"Tip us yer bunch of fives, old faker!" said ARTEMUS, Jr. He
reads the "Clipper."
My wife was to the sowin' circle. I knew she and the wimin
folks was havin' a pleasant time slanderin' the females of the
OTHER sowin' circle (which likewise met that arternoon, and
was doubtless enjoyin' theirselves ekally well in slanderin'
the fust-named circle), and I didn't send for her. I allus
like to see people enjoy theirselves.
My son ORGUSTUS was playin' onto a floot.
ORGUSTUS is a ethereal cuss. The twins was bildin' cob-houses
in a corner of the kitchin'.
It'll cost some postage-stamps to raise this fam'ly, and yet
it 'ud go hard with the old man to lose any lamb of the flock.
An old bachelor is a poor critter. He may have hearn the
skylark or (what's nearly the same thing) MISS KELLOGG and
CARLOTTY PATTI sing; he may have hearn OLE BULL fiddle, and
all the DODWORTHS toot, an' yet he don't know nothin' about
music--the real, ginuine thing--the music of the laughter of
happy, well-fed children! And you may ax the father of sich
children home to dinner, feelin werry sure there'll be no
spoons missin' when he goes away. Sich fathers never drop tin
five-cent pieces into the contribution box, nor palm shoe-pegs
off onto blind hosses for oats, nor skedaddle to British sile
when their country's in danger--nor do anything which is
really mean. I don't mean to intimate that the old bachelor
is up to little games of this sort--not at all--but I repeat,
he's a poor critter. He don't live here; only stays. He
ought to 'pologize on behalf of his parients, for bein' here
at all. The happy marrid man dies in good stile at home,
surrounded by his weeping wife and children. The old bachelor
don't die at all--he sort of rots away, like a pollywog's
tail.
. . . .
My townsmen were sort o' demoralized. There was a evident
desine to ewade the Draft, as I obsarved with sorrer, and
patritism was below Par--and MAR, too. [A jew desprit.] I
hadn't no sooner sot down on the piazzy of the tavoun than I
saw sixteen solitary hossmen, ridin' four abreast, wendin'
their way up the street.
"What's them? Is it cavilry?"
"That," said the landlord, "is the stage. Sixteen able-bodied
citizens has literally bo't the stage line 'tween here and
Scotsburg. That's them. They're Stage-drivers. Stage-
drivers is exempt!"
I saw that each stage-driver carried a letter in his left
hand.
"The mail is hevy, to-day," said the landlord. "Gin'rally
they don't have more'n half a dozen letters 'tween 'em. To-
day they're got one a piece! Bile my lights and liver!"
"And the passengers?"
"There ain't any, skacely, now-days," said the landlord, "and
what few ther is very much prefer to walk, the roads is so
rough."
"And how ist with you?" I inquired of the editor of the
"Bugle-Horn of Liberty," who sot near me.
"I can't go," he said, shakin' his head in a wise way.
"Ordinarily I should delight to wade in gore, but my bleedin'
country bids me stay at home. It is imperatively necessary
that I remain here for the purpose of announcin', from week to
week, that OUR GOV'MENT IS ABOUT TO TAKE VIGOROUS MEASURES TO
PUT DOWN THE REBELLION!"
I strolled into the village oyster-saloon, where I found Dr.
SCHWAZEY, a leadin' citizen in a state of mind which showed
that he'd bin histin' in more'n his share of pizen.
"Hello, old Beeswax," he bellered; "how's yer grandmams? When
you goin' to feed your stuffed animils?"
"What's the matter with the eminent physician?" I pleasantly
inquired.
"This," he said; "this is what's the matter. I'm a habit-ooal
drunkard! I'm exempt!"
"Jes' so."
"Do you see them beans, old man?" and he pinted to a plate
before him. "Do you see 'em?"
"I do. They are a cheerful fruit when used tempritly."
"Well," said he, "I hadn't eat anything since last week. I
eat beans now BECAUSE I eat beans THEN. I never mix my
vittles!"
"It's quite proper you should eat a little suthin' once in a
while," I said. "It's a good idee to occasionally instruct
the stummick that it mustn't depend excloosively on licker for
its sustainance."
"A blessin'," he cried; "a blessin' onto the hed of the man
what invented beans. A blessin' onto his hed!"
"Which his name is GILSON! He's a first family of Bostin,"
said I.
. . . .
This is a speciment of how things was goin' in my place of
residence.
. . . .
A few was true blue. The schoolmaster was among 'em. He
greeted me warmly. He said I was welkim to those shores. He
said I had a massiv mind. It was gratifyin', he said, to see
the great intelleck stalkin' in their midst onct more. I have
before had occasion to notice this schoolmaster. He is
evidently a young man of far more than ord'nary talents.
The schoolmaster proposed we should git up a mass meetin'.
The meetin' was largely attended. We held it in the open air
round a roarin' bonfire.
The schoolmaster was the first orator. He's pretty good on
the speak. He also writes well, his composition bein' seldom
marred by ingrammatticisms. He said this inactivity surprised
him. "What do you expect will come of this kind of doin's?
Nihil fit--"
"Hooray for Nihil!" I interrupted. "Fellow-citizens, let's
giv three cheers for Nihil, the man who fit!"
The schoolmaster turned a little red, but repeated--"Nihil
fit."
"Exactly," I said. "Nihil FIT. He wasn't a strategy feller."
"Our venerable friend," said the schoolmaster, smilin'
pleasantly, "isn't posted in Virgil."
"No, I don't know him. But if he's a able-bodied man he must
stand his little draft."
The schoolmaster wound up in eloquent style, and the
subscriber took the stand.
I said the crisis had not only cum itself, but it had brought
all its relations. It has cum, I said, with a evident
intention of makin' us a good long visit. It's goin' to take
off its things and stop with us. My wife says so too. This
is a good war. For those who like this war, it's just such a
kind of war as they like. I'll bet ye. My wife says so too.
If the Federal army succeeds in takin' Washington, and they
seem to be advancin' that way pretty often, I shall say it is
strategy, and Washington will be safe. And that noble banner,
as it were--that banner, as it were--will be a emblem, or
rather, I should say, that noble banner--AS IT WERE. My wife
says so too. [I got a little mixed up here, but they didn't
notice it. Keep mum.] Feller citizens, it will be a proud
day for this Republic when Washington is safe. My wife says
so too.
The editor of the "Bugle-Horn of Liberty" here arose and said:
"I do not wish to interrupt the gentleman, but a impertant
despatch has just bin received at the telegraph office here.
I will read it. It is as follows: GOV'MENT IS ABOUT TO TAKE
VIGOROUS MEASURES TO PUT DOWN THE REBELLION! [Loud applause.]
That, said I, is cheering. That's soothing. And Washington
will be safe. [Sensation.] Philadelphia is safe. Gen.
PATTERSON'S in Philadelphia. But my heart bleeds partic'ly
for Washington. My wife says so too.
There's money enough. No trouble about MONEY. They've got a
lot of first-class bank-note engravers at Washington (which
place, I regret to say, is by no means safe) who turn out two
or three cords of money a day--good money, too. Goes well.
These bank-note engravers made good wages. I expect they lay
up property. They are full of Union sentiment. There is
considerable Union sentiment in Virginny, more especially
among the honest farmers of the Shenandoah valley. My wife
says so too.
Then it isn't money we want. But we do want MEN, and we must
have them. We must carry a whirlwind of fire among the foe.
We must crush the ungrateful rebels who are poundin' the
Goddess of Liberty over the head with slung-shots, and
stabbin' her with stolen knives! We must lick 'em quick. We
must introduce a large number of first-class funerals among
the people of the South. Betsy says so too.
This war hain't been too well managed. We all know that.
What then? We are all in the same boat--if the boat goes
down, we go down with her. Hence we must all fight. It ain't
no use to talk now about who CAUSED the war. That's played
out. The war is upon us--upon us all--and we must all fight.
We can't "reason" the matter with the foe. When, in the broad
glare of the noonday sun, a speckled jackass boldly and
maliciously kicks over a peanut-stand, do we "reason" with
him? I guess not. And why "reason" with those other Southern
people who are trying to kick over the Republic! Betsy, my
wife, says so too.
The meeting broke up with enthusiasm.
We shan't draft in Baldinsville if we can help it.