"The Funny Philosophers have caused the exodus of the Seven
Sweethearts," said the Professor, as the three friends sat in Toney's
room in the hotel the morning subsequent to the departure of Pate and
Wiggins.
"Our sect must flourish," said Toney.
"And Pate's big bald head will not be seen bobbing about in Bella
Vista," said Tom.
"Mr. Seddon, you should not speak irreverently of bald heads," said the
Professor. "Remember the forty irreverent young lads and the she-bears,
and learn that bald-headed people are under the especial protection of
Providence. I am partially bald myself, and am under the impression that
this calamity came upon me in consequence of my having once deprived an
unfortunate individual of his hair."
"Did what?" exclaimed Toney.
"On one occasion I helped to scalp a man," said the Professor, gravely
and mournfully.
"Helped to scalp a man!" exclaimed Seddon.
"I am sorry to say that I did, Mr. Seddon," said the Professor.
"How was it?" asked Toney.
"It is a strange story," said the Professor.
"Let us have it," said Seddon.
"Some years ago," said the Professor, "I was on a steamboat going down
one of the large rivers in the South-west. The boat stopped at a landing
and a big fellow came on board. He was a rough, unpolished individual,
with long hair reaching down to his shoulders. He appeared to be in a
bad humor with himself and with all mankind; being one of those peculiar
specimens of humanity who believe that the whole duty of man is to
fight. As soon as he came on board it was apparent to the passengers
that he was a bully in quest of a quarrel. But everybody avoided him,
and for a long while he was unsuccessful in finding what he was seeking
for. Finally, however, his perseverance was amply rewarded. The bell
rang for dinner, and there was a rush for the saloon. The bully seated
himself at the head of the table. At intervals, among the dishes, were a
number of apple-pies. 'Waiter,' exclaimed the bully, 'bring me that
pie.' It was placed before him. 'And that one,' said he. The waiter
obeyed, and the bully reiterated his order until he had every apple-pie
on the table directly under his nose."
"The glutton!" said Toney.
"Did he eat all the pies?" asked Tom.
"No, Mr. Seddon, he did not," said the Professor. "Having collected all
the pies before him, he sternly glanced at the two rows of indignant
faces along the table. He saw anger in every eye; a frown upon every
brow; but not a word had been spoken. There was a dead silence, when the
bully brought down his fist on the table with tremendous force, and
fiercely shouted, 'I say that any man who don't like good apple-pie is a
d--d rascal!' This was more than human nature could endure. In an
instant every man was on his feet. The table was overturned, and hams,
and turkeys, and roast-pigs rolled on the floor. There was a general
fight. Pistols exploded, bowie-knives were brandished, and fists
flourished!"
"All endeavoring to get at the daring monopolizer of the apple-pies, I
suppose?" said Tom.
"By no means, Mr. Seddon," said the Professor. "There was promiscuous
fighting. Many who had no opportunity of dealing a blow at the bully,
fought and pommeled one another. I retreated to a corner."
"But what became of the bully?" asked Toney.
"I was about to tell you. As I stood on the defensive, warding off the
blows which were occasionally aimed at me, I saw a huge head coming
towards me like a battering-ram, the body to which it belonged being
propelled by kicks in the rear. The head was about to come in contact
with this portion of my anatomy--what do you call it?" said the
Professor, placing his hand on the part designated.
"The bread-basket," said Toney.
"No, that is not it," said the Professor.
"The abdomen," said Tom.
"That's the scientific term," said the Professor. "In order to protect
my abdomen from injury, I involuntarily reached out and convulsively
grasped the head by its long hair. As I did so, a bowie-knife descended
and shaved off the scalp, leaving it, with its long locks, in my grasp."
"What did you do with your trophy?" asked Toney.
"I rushed from the saloon, yelling like an Indian, with the scalp in my
hand. It belonged to the bully. He soon came upon deck howling for his
hair."
"Did you restore it to the owner?" asked Tom.
"No," said the Professor. "To the victor belong the spoils. I escaped
into the cook's galley, and carefully wrapped the scalp in some loose
sheets of the Terrific Register, and put it in my pocket, and afterwards
transferred it to my trunk. It is now in the possession of the learned
Professor Boneskull, who has been informed by his oracle that it was one
of the trophies found by the Kentuckians in the possession of the
celebrated Tecumseh when he was slain in battle."
"But the bully?" said Toney. "I am interested in his fate."
"He was like Samson. The loss of his hair seemed to deprive him of
strength and courage. His belligerency departed from him. He became
quiet and orderly, and during the rest of the passage never meddled with
the apple-pies, but behaved with perfect decorum. He was soon afterwards
seen on the anxious bench at a camp-meeting, and he is now a bald-headed
Methodist preacher, remarkable for his piety and mild and dovelike
disposition."
"The loss of his locks seems to have been of essential service to him,"
said Seddon.
"I wish, however, that I had given him back his hair," said the
Professor. "I suffered severely in consequence of depriving him of it."
"In what way?" inquired Tom.
"It was retribution, I suppose," said the Professor. "As soon as I had
pocketed the fellow's hair I began to lose my own. It fell out by
handfuls, and in a few months I had a bald patch on the top of my head
of ample area. It made me melancholy and poetical."
"I must confess that I cannot perceive any necessary connection between
a bald head and poetry," said Toney.
"Why, Toney, my dear fellow," said the Professor, "you must know that
when a man gets a bald pate he naturally begins to think of domestic
bliss and connubial felicity, which are poetical subjects. If he
meditates long on these subjects, versification will be the inevitable
result. It was so in my case. As I titillated the top of my bald head
with my forefinger, I plainly perceived that the time had come for me to
marry. So, like a bird on Saint Valentine's day, I began to look around
for a mate."
"You were like Dobbs, seeking for an angel and seven sweet little
cherubs," said Tom.
"No, Mr. Seddon, I was seeking for a dovelike little woman, and I
thought I had found one. In my imagination Dora was like a gentle white
dove. I cooed around her, and courted for weeks, and wrote some verses
in her album. I remember them well."
"I would like to hear them," said Toney.
"They can be produced from the archives of my memory," said the
Professor; and he recited the following verses:
When morn had sown her orient gems among the golden flowers
That blushed upon their purple stalks in fairy-haunted bowers,
Among the glowing throng around, a tender bud I spied,
That meekly held its humble place the verdant walk beside.
No gaudy beauties decked its crest with variegated dyes,
Like blinding splendors blazing o'er the summer's evening skies;
With simple moss encircled round, it hung its head to earth,
And yet in Flora's language it denotes superior worth.
And--what from poet's eye is hid, by others though unseen?--
It was the favorite palace of the lovely Fairy Queen;
Adown its tender petals oft her tiny chariot rolled,
And she within its fragrant folds her Elfin court did hold.
'Twas then I thought of one who blooms 'mid beauty's living flowers,
Like this sweet bud among its mates within the garden's bowers,
With unassuming, modest grace--her charms she never knew--
Superior worth her brightest charm. And, lady, is it you?
"I read these verses to Dora, and then I asked her the question
propounded in the last line."
"What did she say?" inquired Tom.
"She said no!"
"Perhaps she was offended by the comparison to so humble a flower," said
Seddon.
"It may have been so," said the Professor. "I then asked her a question
in relation to the annexation of our destinies."
"What did she say?" asked Toney.
"She said no! I then asked her again in more unequivocal terms. I told
her that I was seeking for domestic bliss and connubial felicity, and
earnestly inquired if she would not assist me in the search."
"What was her reply?" asked Tom.
"She said no! And this time the dovelike Dora laughed in my face."
"After having answered no three times?" said Tom.
"Three negatives do not make an affirmative, Mr. Seddon, especially when
the final negation to your very serious and sentimental proposal is
accompanied by laughter. I was mortified and angry, and so I hurried
home----"
"To do like Perch--procure a pint of laudanum?" inquired Toney.
"Not at all," said the Professor. "Upon arriving at my homestead I ate a
very hearty dinner; for I was hungry and had a wolfish appetite; after
which I immediately went into the arms of Morpheus. I did not wake until
next morning, when, as I stood before a mirror making my toilet, I
perceived that the bald patch on my head was considerably enlarged. A
fit of melancholy and poetry came upon me, and resulted in the
production of some verses, which, with your permission, I will repeat."
"Do so," said Toney.
"By all means!" said Seddon.
"It is a simple little ballad," said the Professor, "in which I
endeavored to mingle as much pathos as did Goldsmith in his Hermit. Its
recitation has often drawn tears from very obdurate individuals, and,
gentlemen, I now notify you to produce your pocket-handkerchiefs."
The Professor then recited the following stanzas:
The gentle spring is breathing
Its fragrance all around,
Rich with the scent of flow'rets
That blossom o'er the ground;
As if the glorious rainbow,
When thunders rolled on high,
Had parted into fragments
And fallen from the sky,
And scattered o'er the meadows,
And through the orchards green,
Its variegated colors
To beautify the scene;
The while, on golden winglets,
The humming-bird so gay,
Moves with a fairy motion,
And rifles sweets away:
So rich his purple plumage,
So beautiful his crest,
'Tis to the eye of fancy
As if some amethyst,
Carved into a bright jewel
All gloriously to deck,
With its surpassing splendors,
Some lovely lady's neck,
Hath felt the life-blood flowing
From a mysterious spring,
And fled a gaudy truant
Upon a golden wing,
Filled with a fairy spirit
To sport upon the air,
With never-tiring pinions
Among the flow'rets fair.
Adown the sloping mountain,
Where wave the ceders green,
And ever-verdant laurel
In blooming clusters seen,
Leaps the wild, flashing streamlet
With a loud shout of mirth,
As though some mine of silver,
Deep buried in the earth,
By hidden fires were melted
Within its gloomy caves,
And from its dark cell bursting,
With its translucent waves,
Now sparkles in the sunbeam,
Now hid by ivy's shade,
Till o'er a steep ledge pouring,
It forms a wild cascade,
Where, dashed into bright fragments,
It glitters in the beam,
And with its brilliant colors
Unto the eye doth seem,
That showers of liquid rubies,
And molten gems of gold,
With sapphire and with amber,
In mingling waves are rolled
O'er these high rocks in torrents
Unto the vale below,
Then gain a course of smoothness,
And gently on do flow
'Mid banks of blooming roses
And snow-white lilies fair,
Where butterflies are floating
Upon the balmy air,
With many-colored winglets,
O'er fragrant violets blue,
And gayly sip their nectar
Mixed with the honey'd dew;
To gaze upon their beauties
'Twould seem as if some fay,
When roving through some garden
Upon a sunny day,
Had waved his wand of magic
O'er rose and tulip bright,
That filled with life had started
Upon a joyous flight,
And down the grassy meadows,
And 'mid the blooming trees,
To visit now their kindred,
Are floating on the breeze:
While from the woodland's thickets
At intervals are heard
The soft, melodious music
Of the sweet mocking-bird;
Which from those green recesses
Echoes the merry notes,
The little feathered songsters
Pour from their warbling throats.
Thus nature ever smiling,
Each living creature gay
Seems filled with sunny gladness
Throughout the cloudless day;
While I, a lonely bachelor,
Do bear a bleeding heart,
Just like a wounded wild goat
When stricken by a dart.
I've seen each tie dissolving
Of love and friendship sweet,
Like lumps of sugar-candy
When held unto the heat:
My friends they all proved traitors,--
I'm told it's always so,--
Fidelity's a stranger
In this rude world below.
They smoked my best havanas
And drank my best champagne,
And borrowed many a dollar
They ne'er returned again:
But soon as fortune left me,
They all deserted too--
They made me half a Timon--
The sycophantic crew!
I turned from man to woman--
Sweet woman to admire!
But from the pan 'twas leaping
Into the blazing fire!
I met a lovely maiden,
Who looked so very kind,
I thought she was an angel,
But I was very blind!
Like a deceitful siren,
She led me far astray;
I wandered in love's mazes
Until I lost my way;
But when I knelt to worship,
Why, then she laughed outright--
I told her I was dying,
And Dora said I might.
At that I grew quite angry,
And feeling partly cured,
Went home and ate my dinner,
And then was quite restored:
I ate six apple-dumplings,
Then laid me down to sleep,
Nor woke until next morning,
Then from my couch did creep,
And gazing in the mirror,
The sight my soul appall'd,
For I beheld with horror
That I was growing bald:
Since then I've known no pleasure!
Man's treachery I could bear,
And the deceits of woman,
But not the loss of hair!
"Goldsmith never wrote anything like that," said Seddon.
"Nor Tennyson, neither," said Toney.
"Tennyson be hanged!" exclaimed Tom. "I'll match Tickle against him any
day."
"The composition of this poem fully developed my poetical genius," said
the Professor. "I discovered that I could be a bard; and so I composed a
whole book of poems."
"What did you do with it?" asked Toney.
"I published it," said the Professor. "Did you never hear of it?"
"I must candidly admit that I never did," said Toney.
"The critics cut and slashed away at my little book for about a month;
and then they let it alone. It was not until several years after its
publication that I heard a word in its praise; and that was under
peculiar circumstances. I was looking over a lot of second-hand books on
a stall at the corner of a street, when I discovered my own poems. I
asked the price. The man said it was a work of rare genius and very
scarce, but that as a favor I could have it for a dollar. This sounded
like posthumous praise, and was very flattering. So I bought the book,
and you can read it at your leisure."
"Now we are on literary subjects," said Seddon, "I must remind Toney of
his promise to read his biography of Pate."
"Of whom?" asked the Professor.
"Of M. T. Pate, the illustrious founder of the Mystic Order of Seven
Sweethearts," said Seddon. "Toney has written his biography."
"Only one chapter," said Toney. "I can clearly foresee that Pate is
destined to become a very distinguished man. As he makes materials for
his biography the work will progress. The first chapter has been
written."
"Read it," said Tom.
"Read it! read it!" exclaimed the Professor.