up the bottles, settled it in the minds of the whigs, that

something was going on dangerous to the whig cause, and that they had

better look out--_and so they did_.

"Jones," says one of the whigs, _sotto voce_, to the other, "Brown has

cleared; it is evident he and Smith calculate to corner us here, prevent

your presence in 'the Tea Room' to-night, and thus defeat your vote."

"The deuce! You don't think that, Hall, do you?"

"Faith, I do; but we won't be caught napping. Waiter, bring in a bottle

of brandy."

"Brandy?" said Smith, in astonishment. "Why, you ain't going to dive

right into it, in that way, are you?"

"Why not?" says Hall. "Brandy's the best thing in the world to settle

your nerves after getting half fuddled on Champagne, my boy; just you

try it--take a good stiff horn. Brown, you see, has _cut_, we must

follow; so let's straighten up and get ready for a start. Here's to 'the

loaves and fishes.'" Jones and Hall took their horns of Cogniac, which

does really make some men sober as judges after they are very drunk on

real or spurious Champagne.

"Well," says Smith, "it's my opinion we'll all be very _tight_ going in

this way, brandy on Champagne; but here goes to the fishes and

loaves--the loaves and fishes, I mean."

The brandy had a rather contrary effect from what it does usually; it

did _settle_ Smith--in five minutes he was so very "boozy" that his chin

bore down upon his breast, he became as "limber as a rag," and snored

like a pair of bagpipes.

"Now, Jones," says Hall, "let's be off. Landlord, get us a gig, wagon,

carriage, cart, any thing, and let's be off; we must be in town

immediately."

"Sorry, gentlemen, but can't oblige you--haven't a vehicle on the

premises!"

"Why, confound it, you don't pretend to say you can't send us into town

to-night, do you?" says Jones, waxing uneasy.

"Haven't you a horse, jackass, mule or a wheelbarrow--any thing, so we

can be carted in, right off, too?" says Hall.

"Can't help it, gentlemen."

"What time do the _cars_ come along?" eagerly inquires Jones.

"About nine o'clock," coolly replies the host.

"Nine fools!" shouted the discomfited alderman. "But this won't do;

come, Jones, no help for it--can't fool us in that way--eight miles to

the City Hall--two hours to do it in; off coat and _let's foot it!_"

* * * * *

The City Hall clock had just struck 7 P. M., the Tea Room was lighted up,

the assembled wisdom of the municipal government had their toadies, and

reporters and lookers-on were there; the room was quite full. Brown was

there, in the best of spirits, and the locos all fairly snorted with

glee at the scientific manner in which Brown had "done" Jones and Hall

out of their votes! The business of the evening was climaxing: the whigs

missing two of their number, were in quite a spasm of doubt and fear.

The chairman called the meeting to order. The roll was called: seven

"good and true" locos answered the call. Six whigs had answered: the

seventh was being called: the locos were grinning, and twisting their

fingers at the apex of their noses!

"Alderman Jones! Alderman Jones!" bawled the roll-caller.

"Here!" roared the missing individual, bursting into the room.

"Alderman Hall!" continued the roll.

"Here!" responded that notable worthy, rushing in, entirely blowed out.

"Beat, by thunder!" roared the locos, in grand chorus; and in the modern

classics of the Bowery, "they wasn't any thing else." The whigs not only

had the cut but the entire _deal_ in the appointments that time, and

Alderman Brown had a _bill_ at Harlem, a little more serious to foot

than the racing of the aldermen to get a chance to vote.

Getting Square.

It seems to be just as natural for a subordinate in a "grocery" to levy

upon the _till_, for material aid to his own pocket, as for the sparks

to fly upwards or water run down hill. Innumerable stories are told of

the peculations of these "light-fingered gentry," but one of the best of

the boodle is a story we are now about to dress up and trot out, for

your diversion.

A tavern-keeper in this city, some years ago, advertised for a

bar-keeper, "a young man from the country preferred!" Among the several

applicants who exhibited themselves "for the vacancy," was a decent,

harmless-looking youth whose general _contour_ at once struck the

tavern-keeper with most favorable impressions.

"So you wish to try your hand tending bar?"

"Yes, sir," said he.

"Have you ever tended bar?"

"No, sir; but I do not doubt my ability to learn."

"Yes, yes, you can learn fast enough," says the tavern-keeper. "In fact,

I'm glad you are green at the business, you will suit me the better; the

last fellow I had come to me recommended as one of the best bar-keepers

in New Orleans; he was posted up in all the fancy drinks and fancy

names, he wore fancy clothes and had a fancy dog, and I fancied pretty

soon that the rascal had taken a fancy to my small change, so I

discharged him in double quick time."

"Served him right, sir," said the new applicant.

"Of course I did. Well now, sir, I'll engage you; you can get the 'run'

of things in a few weeks. I will give you twenty-five dollars a month,

first month, and thirty dollars a month for the balance of the year."

"I'll accept it, sir," says the youth.

"Do you think it's enough?"

"O, yes, indeed, sir!"

"Well," says Boniface. "Now mark me, young man, I will pay you,

punctually, but you mustn't pay yourself extra wages!"

"Pay myself?" says the unsophisticated youth.

"Musn't take 'the run' of the till!"

"Run of the till?"

"No knocking down, sir!"

"O, bless you!" quoth the verdant youth, "I am as good-natured as a

lamb; I never knocked any body down in all my life."

"Ha! ha!" ejaculated the landlord; "he _is_ green, so I won't teach him

what he don't know. What's your name?"

"Absalom Hart, sir."

"Good Christian-like name, and I've no doubt we shall agree together,

for a long time; so go to work."

Absalom "pitched in," a whole year passed, Absalom and the landlord got

along slick as a whistle. Another year, two, three, four; never was

there a more attentive, diligent and industrious bar-keeper behind a

marble slab, or armed with a toddy stick. He was the _ne plus ultra_ of

bar-keepers, a perfect paragon of toddy mixers. But one day, somehow or

other, the landlord found himself in custody of the sheriff, bag and

baggage. Business had not fallen off, every thing seemed properly

managed, but, somehow or other, the landlord broke, failed, caved in,

and the sheriff sold him out.

Who bought the concern? Absalom Hart--nobody else. Some of the people

were astonished.

"Well, who would have thought it?"

"Hurrah for Absalom!"

"By George, that was quick work!" were the remarks of the outsiders,

when the fact of the sale and purchase became known. The landlord felt

quite humbled, he was out of house and home, but he had a friend,

surely.

"Mr. Hart, things work queer in this world, sometimes."

"Think so?" quietly responded the new landlord.

"I do, indeed; yesterday I was up, and to-day I am down."

"Very true, sir."

"Yesterday you were down, to-day you are up."

"Very true; time works wonders, Mr. Smith."

"It does indeed, sir. Now, Mr. Hart, I am out of employment--got my

family to support; I always trusted I treated you like a man, didn't I?"

"A--ye-e-s, you did, I believe."

"Now, I want you to employ me; I have a number of friends who of course

will patronize our house while I am in it, and you can afford me a fair

sort of a living to help you."

"Well, Mr. Smith," said Mr. Hart, "I suppose I shall have to hire

somebody, and as I don't believe in taking a raw hand from the country,

I will take one who understands all about it. I'll engage you; so go to

work."

"Thank you, Mr. Hart." And so the master became the man, and the man the

master.

"Poor Smith, he's down!" cries one old habitue of the 'General

Washington' bar-room. "I carkelated he'd gin out afore long, if he let

other people 'tend to his business instead of himself."

"I didn't like that fellow Absalom, no how," says another old head;

"he's 'bout skin'd Smith."

"Well, Smith kin be savin', he's larnt something," says a third, "and

oughter try to get on to his pegs again."

But when Absalom gave his "free blow," these fellows all "went in,"

partook of the landlord's hospitality, and hoped--of course they

did--that he might live several thousand years, and make a fortune!

Time slid on--Smith was attentive, no bar-keeper more assiduous and

devoted to the toddy affairs of the house, than Jerry Smith, the

pseudo-bar-keeper of Absalom Hart. Absalom being landlord of a popular

drinking establishment, was surrounded by politicians, horse jockies,

and various otherwise complexioned, fancy living personages. Ergo,

Absalom began to lay off and enjoy himself; he had his horses, dogs, and

other pastimes; got married, and cut it very "fat." One day he got

involved for a friend, got into unnecessary expenses, was sued for

complicated debts, and so entangled with adverse circumstances, that at

the end of his third year as landlord, the sheriff came in, and the

"General Washington" again came under the hammer.

Now, who will become purchaser? Every body wondered who would become the

next customer.

"I will, by George!" says Smith. And Smith did; he had worked long and

_faith_fully, and he had saved something. Smith bought out the whole

concern, and once more he was landlord of the "General Washington."

Absalom was cut down, like a hollyhock in November--he was dead broke,

and felt, in his present situation, flat, stale, and unprofitable

enough.

"Mr. Smith," said Absalom, the day after the collapse, "I am once more

on my oars."

"Yes, Ab, so it seems; it's a queer world, sometimes we are up, and

sometimes we are down. Time, Ab, works wonders, as you once very

forcibly remarked."

"It does, indeed, sir."

"We have only to keep up our spirits, Ab, go ahead; the world is large,

if it is full of changes."

"True, sir, very true. I was about to remark, Mr. Smith--"

"Well, Ab."

"That we have known one another--"

"Pretty well, I think!"

"A long time, sir--"

"Yes, Ab."

"And when I was up and you down--"

"Yes, go on."

"I gave you a chance to keep your head above water."

"True enough, Ab, my boy."

"Now, sir, I want you to give me charge of the bar again, and I'll off

coat and go to work like a Trojan."

"Ab Hart," said Smith, "when you came to me, you was so green you could

hardly tell a crossed quarter from a bogus pistareen--the 'run of the

till' you learnt in a week, while in less than a month you was the best

hand at 'knocking down' I ever met! There's fifty dollars, you and I are

square; we will keep so--go!"

Poor Absalom was beat at his own game, and soon left for parts unknown.

People Do Differ!

Fifty years ago, Uncle Sam was almost a stranger on the maps; he hadn't

a friend in the world, apparently, while he had more enemies than he

could shake a stick at. Every body snubbed him, and every body wanted to

lick him. But Sam has now grown to be a crowder; his spunk, too, goes up

with his resources, and he don't wait for any body to "knock the chip

off his hat," but goes right smack up to a crowd of fighting bullies,

and rolling up his sleeves, he coolly "wants to know" if any body had

any thing to say about him, in that crowd! Uncle Sam is no longer "a

baby," his _physique_ has grown to be quite enormous, and we rather

expect the old fellow will have to have a pitched battle with some body

soon, _or he'll spile!_

Bill Whiffletree's Dental Experience.

Have you ever had the tooth-ache? If not, then blessed is your

ignorance, for it is indeed bliss to know nothing about the tooth-ache,

as you know nothing, absolutely nothing about pain--the acute,

double-distilled, rectified agony that lurks about the roots or fangs of

a treacherous tooth. But ask a sufferer how it feels, what it is like,

how it operates, and you may learn something theoretically which you may

pray heaven that you may not know practically.

But there's poor William Whiffletree--he's been through the mill,

fought, bled, and died (slightly) with the refined, essential oil of the

agony caused by a raging tooth. Every time we read _Othello_, we are

half inclined to think that _more_ than half of Iago's devilishness came

from that "raging tooth," which would not let him sleep, but tortured

and tormented "mine ancient" so that he became embittered against all

the world, and blackamoors in particular.

William Whiffletree's case is a very strong illustration of what

tooth-ache is, and what it causes people to do; and affords a pretty

fair idea of the manner in which the tooth and sufferer are medicinally

and morally treated by the _materia medica_, and friends at large.

William Whiffletree--or "Bill," as most people called him--was a sturdy

young fellow of two-and-twenty, of "poor but respectable parents," and

'tended the dry-goods store of one Ethan Rakestraw, in the village of

Rockbottom, State of New York.

One unfortunate day, for poor Bill, there came to Rockbottom a

galvanized-looking individual, rejoicing in the euphonium of Dr.

Hannibal Orestes Wangbanger. As a surgeon, he had--according to the

album-full of _certificates_--operated in all the scientific branches of

amputation, from the scalp-lock to the heel-tap, upon Emperors, Kings,

Queens, and common folks; but upon his science in the dental way, he

spread and grew luminous! In short, Dr. Wangbanger had not been long in

Rockbottom before his "gift of gab," and unadulterated propensity to

elongate the blanket, set every body, including poor Bill Whiffletree,

in a furor to have their teeth cut, filed, scraped, rasped, reset, dug

out, and burnished up!

Now Bill, being, as we aforestated, a muscularly-developed youth, got up

in the most sturdy New Hampshire style, _his_ teeth _were_ teeth, in

every way calculated to perform long and strong; but Bill was fast

imbibing counter-jumper notions, dabbling in stiff dickeys, greased

soap-locks, and other fancy "flab-dabs," supposed to be essential in

cutting a swarth among ye fair sex.

So that when Dr. Wangbanger once had an audience with Mr. William

Whiffletree in regard to one of Mr. Whiffletree's molars which Bill

thought had a "speck" on it, he soon convinced the victim that the said

molar not only was specked, but out of the dead plumb of its nearest

neighbor at least the 84th part of an inch!

"O, shocking!" says the remorseless _hum_; "it is well I saw it in time,

Mr. Whiffletree. Why, in the course of a few weeks, that tooth, sir,

would have exfoliated, calcareous supperation would have ensued, the gum

would have ossified, while the nerve of the tooth becoming

apostrophized, the roots would have concatenated in their hiatuses, and

the jaw-bone, no longer acting upon their fossil exoduses, would

necessarily have led to the entire suspension of the capillary organs of

your stomach and brain, and--_death would supervene in two hours!_"

Poor Bill! he scarcely knew what fainting was, but a queer sensation

settled in his "ossis frontis," while his ossis legso almost bent double

under him, at the awful prospect of things before him! He took a long

breath, however, and in a voice tremulous with emotion, inquired--

"Good Lord, Doctor! what's to be done for a feller?"

"Plug and file," calmly said the Doctor.

"Plug and file what?"

"The second molar," said the Doctor; though the treacherous monster

_meant_ Bill's wallet, of course!

"What'll it cost, Doctor?" says Bill.

"Done in my very best manner, upon the new and splendid system invented

by myself, sir, and practiced upon all the crowned heads of Europe,

London, and Washington City, it will cost you three dollars."

"Does it hurt much, Doctor?" was Bill's cautious inquiry.

"Very little, indeed; it's sometimes rather agreeable, sir, than

otherwise," said the Doctor.

"Then go at it, Doctor! Here's the _dosh_," and forking over three

dollars, down sits William Whiffletree in a high-backed chair, and the

Doctor's assistant--a sturdy young Irishman--clamping Bill's head to the

back of the chair, to keep it steady, as the Doctor remarked, the latter

began to "bore and file."

"O! ah! ho-ho-hold on, _hold on!_" cries Bill, at the first _gouge_ the

Doctor gave the huge tooth.

"O! be me soul! be aizy, zur," says the Irishman, "it's mesilf as

untherstands it--_I'll howld on till yees!_"

"O--O-h-h-h!" roars Bill, as the Doctor proceeds.

"Be quiet, sir; the pain won't signify!" says the Doctor.

"Go-goo-good Lord-d-d! Ho-ho-hol-hold on!"

"O, yeez needn't be afeared of that--I'm howldin' yeez tight as a

divil!" cries Paddy, and sure enough he _was_ holding, for in vain Bill

screwed and twisted and squirmed around; Pat held him like a

cider-press.

"Let me--me--O--O--O! Everlasting creation! let me go-o-o--stop, _hold

on-n-n!_" as the Doctor bored, screwed, and plugged away at the tooth.

"All done, sir; let the patient up, Michael," says the Doctor, with a

confident twirl of his perfumed handkerchief. "There, sir--there was

science, art, elegance, and dispatch! Now, sir, your tooth is safe--your

life is safe--_you're a sound man!_"

"Sound?" echoes poor Bill, "sound? Why, you've broken my jaw into

flinders; you've set all my teeth on edge; and I've no more

feelin'--gall darn ye!--in my jaws, than if they were iron steel-traps!

You've got the wuth of your money out of my mouth, and I'm off!"

That night was one of anxiety and misery to William Whiffletree. The

disturbed _molar_ growled and twitched like mad; and, by daylight, poor

Bill's cheek was swollen up equal to a printer's buff-ball, his mouth

puckered, and his right eye half "bunged up."

"Why, William," says Ethan Rakestraw, as Bill went into the store, "what

in grace ails thy face? Thee looks like an owl in an ivy-bush!"

"Been plugged and filed," says Bill, looking cross as a meat-axe at his

snickering Orthodox boss.

"Plugged and _fined_? Thee hain't been fighting, William?"

"Fined? No, I ain't been _fined_ or fighting, Mr. Rakestraw, but I bet I

do fight that feller who gave me the tooth-ache!--O! O!" moaned poor

Bill, as he clamped his swollen jaw with his hand, and went around

waving his head like a plaster-of-paris mandarin.

"O! thee's been to the dentist, eh? Got the tooth-ache? Go thee to my

wife; she'll cure thee in one minute, William; a little laudanum and

cotton will soon ease thy pain."

Mrs. Rakestraw applied the laudanum to Bill's molar, but as it did no

kind of good, old grandmother proposed a poultice; and soon poor Bill's

head and cheek were done up in mush, while he groaned and grunted and

started for the store, every body gaping at his swollen countenance as

though he was a rare curiosity.

"Halloo, Bill!" says old Firelock, the gunsmith, as Bill was going by

his shop; "got a bag in your calabash, or got the tooth-ache?"

Bill looked daggers at old Firelock, and by a nod of his head intimated

the cause of his distress.

"O, that all? Come in; I'll stop it in a minute and a half; sit down,

I'll fix it--I've cured hundreds," says Firelock.

"What are you--O-h-h, dear! what are you going to do?" says Bill, eyeing

the wire, and lamp in which Firelock was heating the wire.

"Burn out the marrow of the tooth--'twill never trouble you again--I've

cured hundreds that way! Don't be afeared--you won't feel it but a

moment. Sit still, keep cool!" says Firelock.

"Cool?" with a hot wire in his tooth! But Bill, being already intensely

crucified, and assured of Firelock's skill, took his head out of the

mush-plaster, opened his jaws, and Firelock, admonishing him to "keep

cool," crowded the hot, sizzling wire on to the tin foil jammed into the

hollow by Wangbanger, and gave it a twist clear through the melted tin

to the exposed nerve. Bill jumped, bit off the wire, burnt his tongue,

and knocked Firelock nearly through the partition of his shop; and so

frightened Monsieur Savon, the little barber next door, that he rushed

out into the street, crying--

"Mon Dieu! mon Dieu! Ze zundair strike my shop!"

Bill was stone dead--Firelock crippled. The apothecary over the way came

in, picked up poor Bill, applied some camphor to his nose, and brought

him back to life, and--the pangs of tooth-ache!

"Kreasote!" says Squills, the 'pothecary. "I'll ease your pain, Mr.

Whiffletree, in a second!"

Poor Bill gave up--the kreasote added a fresh invoice to his

misery--burnt his already lacerated and roasted tongue--and he yelled

right out.

"Death and glory! O-h-h-h-h, murder! You've pizened me!"

"Put a hot brick to that young man's face," said a stranger; "'twill

take out the pain and swelling in three minutes!"

Bill revived; he seemed pleased at the stranger's suggestion; the Brick

was applied; but Bill's cheek being now half raw with the various

messes, it made him yell when the brick touched him!

He cleared for home, went to bed, and the excessive pain, finally, with

laudanum, kreasote, fire, and hot bricks, put him to sleep.

He awoke at midnight, in a frightful state of misery; walked the floor

until daylight; was tempted two or three times to jump out the window or

crawl up the chimney!

Until noon next day he suffered, trying in vain, every ten minutes, some

"known cure," oils, acids, steam, poultices, and the ten thousand

applications usually tried to cure a raging tooth.

Desperation made Bill revengeful. He got a club and went after Dr.

Wangbanger, who had set all the village in a rage of tooth-ache. Ten or

a dozen of his victims were at his door, awaiting ferociously their

turns to be revenged.

But the bird had flown; the _teuth-doctor_ had sloped; yet a good

Samaritan came to poor Bill, and whispering in his ear, Bill started for

Monsieur Savon's barber-shop, took a seat, shut his eyes, and said his

prayers. The little Frenchman took a keen knife and pair of pincers, and

Bill giving one awful yell, the tooth was out, and his pains and perils

at an end!

A-a-a-in't they Thick?

During the "great excitement" in Boston, relative to the fugitive slave

"fizzle," a good-natured country gentleman, by the name of Abner Phipps;

an humble artisan in the fashioning of buckets, wash-tubs and

wooden-ware generally, from one of the remote towns of the good old Bay

State, paid his annual visit to the metropolis of Yankee land. In the

multifarious operations of his shop and business, Abner had but little

time, and as little inclination, to keep the run of _latest news_, as

set forth glaringly, every day, under the caption of _Telegraphic

Dispatches_, in the papers; hence, it requires but a slight extension of

the imagination to apprise you, "dear reader," that our friend Phipps

was but meagerly "posted up" in what was going on in this great country,

half of his time. I must do friend Phipps the favor to say, that he was

not ignorant of the fact that "Old Hickory" fout well down to New

Orleans, and that "Old Zack" flaxed the Mexicans clean out of their

boots in Mexico; likewise that Millerism was a humbug, and money was

pretty generally considered a cash article all over the universal world.

But what did Phipps know or care about the Fugitive Slave bill? Not a

red cent's worth, no more than he did of the equitation of the earth,

the Wilmot proviso, or Barnum's woolly horse--not a _red_. He came to

Boston annually to see how things were a workin'; pleasure, not

business. The very first morning of his arrival in town, the hue and cry

of "slave hunters," was raised--Shadrack, the fugitive, was arrested at

his vocation--table servant at Taft's eating establishment, Corn Hill,

where Abner Phipps accidentally had stuck his boots under the

mahogany, for the purpose of recuperating his somewhat exhausted

inner-man. Abner saw the arrest, he was quietly discussing his

_tapioca_, and if thinking at all, was merely calculating what the

profits were, upon a two-and-sixpence dinner, at a Boston

_restaurateur_. He saw there was a muss between the black waiter and two

red-nosed white men, but as he did not know what it was all about, he

didn't care; it was none of his business; and being a part of his

religion, not to meddle with that that did not concern him, he continued

his _tapioca_ to the bottom of his plate, then forked over the

equivalent and stepped out.

As Phipps turned into Court square, it occurred, slightly, that the

niggers had got to be rather thick in Boston, to what they used to be;

and bending his footsteps down Brattle street, once or twice it occurred

to him that the niggers _had_ got to be thick--darn'd thick, for they

passed and repassed him--walked before him and behind him, and in fact

all around him.

"Yes," says Phipps, "the niggers are thick, thundering thick--never saw

'em so thick in my life. _Ain't they thick?_" he soliloquized, and as he

continued his stroll in the purlieus of "slightly soiled" garments,

vulgarly known as second-hand shops, mostly proprietorized by very

dignified and respectable _col'ud pussons_, it again struck Phipps quite

forcibly that the niggers were _a_ getting thick.

"Godfree! but ain't they thick! I hope to be stabbed with a gridiron,"

said Phipps, "if there ain't more _niggers_--look at 'em--more niggers

than would patch and grade the infernal regions eleven miles! Guess I've

enough niggers for a spell," continued Phipps, "so I'll just pop in

here, and see how this feller sells his notions." And so Abner, having

reached Dock square, saunters into a gun, pistol, bowie, jack-knife,

dog-collar, shot-bag, and notion-shop in general. Unlucky step.

The stiff-dickied, frizzle-headed, polished and perfumed shop-keeper was

on hand, and particularly predisposed to sell the stranger something.

Just then a nigger passed the door, and looked in very sharply at

Phipps, and presently two more passed, then a fourth and fifth, all

_looking_ more or less pointedly at the manufacturer of wooden doin's,

and white-pine fixin's.

"That's a neat _collar_," says the shop-keeper, as Phipps, sort of

miscellaneously, placed his hand upon a brass-band, red-lined

dog-collar.

"Collar! don't call that a _collar_, do you?"

"I do, sir, a beautiful collar, sir."

"What for, _solgers_?" asks Phipps.

"Soldiers, no, dogs," says the shop-keeper, puckering his mouth as

though he had _sampled_ a lemon.

"_O!_" says Phipps, suddenly realizing the fact. "I ain't got no dogs;

bad stock; don't pay; tax 'em up where I live; wouldn't pay tax for

forty dogs." More niggers passed, repassed, and looked in at Phipps and

the storekeeper.

"I say, ain't the niggers got to be thick--infernal thick, in your town

lately?"

"Well, I don't know that they are," replied the shop-keeper; "getting

rather scarce, I think, since the Fugitive bill has been put in force

over the country, sir, but it does appear to me," said the shop-keeper,

twiging sundry and suspicious-looking col'ud gem'en passing by his

store, gaping in rather wistfully at the door, and peeping through the

sash of the windows--"it does appear to me, that a good many colored

persons are about this morning; yes, there is, why there goes more, more

yet; bless me, there's another, two, three, four, why a dozen has just

passed; they seem to look in here rather curiously, I wonder--only look;

what has stirred them up, I want to know!" the fluctuation of the

_Congo_ market completely attracted the handsome man's attention;

his surprise finally assumed the most tangible shape and complexion of

fear, for the niggers, one and all, looked savage as meat-axes, and

began to get too numerous to mention.

[Illustration: "What dat! got pistils in your pocket, eh?" says one of

two big buck Niggers, shying up alongside of the new velocipeding

up-country artisan. "What dat! got de hand-cuffs in he

pocket!"--_Page_ 99.]

"Well, guess I'll be goin'," says Phipps, after fumbling over some of

the shooting-irons, jack-knives, etc.; reaching the street, he was more

fully impressed with the fixed fact, that the niggers were all sorts of

thick. They fairly crowded him; one buck darkey rubbed slap up against

Phipps, as he moved out of the store. "Look here, Mister," says Phipps,

"ain't all this street big enough for you without a crowdin' me?"

The nigger stopped, looked arsenic and chain lightning at Phipps, and

then moved off, saying in a sort of undertone--

"Gorra, I guess you'll be crowded a wus'n dat afore dis day is ober."

"Will, eh?" responded Abner Phipps, slightly mystified as to the why and

wherefore, that _he_ should, in particular, be "crowded," especially by

an Ethiopic gentleman.

"I guess I _won't_ then," resumed Phipps; "if any body ventures to crowd

me, just a purpose, I guess I'll be darn'd apt, and mighty quick to

squash in their heads, or whoop'm on the spot."

"What dat? got pistils in your pocket, eh?" says one of the two big buck

niggers, shying up alongside of the now velocipeding up-country artisan.

Phipps looked back, the negroes were following him. "Pistils? who's

talkin' about pistils, mister?" he ventured to ask.

"Dat's him, watch'm."

"Why, we see'd you goin' in dar, dat pistol shop; want to lay in a stock

of dirks and pistils, eh?" says the negro.

"You--you got any hand-cuffs in you' pocket?" inquired another.

"What dat? got de hand-cuffs in he pocket?"

"Pistils and bowie knibes!" says a third.

"Dat's him! watch'm!"

"Knock'm down, put dat white hat ober his eyes! Hoo-r-r!"

The negroes now fairly beset our victimized friend Phipps; he stopped,

buttoned his coat, the negroes augmented; glared at him like demons; he

fixed his hat firmly upon his head; the negroes began to grin and move

upon him; he spat upon his hands; the negroes began to yell, and to

close in upon him; with one grand effort, one mighty gathering of all

the human faculties called into action by fear and desperation, Phipps

bounded like a Louisiana bull at a gate post; he knocked down two,

_square_; kicked over four, and rushing through the now very

considerable and formidable array of ebony, he _broke_ equal to a wild

turkey through a corn bottom, or a sharp knife through a pound of milky

butter; and it is very questionable whether Phipps ever stopped running

until his boots _busted_, or he reached his bucket factory on Taunton

river. His negro deputation _waited on him_ with a rush clear outside of

town, where the speed and bottom of Abner distanced the entire

committee. The key to this joke is: Phipps was dogged from Tafts'--by

the "vigilant committee," as an informer, or slave-hunter at least, and

hence the delicate attentions of the col'ud pop'lation paid him. I have

no doubt, that if Abner Phipps be asked, how things look around Boston,

he would observe with some energy,

"Niggers--niggers are thick--Godfree! _a-a-a-in't they thick!_"

A Desperate Race.

Some years ago, I was one of a convivial party, that met in the

principal hotel in the town of Columbus, Ohio, the seat of government of

the Buckeye State.

It was a winter evening when all without was bleak and stormy, and all

within were blythe and gay; when song and story made the circuit of the

festive board, filling up the chasms of life with mirth and laughter.

We had met for the express purpose of making a night of it, and the

pious intention was duly and most religiously carried out. The

Legislature was in session in that town, and not a few of the worthy

legislators were present upon this occasion.

One of these worthies I will name, as he not only took a big swath in

the evening's entertainment, but he was a man _more_ generally known

than our worthy President, James K. Polk. That man was the famous

Captain Riley! whose "narrative" of suffering and adventures is pretty

generally known, all over the civilized world. Captain Riley was a fine,

fat, good-humored joker, who at the period of my story was the

representative of the Dayton district, and lived near that little city

when at home. Well, Captain Riley had amused the company with many of

his far-famed and singular adventures, which being mostly told before

and read by millions of people, that have ever seen his book, I will not

attempt to repeat them.

Many were the stories and adventures told by the company, when it came

to the turn of a well known gentleman who represented the Cincinnati

district. As Mr. ---- is yet among the living, and perhaps not disposed

to be the subject of joke or story, I do not feel at liberty to give

his name. Mr. ---- was a slow believer of other men's adventures, and at

the same time much disposed to magnify himself into a marvellous hero

whenever the opportunity offered. As Captain Riley wound up one of his

truthful, though really marvellous adventures, Mr. ---- coolly remarked,

that the captain's story was all very _well_, but it did not begin to

compare with an adventure that he had "once upon a time" on the Ohio,

below the present city of Cincinnati.

"Let's have it!" "Let's have it!" resounded from all hands.

"Well, gentlemen," said the Senator, clearing his voice for action and

knocking the ashes from his cigar against the arm of his chair.

"Gentlemen, I am not in the habit of spinning yarns of marvellous or

fictitious matters; and therefore it is scarcely necessary to affirm

upon the responsibility of my reputation, gentlemen, that what I am

about to tell you, I most solemnly proclaim to be truth, and--"

"Oh! never mind that, go on, Mr. ----," chimed the party.

"Well, gentlemen, in 18-- I came down the Ohio river, and settled at

Losanti, now called Cincinnati. It was, at that time, but a little

settlement of some twenty or thirty log and frame cabins, and where now

stands the Broadway Hotel and blocks of stores and dwelling houses, was

the cottage and corn patch of old Mr. ----, a tailor, who, by the by,

bought that land for the making of a coat for one of the settlers. Well,

I put up my cabin, with the aid of my neighbors, and put in a patch of

corn and potatoes, about where the Fly Market now stands, and set about

improving my lot, house, &c.

"Occasionally, I took up my rifle, and started off with my dog down the

river, to look up a little deer, or _bar_ meat, then very plenty along

the river. The blasted red skins were lurking about, and hovering

around the settlement, and every once in a while picked off some of our

neighbors, or stole our cattle or horses. I hated the red demons, and

made no bones of peppering the blasted sarpents whenever I got a sight

at them. In fact, the red rascals had a dread of me, and had laid a

great many traps to get my scalp, but I wasn't to be catch'd napping.

No, no, gentlemen, I was too well up to 'em for that.

"Well, I started off one morning, pretty early, to take a hunt, and

travelled a long way down the river, over the bottoms and hills, but

couldn't find no _bar_ nor deer. About four o'clock in the afternoon, I

made tracks for the settlement again. By and by, I sees a buck just

ahead of me, walking leisurely down the river. I slipped up, with my

faithful old dog close in my rear, to within clever shooting distance,

and just as the buck stuck his nose in the drink, I drew a _bead_ upon

his top-knot and over he tumbled, and splurged and bounded awhile, when

I came up and relieved him by cutting his wizen--"

"Well, but what had that to do with an _adventure_?" said Riley.

"Hold on a bit, if you please, gentlemen--by Jove it had a great deal to

do with it. For while I was busy skinning the hind quarters of the buck,

and stowing away the kidney-fat in my hunting shirt, I heard a noise

like the breaking of brush under a moccasin up 'the bottom.' My dog

heard it and started up to reconnoitre, and I lost no time in reloading

my rifle. I had hardly got my priming out before my dog raised a howl

and broke through the brush towards me with his tail down, as he was not

used to doing unless there were wolves, painters (panthers) or Injins

about.

"I picked up my knife, and took up my line of march in a skulking trot

up the river. The frequent gullies, on the lower bank, made it tedious

travelling there, so I scrabbled up to the upper bank, which was pretty

well covered with buckeye and sycamore and very little under-brush. One

peep below discovered to me three as big and strapping red rascals,

gentlemen, as you ever clapt your eyes on! Yes, there they came, not

above six hundred yards in my rear. Shouting and yelling like hounds,

and coming after me like all possessed."

"Well," said an old woodsman sitting at the table, "you took a tree of

course?"

"Did I? No, gentlemen! I took no tree just then, but I took to my heels

like sixty, and it was just as much as my old dog could do to keep up

with me. I run until the whoops of my red skins grew fainter and fainter

behind me; and clean out of wind, I ventured to look behind me, and

there came one single red whelp, puffing and blowing, not three hundred

yards in my rear. He had got on to a piece of bottom where the trees

were small and scarce--now, thinks I, old fellow, I'll have you. So I

trotted off at a pace sufficient to let my follower gain on me, and when

he had got just about near enough, I wheeled and fired, and down I

brought him, dead as a door nail, at a hundred and twenty yards!"

"Then you skelp'd (scalped) him immediately?" said the backwoodsman.

"Very clear of it, gentlemen, for by the time I got my rifle loaded,

here came the other two red skins, shouting and whooping close on me,

and away I broke again like a quarter horse. I was now about five miles

from the settlement, and it was getting towards sunset; I ran till my

wind began to be pretty short, when I took a look back and there they

came snorting like mad buffaloes, one about two or three hundred yards

ahead of the other, so I acted possum again until the foremost Injin got

pretty well up, and I wheeled and fired at the very moment he was

'drawing a _bead_' on me; he fell head over stomach into the dirt, and

up came the last one!"

"So you laid for him and--" gasped several.

"No," continued the "member," "I didn't lay for him, I hadn't time to

load, so I layed _legs_ to ground, and started again. I heard every

bound he made after me. I ran and ran, until the fire flew out of my

eyes, and the old dog's tongue hung out of his mouth a quarter of a yard

long!"

"Phe-e-e-e-w!" whistled somebody.

"Fact! gentlemen. Well, what I was to do I didn't know--rifle empty, no

big trees about, and a murdering red Indian not three hundred yards in

my rear; and, what was worse, just then it occurred to me that I was not

a great ways from a big creek, (now called Mill Creek,) and there I

should be pinned at last.

"Just at this juncture I struck my toe against a root, and down I

tumbled, and my old dog over me. Before I could scrabble up--"

"The Indian fired!" gasped the old woodsman.

"He did, gentlemen, and I felt the ball strike me under the shoulder;

but that didn't seem to put any embargo upon my locomotion, for as soon

as I got up I took off again, quite freshened by my fall! I heard the

red skin close behind me coming booming on, and every minute I expected

to have his tomahawk dashed into my head or shoulders.

"Something kind of cool began to trickle down my legs into my boots--"

"Blood, eh? for the shot the varmint gin you," said the old woodsman, in

a great state of excitement.

"I thought so," said the Senator, "but what do you think it was?"

Not being blood, we were all puzzled to know what the blazes it could

be. When Riley observed--

"I suppose you had--"

"Melted the deer fat which I had stuck in the breast of my hunting

shirt, and the grease was running down my legs until my feet got so

greasy that my heavy boots flew off, and one hitting the dog, nearly

knocked his brains out."