New Year's day is some considerable "pumpkins" in many parts of the
United States. In the Western States, they have horse-racing,
shooting-matches, quilting-frolics and grand hunting parties. In the
South, the week beginning with Christmas and ending with New Year's day,
is devoted to the largest liberty by the negroes, who have one grand and
extensive _saturnalia_, visit their friends and relations, make love to
the "gals" on neighboring plantations, spend the little change saved
through the year, or now and then given to them by indulgent or generous
masters, and in fact have a glorious good time! The holidays in New
Orleans, and in Louisiana generally, is _a time_, and no mistake. The
old French and Spanish families keep open house--dinners and suppers,
music, song and dance. On New Year's eve, they decorate the graves of
their friends with flowers. Lamps or lanterns are often required for
this purpose, and as you pass the silent grave-yards, it is indeed a
novel sight to see the many glimmering lights about the tombs of the
departed. In most of the South-Western towns, the day is given up to fun
and frolic. The Philadelphians have a great blow out. The streets are
filled by holiday-looking people, children with toys and "mint
sticks"--making the air resound with tin trumpets and penny whistles.
The men and boys used to load up every thing in the shape of cannons,
guns, pistols and hollow keys, and bang away from sunset until sunrise,
keeping up a racket, din and uproar, equal to the bombardment of a
citadel. The authorities stopped that, and now the civil young men kill
the night and day in dancing, feasting, and attending the amusements,
the multitude of rowdies passing their time in concocting and carrying
on street fights and running with the engines.
But the New Yorkers _bang_ the whole of them; bear witness, O ye New
Year's doings I have there seen. Visiting your friends, and your
friends' friends. Open houses every where! "Drop in and take a glass of
wine or bit of cake, if nothing else"--that's the word. Jeremy Diddlers
flourish, marriageable daughters and interesting widows set their caps
for the nice young men, the streets are noisy and full of confusion, the
theatres and show-shops generally reap an elegant harvest, and the
police reports of the second morning of the New Year swell monstrously!
Of a New Year's adventure of an innocent young acquaintance of mine, I
have a little story to tell.
Jeff. Jones was caught, at a New Year's dinner in New York, by the
fascinating grace and _cap_-tivating head-gear of a certain young widow,
who had a fine estate. Jeff. was what you might call a good boy; he had
never seen much of creation, save that lying between Pokeepsie (his
birth-place) and the Battery, Castle Garden and Bloomingdale. He was a
clever fellow, fond of rational fun and amusement, kept "a set of books"
for a mercantile firm in Maiden Lane, dressed well, kept good hours, and
in all general respects, was--a nice young man. He went with a friend on
a tour--New Year's day, to make calls. After a number of glasses and
chunks of cake, feeling altogether beautiful, he found himself in the
presence of a charming widow, and some two months afterwards, himself
and the widow, a parson and a brace of male and female friends, Jeff.
Jones, aged 28, took a partner for life, ergo he hung up his hat in the
snug domicil of the flourishing widow, who became Mrs. Jeff. Jones,
thereafter.
Poor Jeff., he found out that there was some truth in the venerable
saying--all is not gold that glitters. The charming widow was seriously
inclined to wear the inexpressibles; and poor Jeff., being of such a
gentlemanly, good and easy disposition, scarcely made a struggle for his
reserved rights. However, things, under such a state of affairs, grew no
better fast, and as Jeff. Jones had neglected to go around and see the
elephant before marriage, he came to the conclusion to see what was
going on after that interesting ceremony. In short, Jeff. got to going
out of nights--kept "bad hours," got blowed up in gentle strains at
first, but which were promised to be enlarged if Mr. Jones did not mind
his Ps. and Qs.
The third anniversary of Jeff. Jones's annexation to the widow was
coming around. It was New Year's day in the morn; it brought rather
sober reflections into Jeff.'s mind, on the head of which he thought
he'd as soon as not--_get tight!_ This notion was pleasing, and dressing
himself in his best clothes, Jones informed Mrs. J. that he wished to
call on a few old friends, and would be home to dine and bring some
friends with him!
"See that you do, then," said Mrs. J., "see that you do, that's all!"
and she gave Mr. J. "a look" not at all like Miss Juliet's to Mr.
Romeo--she _spoke_, and she said something.
However, Jones cleared himself; dinner hour arrived, if Jeff. Jones did
not; Mrs. Jones smiled and chatted, and did the honors of the table with
rare good grace, but where was Jones?
"He'll be poking in just as dinner is over, and the puddings cold, and
company preparing to leave; then he'll catch a lecturing."
But don't fret your pretty self, Mrs. Jones--for dinner passed and
tea-time came, but no Jones. Mrs. Jones began to get snappish, and by
ten o'clock she had bitten all the ends from her taper fingers, besides
dreadfully scolding the servants, all around. Mrs. J. finally
retired--the clock had struck 12, and no Jones was to be seen; Mrs. J.
was worried out; she could not sleep a blessed wink. She got up again,
Jones might have met with some dreadful accident! She had not thought of
that before! Perhaps at that very hour he was in the bottom of the
Hudson, or in the deep cells of the Tombs! It was awful! Mrs. Jones
dressed--the house was as still as a church-yard--she put on an old
hood, and shawl to match, and noiselessly she crept down stairs; and by
a passage out through the back area into a rear street. Mrs. Jones at the
dead hour of night determined to seek some information of her husband.
She had not gotten over a block, or block and a half from her mansion,
when she spies two men coming along--wing and wing, merry as grigs,
reeling to and fro, and singing in stentorian notes:
"A man that is (hic) married (hic) has lost every hope--
He's (hic) like a poor (hic) pig with his foot in a rope!
_O-o-o! dear! O-o-o! dear--cracky!_
A man that is (hic) married has so (hic) many ills--
He's like a (hic) poor fish with a (hic) hook in his gills!
_O-o-o-o! dear! O-o-o-o! dear--cracky!"_
In terror of these roaring bacchanalians, who were slowly approaching
her, Mrs. Jones stood close in the doorway of a store; the revellers
parted at the corner of the street, after many asseverations of eternal
friendship, much noise and twattle. One of the carousers came lumbering
towards Mrs. J., and she, in some alarm, left her hiding place and
darted past the midnight brawler; and to her horror, the fellow made
tracks after her as fast as a drunken man could travel, and that ain't
slow; for almost any man inside of sixty can run, like blazes, when he
is scarce able to stand upon his pins because of the quantity of bricks
in his beaver. Mrs. Jones ran towards her dwelling, but before she could
reach it, the ruffian at her heels clasped her! Just as she was about to
give an awful scream, wake up all the neighbors and police ten miles
around, she saw--_Jones!_ Jeff. Jones, her recreant husband!
It was a moment of awful import--the widow was equal to the crisis,
however, and governed herself accordingly; proving the truth of some
dead and gone philosopher who has left it in black and white, that the
widows are always more than a _match_ for any man in Christendom!
Jones was loving drunk, a stage that terminates and is a near kin to
total oblivion, in bacchanalian revels. Jones had not the remotest idea
of where he was--time or persons; his tongue was thick, eyes dull, ideas
monstrous foggy, and the few sentences he rather unintelligibly uttered,
were highly spiced with--"my little (hic) angel, you (hic), you (hic)
live 'bout (hic) here? Can't you ta-take me (hic) home with you, eh?
My-my old woman (hic) would raise-rai-raise old scratch if I (hic), I
went home to-to-night. (Hic) I'll, I'll go home (hic) in the morning,
and (hic) tell her, ha! ha! he! (hic) tell her I've be-be-been to a
fire!"
"O, the villain," said Mrs. J. to herself; "but I'll be revenged. Come,
sir, go home with me--I'll take care of you. Come, sir, be careful; this
way--in here."
"Where the (hic) deuce are--are you going down this (hic) cellar, eh?"
"All right, sir. Come, be careful! don't fall; rest on my arm--there,
shut the door."
"Why (hic), ha-hang it a--all; get a light--that's a de--ar!"
"Yes, yes; wait a moment, I'll bring you a light."
Mrs. J. having gotten her game bagged, left it in the dark, and retired
to her bed-chamber. Some of the servants, hearing a noise in the
basement, got up, stuck their noses out of their rooms, and being
convinced that a desperate scoundrel was in the house, raised the very
old boy. Poor Jones, in his efforts to get out, run over pots, pans, and
chairs, and through him and the servants, the police were alarmed!
lights were raised, and Jones was arrested for a burglar!
Never was a man better pleased to find himself in his own domicil, than
Jones! It was all Greek to the watchmen and servants; it was a
mysterious matter to Jones for a full fortnight--but upon promise of
ever after spending his new year's at home, Mrs. J. let the cat out of
the bag. Jones surrendered!
A Circuitous Route.
We know several folks who have a way of beating round and boxing the
compass, from A to Z, and back again, that fairly knocks us into
smithereens. One of these characters came to us the other day, and in a
most mysterious manner, with the utmost earnestness, solemnity, and
_hocus pocus_, says he--
"Cap'n, (winking,) I wanted to see you--(two winks;) the fact of the
business is, (wink, nod, and double wink,) I've wanted to see you,
badly; you see, I-a--well, what I-a (two winks)--was about to remark
(two nods and a short cough),--that is to say, it don't make much
matter, if-a--(wink, wink, wink;) you see it was in this way,
I-a--wanted to--a, to tell you that (dreadful lot of winks) I've
been--not, to be sure, that it's an uncommon-a thing, (nod, cough, and
forty winks,) but no doubt if I-a--the fact is--"
"Well, what in thunder and rosin is _the fact_, old boy?" says we.
"The fact is, cap'n, I'd a told you at once, but-a--I don't know why
I--shouldn't tho', (wink on wink,) _have you got two shillings you won't
want to use to-day_?"
We hadn't!
Major Blink's First Season at Saratoga.
"Ha, ha!" said Uncle Joe Blinks, as the subject of summer travel, a
jaunt somewhere, was being discussed among the regular boarders in Mrs.
Bamberry's spacious old-fashioned parlors; "Ha! ha! ha! ladies, did Mrs.
Bamberry ever tell you of _my_ tour to Saratogy Springs?--last summer
was two years."
"No," said several of us _neuter genders_ who had repeatedly heard all
about it, but were desirous that those who had not been thus gratified,
especially the ladies, and particularly a Miss Scarlatina, who was
_dieting_ for a tour to the famed Springs--"tell us all about it,
Major."
"Then," said the Major, with his favorite exclamation, "then, by the
banks of Brandywine, if I don't tell you. You see, last summer was two
years, I came to the conclusion, that I'd stop off business, altogether,
brush up a little, and go forth a mite more in the world, and I went. A
friend of mine, a married man, was going up north to Saratogy, with his
wife and sister--a plaguy nice young woman, the sister was, too; well, I
don't know how it was, exactly, but somehow or other, it came into my
head, especially as my friend Padlock had asked me if I wouldn't like to
go up to Saratogy--that I'd go, and I went. It was odd enough, to be
sure," said Uncle Joe, taking a pinch of rappee from his tortoise-shell
box--"very odd, in fact, but somehow or other, Mrs. Padlock, being in
poor health, and her sister, a rather volatile and inexperienced young
woman, you may say--"
"So that you had to _beau_ her along the way, Uncle Joe?" says several
of the company.
"Well, yes; it was very odd, I don't know how it was, but somehow or
other, I-a--I-a--"
"Out with it, Uncle Joe--own up; you cottoned to the young lady, gallant
as possible, eh?" says the gents.
"Ha! ha! it's a very delicate thing, very delicate, I assure you,
gentlemen, for an old bachelor to be on the slightest terms of intimacy
with a young--"
"And beautiful!" echoed the company.
"Unexperienced," continued the Major.
"And unprotected," says the chorus.
"Volatile," added the Major.
"And marriageable young lady, like Miss--"
"Miss Catchem," said the Major.
"Catchem!" cried the gents.
"Catchem, that was her name; she was the daughter of a very respectable
widow," continued the Major.
"A widow's daughter, eh?" said they all, now much interested in Uncle
Joe's journey to Saratoga, and--but we won't anticipate.
"Of a very respectable widow, whose husband, I believe, was a--but no
matter, they were of good family, and a--"
"Yes, yes, Uncle Joe," said the ladies, "no doubt of that; go on with
your story; you paid attention to Miss Catchem; you grew familiar--you
became mutually pleased with each other, and you finally--well, tell us
how it all came out, Uncle Joe, do!" they cried.
"Bless me, ladies! You've quite got ahead of my story--altogether! Miss
Catchem and I never spoke a word to each other in our lives," said the
Major.
"Why, Uncle Joe!" cried the whole party.
"By banks of Brandywine, it's a fact."
"Well, we never!" cried all the ladies.
"Well, ladies, I don't suppose you ever did," Uncle Joe responds. "The
fact is, Mrs. Padlock died suddenly the week Padlock spoke to me of
going to Saratogy, and he married her sister, Miss Catchem, in course of
a few weeks after, himself! I don't know how it was, but somehow or
other, I thought it was all for the best; things might have turned out
that I should have got tangled up with that girl, and a--"
"Been a married man, now, instead of a bachelor, Uncle Joe!" said the
young ladies.
"It's odd; I don't know how it was, ladies; it might have been so, but
it turned out just as I have stated."
"Well, well, Major," said an elderly person of the group; "go on; how
about Saratoga?"
"I will," says Uncle Joe, again resorting to his rappee, "I will. You
see Padlock didn't _go_, it was very odd; but somehow or other, I made
up my mind to _go_, and I went. I calculated to be gone three or four
weeks, and I concluded for once, at least, to loosen the strings of my
purse, if I never did again; so I laid out to expend three dollars or
so, each day, say eighty dollars for the trip; a good round sum, I
assure you, to fritter away; but, by banks of Brandywine, I was
determined to _do_ it, and I did. It was very odd, but the first person
I met at New York was an old friend, a schoolmate of mine. I was glad to
see him, and sorry enough to learn that he had failed in business--had a
large family--poor--in distress. It was very odd, but somehow or other,
we dined at the hotel together--had a bottle of Madeira, and I a--well,
I loaned--yes, by banks of Brandywine, I gave the poor fellow a twenty
dollar bill, shook hands and parted; yes, poor Billy Merrifellow, we
never met again; he--he died soon after, in distress, his family broke
up--scattered; it was very odd; poor fellow, he's gone;" and Uncle Joe
again had recourse to his rappee, while a large tear hung in the corner
of his full blue eye. Closing his box, and wiping his face with his
_pongee_, the Major continued:
"Next morning I called for my bill. I was astonished to find that a
couple of bottles of good wine, two extra meals, and something over one
day's board, figured up the round sum of ten dollars. I was three days
out, so far, and my pocket-book was lessened of half the funds intended
for a month's expenses! By banks of Brandywine, thinks Major, my boy,
this won't do; you must economize, or you shall be short of your
reckonings before you are a week out of port. That morning at the
steam-boat wharf I meets a young man very genteelly dressed; he looked
in deep distress about something. It was very odd, I don't know how it
was, but somehow or other, he came up to me and asked if I was going up
the river, and I very civilly told him I was; then, he up and tells me
he was a stranger in the city, had lost all his money by gambling, was
in great distress--had nothing but a valuable watch--a present from his
deceased father, a Virginia planter, and a great deal more. He begged me
to buy the watch, when I refused at first, but finally he so importuned
me, and offered the watch at a rate so apparently below its real value
that I up and gave him forty dollars for it, thinking I might in part,
indemnify my previous extravagance by this little bit of a trade. It was
very odd; I don't know how it was, but somehow or other, upon my arrival
at Saratogy, I found that watch wasn't worth the powder that would blow
it up! I was imposed upon, cheated by a scoundrel! Here I was, four days
from home, and my whole month's outfit nigh about gone. In the stage
that took us from the boat to the Springs, rode a very respectable
youngish-looking woman, with a very cross child in her arms; we had not
rode far before I found the other passengers, all gentlemen, apparently
much annoyed by the child; for my part I sympathized with the poor
woman, got into a conversation with her--learned she was on her way to
Saratogy to see her husband, who was engaged there as a builder. Upon
arriving at Saratogy, the young woman requested me to hold her child--it
was fast asleep--until she stepped over to a new building to inquire
about her husband. I did so; she went away, and I never saw her from
that to this!"
A loud and prolonged laugh from his auditors followed this _tableau_ in
Uncle Joe's story. A little more rappee, and the Major proceeded:
"Well, it was very odd, I don't know how it was, but somehow or other I
was left with the child, and a plaguy time had I of it; the town
authorities refused to take charge of it, nobody else would; so by
Brandywine, there I was; the people seemed to be suspicious of
me--sniggered and went on as though I knew more about the woman and her
child than I let on. In short, I had to father the child, and provide
for it, and I did," said the Major, quite patriotically.
"Well, never mind, Uncle Joe," said Mrs. Bamberry; "that boy may pay you
yet--pay you for all your trouble; he's growing nicely, and will make a
fine man."
"So you really had to keep the child!" cried several.
"O yes," says the Major; "I was in for it; I got a nurse and had the
youngster taken care of. The hotels were crowded, very uncomfortable,
rooms wretched, small, damp, and dirty. The landlords were quite
independent, and the servants the most impudent set of extorting varlets
I ever encountered! To keep from starving, I did as others--bribed a
waiter to keep my plate supplied. At night they had what they called
'hops!' in other words, dances, shaking the whole house, and raising
such a noise and hullabaloo, with cracked horns, squeaky
fiddles--bawling and yelling, that no sailor boarding house could be
half so disturbant of the peace. By banks of Brandywine, I got enough of
such _folderols_; at the end of the week I asked for my bill, augmented
by some few sundries--it made my hair stand up. Now what do you suppose
my bill was, for one week, board, lodging, servants' _bribes_ and
sundries? I'll tell you," said the Major, "for you never could guess
it--it was forty-one dollars, fifty cents. I took my _protege_, bag and
baggage, and started for home. I was absent on this memorable tour to
Saratogy just two weeks, and by banks of Brandywine, if the expense of
that tour--not including the time _wasted_, vexation, bother,
mortification of feelings, fuss, and rumpus--was but a fraction less
than three hundred dollars! Four times the cost of my anticipated trip,
lessened half the time, with fifty per cent. more humbug about it than I
ever dreamed of!"
Miss Scarlatina agreed with the rest of the company, that it cost Uncle
Joe Blinks more to go to Saratogy than it came to, and they all
concluded--not to go there themselves, just then--any how!