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PUNCHINELLO PUBLISHING COMPANY, in the Office of the Librarian of
Congress at Washington.
* * * * *
MAN AND WIVES.
A TRAVESTY.
By MOSE SKINNER,
CHAPTER SIXTH.
ANN'S RECEPTION.
The next morning, as ANN was eating breakfast, who should drive up in a
covered wagon but the Hon. MICHAEL.
"Just as I expected," said she. "They've found out where I am, and
they'll come out here and try to pump me about it. But I don't envy 'em
their job. Come in," she added, in answer to the Hon. MICHAEL'S somewhat
timid knock.
"How'd'do, ANN," said he. "Sister-in-law said you was here, and I
thought I'd come over and see you. Besides," he continued, in evident
embarrassment, "there's one or two things I thought you'd like to know."
"Well?" said she, as he paused. "Out with it, old fellow. Don't be
bashful."
"Oh! I ain't," he replied, rubbing his knees nervously. "Well, in the
fust place, the old lady is awfully down on you, says you've disgraced
the family, and she disowns you, and all that sort of humbug, but I shet
her up by telling her that whatever she said agin _you_, she said agin
_me_." He looked at ANN admiringly, and, taking from his pocket a large
package of red and white candy, handed it to her. Then he turned very
red in the face, looked hard at the ceiling, and repeated Mrs. LADLE'S
message all over again.
"First thing, _told_," said he.
It was plain to ANN that he had really come with the intention of making
love to her, but was anxious to find how the land lay first. But she
didn't give him any encouragement. Under existing circumstances, she
didn't think 'twould be right.
"Well," said she, "anything else?"
"Oh yes, I believe so,--ah--BELINDA sends love, and is jest about crazy
to see you, and hear all about it. Shouldn't wonder a bit if she was
over here afore the day's over."
He moved his chair nearer hers, glanced at her furtively, and sighed
deeply.
"Second thing, told," said he.
"Well, I'm much obliged to you. Items of gossip are victuals and drink
to our sex, you know. Don't be in a hurry," she continued, seeing that
he showed no signs of going. "Looking for your hat? Yes, here it is. Let
me put it on for you," she added in her gentle, winning way. "Good-by.
To think," she added, looking after him, "that the old pill should get
spoony on _me_!"
Sure enough, in the afternoon up drove BELINDA.
"Awful glad to see you, ANN dear," said she, kissing her. "I'm dying to
know all about it. As soon as I found out where you were, I rushed out
and hitched up the old mare myself. But I knew she'd never go so far
from home without an object in view to urge her. So I fastened a bag of
oats in front of her head. Didn't she just streak it? The idea of her
chasing them oats five miles before she caught 'em! She's out there now
eating 'em, propped up by a couple of fence-rails. But tell me, quick,
are you really married, as you said you'd be in that letter you left on
my wash-stand?"
"Yes, I am," replied ANN.
"Where's your husband? Who is he? Do tell me all about it. Does he look
like anybody I know?"
"Well, I should say he did." answered ANN, grinning. "You see it's a
sort of a joke, BELINDA. You wouldn't see the point now, half as well as
you will after you're married to ARCHIBALD. Then I'll tell you. Oh, it's
too rich!" And she laughed immoderately.
"Oh, I can't wait. Tell me now. If you will, I'll give you my new
_piqué_ and that bracelet. Come, why can't you?"
"Because I don't choose to," replied ANN coolly.
"Seems to me you're mighty short about it anyhow. Putting on airs, ain't
you, because you got married before I did?"
"Well, you needn't think nobody can get a fellow but you. Pooh, I could
cut _you_ out, any time."
"Oh, you _could_, could you?" returned BELINDA in high disdain. "Perhaps
you'd better try it on, with them freckles and that mole. I don't think
your husband, whoever he is, can brag much of his taste in the female
line. I'm sure _I_ don't want to see him, so you can keep him locked up,
you jealous thing. It's some old rowdy, I s'pose, that nobody else would
look at. I hate you, and always did. Don't never come near me. There!"
And she left in high dudgeon.
As she drove off, ANN stood by the window watching her. She
soliloquized, "So you think, Miss BELINDA, do you, 'that I'd better try
it on, with them freckles and that mole!' I think I _have_ tried it on,
and pretty effectually too. Just wait till you're married to BLINKSOP,
that's all."
By dark she began to look impatiently for TEDDY, for she felt sure he'd
find JEFFRY somewhere. It was nine o'clock, however, before he made his
appearance.
"Did you find him?" she inquired eagerly.
"I did, mum, sure, and a hard pull I had of it. I beat the whole town
through, and at last I found him a rollin' bowly alleys, and I giv him
your letther. Sich dreadful swears as he giv, mum, a walkin' up and down
an' a crushing his fingers like, and a bitin' his teeth together, and
then he stops in front of me, and says in an awful theatur voice, 'Tell
her,' says he, 'that I'll come,' and he giv me a kick, mum, as boosted
me clear to the sidewalk, and I see plainly as he had more remarks of
that same kind to deliver, and I edged off at about five miles an hour.
Goodnight to ye, mum."
ANN slept calmly and sweetly that night, for the one cherished idea of
her innocent girlhood was about to be consummated, and she smiled in her
sleep and thought she saw her mother.
JEFFRY MAULBOY kept his word. He was there at noon of the next day. And
the minister that was to marry them, and the lawyer that was to divorce
them, were there also.
At one o'clock they were man and wife, sworn to love, honor, and obey
each other till death did them part. At a quarter of two o'clock they
were man and woman, sworn to love, honor, and obey anybody they wanted
to, for a divorce did them part. And they went their separate ways.
CHAPTER SEVENTH.
WHERE IS ANN?
BELINDA returned from the Half-Way House, firmly determined to find out
all about that affair of ANN'S. Any woman would naturally feel curious
about it, and BELINDA really cannot be blamed for showing a little
feeling. "To think." said she, "after all my bragging that I'd be
married first, and the times I've twitted her of being too homely to get
a beau, that she should step out and get married right under my very
nose, and I not know anything about it, or even who she's married. Oh,
it's _too_ much. But I'll find out, if I die for it, and if there _is_
anything about it that ain't straight, won't I crow over her?"
The Hon. MICHAEL was also very anxious to find out about it. With the
affectionate ardor of a grass widower of fifty-five, in a State where
divorces sprout like mushrooms, he was loath to believe that ANN was
utterly lost to him. No, he would find her, he would follow her if
necessary to the world's end, living only in this hope, and when at last
the goal was reached, and her adored form greeted his vision, he would
pour out his wealth of love, bending his ear to catch the sweet
response, and then, and only then, would everything be lovely.
And so it comes that he and BELINDA, each with a different motive, take
counsel together in reference to the same end.
BELINDA'S first step was to send ARCHIBALD to the Half-Way House, for a
full description of the man that called there for ANN.
"Be smart for once in your life," said she, "and find out _something_."
Then she and the Hon. MICHAEL started off to find out what direction ANN
took after leaving the Half-Way House. They interviewed every
carriage-driver, depot-master, and hotel-keeper for miles around, but
without the slightest success. They finally came across a farmer,
however, who said be drove a woman to the station below. To their eager
inquiries as to her appearance, he could say nothing further, than he
thought she wore a dress, and was quite sure, though not certain, that
she had on either a shawl, or some other outside garment. He remembered
her distinctly, because the half-dollar she gave him turned out to be
counterfeit, and he got rid of it by giving it to a blind beggar; after
which, he said, he sneaked round the corner, and laughed till he was red
in the face, to think how slick that beggar was fooled.
This might be ANN, they thought, but to make sure, they telegraphed to
six different stations, promising a small reward in case their pursuit
was successful. In due time the answers came, all very much alike, and
to the effect that a woman, answering their description, was seen to
take such and such a train, and that the reward would reach them at the
following address, etc.; at which they went home rather discouraged, to
see what ARCHIBALD had accomplished.
He said he went to the Half-way House, and questioned Mrs. BACKUP and
TEDDY for four hours, without finding out the first thing. "You're a
numskull," said BELINDA. "If I hadn't got any more brains than you have,
I'd swap myself off for a dog, and then kill the dog."
"I don't believe the folks there would tell, anyhow," said the Hon.
MICHAEL; "she's probably hired 'em to keep mum."
Now the fact was, ARCHIBALD hadn't been near the Half-way House at all.
There wasn't money enough in the State to hire him to do so, after the
fearful ordeal he had there passed through. So he hid in the woods all
day, and rehearsed this terrible falsehood, making himself miserable by
repeating those extracts from the catechism which refer to the future
abode of liars.
Though thus foiled in their active investigations, they still held long
consultations on the absorbing topic, and in which, to ARCHIBALD'S
horror, he is often obliged to participate. He has had it on his
tongue's end forty times to tell BELINDA all about his forced marriage
with ANN at the Half-way House. He has even dreamed, on two separate
nights, that he has done so, but he woke up both times in a cold, clammy
sort of ooze, and it has naturally shaken his confidence, and so the
words stick in his throat. And he remembers ANN'S horrible threat of
coming for him when she wants him, and he makes it a point of doing all
his out-door business before dark, and the bare mention of her name will
make him start and glare wildly about him. And still BELINDA courts him
more persistently than ever, and it is a scene calculated to touch the
most rugged nature to watch them together, she smoothing his hair, and
calling him her "Tootsy-pootsy," or reading poetry to him, stopping
between each verse to cast languishing glances at him, and he bearing it
all with that haggard, imbecile look peculiar to an over-courted man.
And as their wedding-day approaches is it any wonder that poor ARCHIBALD
looks forward to it as a condemned criminal to the scaffold, and watches
day by day the setting of the sun with the same air of grim despair.
Once he tried to run away, but BELINDA, in ambush, flanked him and led
him home. Then she sent for his trunk, and made him board there. And so
he is floating along in a hopeless sort of daze, a wretched victim of
diabolical circumstances.
JEFFRY MAULBOY is visiting his brother JUDAS, at Terre Haute. He has
signed articles of agreement for the great Prize Fight with SANDY
MCCORMICK, known for his prowess in the Ring as the "nasty masher." The
fight will take place some time during the winter, and JEFFRY will go
into training early in September. And the papers are full of
biographical sketches of the two combatants, together with comments on
their weight, general appearance, and a list of fights heretofore
participated in, with vague speculations as to the number of eyes,
fragments of ears, &c., each one is supposed to possess, preserved in
alcohol as trophies. And when JEFFRY appears in public the masses regard
him with respectful admiration, and _gamins_ applaud. And when he gets
home he finds a brigade of those literary drummers, known as reporters,
sitting on his doorsteps, from beneath whose classic foreheads there
glares a wild and hungry eye, to be pacified only by a satisfactory
interview. The last exploit of the "Champion Nine" sinks into
insignificance beside this great, this momentous event, and the man who
walked a hundred miles in twenty-four hours is nowhere. He realizes the
cruel fact that Fame is fickle, and he makes one desperate effort to
grasp it, by offering determinedly to walk around the world in ninety
days, stopping for his gruel only at Hong Kong.
(To be concluded.)
* * * * *
NUISANCE ABATED.
G.F.T.--the apostle of Highfalutin, the most egregious nuisance of
modern times--has come to grief. We have the pleasure of announcing that
(for the present at least) we are relieved from our very natural anxiety
lest TRAIN should re-appear on the American _tapis._ It seems that he is
even more intolerable in France than he is in this country. He had only
got as far as Lyons, in the course of his airy progress through the new
Republic, when the authorities concluded that about the most sensible
thing they could do with their guest would be to lock him up. It gives
us pleasure to write that they did so.
They don't know how great is the favor they have conferred on the world
by this humane act. We shall ever remember the magistrates of Lyons with
feelings of regard, for the judicious energy displayed by them in this
matter.
* * * * *
Ehau! France.
Unhappy France! Well may her children weep over the misfortunes that have
befallen her. But alas! TITTERS cannot cure them.
* * * * *
THE OYSTER-SUPPER CRITIC.
He has a heavy head of hair;
His heavy hands are cleanly kidded;
He twists a heavy dark moustache,
And even his eyes are heavy-lidded.
He babbles in a heavy style,
And heavily grows analytic,
This literary heavy-weight,
This heavy oyster-supper critic.
He chatters about love of "art,"
This actor's "method," that one's "school,"
And pits the stock against the star,
With Contrast as his favorite rule.
He freights the columns of the press
With praise and blame alike mephitic,
And names the burden a _critique_--
And that's the oyster-supper critic.
To-day he dines with _opera-bouffe_,
To-morrow breakfasts with burlesque,
And tights and tinsel, face to face,
Encounters, pink and picturesque.
Nor frown, if, in next week's review,
His gropings after the artistic
Should crop out into verse, and take
The form of some SWINBURNIAN distich.
At night he flits from box to box
Or stands and gossips in the lobby,
With jest and gesture fast and free,
And _tout-ensemble_ neat and nobby.
And whilst he eyes the _debutante_,
And first resolves to praise, then damn her,
New York no other critic boasts
So good at heart, so bad at grammar.
But should some fair friend grace the stage,
Of praise he is not too abstemious,
But shares, alas! in all the faults
That genius has--without the genius!
His prejudices (like those words
That LINDLEY MURRAY terms "enelitic")
Cling close, and grow a part of him.
To form the oyster-supper critic.
The manager's his bosom-friend;
The agents love him like a brother.
His golden rule's to treat himself
As he'd be treated by another.
Though, in a business way, he sells
Impartial puffs for filthy lucre,
There's not, at the dramatic cards,
A rival whom, he cannot euchre.
He makes translations from the French,
Of "interest contemporaneous,"
And ekes a modest salary out
By bribes and bonuses extraneous.
He loves to "buzz" some British _blonde_
Who from a prince received her "breedin'"
And ever since has lived like EVE,
Unclothed (but _not_ ashamed) in Eden.
Widows and orphanesses fair,
Upon the stage, are all his go.
But, _off_, the widow he likes most
Is mentioned as the _Veuve_ CLICQUOT.
Like VATHEK lost in ERLIS' hall,
Upborne on shoulder-blades Afritic,
He bears, within, a perjured heart,
This sensual oyster-supper critic.
SPIFFKINS.
* * * * *
Two Men
JULES FAVRE is said to possess fair administrative abilities, but
GAMBETTA--
* * * * *
[Illustration: REDUCED TO EXTREMITIES.
IT IS WHISPERED BY JENKINS THAT A "PASSING BELLE" OF MADISON AVENUE HAS
RESORTED TO A NOVEL EUROPEAN FASHION BY EXHIBITING A CAST OF HER--WELL,
"INFERIOR ANATOMY," AS A DRAWING-ROOM ORNAMENT.]
* * * * *
OUR PORTFOLIO.
Harrowing effects of the uncertainty of war news--Shocking waste of
literary ammunition--A bill against the Provisional Government for
damages.
TOURS, TENTH WEEK OF THE REPUBLIC, 1870.
It was late in the afternoon when the intelligence arrived of a decisive
victory for the army of General PALADINES, who had been manoeuvring for
nearly a fortnight to draw the Germans into a sort of _cul-de-sac_
formed by the extension of the French lines from Le Mans to Nogent and
Etamps.
It came from such an authentic source, and had about it such appearances
of probability, that I immediately retired to the silence of my chamber
for the purpose of preparing a graphic review of the French situation, a
review in fact for which I had long sought some such opportunity. I had
made considerable progress with my paper, and was about to enter upon
that branch of the subject devoted to discussing the bearings of such a
victory upon the future prospects of France, when a tap at my door was
heard, and the red head of my landlady's first-born appeared.
"Monsieur is wanted down stairs," said the boy, with an alarmed look. I
hurried down and out into the street, only to be met by a messenger from
the Hotel de Ville, with the information that later despatches
contradicted the victory. The shock to my feelings can only be
appreciated by a writer who feels that he has consumed thirty or forty
pages of foolscap in vain. I had been over two hours at that work. I had
put all the brains I possessed in it. Many of the sentences so pleased
me that I had turned back with pardonable conceit to read them over and
admire them: but now, like a destroying angel, came the news that shook
from beneath my beautiful superstructure its very foundations, and left
me nothing but the humiliation of so much time and labor lost.
I went back to my room, and cast myself on the bed in deep affliction.
If I had been a single man I believe I could have hanged myself without
a pang. Sheer mortification soon lulled me to sleep, however, and when a
second banging at my door awakened me it was nightfall, and there were
sounds of rapid movement and confusion outside. I put my head out of the
window and heard a voice below, shouting:
"The Germans are coming!"
"S'death!" said I to myself, "what am I going to do?" My last stitch of
clothing, save what I had on my back, was in the hands of the
_blanchisseuse_, and PIERRE of the carrot "top" had possession of my
only pair of trousers for the purpose of cleaning them the following
morning. It would not have been a pleasant paragraph for me to read in
the newspapers that a correspondent bearing my name had been captured
_in puris naturalibus_. It would never do for an American to be taken
_sans culottes_, and then have the story of his surprise reviewed by
English and Yankee critics.
I don't know what I might have done in my distress; but kind fortune
favored me, for the landlady, anticipating the probability of my being
disturbed by the commotion, knocked at the door to say that it was a
false alarm, and that the Germans, though victorious, had halted ten or
twelve miles from the city. Promptly, therefore, I dashed into the midst
of another review of the French situation, predicated upon the late
French defeat. It was what I might call a perfect "stinger." It used
France up completely. The _grande nation_ wasn't left a peg to stand on;
and as for King WILLIAM, I proved him to be a butcher of the most
surpassing kind. In the short space of two hours I had covered
forty-three pages more of foolscap, and was about entering on my
forty-fourth, when there came a banging at my door for the third time,
and a despatch was handed me announcing that there _had been no battle
at all!_
From early childhood I had been taught that "whom the Lord loveth he
chasteneth," and, although the present circumstances clearly left me no
escape from the conviction that I must be an especial favorite of
Heaven, they could not prevent me from compensating my pent-up agony of
soul by literally eating seven and a half pages of my last "review." I
never knew before what "living on literary diet" meant, but I am wiser
now, and do not regret the "dread ordeal" by which I came to know all I
do know. Revenge occurred to me as the natural impulse of a man in such
a situation; but upon whom was I to be revenged? The government had
given currency to all these wild rumors; but it had too many heads for
me to punch. The job was bigger than I cared to undertake. The thought
occurred to me that I might present a bill of damages. Their sense of
justice would allow its fairness. I had been the dupe of false
intelligence, the victim of a series of frauds perpetrated to "regulate"
the popular feeling. I did not debate the thought, but took my
resolution immediately, and drew up the following.
LA NOTE.
Provisional Government of France.
To DICK TINTO, Correspondent, &c., Dr.
Francs.
To thirty-seven pages foolscap paper, consumed in writing
Review of French situation, &c., upon basis of reported
French victory near Orleans . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 2.17
To Forty-three pages foolscap paper, consumed in writing
Review of French situation, &c., upon basis of reported
German victory near Orleans . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 2.95
To astonishment and grief occasioned by report that there had
been no battle at all . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 150.00
To landlady's boy with red head, by name PIERRE, for carrying
messages . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1.10
To general wear and tear of nervous system, consequent upon
agitation resulting from uncertainty as to what to believe . 500.00
______
Grand total . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 656.22
I could not conceal from myself that the bill for damages was altogether
too small; but as France is poor, and the demands upon her exchequer are
great, I determined to send it just as it was, and wait in patience for
the result. I did so, and have been waiting ever since. The recollection
of what the Judge told JOHN BUNYAN when he sent him to jail keeps me up:
"Patient waiting, JOHN," observed the philosophic magistrate, "is no
loss." I try to fancy that I combine the patience of BUNYAN with the
philosophy of the Judge, and in that belief subscribe myself,
Bill-iously yours,
DICK TINTO.
* * * * *
GETTING MARRIED WITHOUT A MASTER.
IN FOUR EASY LESSONS.
Despond not, ye bachelors--anybody can get married. It's as easy as
rolling off from the roof of a six-story house, and quite as beneficial
to the system. I have known people who did this little business without
intending to accomplish it, but they never crowed over it; and I have
known others who have intentionally done it three or four times. But
everybody cannot do this work as it should be done. It's all very well
for you to have an elegant creature of your own, dressed in a white robe
and a blue ribbon; but, if you did not win her in the proper manner, you
feel degraded every time you gaze on her. Style is everything in this
business. For the benefit of the rising generation I have written this
little treatise, which will elucidate all the mysteries of the marriage
business, and will make every man his own guide to wedded bliss.
CHAPTER I.
FINDING THE GAME.
The true sportsman in this field is very wary. He casts his optics
around him until he finds the bird for which he thinks he had better go.
A vast amount of skill can properly be expended here. If the hunter is
young and rich, he can go for almost anything; if he is verging towards
gray hair and false teeth, he must not demand too much in the way of
beauty or money. If he has reached the well-preserved period, he can
have youth or beauty, but not wealth. No true sportsman ever goes for
brains, because it is almost impossible to find them, and, when found,
they are very unsatisfactory.
If the bird is an orphan, examine the books in the Surrogate's office
until you find her father's will; if her papa is still alive and
kicking, persuade her to take his bank-book into the back kitchen and
there count the shekels. Never let your heart get into the mess, for
that complicates matters.
If you have a hankering for widows, never run after one who has been in
the business more than once. They become so knowing after two or three
trials. Besides, there is a fatality about some women--they're bound to
be widows. Furthermore, widows have a way of appearing to be loaded down
with ducats, when, in reality, they are pawning the late defunct's
unmentionables for the means of existence.
Always select young game, if possible, as it is more likely to be tender
than that which has been condemned to the wall at numberless parties.
Game with freckles, or pimples, or cross eyes, can never be first-class.