onst for the price of a lode of shuks. He sed he wanted to buy sum
ruffness, and I agreed to bring him a lode of shuks for two dollers. My
waggin got broke and he got tired a waitin', and sent out atter the
shuks himself. When I called on him for the pay, he seemed surprised,
and sed it had cost him two dollars and a half to hav the shuks hauld,
and that I justly owd him a half a dollar. He were more bigger than I
was, so I swallered my bile and sued him. His lawyer pled a set-off for
haulin'. He pled that the shuks was unsound; that they was barred by
limitashuns; that they didn't agree with his cow; and that he never got
any shuks from me. He spoak about a hour, and allooded to me as a
swindler about forty-five times. The bedevild jewry went out, and brot
in a verdik agin me for fifty cents, and four dollars for costs. I
hain't saved many shuks on my plantashun sence, and I don't intend to
til it gits less xpensiv! I look upon this as a warnin' to all foaks
_never to go to law about shuks_, or any other small sirkumstanse.
The next trubble I had was with a feller I hired to dig me a well. He
was to dig it for twenty dollers, and I was to pay him in meat and meal,
and sich like. The vagabon kep gittin' along til he got all the pay, but
hadn't dug nary a foot in the ground. So I made out my akkount, and sued
him as follers, to wit:
Old John Hanks, to Bill Arp Dr.
To 1 well you didn't dig $20
Well, Hanks, he hired a cheep lawyer, who rared round xtensively, and
sed a heep of funny things at my xpense, and finally dismissd my case
for what he calld its "ridikulum abserdum." I paid those costs, and went
home a sadder and a wiser man. I pulld down my little kabbin and mooved
it sum three hundred yards nigher the spring, and I hav drunk mity
little well water sence. I look upon this case as a warnin' to all foaks
_never to pay for enything till you git it, espeshally if it has to be
dug_.
The next law case I had I ganed it all by myself, by the forse of
sirkumstanses. I bot a man's note that was giv for the hire of a nigger
boy, Dik. Findin' he wouldn't pay me, I sued him before old Squire
Maginnis, beleevin' that it was sich a ded thing that the devil couldn't
keep me out of a verdik. The feller pled failur of konsiderashun, and
_non est faktum_, and _ignis fatuis_, and infansy, and that the nigger's
name wasn't Dik, but _Richard_. The old Squire was a powerful sesesh,
and hated the Yankees amazin'. So atter the lawyer had got thru his
speech and finished up his readin' from a book called "Greenleaf," I
rose forward to a attitood. Stretchin' forth my arms, ses I: "Squire
Maginnis, I would ax, sur, if this is a time in the histry of our
afflikted kountry when Yankee law books should be admitted in a Southern
patriot's Court? Hain't we got a State of our own and a code of Georgy
laws that's printed on Georgy sile? On the very fust page of the
gentleman's book I seed the name of the sitty of Bosting. Yes, sur, it
was ritten in Bosting, where they don't know no more about the hire of a
nigger than an ox knows the man who will tan his hide." I sed sum more
things that was pinted and patriotik, and closd my argyment by handin'
the book to the Squire. He put on his speks, and atter lookin' at the
book about a minit, ses he:
"Mr. Arp, you can have a judgment, and I hope that from hensefourth no
lawyer will presoom to cum before this honerabul court with pisen
dokyments to proove his case. If he do, this court will take it as an
insult, and send him to jail."
I look upon this case as a warnin' to all foaks who gambel in law to
hold a good hand and play it well. High jestice and patriotism are
winning trumps.
My next case was about steelin' a hog. Larseny from the woods, I think
they call it. I didn't hav but one hog, and we had to let him run out to
keep him alive, for akorns was cheeper than corn at my house. Old
Romulus Ramsour sorter wanted sum fresh meat, and so he shot my shote in
the woods, and was catched carrying him home. He had cut off his ears
and throwed 'em away; but we found 'em, with the under bit in the right
and swaller fork in the left, and so Romulus was brot up square before
the jewry, and his defense was that it was a wild hog. The jewry was out
about two hours and brot in a verdik: "We, the jewry, know that shortly
atter the war the kountry was scarce of provishuns, and in considerashun
of the hard time our poor peepul had in maintainin' their families, and
the temtashuns that surrounded 'em, we find the defendant not guilty,
but we rekommend him not to do so any more." The motto of this case is
that a man ortent to keep hogs in a poor naberhood.
After this I had a diffikulty with a man by the name of Kohen, and I
thot I wouldn't go to law, but would arbytrate. I had bot Tom Swillins'
wheat at a dollar a bushel, _if he couldn't do any better_, and if he
could do better he was to cum back and _giv me the prefferense_. The
skamp went off and sold the wheat to Kohen for a dollar and five cents,
and Kohen knowd all about his kontrak with me. Me and him lik to hav
fit, and perhaps would, if I hadn't been puny; but we finally left it to
Josh Billins to arbytrate. Old Josh deliberated on the thing three days
and nites, and finally brot in an award that Kohen should hav the wheat
an' _I should hav the prefferense_. I hain't submitted no more cases to
arbytration sinse, and my advise to all peepul is to arbytrate nuthin'
if your case is honest, for there ain't no judge there to keep one man
from trikkin' the other. An honest man don't stan no chance nowhere
xceptin' in a court house with a good lawyer to back him. The motto of
this case is, never to arbytrate nuthin' but a bad case, and take a good
lawyer to advise, and pay him fur it before you do that.
But I got Fretman. _I_ didn't, but my lawyer, Marks, did. Fretman was a
nutmeg skhool teacher who had gone round my naborhood with his skool
artikles, and I put down of Troup and Calhoun to go, and intended to
send seven or eight more if he proved himself right. I soon found that
the little nullifiers warn't lernin' enything, and on inquiry I found
that nutmeg was a givin' powerful long recessess, and employin' his time
cheefly in carryin' on with a tolerbul sized female gal that was a goin'
to him. Troup sed he heerd the gal squeel one day, and he knowed Fretman
was a squeezin' of her. I don't mind our boys a squeezin' of the Yankee
gals, but I'll be blamed if the Yankees shall be a squeezin' ourn. So I
got mad and took the children away. At the end of the term Fretman sued
me for eighteen dollars, and hired a cheep lawyer to kollekt it. Before
this time I had lerned sum sense about a lawyer, so I hired a good one,
and spred my pokit book down before him, and told him to take what would
satisfi him. And he took. Old Phil Davis was the jestice. Marks made the
openin' speech to the effek that every profeshunal man ort to be able to
illustrate his trade, and he therefore proposed to put Mr. Fretman on
the stan' and _spell him_. This moshun was fout hard, but it agreed with
old Phil's noshuns of "high jestice," and ses he: "Mr. Fretman, you will
hav to spell, sur." Marks then swore him that he would giv true evidense
in this case, and that he would spell evry word in Dan'l Webster's
spellin' book correkly to the best of his knowledge and beleef, so help
him, etc. I saw that he were a tremblin' all over like a cold wet dog.
Ses Marks, "Mr. Fretman, spell 'tisik.'" Well, he spelt it, puttin' in a
_ph_ and a _th_ and a _gh_ and a _zh_, and I don't know what all, and I
thot he were gone up the fust pop, but Marks sed it were right. He then
spelt him right strate along on all sorts of big words, and little
words, and long words, and short words, and he knowd 'em all, til
finally Marks ses, "Now, sur, spell 'Ompompynusuk.'" Fretman drawd a
long breth and sed it warn't in the book. Marks proved it was by a old
preecher who was a settin' by, and old Phil spoke up with power, ses he,
"Mr. Fretman, you must spell it, sur." Fretman was a swettin' like a run
down filly. He took one pass at it, and _missd_.
"You can cum down, sur," ses Marks, "you've lost your case;" and shore
enuf, old Phil giv a verdik agin him like a darn.
Marks was a whale in his way. At the same court he was about to nonsoot
a Doktor bekaus he didn't hav his diplomy, and the Doktor begged the
court for time to go home after it. He rode seven miles and back as hard
as he could lick it, and when he handed it over, Marks, ses he, "Now,
sur, you will just take the stand and translate this lattin' into
English, so that the court may onderstand it." Well, he jest caved, for
he couldn't do it.
He lost his case in two minits, for the old squire sed that a dokter who
couldn't read his diplomy had no more right to praktise than a
magistrate what couldn't read the license had to jine two cuple
together.
DARIUS GREEN AND HIS FLYING-MACHINE
BY J. T. TROWBRIDGE
If ever there lived a Yankee lad,
Wise or otherwise, good or bad,
Who, seeing the birds fly, didn't jump
With flapping arms from stake or stump,
Or, spreading the tail
Of his coat for a sail,
Take a soaring leap from post or rail,
And wonder why
_He_ couldn't fly,
And flap, and flutter, and wish, and try,--
If ever you knew a country dunce
Who didn't try that as often as once,
All I can say is, that's a sign
He never would do for a hero of mine.
An aspiring genius was D. Green:
The son of a farmer, age fourteen;
His body was long and lank and lean,--
Just right for flying, as will be seen;
He had two eyes as bright as a bean,
And a freckled nose that grew between,
A little awry,--for I must mention
That he had riveted his attention
Upon his wonderful invention,
Twisting his tongue as he twisted the strings,
And working his face as he worked the wings,
And with every turn of gimlet and screw
Turning and screwing his mouth round, too,
Till his nose seemed bent
To catch the scent,
Around some corner, of new-baked pies,
And his wrinkled cheeks and his squinting eyes
Grew puckered into a queer grimace,
That made him look very droll in the face,
And also very wise.
And wise he must have been, to do more
Than ever a genius did before,
Excepting Dædalus, of yore,
And his son Icarus, who wore
Upon their backs
Those wings of wax
He had read of in the old almanacs.
Darius was clearly of the opinion
That the air is also man's dominion,
And that, with paddle or fin or pinion,
We soon or late shall navigate
The azure, as now we sail the sea.
The thing looks simple enough to me;
And, if you doubt it,
Hear how Darius reasoned about it.
"The birds can fly, an' why can't I?
Must we give in," says he, with a grin,
"That the bluebird an' phoebe
Are smarter'n we be?
Jest fold our hands an' see the swaller
An' blackbird an' catbird beat us holler?
Does the little, chatterin', sassy wren,
No bigger'n my thumb, know more than men?
Jest show me that!
Ur prove't the bat
Hez got more brains than's in my hat,
An' I'll back down, an' not till then!"
He argued further, "Nur I can't see
What's the use o' wings to a bumble-bee,
Fur to git a livin' with, more'n to me;
Ain't my business
Important's his'n is?
That Icarus
Made a perty muss:
Him an' his daddy Dædalus
They might 'a' knowed wings made o' wax
Wouldn't stand sun-heat an' hard whacks.
I'll make mine o' luther,
Ur suthin' ur other."
And he said to himself, as he tinkered and planned,
"But I ain't goin' to show my hand
To nummies that never can understand
The fust idee that's big an' grand."
So he kept his secret from all the rest,
Safely buttoned within his vest;
And in the loft above the shed
Himself he locks, with thimble and thread
And wax and hammer and buckles and screws,
And all such things as geniuses use;
Two bats for patterns, curious fellows!
A charcoal-pot and a pair of bellows;
Some wire, and several old umbrellas;
A carriage-cover, for tail and wings;
A piece of harness; and straps and strings;
And a big strong box,
In which he locks
These and a hundred other things.
His grinning brothers, Reuben and Burke
And Nathan and Jotham and Solomon, lurk
Around the corner to see him work,--
Sitting cross-legged, like a Turk,
Drawing the wax-end through with a jerk,
And boring the holes with a comical quirk
Of his wise old head, and a knowing smirk.
But vainly they mounted each other's backs,
And poked through knot-holes and pried through cracks;
With wood from the pile and straw from the stacks
He plugged the knot-holes and calked the cracks;
And a bucket of water, which one would think
He had brought up into the loft to drink
When he chanced to be dry,
Stood always nigh,
For Darius was sly!
And whenever at work he happened to spy
At chink or crevice a blinking eye,
He let a dipper of water fly.
"Take that! an' ef ever ye git a peep,
Guess ye'll ketch a weasel asleep!
And he sings as he locks
His big strong box:--
SONG
"The weasel's head is small an' trim,
An' he is leetle an' long an' slim,
An' quick of motion an' nimble of limb,
An' ef yeou'll be
Advised by me,
Keep wide awake when ye're ketchin' him!"
So day after day
He stitched and tinkered and hammered away,
Till at last 'twas done,--
The greatest invention under the sun!
"An' now," says Darius, "hooray fer some fun!"
'T was the Fourth of July,
And the weather was dry,
And not a cloud was on all the sky,
Save a few light fleeces, which here and there,
Half mist, half air,
Like foam on the ocean went floating by:
Just as lovely a morning as ever was seen
For a nice little trip in a flying-machine.
Thought cunning Darius: "Now I shan't go
Along 'ith the fellers to see the show.
I'll say I've got sich a terrible cough!
An' then, when the folks 'ave all gone off,
I'll hev full swing
Fer to try the thing,
An' practyse a leetle on the wing."
"Ain't goin' to see the celebration?"
Says Brother Nate. "No; botheration!
I've got sich a cold--a toothache--I--
My gracious!--feel's though I should fly!"
Said Jotham, "'Sho!
Guess ye better go."
But Darius said, "No!
Shouldn't wonder 'f yeou might see me, though,
'Long 'bout noon, ef I git red
O' this jumpin', thumpin' pain 'n my head."
For all the while to himself he said:--
"I tell ye what!
I'll fly a few times around the lot,
To see how 't seems, then soon 's I've got
The hang o' the thing, ez likely 's not,
I'll astonish the nation,
An' all creation,
By flyin' over the celebration!
I'll balance myself on my wings like a sea-gull;
I'll dance on the chimbleys; I'll stan' on the steeple;
I'll flop up to winders an' scare the people!
I'll light on the libbe'ty-pole, an' crow;
An' I'll say to the gawpin' fools below,
'What world 's this 'ere
That I've come near?'
Fer I'll make 'em b'lieve I'm a chap f'm the moon!
An' I'll try a race 'ith their ol' bulloon."
He crept from his bed;
And, seeing the others were gone, he said,
"I'm gittin' over the cold'n my head."
And away he sped,
To open the wonderful box in the shed.
His brothers had walked but a little way,
When Jotham to Nathan chanced to say,
"What is the feller up to, hey?"
"Do'no': the's suthin' ur other to pay,
Ur he wouldn't 'a' stayed to hum to-day."
Says Burke, "His toothache's all'n his eye!
_He_ never'd miss a Fo'th-o'-July,
Ef he hedn't got some machine to try."
Then Sol, the little one, spoke: "By darn!
Le's hurry back an' hide'n the barn,
An' pay him fur tellin' us that yarn!"
"Agreed!" Through the orchard they crept back,
Along by the fences, behind the stack,
And one by one, through a hole in the wall,
In under the dusty barn they crawl,
Dressed in their Sunday garments all;
And a very astonishing sight was that,
When each in his cobwebbed coat and hat
Came up through the floor like an ancient rat.
And there they hid;
And Reuben slid
The fastenings back, and the door undid.
"Keep dark!" said he,
"While I squint an' see what the' is to see."
As knights of old put on their mail,--
From head to foot an iron suit,
Iron jacket and iron boot,
Iron breeches, and on the head
No hat, but an iron pot instead,
And under the chin the bail
(I believe they call the thing a helm),
Then sallied forth to overwhelm
The dragons and pagans that plagued the realm,--
So this _modern_ knight
Prepared for flight,
Put on his wings and strapped them tight,
Jointed and jaunty, strong and light,--
Buckled them fast to shoulder and hip;
Ten feet they measured from tip to tip!
And a helm had he, but that he wore,
Not on his head, like those of yore,
But more like the helm of a ship.
"Hush!" Reuben said,
"He's up in the shed!
He's opened the winder,--I see his head!
He stretches it out, an' pokes it about,
Lookin' to see 'f the coast is clear
An' nobody near:
Guess he do'no' who's hid in here!
He's riggin' a spring-board over the sill!
Stop laffin', Solomon! Burke, keep still!
He's a climbin' out now--Of all the things!
What's he got on? I van, it's wings!
An' that t'other thing? I vum, it's a tail!
An' there he sets, like a hawk on a rail!
Steppin' careful, he travels the length
Of his spring-board, and teeters to try its strength.
Now he stretches his wings, like a monstrous bat,
Peeps over his shoulder, this way an' that,
Fur to see 'f the 's any one passin' by;
But the' 's on'y a ca'f an' a goslin' nigh.
_They_ turn up at him a wonderin' eye,
To see--The dragon! he's goin' to fly!
Away he goes! Jimminy! what a jump!
Flop--flop--an' plump
To the ground with a thump!
Flutt'rin an' flound'rin', all 'n a lump!"
As a demon is hurled by an angel's spear,
Heels over head, to his proper sphere,--
Heels over head and head over heels,
Dizzily down the abyss he wheels,--
So fell Darius. Upon his crown,
In the midst of the barn-yard, he came down,
In a wonderful whirl of tangled strings,
Broken braces and broken springs,
Broken tail and broken wings,
Shooting-stars, and various things,
Barn-yard litter of straw and chaff,
And much that wasn't so sweet by half.
Away with a bellow fled the calf;
And what was that? Did the gosling laugh?
'Tis a merry roar from the old barn door,
And he hears the voice of Jotham crying,
"Say, D'rius! how do you like flyin'?"
Slowly, ruefully, where he lay,
Darius just turned and looked that way,
As he stanched his sorrowful nose with his cuff.
"Wal, I like flyin' well enough,"
He said; "but the' ain't sich a thunderin' sight
O' fun in't when ye come to light."
I just have room for the MORAL here:
And this is the moral: Stick to your sphere.
Or, if you insist, as you have the right,
On spreading your wings for a loftier flight,
The moral is, Take care how you light.
PAPER: A POEM
BY BENJAMIN FRANKLIN
Some wit of old,--such wits of old there were,--
Whose hints showed meaning, whose allusions care,
By one brave stroke to mark all human kind,
Called clear blank paper every infant mind!
Then still, as opening sense her dictates wrote,
Fair virtue put a seal, or vice a blot.
The thought was happy, pertinent, and true;
Methinks a genius might the plan pursue.
I (can you pardon my presumption), I--
No wit, no genius--yet for once will try.
Various the papers various wants produce,
The wants of fashion, elegance and use.
Men are as various; and, if right I scan,
Each sort of _paper_ represents some _man_.
Pray not the fop,--half powder and half lace,--
Nice as a bandbox were his dwelling-place;
He's the _gilt paper_, which apart you store,
And lock from vulgar hands in the escritoire.
Mechanics, servants, farmers, and so forth,
Are _copy-paper_, of inferior worth,--
Less prized, more useful, for your desk decreed.
Free to all pens, and prompt at every need.
The wretch whom avarice bids to pinch and spare,
Starve, cheat, and pilfer, to enrich an heir,
Is coarse _brown paper_, such as peddlers choose
To wrap up wares which better men will use.
Take next the miser's contrast, who destroys
Health, fame and fortune in a round of joys.
Will any paper match him? Yes, throughout.
He's a true _sinking paper_, past all doubt.
The retail politician's anxious thought
Deems _this_ side always right, and _that_ stark naught;
He foams with censure, with applause he raves,--
A dupe to rumors, and a tool of knaves:
He'll want no type his weakness to proclaim
While such a thing as _foolscap_ has a name.
The hasty gentleman, whose blood runs high,
Who picks a quarrel if you step awry,
Who can't a jest, or hint, or look endure,--
What's he? What? _Touch-paper_, to be sure.
What are our poets, take them as they fall,
Good, bad, rich, poor, much read, not read at all?
Them and their works in the same class you'll find:
They are the mere _waste paper_ of mankind.
Observe the maiden, innocently sweet;
She's fair _white paper_, an unsullied sheet,
On which the happy man, whom fate ordains,
May write his _name_, and take her for his pains.
One instance more, and only one, I'll bring;
'Tis the _great man_ who scorns a little thing,
Whose thoughts, whose deeds, whose maxims, are his own,
Formed on the feelings of his heart alone;
True genuine _royal paper_ is his breast,--
Of all the kinds most precious, purest, best.
NIAGARA BE DAMMED[7]
BY WALLACE IRWIN
"Them beauties o' Nature," said Senator Grabb,
As he spat on the floor of Justitia's halls,
"Is pretty enough and artistic enough--
Referrin', of course, to Niagara Falls,
Whose waters go rumblin' and mumblin' and grumblin'
And tearin' and stumblin' and bumblin' and tumblin'
And foamin' and roarin'
And plungin' and pourin'
And wastin' the waters God gave to us creechers
To wash down our liquor and wash up our feechers--
Then what in the deuce
Is the swish-bingled use
O' keepin' them noisy old cataracts busy
To give folks a headache and make people dizzy?
"Some poets and children and cripples and fools
They say that them Falls is eternal. That so?
Say, what is Eternity, Nature, and God
Compared to the Inter-Graft Gaslighting Co.?
Could all the durn waterfalls born in creation
Compete with a sugar or soap corporation?
But Nature, you feel,
Has a voice in the deal?
She ain't. For I'm deaf both in that ear and this un--
If Nature talks Money I'm willin' to listen!
So bring on your dredges,
And shovels and sledges,
Yer bricklayers, masons, yer hammers and mauls--
The public be dammed while we dam up the Falls.
"Just look at the plans o' me beautiful dream!
A sewer-pipe conduit to carry the Falls
Past eight hundred mill-wheels (great savin' of steam):
The cliffs to be covered with dump heaps and walls,
With many a smokestack and fly-wheel and pulley,
Bridge, engine, and derrick--say, won't it look bully!
With, furnaces smokin',
And stokers a-stokin'
With factory children a-workin' like Scotches
A-turnin' out chewing-gum, shoe-laces, watches,
And kitchen utensils,
And patent lead-pencils,
And mission-oak furniture, pie-crust, and flannels--
Thus turnin' Niag' to legitimate channels.
"The province o' Beauty," said Senator Grabb,
"Is bossed by us fellers that know what to do.
When Senator Copper hogs half of a State
He builds an Art Palace on Fift' Avenoo.
What people believed in the dark Middle Ages
Don't go in this chapter o' history's pages,
And the worship of mountains
And rivers and fountains
Is sinful, idolatrous, dark superstition--
And likely to lose in a cash proposition.
Ere the good time is past
Let's get busy and cast
Our bread on the waterfall--it'll come back.
We'll first pass the Grabb Bill, and then pass the sack."
FOOTNOTES:
[7] From "At the Sign of the Dollar," by Wallace Irwin. Copyright, 1905,
by Fox, Duffield & Co.
THE FORBEARANCE OF THE ADMIRAL[8]
BY WALLACE IRWIN
I ain't afeard o' the Admiral,
Though a common old tar I be,
And I've oftentimes spoke to the Admiral
Expressin' a bright idee;
For he's very nice at takin' advice
And a tractable man is he.
For once I says to the Admiral,
Unterrified, though polite,
"Don't think me critical, Admiral,
But yer vessel ain't sailin' right;
For our engine should be burnin' wood
And our rattlelines should be tight."
But when I spoke to the Admiral
He wasn't inclined to scold,
Though me words, addressed to the Admiral,
Was intimate-like and bold,
(But he was up on deck at the time
And I was down in the hold).
FOOTNOTES:
[8] From "Nautical Lays of a Landsman," by Wallace Irwin. Copyright,
1904, by Dodd, Mead & Co.
FATE
BY R. K. MUNKITTRICK
Once I planted some potatoes
In my garden fair and bright;
Unelated
Long I waited,
And no sprout appeared in sight.
But my "peachblows" in the cellar,
On the cold and grimy flag,
All serenely
Sprouted greenly
In an ancient paper bag.
THE LIFE ELIXIR OF MARTHY
BY ELIZABETH HYER NEFF
"An-ndrew! An-ndrew!"
"Yes, Marthy."
"Andrew, what be you doin' out there? You've ben sayin' 'Yes, Marthy,'
for the last ten minutes."
The patient, middle-aged face of Andrew appeared in the doorway, its
high, white forehead in sharp contrast with the deeply tanned features
below it.