The toilet, with its multiform details and complicated machinery, is a
demon whose surname is Legion.
Time would fail me to speak of the elusiveness of soap, the knottiness
of strings, the transitory nature of buttons, the inclination of
suspenders to twist, and of hooks to forsake their lawful eyes, and
cleave only unto the hairs of their hapless owner's head. (It occurs to
me as barely possible, that, in the last case, the hooks may be
innocent, and the sinfulness may lie in _capillary_ attraction.)
And, O my brother or sister in sorrow, has it never befallen you, when
bending all your energies to the mighty task of "doing" your back-hair,
to find yourself gazing inanely at the opaque back of your brush, while
the hand-mirror, which had maliciously insinuated itself into your right
hand for this express purpose, came down upon your devoted head with a
resonant whack?
I have alluded, parenthetically, to the possible guilt of capillary
attraction, but I am prepared to maintain against the attraction of
gravitation the charge of total depravity. Indeed, I should say of it,
as did the worthy exhorter of the Dominie's old parish in regard to
slavery,--"It's the wickedest thing in the world, except sin!"
It was only the other day that I saw depicted upon the young divine's
countenance, from this cause, thoughts "too deep for tears," and,
perchance, too earthy for clerical utterance.
From a mingling of sanitary and economic considerations, he had cleared
his own sidewalk after a heavy snow-storm. As he stood, leaning upon his
shovel, surveying with smiling complacency his accomplished task, the
spite of the arch-fiend Gravitation was raised against him, and, finding
the impish slates (hadn't Luther something to say about "_as many devils
as tiles_"?) ready to coöperate, an avalanche was the result, making the
last state of that sidewalk worse than the first, and sending the divine
into the house with a battered hat, and an article of faith
supplementary to the orthodox thirty-nine.
Prolonged reflection upon a certain class of grievances has convinced me
that mankind has generally ascribed them to a guiltless source. I refer
to the unspeakable aggravation of "typographical errors," rightly so
called,--for, in nine cases out of ten, I opine it is the types
themselves which err.
I appeal to fellow-sufferers, if the substitutions and interpolations
and false combinations of letters are not often altogether too absurd
for humanity.
Take, as one instance, the experience of a friend, who, in writing in
all innocency of a session of the Historical Society, affirmed mildly in
manuscript, "All went smoothly," but weeks after was made to declare in
blatant print, "All went _snoringly_!"
As among men, so in the alphabet, one sinner destroyeth much good.
The genial Senator from the Granite Hills told me of an early aspiration
of his own for literary distinction, which was beheaded remorselessly by
a villain of this type. By way of majestic peroration to a pathetic
article, he had exclaimed, "For what would we exchange the fame of
Washington?"--referring, I scarcely need say, to the man of fragrant
memory, and not to the odorous capital. The black-hearted little dies,
left to their own devices one night, struck dismay to the heart of the
aspirant author by propounding in black and white a prosaic inquiry as
to what would be considered a fair equivalent for the _farm_ of the
father of his country!
Among frequent instances of this depravity in my own experience, a
flagrant example still shows its ugly front on a page of a child's book.
In the latest edition of "Our Little Girls," (good Mr. Randolph, pray
read, mark, learn, and inwardly digest,) there occurs a description of a
christening, wherein a venerable divine is made to dip "his _head_" into
the consecrating water, and lay it upon the child.
Disembodied words are also sinners and the occasions of sin. Who has not
broken the Commandments in consequence of the provocation of some
miserable little monosyllabic eluding his grasp in the moment of his
direst need, or of some impertinent interloper thrusting itself in to
the utter demoralization of his well-organized sentences? Who has not
been covered with shame at tripping over the pronunciation of some
perfectly simple word like "statistics," "inalienable," "inextricable,"
etc., etc., etc.?
Whose experience will not empower him to sympathize with that
unfortunate invalid, who, on being interrogated by a pious visitor in
regard to her enjoyment of means of grace, informed the horror-stricken
inquisitor,--"I have not been to church for years, I have been such an
_infidel_,"--and then, moved by a dim impression of wrong somewhere, as
well as by the evident shock inflicted upon her worthy visitor, but
conscious of her own integrity, repeated still more emphatically,--"No;
I have been a confirmed infidel for years."
But a peremptory summons from an animated nursery forbids my lingering
longer in this fruitful field. I can only add an instance of
corroborating testimony from each member of the circle originating this
essay.
The Dominie _loq._--"Sha'n't have anything to do with it! It's a wicked
thing! To be sure, I do remember, when I was a little boy, I used to
throw stones at the chip-basket when it upset the cargo I had just
laded, and it was a great relief to my feelings too. Besides, you've
told stories about me which were anything but true. I don't remember
anything about that sack."
Lady-visitor _loq._--"The first time I was invited to Mr. ----'s, (the
Hon. ---- ----'s, you know,) I was somewhat anxious, but went home
flattering myself I had made a creditable impression. Imagine my
consternation, when I came to relieve the pocket of my gala-gown, donned
for the occasion, at discovering among its treasures a tea-napkin,
marked gorgeously with the Hon. ---- ----'s family-crest, which had
maliciously crept into its depths in order to bring me into disgrace! I
have never been able to bring myself to the point of confession, in
spite of my subsequent intimacy with the family. If it were not for
Joseph's positive assertion to the contrary, I should be of the opinion
that his cup of divination conjured itself deliberately and sinfully
into innocent Benjamin's sack."
Student _loq._ (Testimony open to criticism.)--"Met pretty girl on the
street yesterday. Sure I had on my 'Armstrong' hat when I left
home,--sure as fate; but when I went to pull it off,--by the crown, of
course,--to bow to pretty girl, I smashed in my beaver! How it got there
don't know. Knocked it off. Pretty girl picked it up and handed it to
me. Confounded things, any way!"
Young divine _loq._--"While I was in the army, I was in Washington on
'leave' for two or three days. One night, at a party, I became utterly
bewildered in an attempt to converse, after long desuetude, with a
fascinating woman. I went stumbling on, amazing her more and more, until
finally I covered myself with glory by the categorical statement that in
my opinion General McClellan could 'never get across the Peninsula
without a _fattle_; I beg pardon, Madam! what I mean to say is, without
a _bight_.'"
School-girl _loq._--"When Uncle ---- was President, I was at the White
House at a state-dinner one evening. Senator ---- came rushing in
frantically after we had been at table some time. No sooner was he
seated than he turned to Aunt to apologize for his delay; and, being
very much heated, and very much embarrassed, he tugged away desperately
at his pocket, and finally succeeded in extracting a huge blue stocking,
evidently of home-manufacture, with which he proceeded to wipe his
forehead very energetically and very conspicuously. I suppose the truth
was that the poor man's handkerchiefs were "on a strike," and thrust
forward this homespun stocking to bring him to terms."
School-girl, No. 2, _loq._--"My last term at F., I was expecting a box
of 'goodies' from home. So when the message came, 'An express-package
for you, Miss Fanny!' I invited all my specials to come and assist at
the opening. Instead of the expected box, there appeared a
misshapen-bundle, done up in yellow wrapping-paper. Four such
dejected-looking damsels were never seen before as we, standing around
the ugly old thing. Finally, Alice suggested,--
"'Open it!'
"'Oh, I know what it is,' I said; 'it is my old Thibet, that mother has
had made over for me.'
"'Let's see,' persisted Alice.
"So I opened the package. The first thing I drew out was too much for
me.
"'What a funny-looking basque!' exclaimed Alice. All the rest were
struck dumb with disappointment.
"No! not a basque at all, but a man's black satin waistcoat! and next
came objects about which there could be no doubt,--a pair of dingy old
trousers, and a swallow-tailed coat! Imagine the chorus of damsels!
"The secret was, that two packages lay in father's office,--one for me,
the other for those everlasting freedmen. John was to forward mine. He
had taken up the box to write my address on it, when the yellow bundle
tumbled off the desk at his feet and scared the wits out of his head.
So I came in for father's secondhand clothes, and the Ethiopians had the
'goodies'!"
Repentant Dominie _loq._--"I don't approve of it at all; but then, if
you must write the wicked thing, I heard a good story for you to-day.
Dr. ---- found himself in the pulpit of a Dutch Reformed Church the other
Sunday. You know he is one who prides himself on his adaptation to
places and times. Just at the close of the introductory services, a
black gown lying over the arm of the sofa caught his eye. He was rising
to deliver his sermon, when it forced itself on his attention again.
"'Sure enough,' thought he, 'Dutch Reformed clergymen do wear gowns. I
might as well put it on.'
"So he solemnly thrust himself into the malicious (as you would say)
garment, and went through the services as well as he could, considering
that his audience seemed singularly agitated, and indeed on the point of
bursting out into a general laugh, throughout the entire service. And no
wonder! The good Doctor, in his zeal for conformity, had attired himself
in the black cambric duster in which the pulpit was shrouded during
week-days, and had been gesticulating his eloquent homily with his arms
thrust through the holes left for the pulpit-lamps!"