Chapter 7

"'Yes, sir; a pillar of salt, jest as it was when that wicked woman was punished for her disobedience.'

"All but the gambler, who was snoozing in the corner of the coach, looked at the preacher--the Hoosier with an expression of countenance that plainly told that his mind was powerfully convicted of an important fact.

"'Right out in the open air?' he asked.

"'Yes, standin' right in the open field, whar she fell.'

"'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!_'

"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 he 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 cursed the thing along by asking what was the price of salt."

Anne Bache

THE QUILTING

The day is set, the ladies met, And at the frame are seated; In order plac'd, they work in haste, To get the quilt completed. While fingers fly, their tongues they ply, And animate their labors, By counting beaux, discussing clothes, Or talking of their neighbors.

"Dear, what a pretty frock you've on--" "I'm very glad you like it." "I'm told that Miss Micomicon Don't speak to Mr. Micat." "I saw Miss Bell the other day, Young Green's new gig adorning--" "What keeps your sister Ann away?" "She went to town this morning."

"'Tis time to roll"--"my needle's broke--" "So Martin's stock is selling;"- "Louisa's wedding-gown's bespoke--" "Lend me your scissors, Ellen." "_That_ match will never come about--" "Now don't fly in a passion;" "Hair-puffs, they say, are going out--" "Yes, curls are all in fashion."

The quilt is done, the tea begun- The beaux are all collecting; The table's cleared, the music heard- His partner each selecting. The merry band in order stand, The dance begins with vigor; And rapid feet the measure beat, And trip the mazy figure.

Unheeded fly the moments by, Old Time himself seems dancing, Till night's dull eye is op'd to spy The steps of morn advancing. Then closely stowed, to each abode, The carriages go tilting; And many a dream has for its theme The pleasures of the Quilting.

Fitz-Greene Halleck

A FRAGMENT

His shop is a grocer's--a snug, genteel place, Near the corner of Oak Street and Pearl; He can dress, dance, and bow to the ladies with grace, And ties his cravat with a curl.

He's asked to all parties--north, south, east and west, That take place between Chatham and Cherry, And when he's been absent full oft has the "best Society" ceased to be merry.

And nothing has darkened a sky so serene, Nor disordered his beauship's Elysium, Till this season among our _elite_ there has been What is called by the clergy "a schism."

'Tis all about eating and drinking--one set Gives sponge-cake, a few kisses or so, And is cooled after dancing with classic sherbet "Sublimed" [see Lord Byron] "with snow."

Another insists upon punch and _perdrix_, Lobster salad, champagne, and, by way Of a novelty only, those pearls of our sea, Stewed oysters from Lynn-Haven Bay.

Miss Flounce, the young milliner, blue-eyed and bright, In the front parlor over her shop, "Entertains," as the phrase is, a party to-night Upon peanuts and ginger pop.

And Miss Fleece, who's a hosier and not quite as young, But is wealthier far than Miss Flounce, She "entertains" also to-night, with cold tongue, Smoked herring and cherry bounce.

In praise of cold water the Theban bard spoke, He of Teos sang sweetly of wine; Miss Flounce is a Pindar in cashmere and cloak, Miss Fleece an Anacreon divine.

The Montagues carry the day in Swamp Place, In Pike Street the Capulets reign; A _limonadiere_ is the badge of one race, Of the other a flask of champagne.

Now as each the same evening her _soiree_ announces, What better, he asks, can be done, Than drink water from eight until ten with the Flounces, And then wine with the Fleeces till one!

DOMESTIC HAPPINESS

"Beside the nuptial curtain bright," The Bard of Eden sings; "Young Love his constant lamp will light And wave his purple wings." But raindrops from the clouds of care May bid that lamp be dim, And the boy Love will pout and swear, 'Tis then no place for him.

So mused the lovely Mrs. Dash; 'Tis wrong to mention names; When for her surly husband's cash She urged in vain her claims. "I want a little money, dear, For Vandervoort and Flandin, Their bill, which now has run a year, To-morrow mean to hand in."

"More?" cried the husband, half asleep, "You'll drive me to despair"; The lady was too proud to weep, And too polite to swear. She bit her lip for very spite, He felt a storm was brewing, And dream'd of nothing else all night, But brokers, banks, and ruin.

He thought her pretty once, but dreams Have sure a wondrous power, For to his eye the lady seems Quite alter'd since that hour; And Love, who on their bridal eve, Had promised long to stay; Forgot his promise, took French leave, And bore his lamp away.

Charles F. Browne ("Artemus Ward")

ONE OF MR. WARD'S BUSINESS LETTERS

To the Editor of the--

_Sir:_ I'm movin along--slowly along--down tords your place. I want you should rite me a letter, saying how is the show bizness in your place. My show at present consists of three moral Bares, a Kangaroo (a amoozin little Raskal--'twould make you larf yourself to deth to see the little cuss jump up and squeal), wax figgers of G. Washington, Gen. Tayler, John Bunyan, Capt. Kidd, and Dr. Webster in the act of killin Dr. Parkman, besides several miscellanyus moral wax statoots of celebrated piruts & murderers, &c., ekalled by few & exceld by none. Now, Mr. Editor, scratch orf a few lines sayin how is the show bizniss down to your place. I shall hav my hanbills dun at your offiss. Depend upon it. I want you should git my hanbills up in flamin stile. Also git up a tremenjus excitemunt in yr. paper 'bowt my onparaleled Show. We must fetch the public sumhow. We must wurk on their feelins. Cum the moral on em strong. If it's a temperance community, tell em I sined the pledge fifteen minits arter Ise born, but on the contery, ef your peple take their tods, say Mister Ward is as Jenial a feller as ever we met. full of conwiviality, & the life an sole of the Soshul Bored. Take, don't you? If you say anythin abowt my show, say my snaiks is as harmliss as the new born Babe. What a interistin study it is to see a zewological animil like a snake under perfect subjecshun! My kangaroo is the most larfable little cuss I ever saw. All for 15 cents. I am anxyus to skewer your inflooence. I repeet in regard to them hanbills that I shall git 'em struck orf up to your printin office. My perlitical sentiments agree with yourn exactly. I know they do, becaws I never saw a man whoos didn't.

Respectively yures, A. WARD.

P.S.--You scratch my back & Ile scratch your back.

ON "FORTS"

Every man has got a Fort. It's sum men's fort to do one thing, and some other men's fort to do another, while there is numeris shiftliss critters goin' round loose whose fort is not to do nothin'.

Shakspeer rote good plase, but he wouldn't hav succeeded as a Washington correspondent of a New York daily paper. He lackt the rekesit fancy and immagginashun.

That's so!

Old George Washington's Fort was not to hev eny public man of the present day resemble him to eny alarmin extent. Whare bowts can George's ekal be found? I ask, & boldly answer no whares, or any whare else.

Old man Townsin's Fort was to maik Sassy-periller. "Goy to the world! anuther life saived!" (Cotashun from Townsin's advertisement.)

Cyrus Field's Fort is to lay a sub-machine tellegraf under the boundin billers of the Oshun and then have it Bust.

Spaldin's Fort is to maik Prepared Gloo, which mends everything. Wonder ef it will mend a sinner's wickid waze. (Impromptoo goak.)

Zoary's Fort is to be a femaile circus feller.

My Fort is the grate moral show bizniss & ritin choice famerly literatoor for the noospapers. That's what's the matter with _me_.

&., &., &. So I mite go on to a indefnit extent.

Twict I've endevered to do things which thay wasn't my Fort. The fust time was when I undertuk to lick a owdashus cuss who cut a hole in my tent & krawld threw. Sez I, "My jentle Sir, go out or I shall fall on to you putty hevy." Sez he, "Wade in, Old wax figgers," whereupon I went for him, but he cawt me powerful on the hed & knockt me threw the tent into a cow pastur. He pursood the attack & flung me into a mud puddle. As I arose & rung out my drencht garmints I koncluded fitin wasn't my Fort. He now rize the kurtin upon Seen 2nd: It is rarely seldum that I seek consolation in the Flowin Bole. But in a certain town in Injianny in the Faul of 18--, my orgin grinder got sick with the fever & died. I never felt so ashamed in my life, & I thowt I'd hist in a few swallers of suthin strengthnin. Konsequents was I histid in so much I didn't zackly know whare bowts I was. I turned my livin wild beasts of Pray loose into the streets and spilt all my wax wurks. I then bet I cood play hoss. So I hitched myself to a Kanawl bote, there bein two other hosses hicht on also, one behind and another ahead of me. The driver hollerd for us to git up, and we did. But the hosses bein onused to sich a arrangemunt begun to kick & squeal and rair up. Konsequents was I was kickt vilently in the stummuck & back, and presuntly I fownd myself in the Kanawl with the other hosses, kickin & yellin like a tribe of Cusscaroorus savvijis. I was rescood & as I was bein carrid to the tavern on a hemlock Bored I sed in a feeble voise, "Boys, playin hoss isn't my Fort."

_Morul_.--Never don't do nothin which isn't your Fort, for ef you do you'll find yourself splashin round in the Kanawl, figgeratively speakin.

James Russell Lowell

WITHOUT AND WITHIN

My coachman, in the moonlight there, Looks through the sidelight of the door; I hear him with his brethren swear, As I could do--but only more.

Flattening his nose against the pane, He envies me my brilliant lot, Breathes on his aching fist in vain, And dooms me to a place more hot.

He sees me into supper go, A silken wonder at my side, Bare arms, bare shoulders, and a row Of flounces, for the door too wide.

He thinks how happy is my arm, 'Neath its white-gloved and jeweled load; And wishes me some dreadful harm, Hearing the merry corks explode.

Meanwhile I inly curse the bore Of hunting still the same old coon, And envy him, outside the door, The golden quiet of the moon.

The winter wind is not so cold As the bright smile he sees me win, Nor the host's oldest wine so old As our poor gabble, sour and thin.

I envy him the rugged prance By which his freezing feet he warms, And drag my lady's chains and dance, The galley-slave of dreary forms.

Oh, could he have my share of din, And I his quiet--past a doubt 'Twould still be one man bored within, And just another bored without.

Louisa May Alcott

STREET SCENES IN WASHINGTON

The mules were my especial delight; and an hour's study of a constant succession of them introduced me to many of their characteristics: for six of these odd little beasts drew each army wagon and went hopping like frogs through the stream of mud that gently rolled along the street. The coquettish mule had small feet, a nicely trimmed tassel of a tail, perked-up ears, and seemed much given to little tosses of the head, affected skips and prances; and, if he wore the bells or were bedizened with a bit of finery, put on as many airs as any belle. The moral mule was a stout, hard-working creature, always tugging with all his might, often pulling away after the rest had stopped, laboring under the conscientious delusion that food for the entire army depended upon his private exertions. I respected this style of mule; and, had I possessed a juicy cabbage, would have pressed it upon him with thanks for his excellent example. The histrionic mule was a melodramatic quadruped, prone to startling humanity by erratic leaps and wild plunges, much shaking of his stubborn head, and lashing out of his vicious heels; now and then falling flat and apparently dying a la Forrest; a gasp--a squirm--a flop, and so on, till the street was well blocked up, the drivers all swearing like demons in bad hats, and the chief actor's circulation decidedly quickened by every variety of kick, cuff, jerk and haul. When the last breath seemed to have left his body, and "doctors were in vain," a sudden resurrection took place; and if ever a mule laughed with scornful triumph, that was the beast, as he leisurely rose, gave a comfortable shake, and, calmly regarding the excited crowd, seemed to say--"A hit! a decided hit! for the stupidest of animals has bamboozled a dozen men. Now, then! what are _you_ stopping the way for?" The pathetic mule was, perhaps, the most interesting of all; for, though he always seemed to be the smallest, thinnest, weakest of the six, the postillion with big boots, long- tailed coat and heavy whip was sure to bestride this one, who struggled feebly along, head down, coat muddy and rough, eye spiritless and sad, his very tail a mortified stump, and the whole beast a picture of meek misery, fit to touch a heart of stone. The jovial mule was a roly-poly, happy-go-lucky little piece of horseflesh, taking everything easily, from cudgeling to caressing; strolling along with a roguish twinkle of the eye, and, if the thing were possible, would have had his hands in his pockets and whistled as he went. If there ever chanced to be an apple core, a stray turnip or wisp of hay in the gutter, this Mark Tapley was sure to find it, and none of his mates seemed to begrudge him his bite. I suspected this fellow was the peacemaker, confidant and friend of all the others, for he had a sort of "Cheer-up-old-boy-I'll-pull-you-through" look which was exceedingly engaging.

Pigs also possessed attractions for me, never having had an opportunity of observing their graces of mind and manner till I came to Washington, whose porcine citizens appeared to enjoy a larger liberty than many of its human ones. Stout, sedate-looking pigs hurried by each morning to their places of business, with a preoccupied air, and sonorous greetings to their friends. Genteel pigs, with an extra curl to their tails, promenaded in pairs, lunching here and there, like gentlemen of leisure. Rowdy pigs pushed the passersby off the sidewalk; tipsy pigs hiccoughed their version of "We won't go home till morning" from the gutter; and delicate young pigs tripped daintily through the mud as if they plumed themselves upon their ankles, and kept themselves particularly neat in point of stockings. Maternal pigs, with their interesting families, strolled by in the sun; and often the pink, baby-like squealers lay down for a nap, with a trust in Providence worthy of human imitation.--_Hospital Sketches._

MIS' SMITH

All day she hurried to get through, The same as lots of wimmin do; Sometimes at night her husban' said, "Ma, ain't you goin' to come to bed?" And then she'd kinder give a hitch, And pause half way between a stitch, And sorter sigh, and say that she Was ready as she'd ever be, She reckoned.

And so the years went one by one, An' somehow she was never done; An' when the angel said, as how "Miss Smith, it's time you rested now," She sorter raised her eyes to look A second, as a stitch she took; "All right, I'm comin' now," says she, "I'm ready as I'll ever be, I reckon."

Albert Bigelow Paine.

A BOSTON LULLABY

Baby's brain is tired of thinking On the Wherefore and the Whence; Baby's precious eyes are blinking With incipient somnolence.

Little hands are weary turning Heavy leaves of lexicon; Little nose is fretted learning How to keep its glasses on.

Baby knows the laws of nature Are beneficent and wise; His medulla oblongata Bids my darling close his eyes

And his pneumogastrics tell him Quietude is always best When his little cerebellum Needs recuperative rest.

Baby must have relaxation, Let the world go wrong or right- Sleep, my darling, leave Creation To its chances for the night.

James Jeffrey Roche.

IRISH ASTRONOMY

O'Ryan was a man of might Whin Ireland was a nation, But poachin' was his heart's delight And constant occupation. He had an ould militia gun, And sartin sure his aim was; He gave the keepers many a run, And wouldn't mind the game laws

St. Pathrick wanst was passin' by O'Ryan's little houldin', And, as the saint felt wake and dhry He thought he'd enther bould in. "O'Ryan," says the saint, "avick! To praich at Thurles I'm goin'; So let me have a rasher quick, And a dhrop of Innishowen."

"No rasher will I cook for you While betther is to spare, sir, But here's a jug of mountain dew, And there's a rattlin' hare, sir." St. Pathrick he looked mighty sweet, And says he, "Good luck attind you, And whin you're in your windin' sheet, It's up to heaven I'll sind you."

O'Ryan gave his pipe a whiff- "Them tidin's is thransportin', But may I ax your saintship if There's any kind of sportin'?" St. Pathrick said, "A Lion's there, Two Bears, a Bull, and Cancer"- "Bedad," says Mick, "the huntin's rare; St. Pathrick, I'm your man, sir."

So, to conclude my song aright, For fear I'd tire your patience You'll see O'Ryan any night, Amid the constellations. And Venus follows in his track Till Mars grows jealous raally, But, faith, he fears the Irish knack Of handling the shillaly.

Charles Graham Halpine.

BESSIE BROWN, M.D.

'Twas April when she came to town; The birds had come, the bees were swarming. Her name, she said, was Doctor Brown: I saw at once that she was charming. She took a cottage tinted green, Where dewy roses loved to mingle; And on the door, next day, was seen A dainty little shingle.

Her hair was like an amber wreath; Her hat was darker, to enhance it. The violet eyes that glowed beneath Were brighter than her keenest lancet. The beauties of her glove and gown The sweetest rhyme would fail to utter. Ere she had been a day in town The town was in a flutter.

The gallants viewed her feet and hands, And swore they never saw such wee things; The gossips met in purring bands And tore her piecemeal o'er the tea things. The former drank the Doctor's health With clinking cups, the gay carousers; The latter watched her door by stealth, Just like so many mousers.

But Doctor Bessie went her way Unmindful of the spiteful cronies, And drove her buggy every day Behind a dashing pair of ponies. Her flower-like face so bright she bore I hoped that time might never wilt her. The way she tripped across the floor Was better than a philter.

Her patients thronged the village street; Her snowy slate was always quite full. Some said her bitters tasted sweet, And some pronounced her pills delightful. 'Twas strange--I knew not what it meant- She seemed a nymph from Eldorado; Where'er she came, where'er she went, Grief lost its gloomy shadow.

Like all the rest, I, too, grew ill; My aching heart there was no quelling. I tremble at my Doctor's bill- And lo! the items still are swelling. The drugs I've drunk you'd weep to hear! They've quite enriched the fair concocter, And I'm a ruined man, I fear, Unless--I wed the Doctor!

Samuel Minturn Peck.

THE TROUT, THE CAT AND THE FOX

A Fable

(Anonymous)

A fine full-grown Trout for had some time kept his station in a clear stream, when, one morning, a Cat, extravagantly fond, as cats are wont to be, of fish, caught a glimpse of him, as he glided from beneath an overhanging part of the bank, toward the middle of the river; and with this glimpse, she resolved to spare no pains to capture him. As she sat on the bank waiting for the return of the fish, and laying a plan for her enterprise, a Fox came up, and saluting her, said:

"Your servant, Mrs. Puss. A pleasant place this for taking the morning air; and a notable place for fish, eh!"

"Good morning, Mr. Reynard," replied the Cat. "The place is, as you say, pleasant enough. As for fish, you can judge for yourself whether there are any in this part of the river. I do not deny that near the falls, about four miles from here, some very fine salmon and other fish are to be found."

At this very moment, very inappositely for the Cat's hint, the Trout made his appearance; and the Fox looking significantly at her, said:

"The falls, madam! Perhaps this fine Trout is on his way thither. It may be that you would like the walk; allow me the pleasure of accompanying you?"

"I thank you, sir," replied the Cat, "but I am not disposed to walk so far at present. Indeed, I hardly know whether I am quite well. I think I will rest myself a little, and then return home."

"Whatever you may determine," rejoined the Fox, "I hope to be permitted to enjoy your society and conversation; and possibly I may have the great gratification of preventing the tedium which, were you left alone, your indisposition might produce."

In speaking thus, the crafty Fox had no doubt that the only indisposition from which the Cat was suffering was an unwillingness to allow him a share of her booty; and he was determined that, so far as management could go, she should catch no fish that day without his being a party to the transaction. As the trout still continued in sight, be began to commend his shape and color; and the Cat, seeing no way of getting rid of him, finally agreed that they should jointly try their skill and divide the spoil. Upon this compact, they both went actively to work.

They agreed first to try the following device: A small knob of earth covered with rushes stood in the water close to the bank. Both the fishers were to crouch behind these rushes; the Fox was to move the water very gently with the end of his long brush, and withdraw it so soon as the Trout's attention should have been drawn to that point; and the Cat was to hold her right paw underneath, and be ready, so soon as the fish should come over it, to throw him out on the bank. No sooner was the execution of this device commenced than it seemed likely to succeed. The Trout soon noticed the movement on the water, and glided quickly toward the point where it was made; but when he had arrived within about twice his own length of it, he stopped and then backed toward the middle of the river. Several times this maneuver was repeated, and always with the same result, until the tricky pair were convinced that they must try some other scheme.