Chapter 8

"And, waitah, tell the steward to wub my plate with a vegetable, wulgarly called onion, which will give a delicious flavow to my dinnah."

While the refined exquisite was giving his order, a jolly western drover had listened with opened mouth and protruding eyes. When the diminutive creature paused, he brought his fist down upon the table with a force that made every dish bounce, and then thundered out:

"Here you darned ace-of-spades!"

"Yes, Sah!"

"Bring me a thunderin' big plate of skunk's gizzards!"

"Sah!"

"And, old ink pot, tuck a horse blanket under my chin, and rub me down with brickbats while I feed!"

The poor dandy showed a pair of straight coat-tails instanter, and the whole table joined in a "tremenjous" roar.

STORY OF AN ALMANAC MAKER.

DAVID DITSON was and is the great Almanac man, calculating the signs and wonders in the heavens, and furnishing the astronomical matter with which those very useful annuals abound. In former years it was his custom, in all his almanacs, to utter sage predictions as to the weather, at given periods in the course of the revolving year. Thus he would say, 'About--this--time--look--out--for--a--change--of--weather; and by stretching such a prophecy half-way down the page, he would make very sure that in some one of the days included, the event foretold would come to pass. He got cured of this spirit of prophecy, in a very remarkable manner. One summer day, clear and calm as a day could be, he was riding on horseback; it was before railroads were in vogue, and being on a journey some distance from home, and wishing to know how far it was to the town he was going to visit, he stopped at the roadside and inquired of a farmer at work in the field. The farmer told him it was six miles; "but," he added, "you must ride sharp, or you will get a wet jacket before you reach it."

"A wet jacket!" said the astronomer; "you don't think it is going to rain, do you?"

"No, I don't _think_ so, I know so," replied the farmer; "and the longer you sit there, the more likely you are to get wet."

David thought the farmer a fool, and rode on, admiring the blue sky uncheckered by a single cloud. He had not proceeded more than half the distance to the town before the heavens were overcast, and one of those sudden showers not unusual in this latitude came down upon him. There was no place for shelter, and he was drenched to the skin. But the rain was soon over, and David thought within himself, that old man must have some way of guessing the weather that beats all my figures and facts. I will ride back and get it out of him. It will be worth more than a day's work to learn a new sign. By the time he had reached the farmer's field again, the old man had resumed his labor, and David accosted him very respectfully:

"I say, my good friend, I have come all the way back to ask you how you were able to say that it would certainly rain to-day?"

"Ah," said the sly old fellow, "and wouldn't you like to know!"

"I would certainly; and as I am much interested in the subject, I will willingly give you five dollars for your rule."

The farmer acceded to the terms, took the money, and proceeded to say:

"Well, you see now, we all use David Ditson's almanacs around here, and he is the greatest liar that ever lived; for whenever he says 'it's going to rain,' we know it ain't; and when he says 'fair weather,' we look out for squalls. Now this morning I saw it put down for to-day _Very pleasant_, and I knew for sartin it would rain before night. That's the rule. Use David's Almanac, and always read it just t'other way."

The crest-fallen astronomer plodded on his weary way, another example of a fool and his money soon parted. But that was the end of his prophesying. Since that he has made his almanacs without weatherwise sayings, leaving every man to guess for himself.

HOW TO BOARD AND LODGE IN NEW YORK.

THE _Philadelphia Chronicle_ calls the hero of the following story a Yankee, but he will wager a sixpence that he was born in Pennsylvania. But no matter, it is a good joke:--"'What do you charge for board?' asked a tall Green Mountain boy, as he walked up to the bar of a second-rate hotel in New York--'what do you ask a week for board and lodging?' 'Five dollars.' 'Five dollars! that's too much; but I s'pose you'll allow for the times I am absent from dinner and supper?' 'Certainly; thirty-seven and a half cents each.' Here the conversation ended, and the Yankee took up his quarters for two weeks. During this time, he lodged and breakfasted at the hotel, but did not take either dinner or supper, saying his business detained him in another portion of the town. At the expiration of the two weeks, he again walked up to the bar, and said, 'S'pose we settle that account--I'm going, in a few minutes.' The landlord handed him his bill--'Two weeks board at five dollars--ten dollars.' 'Here, stranger,' said the Yankee, 'this is wrong--you've made a mistake; you've not deducted the times I was absent from dinner and supper--14 days, two meals per day; 28 meals, at 37-1/2 cents each; 10 dollars 50 cents. If you've not got the fifty cents that's due to me, _I'll take a drink, and the balance in cigars_!"

NEVER SAY DIE.

"THE politicians have thrown me overboard," said a disappointed politician; "but I have strength enough to swim to the other side."

HOW TO BECOME A CONNOISSEUR.

SPOSIN' it's pictures that's on the carpet, wait till you hear the name of the painter. If it's Rubens, or any o' them old boys, praise, for it's agin the law to doubt them; but if it's a new man, and the company ain't most especial judges, criticise. "A leetle out o' keeping," says you. "He don't use his grays enough, nor glaze down well. That shadder wants depth. General effect is good, though parts ain't. Those eyebrows are heavy enough for stucco," says you, and other unmeaning terms like these. It will pass, I tell you. Your opinion will be thought great. Them that judged the cartoons at Westminster Hall, knew plaguey little more nor that. But if this is a portrait of the lady of the house, hangin' up, or it's at all like enough to make it out, stop--gaze on it, walk back, close your fingers like a spy-glass, and look through 'em amazed like--enchanted--chained to the spot. Then utter, unconscious like, "That's a most beautiful pictur'. By heavens! that's a speakin' portrait. It's well painted, too. But whoever the artist is, he is an unprincipled man." "Good gracious!" she'll say, "how so?" "'Cause, madam, he has not done you justice."--_Sam Slick._

BOOTS.

"I BOUGHT _them_ boots to wear only when I go into genteel society," said one of the codfish tribe, to a wag, the other day.

"Oh, you did, eh?" quoth the wag. "Well, then, in that case, _them_ boots will be likely to last you a lifetime, and be worth something to your heirs."--Exit codfish, rather huffy.

SOUR KROUT.

WHEN the territory now composing the State of Ohio was first organized into a government, and Congressmen about being elected, there were two candidates, both men of standing and ability, brought out in that fertile region watered by the beautiful Muskingum.

Mr. Morgan, the one, was a reluctant aspirant for the honor, but he payed his respects to the people by calling meetings at various points and addressing them. In one part of the district there was a large and very intelligent German settlement, and it was generally conceded that their vote, usually given one way, would be decisive of the contest. To secure this important interest, Mr. Morgan, in the course of the campaign, paid this part of the district a visit, and by his condescension and polite manner, made a most favourable impression on the entire population--the electors, in fact, all pledging themselves to cast their votes for him.

Colonel Jackson, the opposing candidate, and ambitious for the office, hearing of this successful move on the part of his opponent, determined to counteract it if possible. To this end he started for the all-important settlement. On introducing himself, and after several fruitless attempts to dissipate the favourable effects of Mr. Morgan's visit, he was finally informed by one of the leading men of the precinct that:

"It ish no good you coming hare, Colonel Shackson, we have all promisht to vote for our friendt, Meisther Morgans."

"Ah! ha!" says the Colonel: "but did you hear what Mr. Morgan did when he returned from visiting you?"

"No, vat vas it?"

"Why, he ordered his chamber-maid to bring him some soap and warm water, that he might wash the sour krout off his hands."

The Colonel left, and in a few days the election coming off, each candidate made his appearance at the critical German polls.

The votes were then given _viva voce_, and you may readily judge of Mr. Morgan's astonishment as each lusty Dutchman announced the name of Colonel Shackson, holding up his hand toward the outwitted candidate, and indignantly asking:

"Ah! ha! Meisther Morgans, you zee ony zour krout dare?"

It is needless to say that Colonel Shackson took a seat in the next Congress.

CONFESSION.

"SUSAN, stand up and let me see what you have learned. What does c-h-a-i-r spell?"

"I don't know, marm."

"Why, you ignorant critter! What do you always sit on?"

"Oh, marm, I don't like to tell."

"What on earth is the matter with the gal?--tell what is it."

"I don't like to tell--it was Bill Crass's knee, but he never kissed me but twice."

"Airthquake and apple-sarse!" exclaimed the schoolmistress, and she fainted.

A HAY FIELD ANECDOTE.

AN old gentleman who was always bragging how folks used to work in his young days, one time challenged his two sons to pitch on a load of hay as fast as he could load it.

The challenge was accepted and the hay-wagon driven round and the trial commenced. For some time the old man held his own very creditably, calling out, tauntingly, "More hay! more hay!"

Thicker and faster it came. The old man was nearly covered; still he kept crying, "More hay! more hay!" until struggling to keep on the top of the disordered and ill-arranged heap, it began first to roll, then to slide, and at last off it went from the wagon, and the old man with it.

"What are you down here for?" cried the boys.

"I came down after hay," answered the old man, stoutly.

Which was a literal fact. He had come down after the wagon load, which had to be pitched on again rather more deliberately.

WHY BROTHER DICKSON LEFT THE CHURCH.

MR. DICKSON, a colored barber, was shaving one of his customers, a respectable citizen, one morning, when a conversation occurred between them respecting Mr. Dickson's former connection with a colored church in the place.

"I believe you are connected with the church in ----street, Mr. Dickson," said the customer.

"So, Sah, not at all."

"What! are you not a member of the African Church?"

"Not dis year, Sah."

"Why did you leave their communion, Mr. Dickson? if I may be permitted to ask."

"Why, I tell you, Sah," said Mr. Dickson, strapping a concave razor on the palm of his hand.

"It was just like dis. I jined dat church in good faif. I gib ten dollars toward de stated preaching ob de Gospel de fus' year, and de peepil all call me Brudder Dickson. De second year my business not good, and I only gib five dollars. Dat year the church peepil call me Mr. Dickson.

"Dis razor hurt you, Sah?"

"No; the razor goes very well."

"Well, Sah, de third year I felt very poor, sickness in my family, and didn't gib nuffin for the preaching. Well, Sah, after dat they call me Old Nigger Dickson, and I leff 'em."

So saying, Mr. Dickson brushed his customer's hair and the gentleman departed, well satisfied with the reason why Mr. Dickson left the church.

FORESIGHT.

A YOUNG lady in the interior, thinks of going to California to get married, for the reason that she has been told that in that country the men folks "rock the cradle."

VICE VERSA.

WHAT is the difference between an attempted homicide, and a hog butchery? One is an assault with intent to kill, and the other is a kill with intent to salt.

HUMAN NATURE.

HERE, reader, is a little picture of _one_ kind of "human nature," that, while it will make you laugh, conveys at the same time a lesson not unworthy of heed. The story is of a gentleman traveling through Canada in the winter of 1839, who, after a long day's ride, stopped at a roadside inn called the "Lion Tavern," where the contents of the stage coach, numbering some nine persons, soon gathered round the cheerful fire.

Among the occupants of the room was an ill-looking cur, who had shown its wit by taking up its quarters in so comfortable an apartment. After a few minutes the landlord entered, and observing the dog, remarked:

"Fine dog, that! is he yours, Sir?" appealing to one of the passengers.

"No, Sir."

"_Beautiful_ dog! _yours_, Sir?" addressing himself to a second.

"_No!_" was the blunt reply.

"Come here, Pup! Perhaps he is _yours_, Sir?"

"No!" was again the reply.

"Very sagacious animal! Belongs to YOU, I suppose, Sir?"

"No, he doesn't!"

"Then he is _yours_, and you have a treasure in him, Sir?" at the same time throwing the animal a cracker.

"No, Sir, he is not!"

"Oh!" (_with a smile_) "he belongs to _you_, as a matter of course, then?" addressing the last passenger.

"_Me!_ I wouldn't have him as a gift!"

"Then, you dirty, mean, contemptible whelp, get out!" And with that the host gave him such a kick as sent him howling into the street, amidst the roars of the company.

There was _one_ honest dog in that company, but the two-legged specimen was a little "too sweet to be wholesome."

JOHN KEMBLE.

MOORE mentions in his diary a very amusing anecdote of John Kemble. He was performing one night at some country theatre, in one of his favourite parts, and being interrupted from time to time by the squalling of a child in one of the galleries, he became not a _little_ angry at the rival performance. Walking with solemn step to the front of the stage, and addressing the audience in his most tragic tone, he said:

"Unless _the play_ is stopped, _the child_ can not possibly go on!"

The loud laugh which followed this ridiculous transposition of his meaning, relaxed even the nerves of the immortal Hamlet, and he was compelled to laugh with his auditors.

CONFESSION.

A PRIEST of Basse Bretagne, finding his duty somewhat arduous, particularly the number of his confessing penitents, said from the pulpit one Sunday:

"Brethren, to avoid confusion at the confessional this week, I will on Monday confess the liars, on Tuesday the thieves, Wednesday the gamblers, Thursday the drunkards, Friday the women of bad life, and Saturday the libertines."

Strange to relate, nobody came that week to confess their sins.

A SLEEPY DEACON.

THERE are times and seasons when sleep is never appropriate, and with these may be classed the sleep of the good old Cincinnati deacon.

The deacon was the owner and overseer of a large pork-packing establishment. His duty it was to stand at the head of the scalding trough, watch in hand, to "time" the length of the scald, crying "Hog in!" when the just slaughtered hog was to be thrown into the trough, and "Hog out!" when the watch told three minutes. One week the press of business compelled the packers to unusually hard labor, and Saturday night found the deacon completely exhausted. Indeed, he was almost sick the next morning, when church time came; but he was a leading member, and it was his duty to attend the usual Sabbath service, if he could. He went. The occasion was of unusual solemnity, as a revival was in progress. The minister preached a sermon, well calculated for effect. His peroration was a climax of great beauty. Assuming the attitude of one intently listening, he recited to the breathless auditory:

"Hark, they whisper; angels say--

"_Hog in!_" came from the deacon's pew, in a stentorian voice. The astonished audience turned their attention from the preacher. He went on, however, unmoved--

"Sister spirit, come away."

"_Hog out!_" shouted the deacon, "_tally four_."

This was too much for the preacher and the audience. The latter smiled, some snickered audibly, while a few boys broke for the door, to "split their sides," laughing outside, within full hearing. The preacher was entirely disconcerted, sat down, arose again, pronounced a brief benediction, and dismissed the anything else than solemn minded hearers. The deacon soon came to a realizing sense of his unconscious interlude, for his brethren reprimanded him severely; while the boys caught the infection of the joke, and every possible occasion afforded an opportunity for them to say, "_Hog in!_" "_Hog out!_"

LOST IN A FOG.

"SUPPOSE you are lost in a fog," said Lord C---- to his noble relative, the Marchioness, "what are you most likely to be?" "Mist, of course," replied her ladyship.

NO MISTAKE.

"YOU don't seem to know how to take me," said a vulgar fellow to a gentleman he had insulted. "Yes, I do," said the gentleman, taking him by the nose.

RESPECT FOR APPEARANCES.

ON a Sunday, a lady called to her little boy, who was tossing marbles on the side walk, to come in the house.

"Don't you know you should not be out there, my son?" said she. "Go into the back yard, if you want to play marbles; it is Sunday."

"I will," answered the little boy; "but ain't it Sunday in the back yard, mother?"

MAKING THE RESPONSES.

AN ignorant fellow, who was about to get married, resolved to make himself perfect in the responses of the marriage service; but, by mistake, he committed the office of baptism for those of riper years; so when the clergyman asked him in the church, "Wilt thou have this woman to be thy wedded wife?" the bridegroom answered, in a very solemn tone, "I renounce them all." The astonished minister said, "I think you are a fool!" to which he replied, "All this I steadfastly believe."

PERSONAL IDENTITY.

AN ill-looking fellow was asked how he could account for nature's forming him so ugly. "Nature was not to blame," said he; "for when I was two months old, I was considered the handsomest child in the neighborhood, but my nurse one day _swapped_ me away for another boy just to please a friend, whose child was rather plain looking."

IKE PARTINGTON AND PUGILISM.

MRS. PARTINGTON was much surprised to find Ike, one rainy afternoon, in the spare room, with the rag-bag hung to the bed-post, which he was belaboring very lustily with his fists as huge as two one cent apples.

"What gymnastiness are you doing here?" said she, as she opened the door.

He did not stop, and merely replying, "Training," continued to pitch in. She stood looking at him as he danced around the bag, busily punching its rotund sides.

"That's the Morrissey touch," said he, giving one side a dig; "and that," hitting the other side, "is the Benicia Boy."

"Stop!" she said, and he immediately stopped after he had given the last blow for Morrissey. "I am afraid the training you are having isn't good," said she, "and I think you had better train in some other company. I thought your going into compound fractures in school would be dilatorious to you. I don't know who Mr. Morrissey is, and I don't want to, but I hear that he has been whipping the Pernicious Boy, a poor lad with a sore leg, and I think he should be ashamed of himself." Ike had read the "_Herald_," with all about "the great prize fight" in it, and had become entirely carried away with it.

GEORGE SELWYN.

GEORGE SELWYN was telling at dinner-table, in the midst of a large company, and with great glee, of the execution of Lord Lovat, which he had witnessed. The ladies were shocked at the levity he manifested, and one of them reproached him, saying,

"How could you be such a barbarian as to see the head of a man cut off?"

"Oh," said he, "if that was any great crime, I am sure I made amends for it; for I went to see it sewed on again."

PROMPT REPLY.

A FOP in company, wanting his servant, called out:

"Where's that blockhead of mine?" A lady present, answered, "On your shoulders, Sir."

DIVISION OF TIME.

"MURPHY," said an employer, the other morning, to one of his workmen, "you came late this morning, the other men were an hour before you." "Sure, and I'll be even wit 'em to-night, then." "How, Murphy?" "Why, faith, I'll quit an hour before 'em all, sure."

A GROOM.

A GROOM is a chap, that a gentleman keeps to clean his 'osses, and be blown up, when things go wrong. They are generally wery conceited consequential beggars, and as they never knows nothing, why the best way is to take them so young, that they can't pretend to any knowledge. I always get mine from the charity schools, and you'll find it wery good economy, to apply to those that give the boys leather breeches, as it will save you the trouble of finding him a pair. The first thing to do, is to teach him to get up early, and to hiss at everything he brushes, rubs, or touches. As the leather breeches should be kept for Sundays, you must get him a pair of corderoys, and mind, order them of large size, and baggy behind, for many 'osses have a trick of biting at chaps when they are cleaning them; and it is better for them to have a mouthful of corderoy, than the lad's bacon, to say nothing of the loss of the boy's services, during the time he is laid up.--_John Jorrock's Sporting Lectures._

IN A QUIVER.

A COQUETTE is said to be an imperfect incarnation of Cupid, as she keeps her beau, and not her arrows, in a quiver.

SATISFACTORY ANSWERS.

YANKEES are supposed to have attained the greatest art in parrying inquisitiveness, but there is a story extant of a "Londoner" on his travels in the provinces, who rather eclipses the cunning "Yankee Peddler." In traveling post, says the narrator, he was obliged to stop at a village to replace a shoe which his horse had lost; when the "Paul Pry" of the place bustled up to the carriage-window, and without waiting for the ceremony of an introduction, said:

"Good-morning, Sir. Horse cast a shoe I see. I suppose, Sir, you are going to--?"

Here he paused, expecting the name of the place to be supplied; but the gentleman answered:

"You are quite right; I generally go there at this season."

"Ay--ahem!--do you? And no doubt you are now come from--?"

"Right again, Sir; I _live_ there."

"Oh, ay; I see: you do! But I perceive it is a London shay. Is there anything stirring in London?"

"Oh, yes; plenty of other chaises and carriages of all sorts."

"Ay, ay, of course. But what do folks say?"

"They say their prayers every Sunday."

"That isn't what I mean. I want to know whether there is anything new and fresh."

"Yes; bread and herrings."

"Ah, you are a queer fellow. Pray, mister, may I ask your name?"

"Fools and clowns," said the gentleman, "call me 'Mister;' but I am in reality one of the clowns of Aristophanes; and my real name is _Brekekekex Koax_! Drive on, postilion!"

Now this is what we call a "pursuit of knowledge under difficulties" of the most _obstinate_ kind.

BARON ROTHSCHILD.

THERE is a good story told recently of Baron Rothschild, of Paris, the richest man of his class in the world, which shows that it is not only "money which makes the mare go" (or horses either, for that matter), but "_ready_ money," "unlimited credit" to the contrary notwithstanding. On a very wet and disagreeable day, the Baron took a Parisian omnibus, on his way to the Bourse or Exchange; near which the "Nabob of Finance" alighted, and was going away without paying. The driver stopped him, and demanded his fare. Rothschild felt in his pocket, but he had not a "red cent" of change. The driver was very wroth:

"Well, what did you get _in_ for, if you could not pay? You must have _known_ that you had no money!"

"I am Baron Rothschild!" exclaimed the great capitalist; "and there is my card!"