Part 4

After the success of Major Jones’ Courtship, Mr. Thompson issued other works from time to time. Major Jones’ Sketches of Travel appeared a few years later, and was followed by The Chronicles of Pineville. Mr. Thompson also wrote a farce entitled, The Live Indian, and a dramatization of The Vicar of Wakefield. Messrs. Carey & Hart, of Philadelphia, bought the copyright of Major Jones’ Courtship in 1848, for the paltry sum of $250. In 1856 Mr. Thompson prepared for the press, Hotchkiss’ Codification of the Statute Laws of Georgia, and in 1858 became connected with the Western Continent, a weekly illustrated paper published in Baltimore.

Two years later he sold his interest in the Western Continent, and went to Savannah, where, in company with John M. Cooper, he issued the Savannah Morning News, which is now valuable newspaper property. During the Rebellion Mr. Thompson was appointed aid to Governor Brown, which position he held until the fall of Savannah. In 1877 he was a member of the Georgia Constitutional convention, which is the full extent of his political career. For the past thirty years he has been the editor of the Morning News, and has been one of the leading citizens of Savannah. His work at present is the superintendency and the occasional writing of editorials for his newspaper. It is many years since he gave to the world a specimen of his old-time humor.

Since writing the above, I have been pained to learn of the sudden death of Mr. Thompson, at his home in Savannah, on the 24th day of March, 1882. His death revives the subject of his works, and his several books are to be republished in Philadelphia at an early date.

MELVILLE D. LANDON.

Eli Perkins is a name well known to Americans. In fact he is so well known that sundry newspaper writers, who should feel heartily ashamed of themselves for so doing, have classed Eli Perkins with Gath, Private Dalzell, George Francis Train, and other equally noted characters. The same sundry newspaper writers have stated at various times that Eli Perkins was the greatest liar in all America. This is a base falsehood, and an attack upon the name of a honorable gentleman. A liar, indeed! If the humorists of America are to be thus defiled simply because they exaggerate good stories, solely for the purpose of displaying their wit, why the occupation of humorist is valueless.

Melville D. Landon, better known as Eli Perkins, is not only a humorist, but is author, lecturer, and journalist as well. He was born in Eaton, Madison county, New York, in the year 1840. His freshman year was passed at Madison university, and in 1861 he graduated from Union college under Dr. Nott, and two years later he received the honorary degree of Master of Arts. He entered journalism soon after this, and after several years of hard work he went to Europe and Asia, returning in 1868.

Eli Perkins was by nature a humorist, yet he devoted himself at first entirely to serious writings. In 1871 he issued his first book from the press of George W. Carleton, New York. It was a large volume of over six hundred pages, and was a detailed history of the Franco-Prussian war. It was a book solemn as the grave, yet full of thrilling description. It commanded a large and ready sale.

An old friend tells the following interesting anecdote of Mr. Landon at this time: “In 1872, at the age of thirty-three, a great change came over Mr. Landon. It was then for the first time that he unchecked his pen, and allowed fun and humor to creep unobstructed into his writings. The occasion was a series of letters written from Saratoga, since republished in Saratoga in 1901. These letters were written for the New York Commercial Advertiser, at the instance of Hugh J. Hastings, a veteran, fun-loving journalist. The Commercial was then almost a dead newspaper. It was never seen on the news-stands, and was only taken in a few old families, who still stuck to the paper because of its antiquity, it having been established in 1794.

“Perkins appeared one day at the leading news-stand in Saratoga, and marching up with great pride, informed the newsman that he was going to write for the Commercial.

“‘For the Co-- what?” asked the man.

“‘For the Co-mercial--the Commercial Advertiser.”

“‘Never heard of it, sir,” replied the newsman.

“‘Well, I am going to write for it, and I want you to order it.”

“‘No use, can’t sell it sir, and----’

“‘But I’ll buy it--buy all you have left,” expostulated Eli.

“‘All right,’ said the newsman, ‘then I’ll order five copies.’

“Every day after that these letters were published in the Commercial under the signature of Eli Perkins. They set Saratoga on fire. The demand for them was immense. On the street cars in New York, and on the balconies in Saratoga, people were reading the letters and asking ‘Who is Eli Perkins?’ In four weeks after the humorist commenced writing six hundred copies of the Commercial were sold in Saratoga alone.

“In a word, the articles made Eli Perkins famous. They were widely read and copied, and many of them were reproduced in France and Spain. Perkins and Mark Twain were the only humorists at that time since the death of Artemus Ward, and it was no wonder that there was a demand for their writings.”

A few years later the Saratoga letters were gathered together, illustrated by Arthur Lumley, and republished in a large volume by Sheldon & Co., of New York. Still later Mr. Landon issued another book--a volume of humorous sketches--entitled Eli Perkins at Large. This production had, and yet has, an immense sale. In 1872, he entered the lecture field, and for eight or ten years he has convulsed hundreds of audiences in every part of the country, North, East, South, and West. He has also kept up his literary work, and has been corresponding regularly for the Chicago Tribune. His letters to this well known journal have been widely copied and are noted for their sparkling wit and rollicking humor.

Eli produced something intensely funny when he wrote

ELI PERKINS ON AMERICAN BULLS.

Punctuation makes a great many bulls in this country. The other day I picked up a newspaper in Wisconsin full of curious things. I enclose a few specimens:

“The procession at Judge Orton’s funeral was very fine and nearly two miles in length as was the beautiful prayer of the Rev. Dr. Swing from Chicago.”

Another:

“A cow was struck by lightning on Saturday belonging to Dr. Hammond who had a beautiful spotted calf only four days old.”

A distressing accident is thus chronicled:

“A sad accident happened to the family of John Elderkin on Main street, yesterday. One of his children was run over by a market wagon three years old with sore eyes and pantalets on that never spoke afterwards.”

The next morning after lecturing at Jonesville, I saw this paragraph:

“George Peck, an intemperate editor from Milwaukee fell over the gallery last night while Eli Perkins was lecturing in a beastly state of intoxication.

“The coroner’s jury brought in a verdict that Mr. Peck came to his death by remaining too long in a cramped position while listening to Mr. Perkins’ lecture which produced apoplexy on the minds of the jury.”

CHARLES FOLLEN ADAMS.

Some years ago, a poem in broken German verse, overflowing with the richest of humor, appeared in a Boston paper. It was entitled Leedle Yawcob Strauss, and commanded general attention immediately upon its publication. It was copied widely and was sent on its way across the ocean, delighting hundreds on the other side of the Atlantic. The poem ran thus:

“I haf von funny leedle poy, Vot gomes schust to my knee; Der queerest schap, der createst roke As efer you did see; He runs, and schumps, und schmashes dings In all barts off der house-- But vot off dot? He vas mine son, Mine leedle Yawcob Strauss.

“He gets der measles und der mumbs, Und eferyding dot’s out; He sbills mine glass of lager pier, Poots schnuff into mine kraut; He fills mine pipe mit Limburg cheese-- Dot vas der roughest chouse; I’d take dot vrom no oder poy But leedle Yawcob Strauss.

“He dakes der milk ban for a dhrum, Und cuts mine cane in dwo, To make der shtick to beat it mit-- Mine cracious, dot vas drue! I dinks mine head vas schplit about He kicks up such a touse? But nefer mind, der poys vas few Like dot young Yawcob Strauss.

“He asks me questions sooch as dese: Who baints mine nose so red? Who vas it cuts dot schmoodt blace oudt Vrom the hair ubpon mine hed? Und vhere der plaze goes vrom der lamp Vene’er der glim I douse? How gan I all dese dings eggsplain To dot schmall Yawcob Strauss?

“I somedimes dink I schall go vild Mit sooch a grazy poy, Und vish vonce more I gould haf rest Und beaceful dimes enshoy; But ven he vas ashleep in ped, So quiet as a mouse, I prays der Lord, ‘Dake anydings, But leaf dot Yawcob Strauss.’”

When in later years another poem, “Dot Leedle Loweeza,” a companion piece to “Leedle Yawcob Strauss,” appeared, the fame of the author, Charles Follen Adams, rose still higher. “Dot Leedle Loweeza” was equally as good as its predecessor, and concluded as follows:

“Vhen winter vas come, midst its coldt, shtormy veddher, Katrina und I musd sit in der house Und dalk of der bast, by der fireside togedder, Or blay mit dat taughter of our Yawcob Strauss. Oldt age, mit its wrinkles, pegins to remind us Ve gannot shtay long mit our children to dwell; Budt soon ve shall meet, mit der poys left behind us, Und dot shweet Loweeza, dot lofe us so well.”

There are many other poems that have been written by Mr. Adams in a manner similar to his first two efforts, which have attracted general attention. Charles Follen Adams does not follow the occupation of a journalist or literary man, but is a well known merchant of Boston. He is a genuine Yankee, and his parents come of good old Puritan stock. From his mother’s side, he is a direct descendant from Hannah Dustan, famous in the history of the Deerfield massacre. He is a man of middle age and of small stature. A friend thus describes him: “He is a dapper little gentleman, neat and natty in his _personnel_, just as though he had stepped from a band box, a shrewd, sharp, yet kindly face, a keen, but bright and laughing eye, which tells of a fine sense of humor, a close shaven face, with the exception of a ‘bald browed mustache,’ which gives a manly tone to the well shaped mouth and rounded chin, of medium and slender physique, he steps off with a nervy, springy walk, and a sunny smile or a genial word for his many friends and acquaintances as he passes them on the way.”

Mr. Adams lives happily with his family at No. 36 Rutland square, where he spends his leisure moments in writing for the press. He contributes regularly a column of bright, witty paragraphs in the Cambridge Tribune, and occasionally writes for the Detroit Free Press, and other publications. Once in a great while he drops into poetry for the magazines.

A collection of his poems was published in book form by a Boston house, a year or two ago, under the title of “Leedle Yawcob Strauss and Other Poems.” The volume had an immense sale and is still very popular. Mr. Adams is engaged in the mercantile business on Hanover street, and will probably remain so connected with the business world for many years.

Mr. Adams does not confine his writings wholly to the German dialect. In a recent number of The Century he contributes some verses which he is pleased to call Prevalent Poetry.

“A wandering tribe called the Sioux Wear moccasins, having no shioux. They are made of buckskin With the fleshy side in, Embroidered with beads of bright hyioux.

“When out on the war path, the Sioux March single file--never by tioux-- And by blazing the trees Can return at their ease And their way through the forest ne’er lioux.”

After two more verses in a similar strain, Mr. Adams concludes as follows:

“Now doesn’t this spelling look cyiouxrious? ’Tis enough to make anyone fyiouxrious! So a word to the wise! Pray our language revise With orthography not so injiouxrious.”

SEBA SMITH.

Before the close of the last century a famous humorist was born in the town of Buckfield, in the State of Maine. Seba Smith was his name, yet during his entire life few persons knew him by that title. Speaking of him as “Majer Jack Downing,” however, instantly recalls him to mind, and he at once becomes well known.

Seba Smith was born on the 19th day of September, 1792. As early as 1818 he graduated from Bowdoin College, and, a year or two later, settled in Portland, where, in 1820, he became the editor of the Eastern Argus. In 1830 he transferred his labors to the Portland Courier, with which journal he was connected until 1837. It was during this time that Mr. Smith wrote a series of letters for his paper. They were of a political nature, and took well with the public. They became so popular that in 1833 they were collected in a volume and published in Boston, under the caption of Life and Letters of Majer Jack Downing. The letters were humorous in the extreme, and being written on prominent political subjects, they became widely popular.

In 1841, Smith issued, also through a Boston house, a poem of considerable length, entitled Powhattan. The next year the friends of Majer Jack Downing found him in New York city, where he became actively engaged in literary work. His writings continued to be popular, and his books were written in rapid succession. Away Down East, or Portraitures of Yankee Life, appeared in 1843, and in 1846, a book entitled Dewdrops of the Nineteenth Century was issued. This was followed by a work, New Elements of Geometry, and other books of a serious nature.

In 1859, towards the close of the year, Mr. Smith issued another volume of political humor, which he called My 30 Years Out of the Senate. This book had a wide reputation, and attained an immense sale. The “late unpleasantness” found Mr. Smith hard at work, although now an old man. In 1864, he issued a book entitled Majer Jack Downing of the Downingville Militia. An English edition of the work now lies before me. It was printed in Paternoster Row, London, and contains just thirty chapters. On the title page is the following:

“The constitution is a dimmycratic machine, and its got to run as a dimmycratic machine, or it _won’t run at all_!”

MAJER JACK DOWNING TO LINCOLN.

One of the richest things in the book is “A. Linkin’s Proclamashin Concerning Majer Jack Downing’s Book.” This excellent “take-off” on a President’s proclamation is dated Washington, July 15, 1864, and is as follows:

“Whereas, my friend, Majer Jack Downing, of the Downingville millisha, has issued a Book of Letters, containing his views on public affairs, the war, etc., etc.

“Now, therefore, I do hereby issue this, my Proclamashin, enjoyning upon every loyal, as well as disloyal, citizen, includin’ loyal Leegers, Abolitionists, Republikans, War Dimmycrats, Copperheads, Clay Banks, Charcoals, &c., to buy this book and to read the same, under penalty of the confiscation of all their property, includin’ niggers of every descripshin. Furthermore, all officers under me, whether civil, military, or otherwise, are hereby ordered, under penalty of court marshal, to purchase the said book and read it. This order applies to all Postmasters and their Clerks (who are also ordered to assist in the sale of the book), to all Custom House officials, Provo-Marshalls, to all Tax Collectors, Assessors, Recruteing Officers, Runners, Brokers, Bounty Jumpers, and espeshully to all Government Swindlers, Contractors, Defaulters, &c., to all Furrin Ambassadors, Ministers, Penitentiaries, male and female, &c. &c. Further more, Generals Grant, Sherman and all other Generals, including Ginneral Banks, will see to it that the Majer’s letters are widely circulated in the armies, as the menny good stories of mine, as well as of the Majer’s, in the book, will keep the sojers in good sperits.

“Further more, if eny disloyal editer shall presume to say enything against this book, or advise eny person not to sell or circulate the same, or aid or abet them in so doing, he shall at once be arrested and his paper stopped.

“Further, if any person, in order to avoid the penalties mentioned above, shall borrow said book, he shall, if it be proved, be fined $1000 in gold. If there be no proof, he shall be sent to Fort Lafayette.

“Finally every person perchasing a copy of the Majer’s Letter shall be exempt from the draft. All others are at once to be seized and sent to the front.

“Done, in this, my city of Washington, in the fourth year of my reign.

A. LINKIN.”

The thirty letters following are all dated Washington and give a humorous account of matters political at the National capital at that time.

Miss Elizabeth Oakes, a well known writer, was married to Mr. Smith when she was sixteen years of age. She was born in Cumberland, Maine, in 1831, and was a noted novelist for upwards of twenty years. She has published in all something like fifteen different works. She issued, in 1851, a volume, Woman and Her Needs, which became quite popular.

Mr. Smith retired to private life at the close of the war, and died on the 29th of July, 1868, at his homestead in Patchogue, Rhode Island. His wife survived him and was living in North Carolina several years ago. She gave up writing ten years since.

WILL W. CLARK.

Natives of western Pennsylvania are familiar with two very characteristic names, “Frisbee” and “Gilhooley.” A short, stout, rather good looking young man of twenty-eight or more is the father of both cognomens, and every grown up resident in smoky Pittsburgh will tell you who he is. Will W. Clark, the paragrapher of the Pittsburgh Leader, does not enjoy a national reputation, although he deserves it. His character sketches signed “Frisbee” and “Gilhooley” are choice tidbits of humor, while his “All Sorts” column in the Evening Leader is rarely dry or out of humor.

Clark was born in Pittsburgh, and will probably die there. He is married and is the happy parent of three children. Although but six years in the journalistic harness, Will is already an old hand at the business and is an accomplished reporter. He is a hard-working journalist, who looks ahead for bread and butter rather than for fame.

His humor is peculiar, and I can give no better example of it than a life of himself, written by himself, for himself. It is as follows:

“MY DEAR CLEMENS:

“My biography is not a particularly interesting chapter, and is in fact the romance of a poor young man. Still I think I am a humorist. Away down in the innermost recesses of my system I feel I am a humorist, but by some unfortunate combination of circumstances the public has never tumbled to the fact, with the proper precision and accuracy; the public wouldn’t tumble if a marble front would fall on it. That is probably the reason I am on the ragged edge of genteel poverty at the present time instead of rolling in luxury.

“I was born in the classic precincts of Hardscrabble, of poor and presumably honest parents. I took a fancy to literature from my mother, who was a Scotch-Irish woman, a great reader, and knew Burns by heart.

“The old man was an Englishman with a bald head and side whiskers, and had a faculty of accumulating money, a faculty, I regret to say, which is not hereditary in our family. He used to remark, with some of that fine humor which I possess to such an intense degree, that he came from Derbyshire, ‘where they were strong in the arm and weak in the head.’

“The most striking evidence of weakness on his part was his presenting me with a watch, in consideration of which I was not to enter the army.

On this occasion I became apprised, for the first time, that I was a humorist, as I had no notion of going to the front. I think it is much better to be a miserable poltroon during a war than a one-legged organ-grinder after it.

“It is singular that as a boy I was a good deal like other boys. At school I was the teacher’s pet. She liked me because I was pretty, and she noticed that budding genius which has developed so grandly since, but of which the public has failed to take proper cognizance. When I had reached decimals in arithmetic and could declaim ‘Rolla’s Address to the Peruvians,’ the old man considered that my education was complete, and put me to work.

“He was a rough carpenter, and I became a rough carpenter. I think I was the roughest carpenter in the United States. I built a shed once that was constructed in a manner so diametrically opposite to all the rules of carpentry, that it caved in three days after its completion and killed two coal heavers. On another occasion my employer noticed that I put a lock on upside down and hung a door the wrong way. He kindly but firmly suggested that I should quit. After revolving the question in my own mind I did quit; I thought the employer would be angry if I didn’t.

“When my father died he left me some money and I was pretty well fixed, but in a moment of abberation of mind I yielded to the advice of some of my friends and joined a building and loan association. That settled it; in a short time the association gobbled my property and was loaning my money to some one else. If I had a hundred sons I would advise them all to be solicitors for or presidents of building and loan associations. There’s money in it.

“After that I made the most gigantic mistake of my life. I got a job on a newspaper as a reporter, and, after stoving my legs up running a route, I bloomed out as a humorist writer. As I said before, the people don’t know I’m a humorist, but that is due to their lack of appreciation, and is no fault of mine. I have written some of the most exquisitely all-but funny things I ever saw, and I am now engaged on a series of important jokes for an almanac. I have a wife, three children, and an occasional dose of dyspepsia.

“I do not intend to retire from business for some time. The newspaper business is easy, and especially easy is the task of running the funny end of it. A fellow has merely to be funny when he feels sad, and to grind out humorous items every day in the year. Then the salary of newspaper men is so enormous that college graduates would rather take a situation on a newspaper than get a job driving a street car. I am still grinding out mental pabulum for the public, and still waiting for some appreciative newspaper publisher to offer me a situation at $5,000 per annum.

W. W. CLARK.”

IRWIN RUSSELL.

The night before Christmas, 1879, witnessed the death of one of the brightest young humorists the United States has ever called her own. Of bright intellect and finished education, Irwin Russell was rapidly winning a name in American literature, when taken ill, as the result of overwork; he lingered a few days, and died Christmas Eve.

Little is known of the early days of Irwin Russell. He was born in Fort Gibson, and at an early age was left an orphan, relying on his own exertions for a livelihood. He studied law and began the practice of it in his native city, but, becoming enamored with the life of a Bohemian, he started for New Orleans in search of fame and fortune. He obtained employment at local writing in various newspaper offices, and finally found regular employment in the editorial rooms of the New Orleans Times. Then he left the South and turned up in New York city, where he struggled with fate for a time. His existence was a battle with necessity from the first. It seemed that he was born unlucky. Although his prospects were always fine, he never lived to establish himself permanently anywhere. Few men ever received so many buffets from the hand of fate.