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Wit and Humor of America, The Vol 02

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<SPAN name="Page_307" id="Page_307">[Pg 307]</SPAN></span></p> <hr style="width: 65%;" /> <h2>LOVE SONNETS OF A HOODLUM</h2> <h3>BY WALLACE IRWIN</h3> <h3>I</h3> <div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> <span class="i0">Say, will she treat me white, or throw me down,<br /></span> <span class="i0">Give me the glassy glare, or welcome hand,<br /></span> <span class="i0">Shovel me dirt, or treat me on the grand,<br /></span> <span class="i0">Knife me, or make me think I own the town?<br /></span> <span class="i0">Will she be on the level, do me brown,<br /></span> <span class="i0">Or will she jolt me lightly on the sand,<br /></span> <span class="i0">Leaving poor Willie froze to beat the band,<br /></span> <span class="i0">Limp as your grandma's Mother Hubbard gown?<br /></span> </div><div class="stanza"> <span class="i0">I do not know, nor do I give a whoop,<br /></span> <span class="i0">But this I know: if she is so inclined<br /></span> <span class="i0">She can come play with me on our back stoop,<br /></span> <span class="i0">Even in office hours, I do not mind&mdash;<br /></span> <span class="i0">In fact I know I'm nice and good and ready<br /></span> <span class="i0">To get an option on her as my steady.<br /></span> </div></div> <h3>VIII</h3> <div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> <span class="i0">I sometimes think that I am not so good,<br /></span> <span class="i0">That there are foxier, warmer babes than I,<br /></span> <span class="i0">That Fate has given me the calm go-by<br /></span> <span class="i0">And my long suit is sawing mother's wood.<br /></span> <span class="i0">Then would I duck from under if I could,<br /></span> <span class="i0">Catch the hog special on the jump and fly<br /></span> <span class="i0">To some Goat Island planned by destiny<br /></span> <span class="i0">For dubs and has-beens and that solemn brood.</span><span class='pagenum'><SPAN name="Page_308" id="Page_308">[Pg 308]</SPAN></span><br /> <span class="i0">But spite of bug-wheels in my cocoa tree,<br /></span> <span class="i0">The trade in lager beer is still a-humming,<br /></span> <span class="i0">A schooner can be purchased for a V<br /></span> <span class="i0">Or even grafted if you're fierce at bumming.<br /></span> <span class="i0">My finish then less clearly do I see,<br /></span> <span class="i0">For lo! I have another think a-coming.<br /></span> </div></div> <h3>IX</h3> <div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> <span class="i0">Last night I tumbled off the water cart&mdash;<br /></span> <span class="i0">It was a peacherino of a drunk;<br /></span> <span class="i0">I put the cocktail market on the punk<br /></span> <span class="i0">And tore up all the sidewalks from the start.<br /></span> <span class="i0">The package that I carried was a tart<br /></span> <span class="i0">That beat Vesuvius out for sizz and spunk,<br /></span> <span class="i0">And when they put me in my little bunk<br /></span> <span class="i0">You couldn't tell my jag and me apart.<br /></span> </div><div class="stanza"> <span class="i0">Oh! would I were the ice man for a space,<br /></span> <span class="i0">Then might I cool this red-hot cocoanut,<br /></span> <span class="i0">Corral the jim-jam bugs that madly race<br /></span> <span class="i0">Around the eaves that from my forehead jut&mdash;<br /></span> <span class="i0">Or will a carpenter please come instead<br /></span> <span class="i0">And build a picket fence around my head?<br /></span> </div></div> <h3>XII</h3> <div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> <span class="i0">Life is a combination hard to buck,<br /></span> <span class="i0">A proposition difficult to beat,<br /></span> <span class="i0">E'en though you get there Zaza with both feet,<br /></span> <span class="i0">In forty flickers, it's the same hard luck,<br /></span> <span class="i0">And you are up against it nip and tuck,<br /></span> <span class="i0">Shanghaied without a steady place to eat,<br /></span> <span class="i0">Guyed by the very copper on your beat<br /></span> <span class="i0">Who lays to jug you when you run amuck.</span><span class='pagenum'><SPAN name="Page_309" id="Page_309">[Pg 309]</SPAN></span><br /> <span class="i0">O Life! you give Yours Truly quite a pain.<br /></span> <span class="i0">On the T square I do not like your style;<br /></span> <span class="i0">For you are playing favorites again<br /></span> <span class="i0">And you have got me handicapped a mile.<br /></span> <span class="i0">Avaunt, false Life, with all your pride and pelf:<br /></span> <span class="i0">Go take a running jump and chase yourself!<br /></span> </div></div> <h3>XIV</h3> <div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> <span class="i0">O mommer! wasn't Mame a looty toot<br /></span> <span class="i0">Last night when at the Rainbow Social Club<br /></span> <span class="i0">She did the bunny hug with every scrub<br /></span> <span class="i0">From Hogan's Alley to the Dutchman's Boot,<br /></span> <span class="i0">While little Willie, like a plug-eared mute,<br /></span> <span class="i0">Papered the wall and helped absorb the grub,<br /></span> <span class="i0">Played nest-egg with the benches like a dub<br /></span> <span class="i0">When hot society was easy fruit!<br /></span> </div><div class="stanza"> <span class="i0">Am I a turnip? On the strict Q.T.,<br /></span> <span class="i0">Why do my Trilbys get so ossified?<br /></span> <span class="i0">Why am I minus when it's up to me<br /></span> <span class="i0">To brace my Paris Pansy for a glide?<br /></span> <span class="i0">Once more my hoodoo's thrown the game and scored<br /></span> <span class="i0">A flock of zeros on my tally-board.<br /></span> </div></div> <h3>XXI</h3> <div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> <span class="i0">At noon to-day Murphy and Mame were tied.<br /></span> <span class="i0">A gospel huckster did the referee,<br /></span> <span class="i0">And all the Drug Clerks' Union loped to see<br /></span> <span class="i0">The queen of Minnie Street become a bride,<br /></span> <span class="i0">And that bad actor, Murphy, by her side,<br /></span> <span class="i0">Standing where Yours Despondent ought to be.<br /></span> <span class="i0">I went to hang a smile in front of me,<br /></span> <span class="i0">But weeps were in my glimmers when I tried.</span><span class='pagenum'><SPAN name="Page_310" id="Page_310">[Pg 310]</SPAN></span><br /> <span class="i0">The pastor murmured, "Two and two make one,"<br /></span> <span class="i0">And slipped a sixteen K on Mamie's grab;<br /></span> <span class="i0">And when the game was tied and all was done<br /></span> <span class="i0">The guests shied footwear at the bridal cab,<br /></span> <span class="i0">And Murphy's little gilt-roofed brother Jim<br /></span> <span class="i0">Snickered, "She's left her happy home for him."<br /></span> <span class='pagenum'><SPAN name="Page_311" id="Page_311">[Pg 311]</SPAN></span></div></div> <hr style="width: 65%;" /> <h2>HOW "RUBY" PLAYED</h2> <h3>BY GEORGE W. BAGBY</h3> <p>(Jud Brownin, when visiting New York, goes to hear Rubinstein, and gives the following description of his playing.)</p> <p>Well, sir, he had the blamedest, biggest, catty-cornerdest pianner you ever laid eyes on; somethin' like a distracted billiard-table on three legs. The lid was hoisted, and mighty well it was. If it hadn't been, he'd 'a' tore the entire inside clean out and shattered 'em to the four winds of heaven.</p> <p><i>Played well?</i> You bet he did; but don't interrupt me. When he first sit down he 'peared to keer mighty little 'bout playin' and wisht he hadn't come. He tweedle-leedled a little on a treble, and twoodle-oodled some on the base,&mdash;just foolin' and boxin' the thing's jaws for bein' in his way. And I says to a man sittin' next to me, says I, "What sort of fool playin' is that?" And he says, "Heish!" But presently his hands commenced chasin' one another up and down the keys, like a passel of rats scamperin' through a garret very swift. Parts of it was sweet, though, and reminded me of a sugar squirrel turnin' the wheel of a candy cage.</p> <p>"Now," I says to my neighbor, "he's showin' off. He thinks he's a-doin' of it, but he ain't got no idee, no plan of nothin'. If he'd play me a tune of some kind or other, I'd&mdash;"</p> <p>But my neighbor says, "Heish!" very impatient.</p> <p>I was just about to git up and go home, bein' tired of<span class='pagenum'><SPAN name="Page_312" id="Page_312">[Pg 312]</SPAN></span> that foolishness, when I heard a little bird waking up away off in the woods and call sleepy-like to his mate, and I looked up and see that Rubin was beginning to take some interest in his business, and I sit down again. It was the peep of day. The light came faint from the east, the breezes blowed gentle and fresh, some more birds waked up in the orchard, then some more in the trees near the house, and all begun singin' together. People began to stir, and the gal opened the shutters. Just then the first beam of the sun fell upon the blossoms a leetle more, and it techt the roses on the bushes, and the next thing it was broad day; the sun fairly blazed, the birds sung like they'd split their little throats; all the leaves was movin', and flashin' diamonds of dew, and the whole wide world was bright and happy as a king. Seemed to me like there was a good breakfast in every house in the land, and not a sick child or woman anywhere. It was a fine mornin'.</p> <p>And I says to my neighbor, "That's music, that is."</p> <p>But he glared at me like he'd like to cut my throat.</p> <p>Presently the wind turned; it begun to thicken up, and a kind of gray mist came over things; I got low-spirited directly. Then a silver rain began to fall. I could see the drops touch the ground; some flashed up like long pearl ear-rings, and the rest rolled away like round rubies. It was pretty, but melancholy. Then the pearls gathered themselves into long strands and necklaces, and then they melted into thin silver streams, running between golden gravels, and then the streams joined each other at the bottom of the hill, and made a brook that flowed silent, except that you could kinder see the music, especially when the bushes on the banks moved as the music went along down the valley. I could smell the flowers in the meadow. But the sun didn't shine, nor the birds sing: it was a foggy day, but not cold.<span class='pagenum'><SPAN name="Page_313" id="Page_313">[Pg 313]</SPAN></span></p> <p>The most curious thing was the little white angel-boy, like you see in pictures, that run ahead of the music brook and led it on, and on, away out of the world, where no man ever was, certain, I could see the boy just as plain as I see you. Then the moonlight came, without any sunset, and shone on the graveyards, where some few ghosts lifted their hands and went over the wall, and between the black, sharp-top trees splendid marble houses rose up, with fine ladies in the lit-up windows, and men that loved 'em, but could never get anigh 'em, who played on guitars under the trees, and made me that miserable I could have cried, because I wanted to love somebody, I don't know who, better than the men with the guitars did.</p> <p>Then the sun went down, it got dark, the wind moaned and wept like a lost child for its dead mother, and I could 'a' got up then and there and preached a better sermon than any I ever listened to. There wasn't a thing in the world left to live for, not a blame thing, and yet I didn't want the music to stop one bit. It was happier to be miserable than to be happy without being miserable. I couldn't understand it. I hung my head and pulled out my handkerchief, and blowed my nose loud to keep me from cryin'. My eyes is weak anyway; I didn't want anybody to be a-gazin' at me a-sniv'lin', and it's nobody's business what I do with my nose. It's mine. But some several glared at me mad as blazes. Then, all of a sudden, old Rubin changed his tune. He ripped out and he rared, he tipped and he tared, he pranced and he charged like the grand entry at a circus. 'Peared to me that all the gas in the house was turned on at once, things got so bright, and I hilt up my head, ready to look any man in the face, and not afraid of nothin'. It was a circus and a brass band and a big ball all goin' on at the same time. He lit into them keys like a thousand of brick; he give 'em<span class='pagenum'><SPAN name="Page_314" id="Page_314">[Pg 314]</SPAN></span> no rest day or night; he set every livin' joint in me a-goin', and, not bein' able to stand it no longer, I jumped spang onto my seat, and jest hollered,&mdash;</p> <p><i>"Go it, my Rube!"</i></p> <p>Every blame man, woman and child in the house riz on me, and shouted, "Put him out! put him out!"</p> <p>"Put your great-grandmother's grizzly gray greenish cat into the middle of next month!" I says. "Tech me if you dare! I paid my money, and you jest come anigh me!"</p> <p>With that some several policemen run up, and I had to simmer down. But I would 'a' fit any fool that laid hands on me, for I was bound to hear Ruby out or die.</p> <p>He had changed his tune again. He hop-light ladies and tip-toed fine from end to end of the key-board. He played soft and low and solemn. I heard the church bells over the hills. The candles of heaven was lit, one by one; I saw the stars rise. The great organ of eternity began to play from the world's end to the world's end, and all the angels went to prayers.... Then the music changed to water, full of feeling that couldn't be thought, and began to drop&mdash;drip, drop&mdash;drip, drop, clear and sweet, like tears of joy falling into a lake of glory. It was sweeter than that. It was as sweet as a sweet-heart sweetened with white sugar mixed with powdered silver and seed-diamonds. It was too sweet. I tell you the audience cheered. Rubin he kinder bowed, like he wanted to say, "Much obleeged, but I'd rather you wouldn't interrup' me."</p> <p>He stopped a moment or two to catch breath. Then he got mad. He run his fingers through his hair, he shoved up his sleeve, he opened his coat-tails a leetle further, he drug up his stool, he leaned over, and, sir, he just went for that old pianner. He slapped her face, he boxed her jaws, he pulled her nose, he pinched her ears, and he<span class='pagenum'><SPAN name="Page_315" id="Page_315">[Pg 315]</SPAN></span> scratched her cheeks, until she fairly yelled. He knocked her down and he stamped on her shameful. She bellowed like a bull, she bleated like a calf, she howled like a hound, she squealed like a pig, she shrieked like a rat, and <i>then</i> he wouldn't let her up. He run a quarter stretch down the low grounds of the base, till he got clean in the bowels of the earth, and you heard thunder galloping after thunder through the hollows and caves of perdition; and then he fox-chased his right hand with his left till he got 'way out of the treble into the clouds, whar the notes was finer than the p'ints of cambric needles, and you couldn't hear nothin' but the shadders of 'em. And <i>then</i> he wouldn't let the old pianner go. He for'ard two'd, he crost over first gentleman, he chassade right and left, back to your places, he all hands'd aroun', ladies to the right, promenade all, in and out, here and there, back and forth, up and down, perpetual motion, double twisted and turned and tacked and tangled into forty-eleven thousand double bow-knots.</p> <p>By jinks! it was a mixtery. And then he wouldn't let the old pianner go. He fetcht up his right wing, he fetcht up his left wing, he fetcht up his center, he fetcht up his reserves. He fired by file, he fired by platoons, by company, by regiments, and by brigades. He opened his cannon,&mdash;siege-guns down thar, Napoleons here, twelve-pounders yonder,&mdash;big guns, little guns, middle-sized guns, round shot, shells, shrapnels, grape, canister, mortar, mines and magazines, every livin' battery and bomb a-goin' at the same time. The house trembled, the lights danced, the walls shuk, the floor come up, the ceilin' come down, the sky split, the ground rocked&mdash;heavens and earth, creation, sweet potatoes, Moses, ninepences, glory, tenpenny nails, Samson in a 'simmon-tree, Tump Tompson in a tumbler-cart, roodle-oodle-oodle-oodle-ruddle-uddle-uddle-uddle&mdash;raddle-addle-eedle&mdash;riddle-iddle-iddle-iddle&mdash;reedle-eedle-eedle-eedle&mdash;p-r-r-r-rlank! Bang!!! lang! perlang! p-r-r-r-r-r!! Bang!!!!<span class='pagenum'><SPAN name="Page_316" id="Page_316">[Pg 316]</SPAN></span></p> <p>With that bang! he lifted himself bodily into the a'r, and he come down with his knees, his ten fingers, his ten toes, his elbows, and his nose, striking every single solitary key on the pianner at the same time. The thing busted and went off into seventeen hundred and fifty-seven thousand five hundred and forty-two hemi-demi-semi-quivers, and I know'd no mo'.</p> <p>When I come to, I were under ground about twenty foot, in a place they call Oyster Bay, treatin' a Yankee that I never laid eyes on before and never expect to ag'in. Day was breakin' by the time I got to the St. Nicholas Hotel, and I pledge you my word I did not know my name. The man asked me the number of my room, and I told him, "Hot music on the half-shell for two!"</p> <hr style="width: 65%;" /> <h2>PLAGIARISM</h2> <h3>BY JOHN B. TABB</h3> <div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> <span class="i0">If Poe from Pike The Raven stole,<br /></span> <span class="i3">As his accusers say,<br /></span> <span class="i0">Then to embody Adam's soul,<br /></span> <span class="i2">God <i>plagiarised</i> the clay.<br /></span> <span class='pagenum'><SPAN name="Page_317" id="Page_317">[Pg 317]</SPAN></span></div></div> <hr style="width: 65%;" /> <h2>GO LIGHTLY, GAL</h2> <h3>(THE CAKE-WALK)</h3> <h3>BY ANNE VIRGINIA CULBERTSON</h3> <div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> <span class="i0">Sweetes' li'l honey in all dis lan',<br /></span> <span class="i0">Come erlong yer an' gimme yo' han',<br /></span> <span class="i8">Go lightly, gal, go lightly!<br /></span> <span class="i0">Cawn all shucked an' de barn flo' clear,<br /></span> <span class="i0">Come erlong, come erlong, come erlong, my dear,<br /></span> <span class="i8">Go lightly, gal, go lightly!<br /></span> </div><div class="stanza"> <span class="i0">Fiddles dey callin' us high an' fine,<br /></span> <span class="i0">"Time fer de darnsin', come an' jine,"<br /></span> <span class="i8">Go lightly, gal, go lightly!<br /></span> <span class="i0">My pooty li'l honey, but you is sweet!<br /></span> <span class="i0">An' hit's clap yo' han's an' shake yo' feet,<br /></span> <span class="i8">Go lightly, gal, go lightly!<br /></span> </div><div class="stanza"> <span class="i0">Hit's cut yo' capers all down de line,<br /></span> <span class="i0">Den mek yo' manners an' tiptoe fine,<br /></span> <span class="i8">Go lightly, gal, go lightly!<br /></span> <span class="i0">Oh, hit's whu'll yo' pardners roun' an' roun',<br /></span> <span class="i0">Twel you hyst dey feet clean off de groun',<br /></span> <span class="i8">Go lightly, gal, go lightly!<br /></span> </div><div class="stanza"> <span class="i0">Oh, hit's tu'n an' twis' all roun' de flo',<br /></span> <span class="i0">Fling out yo' feet behime, befo',<br /></span> <span class="i8">Go lightly, gal, go lightly!<br /></span> <span class="i0">Gre't Lan' o' Goshen! but you is spry!<br /></span> <span class="i0">Kain't none er de urr gals spring so high,<br /></span> <span class="i8">Go lightly, gal, go lightly!</span><span class='pagenum'><SPAN name="Page_318" id="Page_318">[Pg 318]</SPAN></span><br /> </div><div class="stanza"> <span class="i0">Oh, roll yo' eyes an' wag yo' haid<br /></span> <span class="i0">An' shake yo' bones twel you nigh most daid,<br /></span> <span class="i8">Go lightly, gal, go lightly!<br /></span> <span class="i0">Doan' talk ter me 'bout gittin' yo' bref,<br /></span> <span class="i0">Gwine darnse dis out ef hit cause my def!<br /></span> <span class="i8">Go lightly, gal, go lightly!<br /></span> </div><div class="stanza"> <span class="i0">Um-humph! done darnse all de urr folks down!<br /></span> <span class="i0">Skip erlong, honey, jes' one mo' roun'!<br /></span> <span class="i8">Go lightly, gal, go lightly!<br /></span> <span class="i0">Fiddles done played twel de strings all break!<br /></span> <span class="i0">Come erlong, honey, jes' one mo' shake,<br /></span> <span class="i8">Go lightly, gal, go lightly!<br /></span> </div><div class="stanza"> <span class="i0">Now teck my arm an' perawd all roun',<br /></span> <span class="i0">So dey see whar de <i>sho'-nuff</i> darnsers foun',<br /></span> <span class="i8">Go lightly, gal, go lightly!<br /></span> <span class="i0">Den gimme yo' han' an' we quit dish yer,<br /></span> <span class="i0">Come erlong, come erlong, come erlong, my dear,<br /></span> <span class="i8">Go lightly, gal, go lightly!<br /></span> <span class='pagenum'><SPAN name="Page_319" id="Page_319">[Pg 319]</SPAN></span></div></div> <hr style="width: 65%;" /> <h2>THE GOLFER'S RUBAIYAT<SPAN name="FNanchor_1_1" id="FNanchor_1_1"></SPAN><SPAN href="#Footnote_1_1" class="fnanchor">[1]</SPAN></h2> <h3>BY H.W. BOYNTON</h3> <div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> <span class="i0">Wake! for the sun has driven in equal flight<br /></span> <span class="i0">The stars before him from the Tee of Night,<br /></span> <span class="i2">And holed them every one without a miss,<br /></span> <span class="i0">Swinging at ease his gold-shod Shaft of Light.<br /></span> </div><div class="stanza"> <span class="i0">Now the fresh Year, reviving old Desires,<br /></span> <span class="i0">The thoughtful Soul to Solitude retires,<br /></span> <span class="i2">Pores on this Club and That with anxious eye,<br /></span> <span class="i0">And dreams of Rounds beyond the Rounds of Liars.<br /></span> </div><div class="stanza"> <span class="i0">Come, choose your ball, and in the Fire of Spring<br /></span> <span class="i0">Your Red Coat, and your wooden Putter fling;<br /></span> <span class="i2">The Club of Time has but a little while<br /></span> <span class="i0">To waggle, and the Club is on the swing.<br /></span> </div><div class="stanza"> <span class="i0">Whether at Musselburgh or Shinnecock,<br /></span> <span class="i0">In motley Hose or humbler motley Sock,<br /></span> <span class="i2">The Cup of Life is ebbing Drop by Drop,<br /></span> <span class="i0">Whether the Cup be filled with Scotch or Bock.<br /></span> </div><div class="stanza"> <span class="i0">A Bag of Clubs, a Silver-Town or two,<br /></span> <span class="i0">A Flask of Scotch, a Pipe of Shag&mdash;and Thou<br /></span> <span class="i2">Beside me caddying in the Wilderness&mdash;<br /></span> <span class="i0">Ah, Wilderness were Paradise enow.<br /></span> </div><div class="stanza"> <span class="i0">They say the Female and the Duffer strut<br /></span> <span class="i0">On sacred Greens where Morris used to put;<br /></span> <span class="i2">Himself a natural Hazard now, alas!<br /></span> <span class="i0">That nice hand quiet now, that great Eye shut.<br /></span> <span class='pagenum'><SPAN name="Page_320" id="Page_320">[Pg 320]</SPAN></span></div><div class="stanza"> <span class="i0">I sometimes think that never springs so green<br /></span> <span class="i0">The Turf as where some Good Fellow has been,<br /></span> <span class="i2">And every emerald Stretch the Fair Green shows<br /></span> <span class="i0">His kindly Tread has known, his sure Play seen.<br /></span> </div><div class="stanza"> <span class="i0">Myself when young did eagerly frequent<br /></span> <span class="i0">Jamie and His, and heard great argument<br /></span> <span class="i2">Of Grip and Stance and Swing; but evermore<br /></span> <span class="i0">Found at the Exit but a Dollar spent.<br /></span> </div><div class="stanza"> <span class="i0">With them the seed of Wisdom did I sow,<br /></span> <span class="i0">And with mine own hand sought to make it grow;<br /></span> <span class="i2">And this was all the Harvest that I reaped:<br /></span> <span class="i0">"You hold it This Way, and you swing it So."<br /></span> </div><div class="stanza"> <span class="i0">The swinging Brassie strikes; and, having struck,<br /></span> <span class="i0">Moves on: nor all your Wit or future Luck<br /></span> <span class="i2">Shall lure it back to cancel half a Stroke,<br /></span> <span class="i0">Nor from the Card a single Seven pluck.<br /></span> </div><div class="stanza"> <span class="i0">And that inverted Ball they call the High&mdash;<br /></span> <span class="i0">By which the Duffer thinks to live or die,<br /></span> <span class="i2">Lift not your hands to <span class="smcap">It</span> for help, for it<br /></span> <span class="i0">As impotently froths as you or I.<br /></span> </div><div class="stanza"> <span class="i0">Yon rising Moon that leads us Home again,<br /></span> <span class="i0">How oft hereafter will she wax and wane;<br /></span> <span class="i2">How oft hereafter rising wait for us<br /></span> <span class="i0">At this same Turning&mdash;and for One in vain.<br /></span> </div><div class="stanza"> <span class="i0">And when, like her, my Golfer, I have been<br /></span> <span class="i0">And am no more above the pleasant Green,<br /></span> <span class="i2">And you in your mild Journey pass the Hole<br /></span> <span class="i0">I made in One&mdash;ah! pay my Forfeit then!<br /></span> <span class='pagenum'><SPAN name="Page_321" id="Page_321">[Pg 321]</SPAN></span></div></div> <hr style="width: 65%;" /> <h2>MR. DOOLEY ON REFORM CANDIDATES</h2> <h3>BY FINLEY PETER DUNNE</h3> <p>"That frind iv ye'ers, Dugan, is an intilligent man," said Mr. Dooley. "All he needs is an index an' a few illusthrations to make him a bicyclopedja iv useless information."</p> <p>"Well," said Mr. Hennessy, judiciously, "he ain't no Soc-rates an' he ain't no answers-to-questions colum; but he's a good man that goes to his jooty, an' as handy with a pick as some people are with a cocktail spoon. What's he been doin' again ye?"</p> <p>"Nawthin'," said Mr. Dooley, "but he was in here Choosday. 'Did ye vote?' says I. 'I did,' says he. 'Which wan iv th' distinguished bunko steerers got ye'er invalu'ble suffrage?' says I. 'I didn't have none with me,' says he, 'but I voted f'r Charter Haitch,' says he. 'I've been with him in six ilictions,' says he, 'an' he's a good man,' he says. 'D'ye think ye're votin' f'r th' best?' says I. 'Why, man alive,' I says, 'Charter Haitch was assassinated three years ago,' I says. 'Was he?' says Dugan. 'Ah, well, he's lived that down be this time. He was a good man,' he says.</p> <p>"Ye see, that's what thim rayform lads wint up again. If I liked rayformers, Hinnissy, an' wanted f'r to see thim win out wanst in their lifetime, I'd buy thim each a suit iv chilled steel, ar-rm thim with raypeatin' rifles, an' take thim east iv State Sthreet an' south iv Jackson Bullyvard. At prisint th' opinion that pre-vails in th' ranks iv<span class='pagenum'><SPAN name="Page_322" id="Page_322">[Pg 322]</SPAN></span> th' gloryous ar-rmy iv ray-form is that there ain't anny-thing worth seein' in this lar-rge an' commodyous desert but th' pest-house an' the bridewell. Me frind Willum J. O'Brien is no rayformer. But Willum J. undherstands that there's a few hundherds iv thousands iv people livin' in a part iv th' town that looks like nawthin' but smoke fr'm th' roof iv th' Onion League Club that have on'y two pleasures in life, to wur-ruk an' to vote, both iv which they do at th' uniform rate iv wan dollar an' a half a day. That's why Willum J. O'Brien is now a sinitor an' will be an aldherman afther next Thursdah, an' it's why other people are sinding him flowers.</p> <p>"This is th' way a rayform candydate is ilicted. Th' boys down town has heerd that things ain't goin' r-right somehow. Franchises is bein' handed out to none iv thim; an' wanst in a while a mimber iv th' club, comin' home a little late an' thryin' to riconcile a pair iv r-round feet with an embroidered sidewalk, meets a sthrong ar-rm boy that pushes in his face an' takes away all his marbles. It begins to be talked that th' time has come f'r good citizens f'r to brace up an' do somethin', an' they agree to nomynate a candydate f'r aldherman. 'Who'll we put up?' says they. 'How's Clarence Doolittle?' says wan. 'He's laid up with a coupon thumb, an' can't r-run.' 'An' how about Arthur Doheny?' 'I swore an oath whin I came out iv colledge I'd niver vote f'r a man that wore a made tie.' 'Well, thin, let's thry Willie Boye.' 'Good,' says th' comity. 'He's jus' th' man f'r our money.' An' Willie Boye, after thinkin' it over, goes to his tailor an' ordhers three dozen pairs iv pants, an' decides f'r to be th' sthandard-bearer iv th' people. Musin' over his fried eyesthers an' asparagus an' his champagne, he bets a polo pony again a box of golf-balls he'll be ilicted unanimous; an' all th' good citizens make a vow f'r to set th' alar-rm<span class='pagenum'><SPAN name="Page_323" id="Page_323">[Pg 323]</SPAN></span> clock f'r half-past three on th' afthernoon iv iliction day, so's to be up in time to vote f'r th' riprisintitive iv pure gover'mint.</p> <p>"'Tis some time befure they comprehind that there ar-re other candydates in th' field. But th' other candydates know it. Th' sthrongest iv thim&mdash;his name is Flannigan, an' he's a re-tail dealer in wines an' liquors, an' he lives over his establishment. Flannigan was nomynated enthusyastically at a prim'ry held in his bar-rn; an' befure Willie Boye had picked out pants that wud match th' color iv th' Austhreelyan ballot this here Flannigan had put a man on th' day watch, tol' him to speak gently to anny raygistered voter that wint to sleep behind th' sthove, an' was out that night visitin' his frinds. Who was it judged th' cake walk? Flannigan. Who was it carrid th' pall? Flannigan. Who was it sthud up at th' christening? Flannigan. Whose ca-ards did th' grievin' widow, th' blushin' bridegroom, or th' happy father find in th' hack? Flannigan's. Ye bet ye'er life. Ye see Flannigan wasn't out f'r th' good iv th' community. Flannigan was out f'r Flannigan an' th' stuff.</p> <p>"Well, iliction day come around; an' all th' imminent frinds iv good gover'mint had special wires sthrung into th' club, an' waited f'r th' returns. Th' first precin't showed 28 votes f'r Willie Boye to 14 f'r Flannigan. 'That's my precin't,' says Willie. 'I wondher who voted thim fourteen?' 'Coachmen,' says Clarence Doolittle. 'There are thirty-five precin'ts in this ward,' says th' leader iv th' rayform ilimint. 'At this rate, I'm sure iv 440 meejority. Gossoon,' he says, 'put a keg iv sherry wine on th' ice,' he says. 'Well,' he says, 'at last th' community is relieved fr'm misrule,' he says. 'To-morrah I will start in arrangin' amindmints to th' tariff schedool an' th' ar-bitration threety,' he says. 'We must be up an'<span class='pagenum'><SPAN name="Page_324" id="Page_324">[Pg 324]</SPAN></span> doin',' he says. 'Hol' on there,' says wan iv th' comity. 'There must be some mistake in this fr'm th' sixth precin't,' he says. 'Where's the sixth precin't?' says Clarence. 'Over be th' dumps,' says Willie. 'I told me futman to see to that. He lives at th' cor-ner iv Desplaines an' Bloo Island Av'noo on Goose's Island,' he says. 'What does it show?' 'Flannigan, three hundherd an' eighty-five; Hansen, forty-eight; Schwartz, twinty; O'Malley, sivinteen; Casey, ten; O'Day, eight; Larsen, five; O'Rourke, three; Mulcahy, two; Schmitt, two; Moloney, two; Riordon, two; O'Malley, two; Willie Boye, wan.' 'Gintlemin,' says Willie Boye, arisin' with a stern look in his eyes, 'th' rascal has bethrayed me. Waither, take th' sherry wine off th' ice. They'se no hope f'r sound financial legislation this year. I'm goin' home.'</p> <p>"An', as he goes down th' sthreet, he hears a band play an' sees a procission headed be a calceem light; an', in a carredge, with his plug hat in his hand an' his di'mond makin' th' calceem look like a piece iv punk in a smokehouse, is Flannigan, payin' his first visit this side iv th' thracks."<span class='pagenum'><SPAN name="Page_325" id="Page_325">[Pg 325]</SPAN></span></p> <hr style="width: 65%;" /> <h2>AN EVENING MUSICALE</h2> <h3>BY MAY ISABEL FISK</h3> <p>Scene&mdash;<i>A conventional, but rather over-decorated, drawing-room. Grand piano drawn conspicuously to center of floor. Rows of camp-chairs. It is ten minutes before the hour of invitation.</i> The Hostess, <i>a large woman, is costumed in yellow satin, embroidered in spangles. Her diamonds are many and of large size. She is seated on the extreme edge of a chair, struggling with a pair of very long gloves. She looks flurried and anxious.</i> Poor Relative, <i>invited as a "great treat," sits opposite. Her expression is timid and apprehensive. They are the only occupants of the room.</i></p> <p><span class="smcap">Hostess</span>&mdash;No such thing, Maria. You look all right. Plain black is always very genteel. Nothing I like so well for evening, myself. Just keep your face to the wall as much as you can, and the worn places will never show. You can take my ecru lace scarf, if you wish, and that will cover most of the spots. I don't mean my new scarf&mdash;the one I got two years ago. It's a little torn, but it won't matter&mdash;for you. I think you will find it on the top shelf of the store-room closet on the third floor. If you put a chair on one of the trunks, you can easily reach it. Just wait a minute, till I get these gloves on; I want you to button them. I do hope I haven't forgotten anything. Baron von Gosheimer has promised to come. I have told everybody. It would be terrible if he should disappoint me.<span class='pagenum'><SPAN name="Page_326" id="Page_326">[Pg 326]</SPAN></span></p> <p><span class="smcap">Masculine Voice from Above</span>&mdash;Sarah, where the devil have you put my shirts? Everything is upside down in my room, and I can't find them. I pulled every blessed thing out of the chiffonier and wardrobe, and they're not there!</p> <p><span class="smcap">Hostess</span>&mdash;Oh, Henry! You <i>must</i> hurry&mdash;I'm going to use your room for the gentlemen's dressing-room, and it's time now for people to come. You <i>must</i> hurry.</p> <p><span class="smcap">Host</span> (<i>from above, just as front door opens, admitting</i> Baron von Gosheimer <i>and two women guests</i>)&mdash;Where the devil are my shirts?</p> <p><span class="smcap">Hostess</span> (<i>unconscious of arrivals</i>)&mdash;Under the bed in my room. Hurry!</p> <p>(<span class="smcap">Host</span>, <i>in bath gown and slippers, dashes madly into wife's room, and dives under bed as women guests enter. Unable to escape, he crawls farther beneath bed. His feet remain visible. Women guests discover them.</i>)</p> <p><span class="smcap">Guests</span> (<i>in chorus</i>)&mdash;Burglars! burglars! Help! help!</p> <p>(Baron von Gosheimer, <i>ascending to the next floor, hears them and hastens to the rescue.</i>)</p> <p><span class="smcap">Baron</span>&mdash;Don't be alarmed, ladies. Has either of you a poker? No? That is to be deplored. (<i>Catches</i> Host <i>by heels and drags him out. Tableau.</i>)</p> <p><span class="smcap">Hostess</span> (to Poor Relative, <i>giving an extra tug at her gloves</i>)&mdash;There, it's all burst out on the side! That stupid saleslady said she knew they would be too small. Oh, dear, I'm that upset! And these Louis Quinze slippers are just murdering me. I wish it were all over.</p> <p>(<i>Enter</i> Baron von Gosheimer <i>and women guests.</i>)</p> <p><span class="smcap">Hostess</span>&mdash;Dear baron, how good of you! I was just saying, if you didn't come I should wish my musicale in Jericho. And, now that you are here, I don't care if any one else comes or not. (<i>To women guests.</i>) How d'ye do? I must apologize for Mr. Smythe&mdash;he's been de<span class='pagenum'><SPAN name="Page_327" id="Page_327">[Pg 327]</SPAN></span>tained down-town. He just telephoned me. He'll be in later. Do sit down; it's just as cheap as standing, I always say, and it does save your feet. You ladies can find seats over in the corner. (<i>Detaining</i> Baron.) Dear baron&mdash;(<i>Enter guests.</i>)</p> <p><span class="smcap">Guest</span>&mdash;So glad you have a clear evening. Now, when <i>we</i> gave <i>our</i> affair, it <i>poured</i>. Of course, <i>we</i> had a crowd, just the same. People <i>always</i> come to <i>us</i>, whether it rains or not. (<i>Takes a seat. Guests begin to arrive in numbers.</i>)</p> <p><span class="smcap">Hostess</span>&mdash;So sweet of you to come!</p> <p><span class="smcap">Guest</span>&mdash;So glad you have a pleasant evening. I am sure to have a bad night whenever I entertain&mdash;</p> <p><span class="smcap">Hostess</span>&mdash;(<i>to another guest</i>)&mdash;So delightful of you to come!</p> <p><span class="smcap">Guest</span>&mdash;Such a perfect evening! I'm <i>so</i> glad. I said as we started out, "Now, this time, Mrs. Smythe can't help but have plenty of people. Whenever I entertain, it's sure to&mdash;" (<i>More guests.</i>)</p> <p>(<i>Telegram arrives, announcing that the prima donna has a sore throat, and will be unable to come. Time passes.</i>)</p> <p><span class="smcap">Male Guest</span> (<i>to another</i>)&mdash;Well, I wish to heaven, something would be doing soon. This is the deadest affair I was ever up against.</p> <p><span class="smcap">Omnipresent Joker</span> (<i>greeting acquaintance</i>)&mdash;Hello, old man!&mdash;going to sing to-night?</p> <p><span class="smcap">Acquaintance</span>&mdash;Oh, yes, going to sing a solo.</p> <p><span class="smcap">Joker</span>&mdash;So low you can't hear it? Ha, ha! (<i>Guests near by groan.</i>)</p> <p><span class="smcap">Voice</span> (<i>overheard</i>)&mdash;Madame Cully? My dear, she always tells you that you haven't half enough material, and makes you get yards more. Besides, she never sends your pieces back, though I have<span class='pagenum'><SPAN name="Page_328" id="Page_328">[Pg 328]</SPAN></span>&mdash;</p> <p><span class="smcap">Fat Old Lady</span> (<i>to neighbor</i>)&mdash;I never was so warm in my life! I can't imagine why people invite you, just to make you uncomfortable. Now, when I entertain, I have the windows open for hours before any one comes.</p> <p><span class="smcap">Joker</span> (<i>aside</i>)&mdash;That's why she always has a frost! Ha, ha!</p> <p>(<span class="smcap">Host</span> <i>enters, showing traces of hasty toilette&mdash;face red, and a razor-cut on chin.</i>)</p> <p><span class="smcap">Host</span> (<i>rubbing his hands, and endeavoring to appear at ease and facetious</i>)&mdash;Well, how d'ye do, everybody! Sorry to be late on such an auspicious&mdash;</p> <p><span class="smcap">Joker</span> (<i>interrupting</i>)&mdash;Suspicious! Ha, ha!</p> <p><span class="smcap">Host</span>&mdash;occasion. I hope you are all enjoying yourselves.</p> <p><span class="smcap">Chorus of Guests</span>&mdash;Yes, indeed!</p> <p><span class="smcap">Hostess</span>&mdash;'Sh, 'sh, 'sh! I have a great disappointment for you all. Here is a telegram from my <i>best</i> singer, saying she is sick, and can't come. Now, we will have the pleasure of listening to Miss Jackson. Miss Jackson is a pupil of Madame Parcheesi, of Paris. (<i>Singer whispers to her.</i>) Oh, I beg your pardon! It's Madame <i>Mar</i>cheesi.</p> <p><span class="smcap">Deaf Old Gentleman</span> (<i>seated by piano, talking to pretty girl</i>)&mdash;I'd rather listen to you than hear this caterwauling. (Old Gentleman <i>is dragged into corner and silenced.</i>)</p> <p><span class="smcap">Young Woman</span> (<i>singing</i>)&mdash;"Why do I sing? I know not, I know not! I can not help but sing. Oh, why do I sing?"</p> <p>(<i>Guests moan softly and demand of one another</i>, Why does she sing?)</p> <p><span class="smcap">Woman Guest</span> (<i>to another</i>)&mdash;Isn't that just the way?&mdash;their relatives are always dying, and it's sure to be wash-day or just when you expect company to dinner, and off they go to the funeral<span class='pagenum'><SPAN name="Page_329" id="Page_329">[Pg 329]</SPAN></span>&mdash;</p> <p>(Butler <i>appears with trayful of punch-glasses</i>.)</p> <p><span class="smcap">Male Guest</span> (<i>to another</i>)&mdash;Thank the Lord! here's relief in sight. Let's drown our troubles.</p> <p><span class="smcap">The Other</span>&mdash;It's evident you haven't sampled the Smythes' punch before. I tell you it's a crime to spoil a thirst with this stuff. Well, here's how.</p> <p><span class="smcap">Woman Guest</span> (<i>to neighbor</i>)&mdash;I never saw Mrs. Smythe looking quite so hideous and atrociously vulgar before, did you?</p> <p><span class="smcap">Neighbor</span>&mdash;Never! Why did we come?</p> <p><span class="smcap">Voice</span> (<i>overheard</i>)&mdash;The one in the white-lace gown and all those diamonds?</p> <p><span class="smcap">Another Voice</span>&mdash;Yes. Well, you know it was common talk that before he married her&mdash;</p> <p><span class="smcap">Hostess</span>&mdash;'Sh, 'sh, 'sh! Signor Padrella has offered to play some of his own compositions, but I thought you would all rather hear something familiar by one of the real composers&mdash;Rubens or Chopin&mdash;Chopinhauer, I think&mdash;</p> <p>(Pianist <i>plunges wildly into something</i>.)</p> <p><span class="smcap">Voice</span> (<i>during a lull in the music</i>)&mdash;First, you brown an onion in the pan, then you chop the cabbage&mdash;</p> <p><span class="smcap">Guest</span> (<i>in the dressing-room, just arriving, to another</i>)&mdash;Yes, we are awfully late, too, but I always say you never can be too late at one of the Smythes' horrors.</p> <p><span class="smcap">Thin Young Woman</span> (<i>in limp pink gown and string of huge pearls, who has come to recite</i>)&mdash;I'm awfully nervous, and I do believe I'm getting hoarse. Mama, you didn't forget the lemon juice and sugar? (<i>Drinks from bottle.</i>) Now, where are my bronchial troches? Don't you think I could stand just a little more rouge? I think it's a shame I'm not going to have footlights. Remember, you are not to prompt me, unless I look at you. You will get me all mixed up, if you do. (<i>They descend.</i>)<span class='pagenum'><SPAN name="Page_330" id="Page_330">[Pg 330]</SPAN></span></p> <p><span class="smcap">Hostess</span> (<i>to elocutionist</i>)&mdash;Why, I thought you were never coming! I wanted you to fill in while people were taking their seats. The guests always make so much noise, and the singers hate it. Now, what did you say you would require&mdash;an egg-beater and a turnip, wasn't it? Oh, no! That's for the young man who is going to do the tricks. I remember. Are you all ready?</p> <p><span class="smcap">Elocutionist</span> (<i>in a trembling voice</i>)&mdash;Ye-es.</p> <p><span class="smcap">Hostess</span>&mdash;'Sh, 'sh, 'sh!</p> <p><span class="smcap">Elocutionist</span>&mdash;<i>Aux Italiens.</i></p> <div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> <span class="i0">"At Paris it was, at the opera there,<br /></span> <span class="i1">And she looked like&mdash;"<br /></span> </div></div> <p><span class="smcap">Guest</span> (<i>to another</i>)&mdash;Thirty cents, old chap! I tell you, there's nothing will knock you out quicker than&mdash;</p> <p><span class="smcap">Hostess</span>&mdash;'Sh, 'sh, 'sh!</p> <p>(<i>Young woman finishes, and retires amidst subdued applause. Reappears immediately and gives "The Maniac."</i>)</p> <p><span class="smcap">Hostess</span>&mdash;As I have been disappointed in my best talent for this evening, Mr. Briggs has kindly consented to do some of his parlor-magic tricks.</p> <p>(Mr. Briggs <i>steps forward, a large, florid young man, wearing a "made" dress-tie, the buckle of which crawls up the back of his collar.</i>)</p> <p><span class="smcap">Briggs</span>&mdash;Now, ladies and gentlemen, I shall have to ask you all to move to the other side of the room. (<i>This is accomplished with muttered uncomplimentary remarks concerning the magician.</i>)</p> <p><span class="smcap">Briggs</span> (<i>to Hostess</i>)&mdash;I must have the piano pushed to the further end. I must have plenty of space. (<i>All the men guests are pressed into service, and, with much difficulty the piano is moved.</i>)</p> <p><span class="smcap">Briggs</span>&mdash;Now, I want four large screens.</p> <p><span class="smcap">Hostess</span> (<i>faintly</i>)&mdash;But I have only two!<span class='pagenum'><SPAN name="Page_331" id="Page_331">[Pg 331]</SPAN></span></p> <p><span class="smcap">Briggs</span>&mdash;Well, then, get me a clothes-horse and a couple of sheets.</p> <p><span class="smcap">Poor Relative</span>&mdash;You know, Sarah, I used the last two when I made up my bed in the children's nursery yesterday. I can easily get&mdash;</p> <p><span class="smcap">Hostess</span> (<i>hastily</i>)&mdash;No, Maria, don't trouble. (<i>To guests</i>)&mdash;Perhaps, some of you gentlemen wouldn't mind lending us your overcoats to cover the clothes-horse?</p> <p><span class="smcap">Chorus</span> (<i>with great lack of enthusiasm</i>)&mdash;Of course! Delighted! (<i>They go for coats.</i>)</p> <p><span class="smcap">Hostess</span> (<i>to Poor Relative</i>)&mdash;Maria, you get the clothes-horse. I think it's in the laundry, or&mdash;Oh, I think it's in the cellar. Well, you look till you find it. (<i>To Briggs</i>)&mdash;I got as many of the things you asked for as I could remember. Will you read the list over?</p> <p><span class="smcap">Briggs</span>&mdash;Turnip and egg-beater&mdash;</p> <p><span class="smcap">Hostess</span>&mdash;Yes.</p> <p><span class="smcap">Briggs</span>&mdash;Egg, large clock, jar of gold-fish, rabbit and empty barrel.</p> <p><span class="smcap">Hostess</span>&mdash;I have the egg.</p> <p><span class="smcap">Briggs</span> (<i>much annoyed</i>)&mdash;I particularly wanted the gold-fish, the clock and the barrel.</p> <p>(<i>Guests grow restless.</i>)</p> <p>Hostess&mdash;Couldn't you do a trick while we are waiting&mdash;one with the egg-beater and turnip?</p> <p><span class="smcap">Briggs</span>&mdash;No; I don't know one.</p> <p><span class="smcap">Hostess</span>&mdash;Couldn't you make up one?</p> <p><span class="smcap">Briggs</span> (<i>icily</i>)&mdash;Certainly not.</p> <p>(<i>Gloom descends over the company, until the Poor Relative arrives, staggering under the clothes-horse.</i>)</p> <p><span class="smcap">Chorus of Men Guests</span>&mdash;Let me help you!</p> <p>(<i>Improvised screen is finally arranged.</i> Briggs <i>performs "parlor magic" for an hour. Guests, fidget, yawn and commence to drop away, one by one.</i>)<span class='pagenum'><SPAN name="Page_332" id="Page_332">[Pg 332]</SPAN></span></p> <p><span class="smcap">Guest</span> (<i>to Hostess</i>)&mdash;Really, we must tear ourselves away. Such a delightful evening!&mdash;not a dull moment. And your punch&mdash;heavenly! Do ask us again. Good night.</p> <p><span class="smcap">Hostess</span>&mdash;Thank you so much! So good of you to come.</p> <p><span class="smcap">Another Guest</span>&mdash;Yes, we must go. I've had a perfectly dear time.</p> <p><span class="smcap">Hostess</span>&mdash;So sorry you must go. So good of you to come. Good night.</p> <p>IN THE DRESSING-ROOM</p> <p><span class="smcap">Chorus of Guests</span>&mdash;Wasn't it awful?&mdash;Such low people!&mdash;Why did we ever come&mdash;Parvenue!</p> <p><span class="smcap">Elocutionist</span>&mdash;I was all right, wasn't I, mama? You noticed they never clapped a bit until I'd walked the whole length of the room to my chair. It just showed how wrought up they were. You nearly mixed me up, though, prompting me in the wrong place; I&mdash;</p> <p><span class="smcap">Hostess</span> (<i>throwing herself on sofa as door closes on last guest</i>)&mdash;Well, I'm completely done up! (<i>To Poor Relative</i>)&mdash;Maria, run up to my room, and get my red worsted bed-slippers. I can't stand these satin tortures a minute longer. Entertaining is an awful strain. It's so hard trying not to say the wrong thing at the right place. But, then, it certainly went off beautifully. I could tell every one had such a good time!<span class='pagenum'><SPAN name="Page_333" id="Page_333">[Pg 333]</SPAN></span></p> <hr style="width: 65%;" /> <h2>COMIN' THU</h2> <h3>BY ANNE VIRGINIA CULBERTSON</h3> <div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> <span class="i0">Yer's a sinner comin' thu,<br /></span> <span class="i0">Crowd roun', bre'ren, sisters, too,<br /></span> <span class="i0">Sing wid all yo' might an' main,<br /></span> <span class="i0">He'p de sinner out er pain,<br /></span> <span class="i4">He's comin', comin' thu.<br /></span> </div><div class="stanza"> <span class="i0">He bin "seekin'" dis long time,<br /></span> <span class="i0">He'p him cas' de foe behime,<br /></span> <span class="i0">Clap yo' han's an' sing an' shout,<br /></span> <span class="i0">He'p him cas' de debil out,<br /></span> <span class="i4">Le's wrassel him right thu.<br /></span> </div><div class="stanza"> <span class="i0">Tu'rr side de Gate er Sin,<br /></span> <span class="i0">Year him kickin' ter git in,<br /></span> <span class="i0">Putt up prayers wid might an' main,<br /></span> <span class="i0">Dat he doesn' kick in vain,<br /></span> <span class="i4">Y'all kin pray him thu.<br /></span> </div><div class="stanza"> <span class="i0">Heart a-bus'in' fer de right,<br /></span> <span class="i0">Debil hol'in' to him tight,<br /></span> <span class="i0">Year him swish dat fork&eacute;d tail,<br /></span> <span class="i0">See de sinner-man turn pale,<br /></span> <span class="i4">Come on an' he'p him thu.<br /></span> </div><div class="stanza"> <span class="i0">Sinner hangin' 'bove de pit,<br /></span> <span class="i0">By a hya'r strotch over hit,<br /></span> <span class="i0">Debil hol' one eend an' shake,<br /></span> <span class="i0">Y'all kin see de sinner quake,<br /></span> <span class="i4">Quick, he'p dis man come thu.</span><span class='pagenum'><SPAN name="Page_334" id="Page_334">[Pg 334]</SPAN></span><br /> </div><div class="stanza"> <span class="i0">Seize de ropes, now, ev'y man,<br /></span> <span class="i0">He'p de gospel ship ter lan',<br /></span> <span class="i0">One long pull an' one gre't shout,<br /></span> <span class="i0">Hallelu! We got him out,<br /></span> <span class="i4">De sinner done come thu!<br /></span> <span class='pagenum'><SPAN name="Page_335" id="Page_335">[Pg 335]</SPAN></span></div></div> <hr style="width: 65%;" /> <h2>AUNT DINAH'S KITCHEN</h2> <h3>BY HARRIET BEECHER STOWE</h3> <p>Like a certain class of modern philosophers, Dinah perfectly scorned logic and reason in every shape, and always took refuge in intuitive certainty; and here she was perfectly impregnable. No possible amount of talent, or authority, or explanation could ever make her believe that any other way was better than her own, or that the course she had pursued in the smallest matter could be in the least modified. This had been a conceded point with her old mistress, Marie's mother; and "Miss Marie," as Dinah always called her young mistress, even after her marriage, found it easier to submit than contend; and so Dinah had ruled supreme. This was the easier, in that she was perfect mistress of that diplomatic art which unites the utmost subservience of manner with the utmost inflexibility as to measure.</p> <p>Dinah was the mistress of the whole art and mystery of excuse-making, in all its branches. Indeed, it was an axiom with her that the cook can do no wrong, and a cook in a Southern kitchen finds abundance of heads and shoulders on which to lay off every sin and frailty, so as to maintain her own immaculateness entire. If any part of the dinner was a failure, there were fifty indisputably good reasons for it, and it was the fault, undeniably, of fifty other people, whom Dinah berated with unsparing zeal.</p> <p>But it was very seldom that there was any failure in Dinah's last results. Though her mode of doing every<span class='pagenum'><SPAN name="Page_336" id="Page_336">[Pg 336]</SPAN></span>thing was peculiarly meandering and circuitous, and without any sort of calculation as to time and place,&mdash;though her kitchen generally looked as if it had been arranged by a hurricane blowing through it, and she had about as many places for each cooking utensil as there were days in the year,&mdash;yet, if one could have patience to wait her own good time, up would come her dinner in perfect order, and in a style of preparation with which an epicure could find no fault.</p> <p>It was now the season of incipient preparation for dinner. Dinah, who required large intervals of reflection and repose, and was studious of ease in all her arrangements, was seated on the kitchen floor, smoking a short, stumpy pipe, to which she was much addicted, and which she always kindled up, as a sort of censer, whenever she felt the need of an inspiration in her arrangements. It was Dinah's mode of invoking the domestic Muses.</p> <p>Seated around her were various members of that rising race with which a Southern household abounds, engaged in shelling peas, peeling potatoes, picking pin-feathers out of fowls, and other preparatory arrangements, Dinah every once in a while interrupting her meditations to give a poke, or a rap on the head, to some of the young operators, with the pudding-stick that lay by her side. In fact, Dinah ruled over the woolly heads of the younger members with a rod of iron, and seemed to consider them born for no earthly purpose but to "save her steps," as she phrased it. It was the spirit of the system under which she had grown up, and she carried it out to its full extent.</p> <p>Miss Ophelia, after passing on her reformatory tour through all the other parts of the establishment, now entered the kitchen. Dinah had heard, from various sources, what was going on, and resolved to stand on defensive and conservative ground,&mdash;mentally determined to op<span class='pagenum'><SPAN name="Page_337" id="Page_337">[Pg 337]</SPAN></span>pose and ignore every new measure, without any actual and observable contest.</p> <p>The kitchen was a large, brick-floored apartment, with a great old-fashioned fireplace stretching along one side of it,&mdash;an arrangement which St. Clair had vainly tried to persuade Dinah to exchange for the convenience of a modern cook-stove. Not she. No Pusseyite, or conservative of any school, was ever more inflexibly attached to time-honored inconveniences than Dinah.</p> <p>When St. Clair had first returned from the North, impressed with the system and order of his uncle's kitchen arrangements, he had largely provided his own with an array of cupboards, drawers, and various apparatus, to induce systematic regulation, under the sanguine illusion that it would be of any possible assistance to Dinah in her arrangements. He might as well have provided them for a squirrel or a magpie. The more drawers and closets there were, the more hiding-holes could Dinah make for the accommodation of old rags, hair-combs, old shoes, ribbons, cast-off artificial flowers, and other articles of <i>vertu</i>, wherein her soul delighted.</p> <p>When Miss Ophelia entered the kitchen, Dinah did not rise, but smoked on in sublime tranquillity, regarding her movements obliquely out of the corner of her eye, but apparently intent only on the operations around her.</p> <p>Miss Ophelia commenced opening a set of drawers.</p> <p>"What is this drawer for, Dinah?" she said.</p> <p>"It's handy for 'most anything, missis," said Dinah. So it appeared to be. From the variety it contained Miss Ophelia pulled out first a fine damask table-cloth stained with blood, having evidently been used to envelop some raw meat.</p> <p>"What's this, Dinah? You don't wrap up meat in your mistress's best table-cloth?"<span class='pagenum'><SPAN name="Page_338" id="Page_338">[Pg 338]</SPAN></span></p> <p>"Oh, Lor', missis, no; the towels was all a-missin', so I just did it. I laid it out to wash that ar; that's why I put it thar."</p> <p>"Shir'less!" said Miss Ophelia to herself, proceeding to tumble over the drawer, where she found a nutmeg-grater and two or three nutmegs, a Methodist hymn-book, a couple of soiled Madras handkerchiefs, some yarn and knitting-work, a paper of tobacco and a pipe, a few crackers, one or two gilded china saucers with some pomade in them, one or two thin old shoes, a piece of flannel carefully pinned up enclosing some small white onions, several damask table-napkins, some coarse crash towels, some twine and darning-needles, and several broken papers, from which sundry sweet herbs were sifting into the drawer.</p> <p>"Where do you keep your nutmegs, Dinah?" said Miss Ophelia, with the air of one who "prayed for patience."</p> <p>"Most anywhar, missis; there's some in that cracked tea-cup up there, and there's some over in that ar cupboard."</p> <p>"Here are some in the grater," said Miss Ophelia, holding them up.</p> <p>"Laws, yes; I put 'em there this morning; I likes to keep my things handy," said Dinah. "You Jake! what are you stopping for? You'll cotch it! Be still, thar!" she added, with a dive of her stick at the criminal.</p> <p>"What's this?" said Miss Ophelia, holding up the saucer of pomade.</p> <p>"Laws, it's my <i>har-grease</i>: I put it thar to have it handy."</p> <p>"Do you use your mistress's best saucers for that?"</p> <p>"Law! it was 'cause I was driv' and in sich a hurry. I was gwine to change it this very day."</p> <p>"Here are two damask table-napkins."<span class='pagenum'><SPAN name="Page_339" id="Page_339">[Pg 339]</SPAN></span></p> <p>"Them table-napkins I put thar to get 'em washed out some day."</p> <p>"Don't you have some place here on purpose for things to be washed?"</p> <p>"Well, Mas'r St. Clair got dat ar chest, he said, for dat; but I likes to mix up biscuit and hev my things on it some days, and then it ain't handy a-liftin' up the lid."</p> <p>"Why don't you mix your biscuits on the pastry-table, there?"</p> <p>"Law, missis, it gets sot so full of dishes, and one thing and another, der ain't no room, noways."</p> <p>"But you should wash your dishes, and clear them away."</p> <p>"Wash my dishes!" said Dinah, in a high key, as her wrath began to rise over her habitual respect of manner. "What does ladies know 'bout work, I want to know? When'd mas'r ever get his dinner, if I was to spend all my time a-washin' and a-puttin' up dishes? Miss Marie never telled me so, nohow."</p> <p>"Well, here are these onions."</p> <p>"Laws, yes!" said Dinah; "that <i>is</i> whar I put 'em, now. I couldn't 'member. Them's particular onions I was a savin' for dis yer very stew. I'd forgot they was in dat ar old flannel."</p> <p>Miss Ophelia lifted out the sifting papers of sweet herbs. "I wish missis wouldn't touch dem ar. I likes to keep my things where I knows whar to go to 'em," said Dinah, rather decidedly.</p> <p>"But you don't want these holes in the papers."</p> <p>"Them's handy for siftin' on't out," said Dinah.</p> <p>"But you see it spills all over the drawer."</p> <p>"Laws, yes! if missis will go a-tumblin' things all up so, it will. Missis has spilt lots dat ar way," said Dinah, coming uneasily to the drawers. "If missis only will go<span class='pagenum'><SPAN name="Page_340" id="Page_340">[Pg 340]</SPAN></span> up-sta'rs till my clarin'-up time comes, I'll have everything right; but I can't do nothin' when ladies is 'round a-henderin'. You Sam, don't you gib de baby dat ar sugar-bowl! I'll crack ye over, if ye don't mind!"</p> <p>"I'm going through the kitchen, and going to put everything in order, <i>once</i>, Dinah; and then I'll expect you to <i>keep</i> it so."</p> <p>"Lor', now, Miss 'Phelia, dat ar ain't no way for ladies to do. I never did see ladies doin' no sich; my old missis nor Miss Marie never did, and I don't see no kinder need on't." And Dinah stalked indignantly about, while Miss Ophelia piled and sorted dishes, emptied dozens of scattering bowls of sugar into one receptacle, sorted napkins, table-cloths, and towels, for washing; washing, wiping and arranging with her own hands, and with a speed and alacrity which perfectly amazed Dinah.</p> <p>"Lor', now! if dat ar de way dem Northern ladies do, dey ain't ladies nohow," she said to some of her satellites, when at a safe hearing-distance. "I has things as straight as anybody, when my clarin'-up times comes; but I don't want ladies 'round a-henderin' and gettin' my things all where I can't find 'em."</p> <p>To do Dinah justice, she had, at irregular periods, paroxysms of reformation and arrangement, which she called "clarin'-up times," when she would begin with great zeal and turn every drawer and closet wrong side outward on to the floor or tables, and make the ordinary confusion sevenfold more confounded. Then she would light her pipe and leisurely go over her arrangements, looking things over and discoursing upon them; making all the young fry scour most vigorously on the tin things, and keeping up for several hours a most energetic state of confusion, which she would explain to the satisfaction of all inquirers by the remark that she was a "clarin'-up."<span class='pagenum'><SPAN name="Page_341" id="Page_341">[Pg 341]</SPAN></span> "She couldn't hev things a-gwine on so as they had been, and she was gwine to make these yer young ones keep better order;" for Dinah herself, somehow, indulged the illusion that she herself was the soul of order, and it was only the <i>young uns</i>, and the everybody else in the house, that were the cause of anything that fell short of perfection in this respect. When all the tins were scoured, and the tables scrubbed snowy white, and everything that could offend tucked out of sight in holes and corners, Dinah would dress herself up in a smart dress, clean apron, and high, brilliant Madras turban, and tell all marauding "young uns" to keep out of the kitchen, for she was gwine to have things kept nice. Indeed, these periodic seasons were often an inconvenience to the whole household, for Dinah would contract such an immoderate attachment to her scoured tin as to insist upon it that it shouldn't be used again for any possible purpose,&mdash;at least till the ardor of the "clarin'-up" period abated.<span class='pagenum'><SPAN name="Page_342" id="Page_342">[Pg 342]</SPAN></span></p> <hr style="width: 65%;" /> <h2>THE STRIKE AT HINMAN'S</h2> <h3>BY ROBERT J. BURDETTE</h3> <p>Away back in the fifties, "Hinman's" was not only the best school in Peoria, but it was the greatest school in the world. I sincerely thought so then, and as I was a very lively part of it, I should know. Mr. Hinman was the Faculty, and he was sufficiently numerous to demonstrate cube root with one hand and maintain discipline with the other. Dear old man; boys and girls with grandchildren love him to-day, and think of him among their blessings. He was superintendent of public instruction, board of education, school trustee, county superintendent, principal of the high school and janitor. He had a pleasant smile, a genius for mathematics, and a West Point idea of obedience and discipline. He carried upon his person a grip that would make the imported malady which mocks that name in these degenerate days, call itself Slack, in very terror at having assumed the wrong title.</p> <p>We used to have "General Exercises" on Friday afternoon. The most exciting feature of this weekly frivolity consisted of a free-for-all exercise in mental arithmetic. Mr. Hinman gave out lists of numbers, beginning with easy ones and speaking slowly; each succeeding list he dictated more rapidly and with ever-increasing complications of addition, subtraction, multiplication and division, until at last he was giving them out faster than he could talk. One by one the pupils dropped out of the<span class='pagenum'><SPAN name="Page_343" id="Page_343">[Pg 343]</SPAN></span> race with despairing faces, but always at the closing peremptory:</p> <p>"Answer?"</p> <p>At least a dozen hands shot into the air and as many voices shouted the correct result. We didn't have many books, and the curriculum of an Illinois school in those days was not academic; but two things the children could do, they could spell as well as the dictionary and they could handle figures. Some of the fellows fairly wallowed in them. I didn't. I simply drowned in the shallowest pond of numbers that ever spread itself on the page. As even unto this day I do the same.</p> <p>Well, one year the Teacher introduced an innovation; "compositions" by the girls and "speakin' pieces" by the boys. It was easy enough for the girls, who had only to read the beautiful thought that "spring is the pleasantest season of the year." Now and then a new girl, from the east, awfully precise, would begin her essay&mdash;"spring is the most pleasant season of the year," and her would we call down with derisive laughter, whereat she walked to her seat, very stiffly, with a proud dry-eyed look in her face, only to lay her head upon her desk when she reached it, and weep silently until school closed. But "speakin' pieces" did not meet with favor from the boys, save one or two good boys who were in training by their parents for congressmen or presidents.</p> <p>The rest of us, who were just boys, with no desire ever to be anything else, endured the tyranny of compulsory oratory about a month, and then resolved to abolish the whole business by a general revolt. Big and little, we agreed to stand by each other, break up the new exercise, and get back to the old order of things&mdash;the hurdle races in mental arithmetic and the geographical chants which we could run and intone together.<span class='pagenum'><SPAN name="Page_344" id="Page_344">[Pg 344]</SPAN></span></p> <p>Was I a mutineer? Well, say, son, your Pa was a constituent conspirator. He was in the color guard. You see, the first boy called on for a declamation was to announce the strike, and as my name stood very high&mdash;in the alphabetical roll of pupils&mdash;I had an excellent chance of leading the assaulting column, a distinction for which I was not at all ambitious, being a stripling of tender years, ruddy countenance, and sensitive feelings. However, I stiffened the sinews of my soul, girded on my armor by slipping an atlas back under my jacket and was ready for the fray, feeling a little terrified shiver of delight as I thought that the first lick Mr. Hinman gave me would make him think he had broken my back.</p> <p>The hour for "speakin' pieces," an hour big with fate, arrived on time. A boy named Aby Abbott was called up ahead of me, but he happened to be one of the presidential aspirants (he was mate on an Illinois river steamboat, stern-wheeler at that, the last I knew of him), and of course he flunked and "said" his piece&mdash;a sadly prophetic selection&mdash;"Mr. President, it is natural for man to indulge in the illusions of hope." We made such suggestive and threatening gestures at him, however, when Mr. Hinman wasn't looking, that he forgot half his "piece," broke down and cried. He also cried after school, a little more bitterly, and with far better reason.</p> <p>Then, after an awful pause, in which the conspirators could hear the beating of each other's hearts, my name was called.</p> <p>I sat still at my desk and said:</p> <p>"I ain't goin' to speak no piece."</p> <p>Mr. Hinman looked gently surprised and asked:</p> <p>"Why not, Robert?"</p> <p>I replied:<span class='pagenum'><SPAN name="Page_345" id="Page_345">[Pg 345]</SPAN></span></p> <p>"Because there ain't goin' to be any more speakin' pieces."</p> <p>The teacher's eyes grew round and big as he inquired:</p> <p>"Who says there will not?"</p> <p>I said, in slightly firmer tones, as I realized that the moment had come for dragging the rest of the rebels into court:</p> <p>"All of us boys!"</p> <p>But Mr. Hinman smiled, and said quietly that he guessed there would be "a little more speaking before the close of the session." Then laying his hand on my shoulder, with most punctilious but chilling courtesy, he invited me to the rostrum. The "rostrum" was twenty-five feet distant, but I arrived there on schedule time and only touched my feet to the floor twice on my way.</p> <p>And then and there, under Mr. Hinman's judicious coaching, before the assembled school, with feelings, nay, emotions which I now shudder to recall, I did my first "song and dance." Many times before had I stepped off a solo-cachuca to the staccato pleasing of a fragment of slate frame, upon which my tutor was a gifted performer, but never until that day did I accompany myself with words. Boy like, I had chosen for my "piece" a poem sweetly expressive of those peaceful virtues which I most heartily despised. So that my performance, at the inauguration of the strike, as Mr. Hinman conducted the overture, ran something like this&mdash;</p> <div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> <span class="i0">"Oh, not for me (whack) is the rolling (whack) drum,<br /></span> <span class="i0">Or the (whack, whack) trumpet's wild (whack) appeal! (Boo-hoo!)<br /></span> <span class="i0">Or the cry (swish&mdash;whack) of (boo-hoo-hoo!) war when the (whack) foe is come (ouch!)<br /></span> <span class="i0">Or the (ow&mdash;wow!) brightly (whack) flashing (whack-whack) steel! (wah-hoo, wah-hoo!)"<br /></span> </div></div> <p>Words and symbols can not convey to the most gifted<span class='pagenum'><SPAN name="Page_346" id="Page_346">[Pg 346]</SPAN></span> imagination the gestures with which I illustrated the seven stanzas of this beautiful poem. I had really selected it to please my mother, whom I had invited to be present, when I supposed I would deliver it. But the fact that she attended a missionary meeting in the Baptist church that afternoon made me a friend of missions forever. Suffice it to say, then, that my pantomime kept pace and time with Mr. Hinman's system of punctuation until the last line was sobbed and whacked out. I groped my bewildered way to my seat through a mist of tears and sat down gingerly and sideways, inly wondering why an inscrutable providence had given to the rugged rhinoceros the hide which the eternal fitness of things had plainly prepared for the school-boy.</p> <p>But I quickly forgot my own sorrow and dried my tears with laughter in the enjoyment of the subsequent acts of the opera, as the chorus developed the plot and action. Mr. Hinman, who had been somewhat gentle with me, dealt firmly with the larger boy who followed, and there was a scene of revelry for the next twenty minutes. The old man shook Bill Morrison until his teeth rattled so you couldn't hear him cry. He hit Mickey McCann, the tough boy from, the Lower Prairie, and Mickey ran out and lay down in the snow to cool off. He hit Jake Bailey across the legs with a slate frame, and it hurt so that Jake couldn't howl&mdash;he just opened his mouth wide, held up his hands, gasped, and forgot his own name. He pushed Bill Haskell into a seat and the bench broke.</p> <p>He ran across the room and reached out for Lem Harkins, and Lem had a fit before the old man touched him. He shook Dan Stevenson for two minutes, and when he let him go, Dan walked around his own desk five times before he could find it, and then he couldn't sit<span class='pagenum'><SPAN name="Page_347" id="Page_347">[Pg 347]</SPAN></span> down without holding on. He whipped the two Knowltons with a skate-strap in each hand at the same time; the Greenwood family, five boys and a big girl, he whipped all at once with a girl's skipping rope, and they raised such a united wail that the clock stopped.</p> <p>He took a twist in Bill Rodecker's front hair, and Bill slept with his eyes open for a week. He kept the atmosphere of that school-room full of dust, and splinters, and lint, weeping, wailing and gnashing of teeth, until he reached the end of the alphabet and all hearts ached and wearied of the inhuman strife and wicked contention. Then he stood up before us, a sickening tangle of slate frame, strap, ebony ferule and skipping rope, a smile on his kind old face, and asked, in clear, triumphant tones:</p> <p>"WHO says there isn't going to be any more speaking pieces?"</p> <p>And every last boy in that school sprang to his feet; standing there as one human being with one great mouth, we shrieked in concerted anguish:</p> <p>"NOBODY DON'T!"</p> <p>And your Pa, my son, who led that strike, has been "speakin' pieces" ever since.<span class='pagenum'><SPAN name="Page_348" id="Page_348">[Pg 348]</SPAN></span></p> <hr style="width: 65%;" /> <h2>A NAUTICAL BALLAD</h2> <h3>BY CHARLES E. CARRYL</h3> <div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> <span class="i0">A capital ship for an ocean trip<br /></span> <span class="i2">Was the "Walloping Window-blind";<br /></span> <span class="i0">No gale that blew dismayed her crew<br /></span> <span class="i2">Or troubled the captain's mind.<br /></span> <span class="i0">The man at the wheel was taught to feel<br /></span> <span class="i2">Contempt for the wildest blow,<br /></span> <span class="i0">And it often appeared, when the weather had cleared,<br /></span> <span class="i2">That he'd been in his bunk below.<br /></span> </div><div class="stanza"> <span class="i0">"The boatswain's mate was very sedate,<br /></span> <span class="i2">Yet fond of amusement, too;<br /></span> <span class="i0">And he played hop-scotch with the starboard watch,<br /></span> <span class="i2">While the captain tickled the crew.<br /></span> <span class="i0">And the gunner we had was apparently mad,<br /></span> <span class="i2">For he sat on the after rail,<br /></span> <span class="i0">And fired salutes with the captain's boots,<br /></span> <span class="i2">In the teeth of the booming gale.<br /></span> </div><div class="stanza"> <span class="i0">"The captain sat in a commodore's hat<br /></span> <span class="i2">And dined in a royal way<br /></span> <span class="i0">On toasted pigs and pickles and figs<br /></span> <span class="i2">And gummery bread each day.<br /></span> <span class="i0">But the cook was Dutch and behaved as such;<br /></span> <span class="i2">For the diet he gave the crew<br /></span> <span class="i0">Was a number of tons of hot-cross buns<br /></span> <span class="i2">Prepared with sugar and glue.</span><span class='pagenum'><SPAN name="Page_349" id="Page_349">[Pg 349]</SPAN></span><br /> </div><div class="stanza"> <span class="i0">"All nautical pride we laid aside,<br /></span> <span class="i2">And we cast the vessel ashore<br /></span> <span class="i0">On the Gulliby Isles, where the Poohpooh smiles,<br /></span> <span class="i2">And the Rumbletumbunders roar.<br /></span> <span class="i0">And we sat on the edge of a sandy ledge<br /></span> <span class="i2">And shot at the whistling bee;<br /></span> <span class="i0">And the cinnamon-bats wore water-proof hats<br /></span> <span class="i2">As they danced in the sounding sea.<br /></span> </div><div class="stanza"> <span class="i0">"On rubgub bark, from dawn to dark,<br /></span> <span class="i2">We fed, till we all had grown<br /></span> <span class="i0">Uncommonly shrunk,&mdash;when a Chinese junk<br /></span> <span class="i2">Came by from the torriby zone.<br /></span> <span class="i0">She was stubby and square, but we didn't much care,<br /></span> <span class="i2">And we cheerily put to sea;<br /></span> <span class="i0">And we left the crew of the junk to chew<br /></span> <span class="i2">The bark of the rubgub tree."<br /></span> <span class='pagenum'><SPAN name="Page_350" id="Page_350">[Pg 350]</SPAN></span></div></div> <hr style="width: 65%;" /> <h2>NATURAL PERVERSITIES</h2> <h3>BY JAMES WHITCOMB RILEY</h3> <div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> <span class="i0">I am not prone to moralize<br /></span> <span class="i2">In scientific doubt<br /></span> <span class="i0">On certain facts that Nature tries<br /></span> <span class="i2">To puzzle us about,&mdash;<br /></span> <span class="i0">For I am no philosopher<br /></span> <span class="i2">Of wise elucidation,<br /></span> <span class="i0">But speak of things as they occur,<br /></span> <span class="i2">From simple observation.<br /></span> </div><div class="stanza"> <span class="i0">I notice <i>little</i> things&mdash;to wit:&mdash;<br /></span> <span class="i2">I never missed a train<br /></span> <span class="i0">Because I didn't <i>run</i> for it;<br /></span> <span class="i2">I never knew it rain<br /></span> <span class="i0">That my umbrella wasn't lent,&mdash;<br /></span> <span class="i2">Or, when in my possession,<br /></span> <span class="i0">The sun but wore, to all intent,<br /></span> <span class="i2">A jocular expression.<br /></span> </div><div class="stanza"> <span class="i0">I never knew a creditor<br /></span> <span class="i2">To dun me for a debt<br /></span> <span class="i0">But I was "cramped" or "busted"; or<br /></span> <span class="i2">I never knew one yet,<br /></span> <span class="i0">When I had plenty in my purse,<br /></span> <span class="i2">To make the least invasion,&mdash;<br /></span> <span class="i0">As I, accordingly perverse,<br /></span> <span class="i2">Have courted no occasion.</span><span class='pagenum'><SPAN name="Page_351" id="Page_351">[Pg 351]</SPAN></span><br /> </div><div class="stanza"> <span class="i0">Nor do I claim to comprehend<br /></span> <span class="i2">What Nature has in view<br /></span> <span class="i0">In giving us the very friend<br /></span> <span class="i2">To trust we oughtn't to.&mdash;<br /></span> <span class="i0">But so it is: The trusty gun<br /></span> <span class="i2">Disastrously exploded<br /></span> <span class="i0">Is always sure to be the one<br /></span> <span class="i2">We didn't think was loaded.<br /></span> </div><div class="stanza"> <span class="i0">Our moaning is another's mirth,&mdash;<br /></span> <span class="i2">And what is worse by half,<br /></span> <span class="i0">We say the funniest thing on earth<br /></span> <span class="i2">And never raise a laugh:<br /></span> <span class="i0">Mid friends that love us overwell,<br /></span> <span class="i2">And sparkling jests and liquor,<br /></span> <span class="i0">Our hearts somehow are liable<br /></span> <span class="i2">To melt in tears the quicker.<br /></span> </div><div class="stanza"> <span class="i0">We reach the wrong when most we seek<br /></span> <span class="i2">The right; in like effect,<br /></span> <span class="i0">We stay the strong and not the weak&mdash;<br /></span> <span class="i2">Do most when we neglect.&mdash;<br /></span> <span class="i0">Neglected genius&mdash;truth be said&mdash;<br /></span> <span class="i2">As wild and quick as tinder,<br /></span> <span class="i0">The more you seek to help ahead<br /></span> <span class="i2">The more you seem to hinder.<br /></span> </div><div class="stanza"> <span class="i0">I've known the least the greatest, too&mdash;<br /></span> <span class="i2">And, on the selfsame plan,<br /></span> <span class="i0">The biggest fool I ever knew<br /></span> <span class="i2">Was quite a little man:<br /></span> <span class="i0">We find we ought, and then we won't&mdash;<br /></span> <span class="i2">We prove a thing, then doubt it,&mdash;<br /></span> <span class="i0">Know <i>everything</i> but when we don't<br /></span> <span class="i2">Know <i>anything</i> about it.<br /></span> <span class='pagenum'><SPAN name="Page_352" id="Page_352">[Pg 352]</SPAN></span></div></div> <hr style="width: 65%;" /> <h2>BUDD WILKINS AT THE SHOW</h2> <h3>BY S.E. KISER</h3> <div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> <span class="i0">Since I've got used to city ways and don't scare at the cars,<br /></span> <span class="i0">It makes me smile to set and think of years ago.&mdash;My stars!<br /></span> <span class="i0">How green I was, and how green all them country people be&mdash;<br /></span> <span class="i0">Sometimes it seems almost as if this hardly could be me.<br /></span> </div><div class="stanza"> <span class="i0">Well, I was goin' to tell you 'bout Budd Wilkins: I declare<br /></span> <span class="i0">He was the durndest, greenest chap that ever breathed the air&mdash;<br /></span> <span class="i0">The biggest town on earth, he thought, was our old county seat,<br /></span> <span class="i0">With its one two-story brick hotel and dusty bizness street.<br /></span> </div><div class="stanza"> <span class="i0">We'd fairs in fall and now and then a dance or huskin' bee,<br /></span> <span class="i0">Which was the most excitin' things Budd Wilkins ever see,<br /></span> <span class="i0">Until, one winter, Skigginsville was all turned upside down<br /></span> <span class="i0">By a troupe of real play actors a-comin' into town.<br /></span> </div><div class="stanza"> <span class="i0">The court-house it was turned into a theater, that night,<br /></span> <span class="i0">And I don't s'pose I'll live to see another sich a sight:<br /></span> <span class="i0">I guess that every person who was able fer to go<br /></span> <span class="i0">Jest natchelly cut loose fer oncet, and went to see the show.</span><span class='pagenum'><SPAN name="Page_353" id="Page_353">[Pg 353]</SPAN></span><br /> </div><div class="stanza"> <span class="i0">Me and Budd we stood around there all day in the snow,<br /></span> <span class="i0">But gosh! it paid us, fer we got seats right in the second row!<br /></span> <span class="i0">Well, the brass band played a tune or two, and then the play begun,<br /></span> <span class="i0">And 'twa'n't long 'fore the villain had the hero on the run.<br /></span> </div><div class="stanza"> <span class="i0">Say, talk about your purty girls with sweet, confidin' ways&mdash;<br /></span> <span class="i0">I never see the equal yit, in all o' my born days.<br /></span> <span class="i0">Of that there brave young heroine, so clingin' and so mild,<br /></span> <span class="i0">And jest as innocent as if she'd been a little child.<br /></span> </div><div class="stanza"> <span class="i0">I most forgot to say that Budd stood six feet in his socks,<br /></span> <span class="i0">As brave as any lion, too, and stronger than an ox!<br /></span> <span class="i0">But there never was a man, I'll bet, that had a softer heart,<br /></span> <span class="i0">And he was always sure to take the weaker person's part.<br /></span> </div><div class="stanza"> <span class="i0">Budd, he fell dead in love right off with that there purty girl,<br /></span> <span class="i0">And I suppose the feller's brain was in a fearful whirl,<br /></span> <span class="i0">Fer there he set and gazed at her, and when she sighed he sighed,<br /></span> <span class="i0">And when she hid her face and sobbed, he actually cried.<br /></span> </div><div class="stanza"> <span class="i0">He clinched his fists and ground his teeth when the villain laid his plot<br /></span> <span class="i0">And said out loud he'd like to kill the rogue right on the spot,<br /></span> <span class="i0">And when the hero helped the girl, Budd up and yelled "Hooray!"<br /></span> <span class="i0">He'd clean fergot the whole blame thing was nothing but a play.</span><span class='pagenum'><SPAN name="Page_354" id="Page_354">[Pg 354]</SPAN></span><br /> </div><div class="stanza"> <span class="i0">At last the villain trapped the girl, that sweet confidin' child,<br /></span> <span class="i0">And when she cried for help, why I'll admit that I was riled;<br /></span> <span class="i0">The hero couldn't do a thing, but roll and writhe around<br /></span> <span class="i0">And tug and groan because they'd got the poor chap gagged and bound.<br /></span> </div><div class="stanza"> <span class="i0">The maiden cried: "Unhand me now, or, weak girl that I am&mdash;"<br /></span> <span class="i0">And then Budd Wilkins he jumped up and give his hat a slam,<br /></span> <span class="i0">And, quicker'n I can tell it he was up there raisin' Ned,<br /></span> <span class="i0">A-rescuin' the maiden and a-punchin' the rogue's head.<br /></span> </div><div class="stanza"> <span class="i0">I can't, somehow, perticklerize concernin' that there row:<br /></span> <span class="i0">The whole thing seems a sort of blur as I recall it now&mdash;<br /></span> <span class="i0">But I can still remember that there was a fearful thud,<br /></span> <span class="i0">With the air chock full of arms and legs and the villain under Budd.<br /></span> </div><div class="stanza"> <span class="i0">I never see a chap so bruised and battered up before<br /></span> <span class="i0">As that there villain was when he was picked up from the floor!&mdash;<br /></span> <span class="i0">The show? Oh, it was busted, and they put poor Budd in jail,<br /></span> <span class="i0">And kept him there all night, because I couldn't go his bail.<br /></span> </div><div class="stanza"> <span class="i0">Next mornin' what d' you think we heard? Most s'prised in all my life!<br /></span> <span class="i0">That sweet, confidin' maiden was the cruel villain's wife!<br /></span> <span class="i0">Budd wilted when he heard it, and he groaned, and then, says he:<br /></span> <span class="i0">"Well, I'll be dummed! Bill, that's the last play actin' show fer me!"<br /></span> <span class='pagenum'><SPAN name="Page_355" id="Page_355">[Pg 355]</SPAN></span></div></div> <hr style="width: 65%;" /> <h2>BALLAD</h2> <h3>BY CHARLES GODFREY LELAND</h3> <div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> <span class="i0">Der noble Ritter Hugo<br /></span> <span class="i2">Von Schwillensaufenstein,<br /></span> <span class="i0">Rode out mit shpeer and helmet,<br /></span> <span class="i2">Und he coom to de panks of de Rhine.<br /></span> </div><div class="stanza"> <span class="i0">Und oop dere rose a meer maid,<br /></span> <span class="i2">Vot hadn't got nodings on,<br /></span> <span class="i0">Und she say, "Oh, Ritter Hugo,<br /></span> <span class="i2">Vhere you goes mit yourself alone?"<br /></span> </div><div class="stanza"> <span class="i0">And he says, "I rides in de creenwood<br /></span> <span class="i2">Mit helmet und mit shpeer,<br /></span> <span class="i0">Till I cooms into em Gasthaus,<br /></span> <span class="i2">Und dere I trinks some beer."<br /></span> </div><div class="stanza"> <span class="i0">Und den outshpoke de maiden<br /></span> <span class="i2">Vot hadn't got nodings on:<br /></span> <span class="i0">"I tont dink mooch of beoplesh<br /></span> <span class="i2">Dat goes mit demselfs alone.<br /></span> </div><div class="stanza"> <span class="i0">"You'd petter coom down in de wasser,<br /></span> <span class="i2">Vere deres heaps of dings to see,<br /></span> <span class="i0">Und hafe a shplendid tinner<br /></span> <span class="i2">Und drafel along mit me.<br /></span> </div><div class="stanza"> <span class="i0">"Dere you sees de fisch a schwimmin,<br /></span> <span class="i2">Und you catches dem efery one:"&mdash;<br /></span> <span class="i0">So sang dis wasser maiden<br /></span> <span class="i2">Vot hadn't got nodings on.</span><span class='pagenum'><SPAN name="Page_356" id="Page_356">[Pg 356]</SPAN></span><br /> </div><div class="stanza"> <span class="i0">"Dere ish drunks all full mit money<br /></span> <span class="i2">In ships dat vent down of old;<br /></span> <span class="i0">Und you helpsh yourself, by dunder!<br /></span> <span class="i2">To shimmerin crowns of gold.<br /></span> </div><div class="stanza"> <span class="i0">"Shoost look at dese shpoons und vatches!<br /></span> <span class="i2">Shoost see dese diamant rings!<br /></span> <span class="i0">Coom down und full your bockets,<br /></span> <span class="i2">Und I'll giss you like avery dings.<br /></span> </div><div class="stanza"> <span class="i0">"Vot you vantsh mit your schnapps und lager?<br /></span> <span class="i2">Coom down into der Rhine!<br /></span> <span class="i0">Der ish pottles der Kaiser Charlemagne<br /></span> <span class="i2">Vonce filled mit gold-red wine!"<br /></span> </div><div class="stanza"> <span class="i0"><i>Dat</i> fetched him&mdash;he shtood all shpell pound;<br /></span> <span class="i2">She pooled his coat-tails down,<br /></span> <span class="i0">She drawed him oonder der wasser,<br /></span> <span class="i2">De maidens mit nodings on.<br /></span> <span class='pagenum'><SPAN name="Page_357" id="Page_357">[Pg 357]</SPAN></span></div></div> <hr style="width: 65%;" /> <h2>THE HOOSIER AND THE SALT PILE</h2> <h3>BY DANFORTH MARBLE</h3> <p>"I'm sorry," said Dan, as he knocked the ashes from his regalia, as he sat in a small crowd over a glass of sherry, at Florence's, New York, one evening,&mdash;"I'm sorry that the stages are disappearing so rapidly. I never enjoyed traveling so well as in the slow coaches. I've made a good many passages over the Alleghanies, and across Ohio, from Cleveland to Columbus and Cincinnati, all over the South, down East, and up North, in stages, and I generally had a good time.</p> <p>"When I passed over from Cleveland to Cincinnati, the last time, in a stage, I met a queer crowd. Such a corps, such a time, you never did see. I never was better amused in my life. We had a good team,&mdash;spanking horses, fine coaches, and one of them drivers you read of. Well, there was nine 'insiders,' and I don't believe there ever was a stage full of Christians ever started before, so chuck full of music.</p> <p>"There was a beautiful young lady going to one of the Cincinnati academies; next to her sat a Jew peddler,&mdash;Cowes and a market; wedging him was a dandy black-leg, with jewelry and chains around about his breast and neck enough to hang him. There was myself, and an old gentleman with large spectacles, gold-headed cane, and a jolly, soldering-iron-looking nose; by him was a circus-rider, whose breath was enough to breed yaller fever and could be felt just as easy as cotton velvet! A cross old<span class='pagenum'><SPAN name="Page_358" id="Page_358">[Pg 358]</SPAN></span> woman came next, whose look would have given any reasonable man the double-breasted blues before breakfast; alongside of her was a rale backwoods preacher, with the biggest and ugliest mouth ever got up since the flood. He was flanked by the low comedian of the party, an Indiana Hoosier, 'gwine down to Orleans to get an army contrac' to supply the forces, then in Mexico, with beef.</p> <p>"We rolled along for some time. Nobody seemed inclined to 'open.' The old aunty sat bolt upright, looking crab-apples and persimmons at the hoosier and the preacher; the young lady dropped the green curtain of her bonnet over her pretty face, and leaned back in her seat to nod and dream over japonicas and jumbles, pantalets and poetry; the old gentleman, proprietor of the Bardolph nose, looked out at the corduroy and swashes; the gambler fell off into a doze, and the circus convoy followed suit, leaving the preacher and me <i>vis-&agrave;-vis</i> and saying nothing to nobody. 'Indiany,' he stuck his mug out of the window and criticized the cattle we now and then passed. I was wishing somebody would give the conversation a start, when 'Indiany' made a break.</p> <p>"'This ain't no great stock country,' says he to the old gentleman with the cane.</p> <p>"'No, sir,' says the old gentleman. 'There's very little grazing here, and the range is pretty much wore out.'</p> <p>"Then there was nothing said again for some time. Bimeby the hoosier opened ag'in:</p> <p>"'It's the d&mdash;&mdash;dest place for 'simmon-trees and turkey-buzzards I ever did see!'</p> <p>"The old gentleman with the cane didn't say nothing, and the preacher gave a long groan. The young lady smiled through her veil, and the old lady snapped her eyes and looked sideways at the speaker.<span class='pagenum'><SPAN name="Page_359" id="Page_359">[Pg 359]</SPAN></span></p> <p>"'Don't make much beef here, I reckon,' says the hoosier.</p> <p>"'No,' says the gentleman.</p> <p>"'Well, I don't see how in h&mdash;&mdash;ll they all manage to get along in a country whar thar ain't no ranges and they don't make no beef. A man ain't considered worth a cuss in Indiany what hasn't got his brand on a hundred head.'</p> <p>"'Yours is a great beef country, I believe,' says the old gentleman.</p> <p>"'Well, sir, it ain't anything else. A man that's got sense enuff to foller his own cow-bell with us ain't in no danger of starvin'. I'm gwine down to Orleans to see if I can't git a contract out of Uncle Sam to feed the boys what's been lickin' them infernal Mexicans so bad. I s'pose you've seed them cussed lies what's been in the papers about the Indiany boys at Bony Visty.'</p> <p>"'I've read some accounts of the battle,' says the old gentleman, 'that didn't give a very flattering account of the conduct of some of our troops.'</p> <p>"With that, the Indiany man went into a full explanation of the affair, and, gettin' warmed up as he went along, begun to cuss and swear like he'd been through a dozen campaigns himself. The old preacher listened to him with evident signs of displeasure, twistin' and groanin' till he couldn't stand it no longer.</p> <p>"'My friend,' says he, 'you must excuse me, but your conversation would be a great deal more interesting to me&mdash;and I'm sure would please the company much better&mdash;if you wouldn't swear so terribly. It's very wrong to swear, and I hope you'll have respect for our feelin's, if you hain't no respect for your Maker.'</p> <p>"If the hoosier had been struck with thunder and lightnin', he couldn't have been more completely tuck aback. He shut his mouth right in the middle of what he was<span class='pagenum'><SPAN name="Page_360" id="Page_360">[Pg 360]</SPAN></span> sayin', and looked at the preacher, while his face got as red as fire.</p> <p>"'Swearin',' says the old preacher, 'is a terrible bad practice, and there ain't no use in it, nohow. The Bible says, Swear not at all, and I s'pose you know the commandments about swearin'?'</p> <p>"The old lady sort of brightened up,&mdash;the preacher was her 'duck of a man'; the old fellow with the nose and cane let off a few 'umph, ah! umphs'; but 'Indiany' kept shady; he appeared to be cowed down.</p> <p>"'I know,' says the preacher, 'that a great many people swear without thinkin', and some people don't b'lieve the Bible.'</p> <p>"And then he went on to preach a regular sermon ag'in swearing, and to quote Scripture like he had the whole Bible by heart. In the course of his argument he undertook to prove the Scriptures to be true, and told us all about the miracles and prophecies and their fulfilment. The old gentleman with the cane took a part in the conversation, and the hoosier listened, without ever opening his head.</p> <p>"'I've just heard of a gentleman,' says the preacher, 'that's been to the Holy Land and went over the Bible country. It's astonishin' to hear what wonderful things he has seen. He was at Sodom and Gomorrow, and seen the place whar Lot's wife fell.'</p> <p>"'Ah!' says the old gentleman with the cane.</p> <p>"'Yes,' says the preacher; 'he went to the very spot; and, what's the remarkablest thing of all, he seen the pillar of salt what she was turned into.'</p> <p>"'Is it possible!' says the old gentleman.</p> <p>"'Yes, sir; he seen the salt, standin' thar to this day.'</p> <p>"'What!' says the hoosier, 'real genewine, good salt?'</p> <p>"'Yes, sir, a pillar of salt, jest as it was when that wicked woman was punished for her disobedience.'<span class='pagenum'><SPAN name="Page_361" id="Page_361">[Pg 361]</SPAN></span></p> <p>"All but the gambler, who was snoozing in the corner of the coach, looked at the preacher,&mdash;the hoosier with an expression of countenance that plainly told us that his mind was powerfully convicted of an important fact.</p> <p>"'Right out in the open air?' he asked.</p> <p>"'Yes, standin' right in the open field, whar she fell.'</p> <p>"'Well, sir,' says 'Indiany,' 'all I've got to say is, if she'd dropped in our parts, the cattle would have licked her up afore sundown!'</p> <p>"The preacher raised both his hands at such an irreverent remark, and the old gentleman laughed himself into a fit of asthmatics, what he didn't get over till we came to the next change of horses. The hoosier had played the mischief with the gravity of the whole party; even the old maid had to put her handkerchief to her face, and the young lady's eyes were filled with tears for half an hour afterward. The old preacher hadn't another word to say on the subject; but whenever we came to any place, or met anybody on the road, the circus-man nursed the thing along by asking what was the price of salt."<span class='pagenum'><SPAN name="Page_362" id="Page_362">[Pg 362]</SPAN></span></p> <hr style="width: 65%;" /> <h2>A RIVAL ENTERTAINMENT</h2> <h3>BY KATE FIELD</h3> <p>I once heard a bright child declare that if circuses were prohibited in heaven, she did not wish to go there. She had been baptized, was under Christian influences, and, previous to this heterodoxy, had never given her good parents a moment's anxiety. Her na&iuml;ve utterance touched a responsive chord within my own breast, for well did I remember how gloriously the circus shone by the light of other days; how the ring-master, in a wrinkled dress-coat, seemed the most enviable of mortals, being on speaking terms with all the celestial creatures who jumped over flags and through balloons; how the clown was the dearest, funniest of men; how the young athletes in tights and spangles were my <i>beau-ideals</i> of masculinity; and how La Belle Rose, with one foot upon her native heath, otherwise a well-padded saddle, and the other pointed in the direction of the sweet little cherubs that sat up aloft, was the most fascinating of her sex. I am persuaded that circuses fill an aching void in the universe. What children did before their invention I shudder to think, for circuses are to childhood what butter is to bread; and what the world did before the birth of Barnum is an almost equally frightful problem. Some are born to shows, others attain shows, and yet again others have shows thrust upon them. Barnum is a born showman. If ever a man fulfills his destiny, it is the discoverer of Tom Thumb. With the majority of men and women life is a<span class='pagenum'><SPAN name="Page_363" id="Page_363">[Pg 363]</SPAN></span> failure. Not until one leg dangles in the grave is their <i>raison d'&ecirc;tre</i> disclosed. The round people always find themselves sticking in the square holes, and <i>vice versa</i>; but with Barnum we need not deplore a <i>vie manqu&eacute;e</i>. We can smile at his reverses, for even the ph&aelig;nix has cause to blush in his presence. Though pursued by tongues of fire, Barnum remains invincible when iron, stone, and mortar crumble around him; and while yet the smoke is telling volumes of destruction, the cheery voice of the showman exclaims, "Here you are, gentlemen; admission fifty cents, children half price."</p> <p>Apropos of Barnum, once in my life I gave myself up to unmitigated joy. Weary of lecturing, singing the song "I would I were a boy again," I went to see the elephant. To speak truly, I saw not one elephant, but half a dozen. I had a feast of roaring and a flow of circus. In fact I indulged in the wildest dissipation. I visited Barnum's circus and sucked peppermint candy in a way most childlike and bland. The reason seems obscure, but circuses and peppermint candy are as inseparable as peanuts and the Bowery. Appreciating this solemn fact, Barnum provides bigger sticks adorned with bigger red stripes than ever Romans sucked in the palmy days of the Coliseum. In the dim distance I mistook them for barbers' poles, but upon direct application I recognized them for my long lost own.</p> <p>However, let me, like the Germans, begin with the creation. "Here, ladies and gentlemen, is for sale Mr. Barnum's Autobiography, full of interest and anecdote, one of the most charming productions ever issued from the press, 900 pages, thirty-two full-page engravings, reduced from $3.50 to $1.50. Every purchaser enters free."</p> <p>How ordinary mortals can resist buying Barnum's Autobiography for one dollar&mdash;such a bargain as never<span class='pagenum'><SPAN name="Page_364" id="Page_364">[Pg 364]</SPAN></span> was&mdash;is incomprehensible. I believe they can not. I believe they do their duty like men. As one man I resisted, because I belong to the press, and therefore am not mortal. Who ever heard of a journalist getting a bargain? With Spartan firmness I turned a deaf ear to the persuasive music of the propagandist, and entered where hope is all before. I was not staggered by a welcome from all the Presidents of the United States, Fitz-Greene Halleck, General Hooker, and Gratz Brown. These personages are rather woodeny and red about the face, as though flushed with victories of the platform or the table, but I recognize their fitness in a menagerie. What athlete has turned more somersaults than some of these representative men? What lion has roared more gently than a few of these sucking doves? Barnum's tact in appropriately grouping curiosities, living and dead, is too well known to require comment. Passing what Sam Weller would call "a reg'lar knock-down of intellect," I took my seat high in the air amid a dense throng of my fellow-creatures, and realized how many people it takes to make up the world. What did I see? I saw double. I beheld not one ring but two, in each of which the uncommon variety of man was disporting in an entertaining manner. I felt for these uncommon men. Think what immortal hates must arise from these dual performances! We all like to receive the reward of merit, but when two performances are going on simultaneously, how are the artists to know for whom it is intended? Applause is the sweet compensation for which all strive privately or publicly, and to be cheated out of it, or left in doubt as to its destination, is a refined form of the Inquisition. Fancy the sensations of the man balancing plates on the little end of nothing,&mdash;a feat to which he has consecrated his life,&mdash;at thought of his neighbor's performance of impossible feats in the<span class='pagenum'><SPAN name="Page_365" id="Page_365">[Pg 365]</SPAN></span> air! It would be more than human in both not to wish the other in Jericho, or in some equally remote quarter of the globe. I sympathized with them. I became bewildered in my endeavors to keep one eye on each. If human beings were constructed on the same principles as Janus, and had two faces, a fore-and-aft circus would be convenient; but as nowadays double-faced people only wear two eyes in their heads, the Barnumian conception muddles the intellect. I pray you, great and glorious showman, take pity on your artists and your audiences. Don't drive the former mad and the latter distracted. Remember that insanity is on the increase, and that accommodations in asylums are limited. Take warning before you undermine the reason of an entire continent. Beware! Beware!</p> <p>I hear much and see more of the physical weakness of woman. Michelet tells the sentimental world that woman is an exquisite invalid, with a perennial headache and nerves perpetually on the rack. It is a mistake. When I gaze upon German and French peasant-women, I ask Michelet which is right, he or Nature? And since my introduction to Barnum's female gymnast,&mdash;a good-looking, well-formed mother of a family, who walks about unflinchingly with men and boys on her shoulders, and carries a 300-pound gun as easily as the ordinary woman carries a clothes-basket,&mdash;I have been persuaded that "the coming woman," like Brother Jonathan, will "lick all creation." In that good time, woman will have her rights because she will have her muscle. Then, if there are murders and playful beatings between husbands and wives, the wives will enjoy all the glory of crime. What an outlook! And what a sublime consolation to the present enfeebled race of wives that are having their throats cut and their eyes carved out merely because their biceps<span class='pagenum'><SPAN name="Page_366" id="Page_366">[Pg 366]</SPAN></span> have not gone into training! Barnum's female gymnast is an example to her sex. What woman has done woman may do again. Mothers, train up your daughters in the way they should fight, and when they are married they will not depart this life. God is on the side of the stoutest muscle as well as of the heaviest battalions. It is perfectly useless to talk about the equality of the sexes as long as a man can strangle his own mother-in-law.</p> <p>I was exceedingly thrilled by the appearance of the two young gentlemen from the Cannibal Islands, who are beautifully embossed in green and red, and compassionated them for the sacrifices they make in putting on blankets and civilization. Is it right to deprive them of their daily bread,&mdash;I mean their daily baby? Think what self-restraint they must exercise while gazing upon the toothsome infants that congregate at the circus! That they do gaze and smack their overhanging lips I know, because, after going through their cannibalistic dance, they sat behind me and howled in a subdued manner. The North American Indian who occupied an adjoining seat, favored me with a translation of their charming conversation, by which I learned many important facts concerning man as an article of diet. It appears that babies, after all, do not make the daintiest morsels. Tender they are, of course, but, being immature, they have not the rich flavor of a youthful adult. This seems reasonable. Veal is tender, but can it be favorably compared with beef? The cases are parallel. The embossed young men consider babies excellent for <i>entr&eacute;es</i>, but for roasts there is nothing like plump maidens in their teens. Men of twenty are not bad eating. When older, they are invariably boiled. Commenting upon the audience, the critics did not consider it appetizing; and, strange as it may appear, I felt somewhat hurt by the remark, for who is not vain<span class='pagenum'><SPAN name="Page_367" id="Page_367">[Pg 367]</SPAN></span> enough to wish to look good enough to eat? Fancy being shipwrecked off the Fiji Islands, and discarded by cannibals as a tough subject, while your companions are literally killed with attention! Can you not imagine, that, under such circumstances, a peculiar jealousy of the superior tenderness of your friends would be a thorn in the flesh, rendering existence a temporary burden? If we lived among people who adored squinting, should we not all take to it, and cherish it as the apple of our eye? And if we fell among anthropophagi, would not our love of approbation make us long to be as succulent as young pigs? What glory to escape from the jaws of death, if the jaws repudiate us? So long as memory holds a seat in this distracted brain, I shall entertain unpleasant feelings toward the embossed young gentlemen who did not sigh to fasten their affections&mdash;otherwise their teeth&mdash;on me. It was worse than a crime: it was bad taste.</p> <p>Roaming among the wild animals, I made the acquaintance of the cassowary, in which I have been deeply interested since childhood's sunny hours, for then't was oft I sang a touching hymn running thus:</p> <div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> <span class="i0">"If I were a cassowary<br /></span> <span class="i2">Far away in Timbuctoo,<br /></span> <span class="i0">I should eat a missionary,<br /></span> <span class="i2">Hat, and boots, and hymn-book too."<br /></span> </div></div> <p>From that hour the cassowary occupied a large niche in my heart. The desire to gaze upon a bird capable of digesting food to which even the ostrich never aspired, pursued me by day and tinctured my dreams by night. "What you seek for all your life you will come upon suddenly when the whole family is at dinner," says Thoreau. I met the cassowary at dinner. He was dining alone, having left his family in Africa, and I must say that I never met with a greater disappointment. Were it not for the<span class='pagenum'><SPAN name="Page_368" id="Page_368">[Pg 368]</SPAN></span> touching intimation of the hymn, I should believe it impossible for him to eat a missionary. A quieter, more amiable bird never stood on two legs. A polite attendant stirred him up for me, yet his temper and his feathers remained unruffled. Perhaps if our geographical position had changed to Timbuctoo, and I had been a missionary with hymn-book in hand, the cassowary might have realized my expectations. As it was, one more illusion vanished.</p> <p>In order to regain my spirits, I shook hands with the handsome giant in brass buttons; and speaking of giants leads me to the subject of all <i>lusus natur&aelig;</i>, particularly the Circassian young lady, the dwarf, the living skeleton, the Albinos, and What-is-it. I have dropped more than one tear at the fate of these unfortunate beings; for what is more horribly solitary than to live in a strange crowd, with</p> <div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> <span class="i0">"No one to love,<br /></span> <span class="i0">None to caress?"<br /></span> </div></div> <p>Noah was human. When he retired to the ark, he selected two of a kind from all the animal kingdom for the sake of sociability as well as for more practical purposes. Showmen should be equally considerate. To think of those Albino sisters with never an Albino beau, of the Circassian beauty with never a Circassian sweetheart, of the living skeleton with never another skeleton in his closet (how he can look so good-natured would be most mysterious, were not his digestion pronounced perfect), to think of the wretched What-is-it with never a Mrs. What-is-it, produces unspeakable anguish. May they meet their affinities in another and a more sympathetic world, where monstrosities are impossible for the reason that we leave our bones on earth. Since gazing at the What-is-it, I have become a convert to Darwin. It is too<span class='pagenum'><SPAN name="Page_369" id="Page_369">[Pg 369]</SPAN></span> true. Our ancestors stood on their hind legs, and the less we talk about pedigree the better. The noble democrat in search of a coat-of-arms and a grandfather should visit a grand moral circus. Let us assume a virtue, though we have it not; let our pride <i>ape</i> humility.</p> <p>Were I asked which I thought the greater necessity of civilization, lectures or circuses, I should lay my right hand upon my left heart, and exclaim, "Circuses!"<span class='pagenum'><SPAN name="Page_370" id="Page_370">[Pg 370]</SPAN></span></p> <hr style="width: 65%;" /> <h2>YAWCOB STRAUSS</h2> <h3>BY CHARLES FOLLEN ADAMS</h3> <div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> <span class="i0">I haf von funny leedle poy,<br /></span> <span class="i2">Vot gomes schust to mine knee;<br /></span> <span class="i0">Der queerest schap, der createst rogue,<br /></span> <span class="i2">As efer you dit see.<br /></span> </div><div class="stanza"> <span class="i0">He runs, und schumps, und schmashes dings<br /></span> <span class="i2">In all barts off der house:<br /></span> <span class="i0">But vot off dot? he vas mine son,<br /></span> <span class="i2">Mine leedle Yawcob Strauss.<br /></span> </div><div class="stanza"> <span class="i0">He gets der measles und der mumbs,<br /></span> <span class="i2">Und eferyding dot's oudt;<br /></span> <span class="i0">He sbills mine glass off lager bier,<br /></span> <span class="i2">Poots schnuff indo mine kraut.<br /></span> </div><div class="stanza"> <span class="i0">He fills mine pipe mit Limburg cheese,&mdash;<br /></span> <span class="i2">Dot vas der roughest chouse:<br /></span> <span class="i0">I'd dake dot vrom no oder poy<br /></span> <span class="i2">But leedle Yawcob Strauss.<br /></span> </div><div class="stanza"> <span class="i0">He dakes der milk-ban for a dhrum,<br /></span> <span class="i2">Und cuts mine cane in dwo,<br /></span> <span class="i0">To make der schticks to beat it mit,&mdash;<br /></span> <span class="i2">Mine cracious, dot vas drue!<br /></span> </div><div class="stanza"> <span class="i0">I dinks mine hed vas schplit abart,<br /></span> <span class="i2">He kicks oup sooch a touse:<br /></span> <span class="i0">But nefer mind; der poys vas few<br /></span> <span class="i2">Like dot young Yawcob Strauss.</span><span class='pagenum'><SPAN name="Page_371" id="Page_371">[Pg 371]</SPAN></span><br /> </div><div class="stanza"> <span class="i0">He asks me questions sooch as dese:<br /></span> <span class="i2">Who baints mine nose so red?<br /></span> <span class="i0">Who vas it cuts dot schmoodth blace oudt<br /></span> <span class="i2">Vrom der hair ubon mine hed?<br /></span> </div><div class="stanza"> <span class="i0">Und vhere der plaze goes vrom der lamp<br /></span> <span class="i2">Vene'er der glim I douse.<br /></span> <span class="i0">How gan I all dose dings eggsblain<br /></span> <span class="i2">To dot schmall Yawcob Strauss?<br /></span> </div><div class="stanza"> <span class="i0">I somedimes dink I schall go vild<br /></span> <span class="i2">Mit sooch a grazy poy,<br /></span> <span class="i0">Und vish vonce more I gould haf rest,<br /></span> <span class="i2">Und beaceful dimes enshoy;<br /></span> </div><div class="stanza"> <span class="i0">But ven he vas ashleep in ped,<br /></span> <span class="i2">So guiet as a mouse,<br /></span> <span class="i0">I prays der Lord, "Dake anyding,<br /></span> <span class="i2">But leaf dot Yawcob Strauss."<br /></span> <span class='pagenum'><SPAN name="Page_372" id="Page_372">[Pg 372]</SPAN></span></div></div> <hr style="width: 65%;" /> <h2>SEFFY AND SALLY</h2> <h3>BY JOHN LUTHER LONG</h3> <p>The place was the porch of the store, the time was about ten o'clock in the morning of a summer day, the people were the amiable loafers&mdash;and Old Baumgartner. The person he was discoursing about was his son Sephenijah. I am not sure that the name was not the ripe fruit of his father's fancy&mdash;with, perhaps, the Scriptural suggestion which is likely to be present in the affairs of a Pennsylvania-German&mdash;whether a communicant or not&mdash;even if he live in Maryland.</p> <p>"Yas&mdash;always last; expecial at funerals and weddings. Except his own&mdash;he's sure to be on time at his own funeral. Right out in front! Hah? But sometimes he misses his wedding. Why, I knowed a feller&mdash;yous all knowed him, begoshens!&mdash;that didn't git there tell another feller'd married her&mdash;'bout more'n a year afterward. Wasn't it more'n a year, boys? Yas&mdash;Bill Eisenkrout. Or, now, was it his brother&mdash;Baltzer Iron-Cabbage? Seems to me now like it was Baltz. Somesing wiss a B at the front end, anyhow."</p> <p>Henry Wasserman diffidently intimated that there was a curious but satisfactory element of safety in being last&mdash;a "fastnacht" in their language, in fact. Those in front were the ones usually hurt in railroad accidents, Alexander Althoff remembered.</p> <p>"Safe?" cried the speaker. "Of course! But for why&mdash;say, for why?" Old Baumgartner challenged defiantly.<span class='pagenum'><SPAN name="Page_373" id="Page_373">[Pg 373]</SPAN></span></p> <p>No one answered and he let several impressive minutes intervene.</p> <p>"You don't know! Hang you, none of yous knows! Well&mdash;because he ain't there when anysing occurs&mdash;always a little late!"</p> <p>They agreed with him by a series of sage nods.</p> <p>"But, fellers, the worst is about courting. It's no way to be always late. Everybody else gits there first, and it's nossing for the fastnacht but weeping and wailing and gnashing of the teeth. And mebby the other feller gits considerable happiness&mdash;and a good farm."</p> <p>There was complaint in the old man's voice, and they knew that he meant his own son Seffy. To add to their embarrassment, this same son was now appearing over the Lustich Hill&mdash;an opportune moment for a pleasing digression. For you must be told early concerning Old Baumgartner's longing for certain lands, tenements and hereditaments&mdash;using his own phrase&mdash;which were not his own, but which adjoined his. It had passed into a proverb of the vicinage; indeed, though the property in question belonged to one Sarah Pressel, it was known colloquially as "Baumgartner's Yearn."</p> <p>And the reason of it was this: Between his own farm and the public road (and the railroad station when it came) lay the fairest meadow-land farmer's eye had ever rested upon. (I am speaking again for the father of Seffy and with his hyperbole.) Save in one particular, it was like an enemy's beautiful territory lying between one's less beautiful own and the open sea&mdash;keeping one a poor inlander who is mad for the seas&mdash;whose crops must either pass across the land of his adversary and pay tithes to him, or go by long distances around him at the cost of greater tithes to the soulless owners of the turnpikes&mdash;who aggravatingly fix a gate each way<span class='pagenum'><SPAN name="Page_374" id="Page_374">[Pg 374]</SPAN></span> to make their tithes more sure. So, I say, it was like having the territory of his enemy lying between him and the deep water&mdash;save, as I have also said, in one particular, to wit: that the owner&mdash;the Sarah Pressel I have mentioned&mdash;was not Old Baumgartner's enemy.</p> <p>In fact, they were tremendous friends. And it was by this friendship&mdash;and one other thing which I mean to mention later&mdash;that Old Baumgartner hoped, before he died, to attain the wish of his life, and see, not only the Elysian pasture-field, but the whole of the adjoining farm, with the line fences down, a part of his. The other thing I promised to mention as an aid to this ambition&mdash;was Seffy. And, since the said Sarah was of nearly the same age as Seffy, perhaps I need not explain further, except to say that the only obstruction the old man could see now to acquiring the title by marriage was&mdash;Seffy himself. He was, and always had been, afraid of girls&mdash;especially such aggressive, flirtatious, pretty and tempestuous girls as this Sarah.</p> <p>These things, however, were hereditary with the girl. It was historical, in fact, that, during the life of Sarah's good-looking father, so importunate had been Old Baumgartner for the purchase of at least the meadow&mdash;he could not have ventured more at that time&mdash;and so obstinate had been the father of the present owner&mdash;(he had red hair precisely as his daughter had)&mdash;that they had come to blows about it, to the discomfiture of Old Baumgartner; and, afterward, they did not speak. Yet, when the loafers at the store laughed, Baumgartner swore that he would, nevertheless, have that pasture before he died.</p> <p>But then, as if fate, too, were against him, the railroad was built, and its station was placed so that the Pressel farm lay directly between it and him, and of<span class='pagenum'><SPAN name="Page_375" id="Page_375">[Pg 375]</SPAN></span> course the "life" went more and more in the direction of the station&mdash;left him more and more "out of it"&mdash;and made him poorer and poorer, and Pressel richer and richer. And, when the store laughed at <i>that</i>, Baumgartner swore that he would possess half of the farm before he died; and as Pressel and his wife died, and Seffy grew up, and as he noticed the fondness of the little red-headed girl for his little tow-headed boy, he added to his adjuration that he would be harrowing that whole farm before <i>he</i> died,&mdash;<i>without paying a cent for it</i>!</p> <p>But both Seffy and Sally had grown to a marriageable age without anything happening. Seffy had become inordinately shy, while the coquettish Sally had accepted the attentions of Sam Pritz, the clerk at the store, as an antagonist more worthy of her, and in a fashion which sometimes made the father of Seffy swear and lose his temper&mdash;with Seffy. Though, of course, in the final disposition of the matter, he was sure that no girl so nice as Sally would marry such a person as Sam Pritz, with no extremely visible means of support&mdash;a salary of four dollars a week, and an odious reputation for liquor. And it was for these things, all of which were known (for Baumgartner had not a single secret) that the company at the store detected the personal equation in Old Baumgartner's communications.</p> <p>Seffy had almost arrived by this time, and Sally was in the store! With Sam! The situation was highly dramatic. But the old man consummately ignored this complication and directed attention to his son. For him, the molasses-tapper did not exist. The fact is he was overjoyed. Seffy, for once in his life, would be on time! He would do the rest.</p> <p>"Now, boys, chust look at 'em! Dogged if they ain't bose like one another! How's the proferb? Birds of a<span class='pagenum'><SPAN name="Page_376" id="Page_376">[Pg 376]</SPAN></span> feather flock wiss one another? I dunno. Anyhow, Sef flocks wiss Betz constant. And they understand one another good. Trotting like a sidewise dog of a hot summer's day!" And he showed the company, up and down the store-porch, just how a sidewise dog would be likely to trot on a hot summer day&mdash;and then laughed joyously.</p> <p>If there had been an artist eye to see they would have been well worth its while&mdash;Seffy and the mare so affectionately disparaged. And, after all, I am not sure that the speaker himself had not an artist's eye. For a spring pasture, or a fallow upland, or a drove of goodly cows deep in his clover, I know he had. (Perhaps you, too, have?) And this was his best mare and his only son.</p> <p>The big bay, clad in broad-banded harness, soft with oil and glittering with brasses, was shambling indolently down the hill, resisting her own momentum by the diagonal motion the old man had likened to a dog's sidewise trot. The looped trace-chains were jingling a merry dithyramb, her head was nodding, her tail swaying, and Seffy, propped by his elbow on her broad back, one leg swung between the hames, the other keeping time on her ribs, was singing:</p> <div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> <span class="i0">"'I want to be an angel<br /></span> <span class="i4">And with the angels stand,<br /></span> <span class="i0">A crown upon my forehead<br /></span> <span class="i4">A harp within my hand&mdash;'"<br /></span> </div></div> <p>His adoring father chuckled. "I wonder what for kind of anchel he'd make, anyhow? And Betz&mdash;they'll have to go together. Say, I wonder if it <i>is</i> horse-anchels?"</p> <p>No one knew; no one offered a suggestion.</p> <p>"Well, it ought to be. Say&mdash;he ken perform circus wiss ol' Betz!"<span class='pagenum'><SPAN name="Page_377" id="Page_377">[Pg 377]</SPAN></span></p> <p>They expressed their polite surprise at this for perhaps the hundredth time.</p> <p>"Yas&mdash;they have a kind of circus-ring in the barnyard. He stands on one foot, then on another, and on his hands wiss his feet kicking, and then he says words&mdash;like hokey-pokey&mdash;and Betz she kicks up behind and throws him off in the dung and we all laugh&mdash;happy efer after&mdash;Betz most of all!"</p> <p>After the applause he said:</p> <p>"I guess I'd better wake 'em up! What you sink?"</p> <p>They one and all thought he had. They knew he would do it, no matter what they thought. His method, as usual, was his own. He stepped to the adjoining field, and, selecting a clod with the steely polish of the plowshare upon it, threw it at the mare. It struck her on the flank. She gathered her feet under her in sudden alarm, then slowly relaxed, looked slyly for the old man, found him, and understanding, suddenly wheeled and ambled off home, leaving Seffy prone on the ground as her part of the joke.</p> <p>The old man brought Seffy in triumph to the store-porch.</p> <p>"Chust stopped you afore you got to be a anchel!" he was saying. "We couldn't bear to sink about you being a anchel&mdash;an' wiss the anchels stand&mdash;a harp upon your forehead, a crown within your hand, I expect&mdash;when it's corn-planting time."</p> <p>Seffy grinned cheerfully, brushed off the dust and contemplated his father's watch&mdash;held accusingly against him. Old Baumgartner went on gaily.</p> <p>"About an inch and a half apast ten! Seffy, I'm glad you ain't breaking your reputation for being fastnachtich. Chust about a quarter of an inch too late for the prize wiss flour on its hair and arms and its frock pinned up to show<span class='pagenum'><SPAN name="Page_378" id="Page_378">[Pg 378]</SPAN></span> its new petticoat! Uhu! If I had such a nice petticoat&mdash;" he imitated the lady in question, to the tremendous delight of the gentle loafers.</p> <p>Seffy stared a little and rubbed some dust out of his eyes. He was pleasant but dull.</p> <p>"Yassir, Sef, if you'd a-got yere at a inch and a quarter apast! Now Sam's got her. Down in the cellar a-licking molasses together! Doggone if Sam don't git eferysing&mdash;except his due bills. He don't want to be no anchel tell he dies. He's got fun enough yere&mdash;but Seffy&mdash;you're like the flow of molasses in January&mdash;at courting."</p> <p>This oblique suasion made no impression on Seffy. It is doubtful if he understood it at all. The loafers began to smile. One laughed. The old man checked him with a threat of personal harm.</p> <p>"Hold on there, Jefferson Dafis Busby," he chid. "I don't allow no one to laugh at my Seffy&mdash;except chust me&mdash;account I'm his daddy. It's a fight-word the next time you do it."</p> <p>Mr. Busby straightened his countenance.</p> <p>"He don't seem to notice&mdash;nor keer&mdash;'bout gals&mdash;do he?"</p> <p>No one spoke.</p> <p>"No, durn him, he ain't no good. Say&mdash;what'll you give for him, hah? Yere he goes to the highest bidder&mdash;for richer, for poorer, for better, for worser, up and down, in and out, swing your partners&mdash;what's bid? He ken plow as crooked as a mule's hind leg, sleep hard as a 'possum in wintertime, eat like a snake, git left efery time&mdash;but he ken ketch fish. They wait on him. What's bid?"</p> <p>No one would hazard a bid.</p> <p>"Yit a minute," shouted the old fellow, pulling out his<span class='pagenum'><SPAN name="Page_379" id="Page_379">[Pg 379]</SPAN></span> bull's-eye watch again, "what's bid? Going&mdash;going&mdash;all done&mdash;going&mdash;"</p> <p>"A dollar!"</p> <p>The bid came from behind him, and the voice was beautiful to hear. A gleam came into the old man's eyes as he heard it. He deliberately put the watch back in its pocket, put on his spectacles, and turned, as if she were a stranger.</p> <p>"Gone!" he announced then. "Who's the purchaser? Come forwards and take away you' property. What's the name, please?" Then he pretended to recognize her. "Oach! Sally! Well, that's lucky! He goes in good hands. He's sound and kind, but needs the whip." He held out his hand for the dollar.</p> <p>It was the girl of whom he had spoken accurately as a prize. Her sleeves were turned up as far as they would go, revealing some soft lace-trimmed whiteness, and there <i>was</i> flour on her arms. Some patches of it on her face gave a petal-like effect to her otherwise aggressive color. The pretty dress was pinned far enough back to reveal the prettier petticoat&mdash;plus a pair of trimly-clad ankles.</p> <p>Perhaps these were neither the garments nor the airs in which every farmer-maiden did her baking. But then, Sally was no ordinary farmer-maiden. She was all this, it is true, but she was, besides, grace and color and charm itself. And if she chose to bake in such attire&mdash;or, even, if she chose to pretend to do so, where was the churl to say her nay, even though the flour was part of a deliberate "make up"? Certainly he was not at the store that summer morning.</p> <p>And Seffy was there. Her hair escaped redness by only a little. But that little was just the difference between ugliness and beauty. For, whether Sally were beautiful or not&mdash;about which we might contend a bit&mdash;her hair<span class='pagenum'><SPAN name="Page_380" id="Page_380">[Pg 380]</SPAN></span> was, and perhaps that is the reason why it was nearly always uncovered&mdash;or, possibly, again, because it was so much uncovered was the reason it was beautiful. It seemed to catch some of the glory of the sun. Her face had a few freckles and her mouth was a trifle too large. But, in it were splendid teeth.</p> <p>In short, by the magic of brilliant color and natural grace she narrowly escaped being extremely handsome&mdash;in the way of a sunburned peach, or a maiden's-blush apple. And even if you should think she were not handsome, you would admit that there was an indescribable rustic charm about her. She was like the aroma of the hay-fields, or the woods, or a field of daisies, or dandelions.</p> <p>The girl, laughing, surrendered the money, and the old man, taking an arm of each, marched them peremptorily away.</p> <p>"Come to the house and git his clothes. Eferysing goes in&mdash;stofepipe hat, butterfly necktie, diamond pin, toothbrush, hair-oil, razor and soap."</p> <p>They had got far enough around the corner to be out of sight of the store, during this gaiety, and the old man now shoved Seffy and the girl out in front of him, linked their arms, and retreated to the rear.</p> <p>"What Sephenijah P. Baumgartner, Senior, hath j'ined together, let nobody put athunder, begoshens!" he announced.</p> <p>The proceeding appeared to be painful to Seffy, but not to Sally. She frankly accepted the situation and promptly put into action its opportunities for coquetry. She begged him, first, with consummate aplomb, to aid her in adjusting her parcels more securely, insisting upon carrying them herself, and it would be impossible to describe adequately her allures. The electrical touches, half-caress,<span class='pagenum'><SPAN name="Page_381" id="Page_381">[Pg 381]</SPAN></span> half-defiance; the confidential whisperings, so that the wily old man in the rear might not hear; the surges up against him; the recoveries&mdash;only to surge again&mdash;these would require a mechanical contrivance which reports not only speech but action&mdash;and even this might easily fail, so subtle was it all!</p> <p>"Sef&mdash;Seffy, I thought it was his old watch he was auctioning off. I wanted it for&mdash;for&mdash;a nest-egg! aha-ha-ha! You must excuse me."</p> <p>"You wouldn't 'a' bid at all if you'd knowed it was me, I reckon," said Seffy.</p> <p>"Yes, I would," declared the coquette. "I'd rather have you than any nest-egg in the whole world&mdash;any two of 'em!"&mdash;and when he did not take his chance&mdash;"if they were made of gold!"</p> <p>But then she spoiled it.</p> <p>"It's worse fellows than you, Seffy." The touch of coquetry was but too apparent.</p> <p>"And better," said Seffy, with a lump in his throat. "I know I ain't no good with girls&mdash;and I don't care!"</p> <p>"Yes!" she assented wickedly. "There <i>are</i> better ones."</p> <p>"Sam Pritz&mdash;"</p> <p>Sally looked away, smiled, and was silent.</p> <p>"Sulky Seffy!" she finally said.</p> <p>"If he does stink of salt mackerel, and 'most always drunk!" Seffy went on bitterly. "He's nothing but a molasses-tapper!"</p> <p>Sally began to drift farther away and to sing. Calling Pritz names was of no consequence&mdash;except that it kept Seffy from making love to her while he was doing it&mdash;which seemed foolish to Sally. The old man came up and brought them together again.</p> <p>"Oach! go 'long and make lofe some more. I like to<span class='pagenum'><SPAN name="Page_382" id="Page_382">[Pg 382]</SPAN></span> see it. I expect I am an old fool, but I like to see it&mdash;it's like ol' times&mdash;yas, and if you don't look out there, Seffy, I'll take a hand myself&mdash;yassir! go 'long!"</p> <p>He drew them very close together, each looking the other way. Indeed he held them there for a moment, roughly.</p> <p>Seffy stole a glance at Sally. He wanted to see how she was taking his father's odiously intimate suggestion. But it happened that Sally wanted to see how he was taking it. She laughed with the frankest of joy as their eyes met.</p> <p>"Seffy&mdash;I <i>do</i>&mdash;like you," said the coquette. "And you ought to know it. You imp!"</p> <p>Now this was immensely stimulating to the bashful Seffy.</p> <p>"I like <i>you</i>," he said&mdash;"ever since we was babies."</p> <p>"Sef&mdash;I don't believe you. Or you wouldn't waste your time so&mdash;about Sam Pritz!"</p> <p>"Er&mdash;Sally&mdash;where you going to to-night?" Seffy meant to prove himself.</p> <p>And Sally answered, with a little fright at the sudden aggressiveness she had procured.</p> <p>"Nowheres that <i>I</i> know of."</p> <p>"Well&mdash;may I set up with you?"</p> <p>The pea-green sunbonnet could not conceal the utter amazement and then the radiance which shot into Sally's face.</p> <p>"Set&mdash;up&mdash;with&mdash;me!"</p> <p>"Yes!" said Seffy, almost savagely. "That's what I said."</p> <p>"Oh, I&mdash;I guess so! Yes! of course!" she answered variously, and rushed off home.</p> <p>"You know I own you," she laughed back, as if she had not been sufficiently explicit. "I paid for you! Your<span class='pagenum'><SPAN name="Page_383" id="Page_383">[Pg 383]</SPAN></span> pappy's got the money! I'll expect my property to-night."</p> <p>"Yas!" shouted the happy old man, "and begoshens! it's a reg'lar bargain! Ain't it, Seffy? You her property&mdash;real estate, hereditaments and tenements." And even Seffy was drawn into the joyous laughing conceit of it! Had he not just done the bravest thing of his small life?</p> <p>"Yes!" he cried after the fascinating Sally. "For sure and certain, to-night!"</p> <p>"It's a bargain!" cried she.</p> <p>"For better or worser, richer or poorer, up an' down, in an' out, chassez right and left! Aha-ha-ha! Aha-ha-ha! But, Seffy,"&mdash;and the happy father turned to the happy son and hugged him, "don't you efer forgit that she's a feather-head and got a bright red temper like her daddy! And they both work mighty bad together sometimes. When you get her at the right place onct&mdash;well, nail her down&mdash;hand and feet&mdash;so's she can't git away. When she gits mad her little brain evaporates, and if she had a knife she'd go round stabbing her best friends&mdash;that's the only sing that safes her&mdash;yas, and us!&mdash;no knife. If she had a knife it would be funerals following her all the time."</p> <h3>II</h3> <p>They advanced together now, Seffy's father whistling some tune that was never heard before on earth, and, with his arm in that of his son, they watched Sally bounding away. Once more, as she leaped a fence, she looked laughingly back. The old man whistled wildly out of tune. Seffy waved a hand!</p> <p>"Now you shouting, Seffy! Shout ag'in!"</p> <p>"I didn't say a word!"</p> <p>"Well&mdash;it ain't too late! Go on!"<span class='pagenum'><SPAN name="Page_384" id="Page_384">[Pg 384]</SPAN></span></p> <p>Now Seffy understood and laughed with his father.</p> <p>"Nice gal, Sef&mdash;Seffy!"</p> <p>"Yes!" admitted Seffy with reserve.</p> <p>"Healthy."</p> <p>Seffy agreed to this, also.</p> <p>"No doctor-bills!" his father amplified.</p> <p>Seffy said nothing.</p> <p>"Entire orphen."</p> <p>"She's got a granny!"</p> <p>"Yas," chuckled the old man at the way his son was drifting into the situation&mdash;thinking about granny!&mdash;"but Sally owns <i>the farm</i>!"</p> <p>"Uhu!" said Seffy, whatever that might mean.</p> <p>"And Sally's the boss!"</p> <p>Silence.</p> <p>"And granny won't object to any one Sally marries, anyhow&mdash;she dassent! She'd git licked!"</p> <p>"Who said anything about marrying?"</p> <p>Seffy was speciously savage now&mdash;as any successful wooer might be.</p> <p>"Nobody but me, sank you!" said the old man with equally specious meekness. "Look how she ken jump a six-rail fence. Like a three-year filly! She's a nice gal, Seffy&mdash;and the farms j'ine together&mdash;her pasture-field and our corn-field. And she's kissing her hand backwards! At me or you, Seffy?"</p> <p>Seffy said he didn't know. And he did not return the kiss&mdash;though he yearned to.</p> <p>"Well, I bet a dollar that the first initial of his last name is Sephenijah P. Baumgartner, <i>Junior</i>."</p> <p>"Well!" said Seffy with a great flourish, "I'm going to set up with her to-night."</p> <p>"Oach&mdash;git out, Sef!"&mdash;though he knew it.</p> <p>"You'll see."<span class='pagenum'><SPAN name="Page_385" id="Page_385">[Pg 385]</SPAN></span></p> <p>"No, I won't," said his father. "I wouldn't be so durn mean. Nossir!"</p> <p>Seffy grinned at this subtle foolery, and his courage continued to grow.</p> <p>"I'm going to wear my high hat!" he announced, with his nose quite in the air.</p> <p>"No, Sef!" said the old man with a wonderful inflection, facing him about that he might look into his determined face. For it must be explained that the stovepipe hat, in that day and that country, was dedicated only to the most momentous social occasions and that, consequently, gentlemen wore it to go courting.</p> <p>"Yes!" declared Seffy again.</p> <div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> <span class="i0">"Bring forth the stovepipe,<br /></span> <span class="i0">The stovepipe, the stovepipe&mdash;"<br /></span> </div></div> <p>chanted Seffy's frivolous father in the way of the Anvil Chorus.</p> <p>"And my butterfly necktie with&mdash;"</p> <p>"Wiss the di'mond on?" whispered his father.</p> <p>They laughed in confidence of their secret. Seffy, the successful wooer, was thawing out again. The diamond was not a diamond at all&mdash;the Hebrew who sold it to Seffy had confessed as much. But he also swore that if it were kept in perfect polish no one but a diamond merchant could tell the difference. Therefore, there being no diamond merchant anywhere near, and the jewel being always immaculate, Seffy presented it as a diamond and had risen perceptibly in the opinion of the vicinage.</p> <p>"And&mdash;and&mdash;and&mdash;Sef&mdash;Seffy, what you goin' to <i>do</i>?"</p> <p>"Do?"</p> <p>Seffy had been absorbed in what he was going to wear. "Yas&mdash;yas&mdash;that's the most important." He encircled<span class='pagenum'><SPAN name="Page_386" id="Page_386">[Pg 386]</SPAN></span> Seffy's waist and gently squeezed it. "Oh, of <i>course</i>! Hah? But what <i>yit</i>?"</p> <p>I regret to say that Seffy did not understand.</p> <p>"Seffy," he said impressively, "you haf' tol' me what you goin' to wear. It ain't much. The weather's yit pooty col' nights. But I ken stand it if you ken&mdash;God knows about Sally! Now, what you goin' to <i>do</i>&mdash;that's the conuntrum I ast you!"</p> <p>Still it was not clear to Seffy.</p> <p>"Why&mdash;what I'm a-going to do, hah? Why&mdash;whatever occurs."</p> <p>"Gosh-a'mighty! And nefer say a word or do a sing to help the occurrences along? Goshens! What a setting-up! Why&mdash;say&mdash;Seffy, what you set up <i>for</i>?"</p> <p>Seffy did not exactly know. He had never hoped to practise the thing&mdash;in that sublimely militant phase.</p> <p>"What do <i>you</i> think?"</p> <p>"Well, Sef&mdash;plow straight to her heart. I wisht I had your chance. I'd show you a other-guess kind a setting-up&mdash;yassir! Make your mouth warter and your head swim, begoshens! Why, that Sally's just like a young stubble-field; got to be worked constant, and plowed deep, and manured heafy, and mebby drained wiss blind ditches, and crops changed constant, and kep' a-going thataway&mdash;constant&mdash;constant&mdash;so's the weeds can't git in her. Then you ken put her in wheat after a while and git your money back."</p> <p>This drastic metaphor had its effect. Seffy began to understand. He said so.</p> <p>"Now, look here, Seffy," his father went on more softly, "when you git to this&mdash;and this&mdash;and this,"&mdash;he went through his pantomime again, and it included a progressive caressing to the kissing point&mdash;"well, chust when you bose comfortable&mdash;hah?&mdash;mebby on one cheer,<span class='pagenum'><SPAN name="Page_387" id="Page_387">[Pg 387]</SPAN></span> what I know&mdash;it's so long sence I done it myself&mdash;when you bose comfortable, ast her&mdash;chust ast her&mdash;aham!&mdash;what she'll take for the pasture-field! She owns you bose and she can't use bose you and the pasture. A bird in the hand is worth seferal in another feller's&mdash;not so?"</p> <p>But Seffy only stopped and stared at his father. This, again, he did <i>not</i> understand.</p> <p>"You know well enough I got no money to buy no pasture-field," said he.</p> <p>"Gosh-a'mighty!" said the old man joyfully, making as if he would strike Seffy with his huge fist&mdash;a thing he often did. "And ain't got nossing to trade?"</p> <p>"Nothing except the mare!" said the boy.</p> <p>"Say&mdash;ain't you got no feelings, you idjiot?"</p> <p>"Oh&mdash;" said Seffy. And then: "But what's feelings got to do with cow-pasture?"</p> <p>"Oach! No wonder he wants to be an anchel, and wiss the anchels stand&mdash;holding sings in his hands and on his head! He's too good for this wile world. He'd linger shifering on the brink and fear to launch away all his durn life&mdash;if some one didn't push him in. So here goes!"</p> <p>This was spoken to the skies, apparently, but now he turned to his son again.</p> <p>"Look a-yere, you young dummer-ux,<SPAN name="FNanchor_2_2" id="FNanchor_2_2"></SPAN><SPAN href="#Footnote_2_2" class="fnanchor">[2]</SPAN> feelings is the same to gals like Sally, as money is to you and me. You ken buy potatoes wiss 'em! Do you understand?"</p> <p>Seffy said that he did, now.</p> <p>"Well, then, I'fe tried to <i>buy</i> that pasture-field a sousand times&mdash;"</p> <p>Seffy started.</p> <p>"Yas, that's a little bit a lie&mdash;mebby a dozen times. And at last Sally's daddy said he'd lick me if I efer said<span class='pagenum'><SPAN name="Page_388" id="Page_388">[Pg 388]</SPAN></span> pasture-field ag'in, and I said it ag'in and he licked me! He was a big man&mdash;and red-headed yit, like Sally. Now, look a-yere&mdash;<i>you</i> ken git that pasture-field wissout money and wissout price&mdash;except you' dam' feelings which ain't no other use. Sally won't lick <i>you</i>&mdash;if she is bigger&mdash;don't be a-skeered. You got tons of feelin's you ain't got no other use for&mdash;don't waste 'em&mdash;they're good green money, and we'll git efen wiss Sally's daddy for licking me yit&mdash;and somesing on the side! Huh?"</p> <p>At last it was evident that Seffy fully understood, and his father broke into that discordant whistle once more.</p> <p>"A gal that ken jump a six-rail fence&mdash;and wissout no running start&mdash;don't let her git apast you!"</p> <p>"Well, I'm going to set up with her to-night," said Seffy again, with a huge ahem. And the tune his father whistled as he opened the door for him sounded something like "I want to be an angel."</p> <p>"But not to buy no pasture-land!" warned Seffy.</p> <p>"Oach, no, of course not!" agreed his wily old father. "That's just one of my durn jokes. But I expect I'll take the fence down to-morrow! Say, Sef, you chust marry the gal. I'll take keer the fence!"</p> <h3>III</h3> <p>It took Seffy a long time to array himself as he had threatened. And when it was all done you wouldn't have known him&mdash;you wouldn't have cared to know him. For his fine yellow hair was changed to an ugly brown by the patent hair-oil with which he had dressed it&mdash;and you would not have liked its fragrance, I trust. Bergamot, I think it was. His fine young throat was garroted within a starched standing collar, his feet were pinched in creak<span class='pagenum'><SPAN name="Page_389" id="Page_389">[Pg 389]</SPAN></span>ing boots, his hands close-gauntleted in buckskin gloves, and he altogether incomparable, uncomfortable, and triumphant.</p> <p>Down stairs his father paced the floor, watch in hand. From time to time he would call out the hour, like a watchman on a minaret. At last:</p> <p>"Look a-yere, Seffy, it's about two inches apast seven&mdash;and by the time you git there&mdash;say, <i>nefer</i> gif another feller a chance to git there afore you or to leave after you!"</p> <p>Seffy descended at that moment with his hat poised in his left hand.</p> <p>His father dropped his watch and picked it up.</p> <p>Both stood at gaze for a moment.</p> <p>"Sunder, Sef! You as beautiful as the sun, moon and stars&mdash;and as stinky as seferal apothecary shops. Yere, take the watch and git along&mdash;so's you haf some time wiss you&mdash;now git along! You late a'ready. Goshens! You wass behind time when you wass born! Yas, your mammy wass disapp'inted in you right at first. You wass seventy-six hours late! But now you reformed&mdash;sank God! I always knowed it wass a cure for it, but I didn't know it wass anysing as nice as Sally."</p> <p>Seffy issued forth to his first conquest&mdash;lighted as far as the front gate by the fat lamp held in his father's hand.</p> <p>"A&mdash;Sef&mdash;Seffy, shall I set up for you tell you git home?" he called into the dark.</p> <p>"No!" shouted Seffy.</p> <p>"Aha&mdash;aha&mdash;aha! That sounds <i>right</i>! Don't you forgit when you bose&mdash;well&mdash;comfortable&mdash;aha&mdash;aha! Mebby on one cheer aha&mdash;ha-ha. And we'll bose take the fence down to-morrow. Mebby all three!"<span class='pagenum'><SPAN name="Page_390" id="Page_390">[Pg 390]</SPAN></span></p> <hr style="width: 65%;" /> <h2>AN ARCH&AElig;OLOGICAL CONGRESS</h2> <h3>BY ROBERT J. BURDETTE</h3> <div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> <span class="i0">"'There's none can tell about my birth<br /></span> <span class="i0">For I'm as old as the big round earth;<br /></span> <span class="i0">Ye young Immortals clear the track,<br /></span> <span class="i0">I'm the bearded Joke on the Carpet tack."<br /></span> </div><div class="stanza"> <span class="i0">Thus spoke<br /></span> <span class="i0">A Joke<br /></span> <span class="i0">With boastful croak;<br /></span> <span class="i0">And as he said,<br /></span> <span class="i0">Upon his head<br /></span> <span class="i0">He stood, and waited for the tread<br /></span> <span class="i0">Of thoughtless wight,<br /></span> <span class="i0">Who, in the night,<br /></span> <span class="i0">Gets up, arrayed in garments white,<br /></span> <span class="i0">And indiscreet,<br /></span> <span class="i0">With unshod feet,<br /></span> <span class="i0">Prowls round for something good to eat.<br /></span> </div><div class="stanza"> <span class="i0">But other Jokes<br /></span> <span class="i0">His speech provokes;<br /></span> <span class="i0">And old, and bald, and lame, and gray,<br /></span> <span class="i0">With loftiest scorn they say him Nay;<br /></span> <span class="i0">And bid him hold his unweaned tongue,<br /></span> <span class="i0">For they were blind ere he was young.<br /></span> <span class="i0">So hot<br /></span> <span class="i0">They grew,<br /></span> <span class="i0">This complot<br /></span> <span class="i0">Crew,</span><span class='pagenum'><SPAN name="Page_391" id="Page_391">[Pg 391]</SPAN></span><br /> <span class="i0">They laid a plan<br /></span> <span class="i0">To catch a Man;<br /></span> <span class="i0">That all the clan<br /></span> <span class="i0">Might then trepan<br /></span> <span class="i0">His skull with Jokes; they thus began:<br /></span> </div><div class="stanza"> <span class="i0">First Mule, his heel its skill to try,<br /></span> <span class="i2">Amid his ribs like lightning laid&mdash;<br /></span> <span class="i0">And back recoiled&mdash;he well knew why;<br /></span> <span class="i2">"Insurance Man," he faintly sayed.<br /></span> </div><div class="stanza"> <span class="i0">Next Stove Pipe rushed, as hot as fire,<br /></span> <span class="i2">"Put up!" he cried, in accents bold;<br /></span> <span class="i0">With Elbow joint he struck the lyre,<br /></span> <span class="i2">And knocked the Weather Prophet cold.<br /></span> </div><div class="stanza"> <span class="i0">But thou, Ice Cream, with hair so gray,<br /></span> <span class="i2">Three thousand years before the Flood,<br /></span> <span class="i0">Cold, bitter cold, will be the day<br /></span> <span class="i2">Thou dost not warm the Jester's blood.<br /></span> <span class="i0">"Spoons for the spooney," was her ancient song,<br /></span> <span class="i0">That with slow measure dragged its deathless length along.<br /></span> </div><div class="stanza"> <span class="i0">And longer had she sung, but with a frown,<br /></span> <span class="i2">Old Pie, impatient, rose<br /></span> <span class="i0">And roared, "Behold, I am the Funny Clown!<br /></span> <span class="i2">And without me there is no Joke that goes.<br /></span> </div><div class="stanza"> <span class="i0">"To every Jester in the land,<br /></span> <span class="i0">I lend my omnipresent hand;<br /></span> <span class="i0">I've filled in Jokes of every grade<br /></span> <span class="i0">Since ever Jokes and Pies were made;<br /></span> <span class="i0">Sewed, pegged and pasted, glued or cast,<br /></span> <span class="i0">If not the first of Jokes, I'll be the last."</span><span class='pagenum'><SPAN name="Page_392" id="Page_392">[Pg 392]</SPAN></span><br /> </div><div class="stanza"> <span class="i0">With heart unripe and mottled hide,<br /></span> <span class="i0">Pale summer watermeloncholly sighed,<br /></span> <span class="i0">And&mdash;but the Muse would find it vain<br /></span> <span class="i0">To give a list of all the train;<br /></span> <span class="i0">The hairless, purblind, toothless crew,<br /></span> <span class="i0">That burst on Man's astonished view&mdash;<br /></span> <span class="i0">The Bull dog and the Garden gate;<br /></span> <span class="i0">The Girl's Papa in wrathful state;<br /></span> <span class="i0">Ma'ma in law; the Leathern Clam;<br /></span> <span class="i0">The Woodshed Cat; the Rampant Ram;<br /></span> <span class="i0">The Fly, the Goat, the Skating Rink,<br /></span> <span class="i0">The Paste-brush plunging in the Ink;<br /></span> <span class="i0">The Baby wailing in the Dark;<br /></span> <span class="i0">The Songs they sang upon the Ark;<br /></span> <span class="i0">Things that were old when Earth was new,<br /></span> <span class="i0">And as they lived still old and older grew,<br /></span> <span class="i0">And as these Jokes about him cried,<br /></span> <span class="i0">And all their Ancient Arts upon him tried,<br /></span> <span class="i0">Their hapless victim, Man, lay down and died.<br /></span> <span class='pagenum'><SPAN name="Page_393" id="Page_393">[Pg 393]</SPAN></span></div></div> <hr style="width: 65%;" /> <h2>A BOY'S VIEW OF IT</h2> <h3>BY FRANK L. STANTON</h3> <div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> <span class="i0">Mother&mdash;she's always a-sayin', she is,<br /></span> <span class="i2">Boys must be looked after&mdash;got to be strict;<br /></span> <span class="i0">When I tear my breeches like Billy tears his,<br /></span> <span class="i2">It helps 'em considerable when I am licked!<br /></span> <span class="i0">But it ain't leapin' over the fence or the post&mdash;<br /></span> <span class="i0">It's jest that same lickin' 'at tears 'em the most!<br /></span> </div><div class="stanza"> <span class="i0">Mother&mdash;she's always a-sayin' to me,<br /></span> <span class="i2">Boys must have people to foller 'em roun';<br /></span> <span class="i0">Never kin tell where they're goin' to be;<br /></span> <span class="i2">Sure to git lost, an' then have to be foun'.<br /></span> <span class="i0">An' then&mdash;when they find 'em, they're so full of joy<br /></span> <span class="i0">They can't keep from lovin' an' lickin' the boy!<br /></span> </div><div class="stanza"> <span class="i0">There's Jimmy Johnson&mdash;got lost on the road;<br /></span> <span class="i2">Daddy wuz drivin' to market one day,<br /></span> <span class="i0">Fell out the wagon, an' nobody knowed<br /></span> <span class="i2">Till they come to a halt, an' his daddy said: "Hey!<br /></span> <span class="i0">Wonder where Jimmy is gone to?" But Jim&mdash;<br /></span> <span class="i0">Warn't no two hosses could keep up with him!<br /></span> </div><div class="stanza"> <span class="i0">Jest kept a-goin', an' got to a place<br /></span> <span class="i2">Where wuz a circus; took up with the clown,<br /></span> <span class="i0">Cut off his ringlets and painted his face,<br /></span> <span class="i2">An' then come right back to his daddy's own town!<br /></span> <span class="i0">An' what do you reckon? His folks didn't know,<br /></span> <span class="i0">An' paid to see Jimmy that night in the show!</span><span class='pagenum'><SPAN name="Page_394" id="Page_394">[Pg 394]</SPAN></span><br /> </div><div class="stanza"> <span class="i0">An' there's Billy Jenkins&mdash;he jest run away<br /></span> <span class="i2">(Folks at his house wuzn't treatin' him right);<br /></span> <span class="i0">Went to the place where the red Injuns stay;<br /></span> <span class="i2">An' once, when his daddy wuz travelin' at night<br /></span> <span class="i0">An' the Injuns took after him, hollerin' loud,<br /></span> <span class="i0">Bill run to his rescue, an' scalped the whole crowd!<br /></span> </div><div class="stanza"> <span class="i0">No use in talkin'&mdash;boys don't have no show!<br /></span> <span class="i2">Wuzn't fer people a-follerin' 'em roun',<br /></span> <span class="i0">Jest ain't no tellin' how fast they would grow;<br /></span> <span class="i2">Bet you they'd fool everybody in town!<br /></span> <span class="i0">But mother&mdash;she says they need lickin', an' so<br /></span> <span class="i0">They're too busy hollerin' to git up an' grow!<br /></span> <span class='pagenum'><SPAN name="Page_395" id="Page_395">[Pg 395]</SPAN></span></div></div> <hr style="width: 65%;" /> <h2>"RINGWORM FRANK"</h2> <h3>BY JAMES WHITCOMB RILEY</h3> <div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> <span class="i0">Jest Frank Reed's his <i>real</i> name&mdash;though<br /></span> <span class="i2">Boys all calls him "Ringworm Frank,"<br /></span> <span class="i0">'Cause he allus <i>runs round</i> so.&mdash;<br /></span> <span class="i2">No man can't tell where to bank<br /></span> <span class="i8"><i>Frank</i>'ll be,<br /></span> <span class="i8">Next you see<br /></span> <span class="i2">Er <i>hear</i> of him!&mdash;Drat his melts!&mdash;<br /></span> <span class="i2">That man's allus <i>somers else</i>!<br /></span> </div><div class="stanza"> <span class="i0">We're old pards.&mdash;But Frank he jest<br /></span> <span class="i4"><i>Can't</i> stay still!&mdash;Wuz <i>prosper'n here</i>,<br /></span> <span class="i2">But lit out on furder West<br /></span> <span class="i2">Somers on a ranch, last year:<br /></span> <span class="i8">Never heard<br /></span> <span class="i8">Nary a word<br /></span> <span class="i2"><i>How</i> he liked it, tel to-day,<br /></span> <span class="i2">Got this card, reads thisaway:&mdash;<br /></span> </div><div class="stanza"> <span class="i0">"Dad-burn climate out here makes<br /></span> <span class="i2">Me homesick all Winter long,<br /></span> <span class="i0">And when Springtime <i>comes</i>, it takes<br /></span> <span class="i2">Two pee-wees to sing one song,&mdash;<br /></span> <span class="i8">One sings '<i>pee</i>'<br /></span> <span class="i8">And the other one '<i>wee</i>!'<br /></span> <span class="i2">Stay right where you air, old pard.&mdash;<br /></span> <span class="i2">Wisht <i>I</i> wuz this postal-card!"<br /></span> <span class='pagenum'><SPAN name="Page_396" id="Page_396">[Pg 396]</SPAN></span></div></div> <hr style="width: 65%;" /> <h2>THE COLONEL'S CLOTHES</h2> <h3>BY CAROLINE HOWARD GILMAN</h3> <p>Every man has some peculiar taste or preference, and, I think, though papa dressed with great elegance, his was a decided love of his old clothes; his garments, like his friends, became dearer to him from their wear and tear in his service, and they were deposited successively in his dressing-room, though mamma thought them quite unfit for him. He averred that he required his old hunting-suits for accidents; his summer jackets and vests, though faded, were the coolest in the world; his worm-eaten but warm <i>roquelaure</i> was admirable for riding about the fields, etc. In vain mamma represented the economy of cutting up some for the boys, and giving others to the servants; he would not consent, nor part with articles in which he said he felt at home. Often did mamma remonstrate against the dressing-room's looking like a haberdasher's shop; often did she take down a coat, hold it up to the light, and show him perforations that would have honored New Orleans or Waterloo; often, while Chloe was flogging the pantaloons, which ungallantly kicked in return, did she declare that it was a sin and a shame for her master to have such things in the house; still the anti-cherubic shapes accumulated on the nails and hooks, and were even considered as of sufficient importance to be preserved from the fire at the burning of Roseland.</p> <p>Our little circle about this time was animated by a visit<span class='pagenum'><SPAN name="Page_397" id="Page_397">[Pg 397]</SPAN></span> from a peddler. As soon as he was perceived crossing the lawn with a large basket on his arm, and a bundle slung across a stick on his shoulder, a stir commenced in the house. Mamma assumed an air of importance and responsibility; I felt a pleasurable excitement; Chloe's and Flora's eyes twinkled with expectation; while, from different quarters, the house servants entered, standing with eyes and mouth silently open, as the peddler, after depositing his basket and deliberately untying his bundle, offered his goods to our inspection. He was a stout man, with a dark complexion, pitted with the small-pox, and spoke in a foreign accent. I confess that I yielded myself to the pleasure of purchasing some gewgaws, which I afterward gave to Flora, while mamma looked at the glass and plated ware.</p> <p>"Ver sheap," said the peddler, following her eye, and taking up a pair of glass pitchers; "only two dollar&mdash;sheap as dirt. If te lady hash any old closhes, it is petter as money."</p> <p>Mamma took the pitchers in her hand with an inquisitorial air, balanced them, knocked them with her small knuckles&mdash;they rang as clear as a bell&mdash;examined the glass&mdash;there was not a flaw in it. Chloe went through the same process; they looked significantly at each other, nodded, set the pitchers on the slab, and gave a little approbatory cough.</p> <p>"They are certainly very cheap," said mamma, tentatively.</p> <p>"They is, for true, my mistress," said Chloe, with solemnity, "and more handsomer than Mrs. Whitney's that she gin six dollars for at Charleston."</p> <p>"Chloe," said mamma, "were not those pantaloons you were shaking to-day quite shrunk and worn out?"</p> <p>"Yes, ma'am," said she; "and they don't fit nohow.<span class='pagenum'><SPAN name="Page_398" id="Page_398">[Pg 398]</SPAN></span> The last time the colonel wore them he seemed quite <i>on-restless</i>."</p> <p>"Just step up," said her mistress, "and bring them down; but stay&mdash;what did you say was the price of these candlesticks, sir?"</p> <p>"Tish only von dollars; but tish more cheaper for te old closhes. If te lady will get te old closhes, I will put in te pellows and te prush, and it ish more sheaper, too."</p> <p>Chloe and mamma looked at each other, and raised their eyebrows.</p> <p>"I will just step up and see those pantaloons," said mamma, in a consulting tone. "It will be a mercy to the colonel to clear out some of that rubbish. I am confident he can never wear the pantaloons again; they are rubbed in the knees, and require seating, and he never <i>will</i> wear seated pantaloons. These things are unusually cheap, and the colonel told me lately we were in want of a few little matters of this sort." Thus saying, with a significant whisper to me to watch the peddler, she disappeared with Chloe.</p> <p>They soon returned, Chloe bearing a variety of garments, for mamma had taken the important <i>premier pas</i>. The pantaloons were first produced. The peddler took them in his hand, which flew up like an empty scale, to show how light they were; he held them up to the sun, and a half contemptuous smile crossed his lips; then shaking his head, he threw them down beside his basket. A drab overcoat was next inspected, and was also thrown aside with a doubtful expression.</p> <p>"Mr. Peddler," said mamma, in a very soft tone, "you must allow me a fair price; these are very excellent articles."</p> <p>"Oh, ver fair," said he, "but te closhes ish not ver<span class='pagenum'><SPAN name="Page_399" id="Page_399">[Pg 399]</SPAN></span> goot; te closhesman is not going to give me noting for dish," and he laid a waistcoat on the other two articles.</p> <p>Mamma and Chloe had by this time reached the depths of the basket, and, with sympathetic exclamations, arranged several articles on the slab.</p> <p>"You will let me have these pitchers," said mamma, with a look of concentrated resolution, "for that very nice pair of pantaloons."</p> <p>The peddler gave a short whistle expressive of contempt, shook his head, and said, "Tish not possibles. I will give two pishers and von prush for te pantaloon and waistcoat."</p> <p>Mamma and Chloe glanced at each other and at me; I was absorbed in my own bargains, and said, carelessly, that the pitchers were perfect beauties. Chloe pushed one pitcher a little forward, mamma pushed the other on a parallel line, then poised a decanter, and again applied her delicate knuckles for the test. That, too, rang out the musical, unbroken sound, so dear to the housewife's ear, and, with a pair of plated candlesticks, was deposited on the table. The peddler took up the drab overcoat.</p> <p>"Te closhesman's give noting for dish."</p> <p>Mamma looked disconcerted. The expression of her face implied the fear that the peddler would not even accept it as a gift. Chloe and she held a whispering consultation. At this moment Binah came in with little Patsey, who, seeing the articles on the slab, pointed with her dimpled fingers, and said her only words,</p> <p>"Pretty! pretty!"</p> <p>At the same moment, Lafayette and Venus, the two little novices in furniture-rubbing, exclaimed,</p> <p>"Ki! if dem ting an't shine too much!"</p> <p>These opinions made the turning-point in mamma's mind, though coming from such insignificant sources.<span class='pagenum'><SPAN name="Page_400" id="Page_400">[Pg 400]</SPAN></span></p> <p>"So they are pretty, my darling," said mamma to Patsey; and then, turning to the peddler, she asked him what he would give in exchange for the pantaloons, the waistcoat and the coat.</p> <p>The peddler set aside two decanters, one pitcher, the plated candlesticks, and a hearth-brush.</p> <p>"Tish ver goot pargains for te lady," said he.</p> <p>Mamma gained courage.</p> <p>"I can not think of letting you have all these things without something more. You must at least throw in that little tray," and she looked at a small scarlet one, worth perhaps a quarter of a dollar.</p> <p>The peddler hesitated, and held it up so that the morning sun shone on its bright hues.</p> <p>"I shall not make a bargain without <i>that</i>," said mamma, resolutely. The peddler sighed, and laying it with the selected articles said:</p> <p>"Tish ver great pargains for te lady."</p> <p>Mamma smiled triumphantly, and the peddler, tying up his bundle and slinging his stick, departed with an air of humility.</p> <p>Papa's voice was soon heard, as usual, before he was seen.</p> <p>"Rub down Beauty, Mark, and tell Diggory to call out the hounds."</p> <p>There was a slight embarrassment in mamma's manner when he entered, mingled with the same quantity of bravado. He nodded to her, tapped me on the head with his riding-whip, gave Patsey a kiss as she stretched out her arms to him, tossed her in the air, and, returning her to her nurse, was passing on.</p> <p>"Do stop, Colonel," said mamma, "and admire my bargains. See this cut glass and plate that we have been wishing for, to save our best set."<span class='pagenum'><SPAN name="Page_401" id="Page_401">[Pg 401]</SPAN></span></p> <p>"What, this trash?" said he, pausing a moment at the table&mdash;"blown glass and washed brass! Who has been fooling you?"</p> <p>"Colonel," said mamma, coloring highly, "how can you&mdash;"</p> <p>"I can not stop a minute, now, wife," said he, "Jones and Ferguson are for a hunt to-day! They are waiting at Drake's corner. It looks like falling weather and my old drab will come in well to-day."</p> <p>Mamma looked frightened, and he passed on up-stairs. He was one of those gentlemen who keep a house alive, as the phrase is, whether in merriment or the contrary, and we were always prepared to search for his hat, or whip, or slippers, which he was confident he put in their places, but which, by some miracle, were often in opposite directions. Our greatest trial, however, was with mamma's and his spectacles, for they had four pairs between them&mdash;far-sighted and near-sighted. There were, indeed, <i>optical</i> delusions practiced with them; for when papa wanted his, they were hidden behind some pickle-jar; and when mamma had carefully placed hers in her key-basket, they were generally found in one of papa's various pockets; when a distant object was to be seen, he was sure to mount the near-sighted, and cry "Pshaw!" and if a splinter was to be taken out, nothing could be found but the far-sighted ones, and he said something worse: sometimes all four pairs were missing, and such a scampering ensued!</p> <p>We now heard a great outcry up-stairs. "Wife! Chloe! Cornelia! come and find my drab coat!" We looked at each other in dismay, but papa was not a man for delay, and we obeyed his summons.</p> <p>"Wife," said he, beating aside the externals of man that hung about his dressing-room, "where is my old drab coat?"<span class='pagenum'><SPAN name="Page_402" id="Page_402">[Pg 402]</SPAN></span></p> <p>Mamma swallowed as if a dry artichoke was in her throat, as she said, slowly, "Why, colonel, you know you had not worn that coat for months, and as you have another one, and a <i>roquelaure</i>, and the coat was full of moth-holes, I exchanged it with the peddler for cut glass and plate."</p> <p>"Cut devils!" said papa, who liked to soften an oath by combinations; "it was worth twenty dollars&mdash;yes, more, because I felt at home in it. I hate new coats as I do&mdash;"</p> <p>"But, colonel," interrupted mamma, "you did not see the scarlet tray, and the&mdash;"</p> <p>"Scarlet nonsense," shouted papa; "I believe, if they could, women would sell their husbands to those rascally peddlers!"</p> <p>Beauty and the hounds were now pronounced ready. I followed papa to the piazza, and heard his wrath rolling off as he cantered away.</p> <hr style="width: 65%;" /> <h2>FOOTNOTES:</h2> <div class="footnote"><p><SPAN name="Footnote_1_1" id="Footnote_1_1"></SPAN><SPAN href="#FNanchor_1_1"><span class="label">[1]</span></SPAN> By permission of Fox, Duffield and Company. From <i>The Golfer's Rubaiyat</i>. Copyright, 1901, by Herbert S. Stone and Company.</p></div> <div class="footnote"><p><SPAN name="Footnote_2_2" id="Footnote_2_2"></SPAN><SPAN href="#FNanchor_2_2"><span class="label">[2]</span></SPAN> Dumb ox&mdash;a term of reproach.</p></div> <hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><SPAN name="Page_403" id="Page_403">[Pg 403]</SPAN></span></p> <div class="bbox"> <div class="boxtext"> <h4><i>HERE'S A MERRY BOOK BY A MERRY MAN</i></h4> <hr style="width: 95%;" /> <h2>THE SUNNY SIDE OF THE STREET</h2> <p style="text-align: center;">By MARSHALL P. WILDER</p> <p style="text-align: center;"><i>Author of "Smiling 'Round the World".</i></p> <p>"His book&mdash;like American conversation&mdash;is made up of anecdotes. He talks intimately of Richard Croker, President McKinley, President Harrison, Joseph Jefferson, Senator Depew, Henry Watterson, Gen. Horace Porter, Augustin Daly, Henry Irving, Buffalo Bill, King Edward VII., Mrs. Langtry, and a host of other personages, large and small, and medium-sized. He tells many good stories. We can recommend his book as cheerful reading."&mdash;<i>New York Times.</i></p> <div class="blockquot"><p>"It is replete with anecdotes and observations relating to the humorous side of life, intimate bits of interesting personalia, and bright and witty chat concerning things in general."&mdash;<i>Pittsburg Leader.</i></p> <p>"Reading the book is like listening to a humorous lecture by Marshall P. Wilder, full of wit and brightness, and it will cheer and comfort the most morose man or woman just to read it."&mdash;<i>Baltimore American.</i></p> <p><i>12mo, Cloth. Humorous Pen-and-Ink Sketches by Bart Haley. Frontispiece Portrait of Mr. Wilder. Price, $1.20.</i></p></div> <p style="text-align: center;">FUNK &amp; WAGNALLS COMPANY, Publishers</p> <p style="text-align: center;"><span class="smcap">NEW YORK and LONDON</span></p> </div></div> <hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><SPAN name="Page_404" id="Page_404">[Pg 404]</SPAN></span></p> <div class="bbox"> <div class="boxtext"> <h4><i>ANOTHER ROARING FUN BOOK!</i></h4> <h2>SMILING 'ROUND THE WORLD</h2> <p style="text-align: center;">By MARSHALL P. WILDER</p> <p style="text-align: center;"><i>Author of "The Sunny Side of the Street"</i></p> <p>"<i>Laugh and the world laughs with you</i>" can be truly said of Marshall P. Wilder, the captivating entertainer of Presidents, Kings, Princes, and the great public. As the Hon. Chauncey M. Depew says, "His mirth is contagious," and as the Right Hon. Henry Labouchere remarked, "He makes melancholy fly apace." You'll find laughs bubbling all through this new book.</p> <p style="text-align: center;"><i>SOME OPINIONS FROM THE NEWSPAPERS</i></p> <div class="blockquot"><p>"There are many cheerful, amusing incidents of travel. It is a very readable and entertaining book."&mdash;<i>Democrat and Chronicle</i>, Rochester, N.Y.</p> <p>"A marvelous lot of 'sunny stuff' is to be found in Mr. Wilder's latest book. He merrily prattles of a thousand different things and of as many different people."&mdash;<i>Record</i>, Philadelphia, Pa.</p> <p>"In addition to the keen enjoyment which the reader will elicit from the undercurrent of humor running through the volume, the book gives a vivid picture of life as it is lived in distant lands."&mdash;<i>Journal</i>, Boston, Mass.</p> <p style="text-align: center;"><i>Decorated Cloth Cover. 12mo. Profusely Illustrated.</i></p> <p style="text-align: center;"><i>Price, $1.50</i></p></div> <p style="text-align: center;">FUNK &amp; WAGNALLS COMPANY, Publishers</p> <p style="text-align: center;"><span class="smcap">NEW YORK and LONDON</span></p> </div></div> <hr style="width: 65%;" /> <div class="bbox"> <div class="boxtext"> <p><b>Transcriber's Note:</b> The Table of Contents in the print edition lists John Boyle O'Reilly's work entitled "A Disappointment" as being on page 191. It is indeed on this page, but in Volume I, so has been removed Volume II's Table of Contents here.</p> </div> </div>
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