Chapter 1

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Library Edition

THE WIT AND HUMOR OF AMERICA

In Ten Volumes

VOL. II

THE WIT AND HUMOR OF AMERICA

EDITED BY MARSHALL P. WILDER

_Volume II_

Funk & Wagnalls Company New York and London

Copyright MDCCCCVII, BOBBS-MERRILL COMPANY Copyright MDCCCCXI, THE THWING COMPANY

CONTENTS

PAGE Archæological Congress, An Robert J. Burdette 390 Aunt Dinah's Kitchen Harriet Beecher Stowe 335 Ballad Charles Godfrey Leland 355 Barney McGee Richard Hovey 223 Beecher Beached, The John B. Tabb 232 Boy's View of It, A Frank L. Stanton 393 Budd Wilkins at the Show S.E. Kiser 352 Colonel's Clothes, The Caroline Howard Gilman 396 Comin' Thu Anne Virginia Culbertson 333 Dutchman Who Had the "Small Pox," The Henry P. Leland 295 Evening Musicale, An May Isabel Fisk 325 Familiar Authors at Work Hayden Carruth 289 Fascination John B. Tabb 222 Golfer's Rubaiyat, The H.W. Boynton 319 Go Lightly, Gal (The Cake Walk) Anne Virginia Culbertson 317 Grandma Keeler Gets Grandpa Ready for Sunday-School Sarah P. McLean Greene 266 Hoosier and the Salt Pile, The Danforth Marble 357 How "Ruby" Played George W. Bagby 311 Letter, A Petroleum V. Nasby 282 Lost Word, The John Paul 293 Love Sonnets of a Hoodlum Wallace Irwin 307 Mr. Dooley on Gold-Seeking Finley Peter Dunne 304 Mr. Dooley on Reform Candidates Finley Peter Dunne 321 Natural Perversities James Whitcomb Riley 350 Nautical Ballad, A Charles E. Carryl 348 Old Deacon's Version of the Story of the Rich Man and Lazarus, The Frank L. Stanton 227 Our Best Society George William Curtis 233 Plagiarism John B. Tabb 316 Recruit, The Robert W. Chambers 230 "Ringworm Frank" James Whitcomb Riley 395 Rival Entertainment, A Kate Field 362 Samuel Brown Phoebe Cary 259 Seffy and Sally John Luther Long 372 She Talked Sam Walter Foss 264 Strike at Hinman's, The Robert J. Burdette 342 Two Brothers, The Carolyn Wells 281 Two Farmers, The Carolyn Wells 258 Two New Houses, The Carolyn Wells 221 Two Suitors, The Carolyn Wells 229 Vive La Bagatelle Gelett Burgess 280 Walk William Devere 300 Way it Wuz, The James Whitcomb Riley 261 Yawcob Strauss Charles Follen Adams 370 Yes? John Boyle O'Reilly 222

COMPLETE INDEX AT THE END OF VOLUME X.

THE TWO NEW HOUSES

BY CAROLYN WELLS

Once on a Time, there were Two Men, each of whom decided to build for himself a Fine, New House.

One Man, being of an Arrogant and Conceited Nature, took counsel of Nobody, but declared that he would build his House to suit himself.

"For," said he, "since it is My House and I am to Live in It, why should I ask the Advice of my Neighbors as to its Construction?"

While the House was Building, the Neighbors came often and Looked at it, and went away, Whispering and Wagging their Heads in Derision.

But the Man paid no Heed, and continued to build his House as he Would.

The Result was that, when completed, his House was lacking in Symmetry and Utility, and in a Hundred ways it was Unsatisfactory, and for each Defect there was a Neighbor who said, "Had you asked Me, I would have Warned you against that Error."

The Other Man, who was of a Humble and Docile Mind, went to Each of his Neighbors in Turn, and asked Advice about the Building of his House.

His Friends willingly and at Great Length gave him the Benefit of their Experiences and Opinions, and the Grateful Man undertook to Follow Out all their Directions.

The Result was that his House, when finished, was a Hodge-Podge of Varying Styles and Contradictory Effects, and Exceedingly Uncomfortable and Inconvenient to Live In.

MORALS:

This Fable teaches that In a Multitude of Counselors there is Safety, and that Too Many Cooks Spoil the Broth.

YES?

BY JOHN BOYLE O'REILLY

The words of the lips are double or single, True or false, as we say or sing: But the words of the eyes that mix and mingle Are always saying the same old thing.

FASCINATION

BY JOHN B. TABB

Among your many playmates here, How is it that you all prefer Your little friend, my dear? "Because, mamma, tho' hard we try, Not one of us can spit so high, And catch it in his ear."

BARNEY MCGEE

BY RICHARD HOVEY

Barney McGee, there's no end of good luck in you, Will-o'-the-wisp, with a flicker of Puck in you, Wild as a bull-pup, and all of his pluck in you-- Let a man tread on your coat and he'll see! Eyes like the lakes of Killarney for clarity, Nose that turns up without any vulgarity, Smile like a cherub, and hair that is carroty-- Whoop, you're a rarity, Barney McGee! Mellow as Tarragon, Prouder than Aragon-- Hardly a paragon, You will agree-- Here's all that's fine to you! Books and old wine to you! Girls be divine to you, Barney McGee!

Lucky the day when I met you unwittingly, Dining where vagabonds came and went flittingly. Here's some _Barbera_ to drink it befittingly, That day at Silvio's, Barney McGee! Many's the time we have quaffed our Chianti there, Listened to Silvio quoting us Dante there-- Once more to drink Nebiolo spumante there, How we'd pitch Pommery into the sea! There where the gang of us Met ere Rome rang of us, They had the hang of us To a degree. How they would trust to you! That was but just to you. Here's o'er their dust to you, Barney McGee!

Barney McGee, when you're sober you scintillate, But when you're in drink you're the pride of the intellect; Divil a one of us ever came in till late, Once at the bar where you happened to be-- Every eye there like a spoke in you centering, You with your eloquence, blarney, and bantering-- All Vagabondia shouts at your entering, King of the Tenderloin, Barney McGee! There's no satiety In your society With the variety Of your esprit. Here's a long purse to you, And a great thirst to you! Fate be no worse to you, Barney McGee!

Och, and the girls whose poor hearts you deracinate, Whirl and bewilder and flutter and fascinate! Faith, it's so killing you are, you assassinate-- Murder's the word for you, Barney McGee! Bold when they're sunny, and smooth when they're showery-- Oh, but the style of you, fluent and flowery! Chesterfield's way, with a touch of the Bowery! How would they silence you, Barney machree? Naught can your gab allay, Learned as Rabelais (You in his abbey lay Once on the spree). Here's to the smile of you, (Oh, but the guile of you!) And a long while of you, Barney McGee!

Facile with phrases of length and Latinity, Like honorificabilitudinity, Where is the maid could resist your vicinity, Wiled by the impudent grace of your plea? Then your vivacity and pertinacity Carry the day with the divil's audacity; No mere veracity robs your sagacity Of perspicacity, Barney McGee. When all is new to them, What will you do to them? Will you be true to them? Who shall decree? Here's a fair strife to you! Health and long life to you! And a great wife to you, Barney McGee!

Barney McGee, you're the pick of gentility; Nothing can phase you, you've such a facility; Nobody ever yet found your utility-- There is the charm of you, Barney McGee; Under conditions that others would stammer in, Still unperturbed as a cat or a Cameron, Polished as somebody in the Decameron, Putting the glamour on price or Pawnee. In your meanderin', Love and philanderin', Calm as a mandarin Sipping his tea! Under the art of you, Parcel and part of you, Here's to the heart of you, Barney McGee!

You who were ever alert to befriend a man, You who were ever the first to defend a man, You who had always the money to lend a man, Down on his luck and hard up for a V! Sure, you'll be playing a harp in beatitude (And a quare sight you will be in that attitude)-- Some day, where gratitude seems but a platitude, You'll find your latitude, Barney McGee. That's no flim-flam at all, Frivol or sham at all, Just the plain--Damn it all, Have one with me! Here's one and more to you! Friends by the score to you, True to the core to you, Barney McGee!

THE OLD DEACON'S VERSION OF THE STORY OF THE RICH MAN AND LAZARUS

BY FRANK L. STANTON

I s'pose yo' know de story, O my brotherin', er de man Dat wuz rich ez cream, en livin' on de fatness er de lan'? How he sot dar eatin' 'possum, en when Laz'rus ax fer some, He tell 'im: "Git erway, dar! fer you'll never git a crumb!"

De rich man wuz a feastin' f'um his chiny plate en cup, Kaze he 'fraid his po' relations come en eat his wittles up; I spec' he had _two_ 'possums on de table long en wide, En a jimmyjohn er cane juice wuz a-settin' by his side.

En he say: "Dis heah des suits me, en I gwine ter eat my fill; But I'll sic de dogs on Laz'rus, ef he waitin' roun' heah still." En de dogs commence dey barkin', raise a racket high en low, En when Laz'rus see 'em comin' he decide 'twuz time ter go.

So, he limp off on his crutches, en de rich man think it's fun, But I reckon Laz'rus answer: "I'll git even wid you, son!" De rich man so enjoy hisse'f he laugh hisse'f ter bed, En, brotherin', when he wake up he wuz stiff, stone dead!

En den he raise a racket, en he holler out: "What dis? De place is onfamiliar, en I wonder whar' I is?" Den Satan, he mek answer: "I'm de man ter tell you dat: You's in de fire department er de place I livin' at!"

Den de rich man say: "Whar' Laz'rus dat wuz beggin' at my gate?" En Satan tell him: "Yander, wid a silver spoon en plate; En he eatin' fit ter kill hisse'f! He spendin' er de day Wid good ol' Mister Abra'm, but he mighty fur away!"

"Will you please, suh," say de rich man, "ax him bring a drink ter me, Wid a li'l' ice ter cool it? Kaze I hot ez hot kin be!" But Satan fall ter laughin', whilst he stir de fire roun':-- "De ice would melt, my brother, 'fo' it ever hit de groun'!"

Den he fill a cup wid brimstone--fill it steamin' ter de top; But de rich man say he swear off, dat he never tech a drop! But Satan grab his pitchfork whilst de rich man give a squall, En in 'bout a half a second he had swallered cup en all!

Now, dat's erbout de story er de rich man at de feas', What wouldn't pass de 'possum roun' when Laz'rus want a piece. De 'possum means yo' pocketbook, de moral's plain ez day: Shake de dollars in de basket 'fo' you go de rich man's way!

THE TWO SUITORS

BY CAROLYN WELLS

Once on a Time there was a Charming Young Maiden who had Two Suitors.

One of These, who was of a Persistent and Persevering Nature, managed to be Continually in the Young Lady's Company.

He would pay her a visit in the Morning, Drop In to Tea in the Afternoon, and Call on her Again in the Evening.

He took her Driving, and he Escorted her to the Theater. He would take her to a Party, and then he would Dance, or Sit on the Stairs, or Flit into the Conservatory with her.

The Young Lady admired this man but she Wearied of his never-ceasing Presence, and she Said to Herself, "If he were not Always at my Elbow I should Better Appreciate his Good Qualities."

The Other Suitor, who considered himself a Man of Deep and Penetrating Cleverness, said to himself, "I will Go Away for a Time, and then my Fair One will Realize my Worth and Call Me Back to Her."

With a sad Visage he made his Adieus, and he Exacted her Pledge to Write to him Occasionally. But after he had Gone she Forgot her Promise, and Soon she Forgot his Very Existence.

MORALS:

This Fable teaches that Absence Makes the Heart Grow Fonder, and that Out of Sight is Out of Mind.

THE RECRUIT

BY ROBERT W. CHAMBERS

Sez Corporal Madden to Private McFadden: "Bedad, yer a bad 'un! Now turn out yer toes! Yer belt is unhookit, Yer cap is on crookit, Ye may not be dhrunk, But, be jabers, ye look it! Wan--two! Wan--two! Ye monkey-faced divil, I'll jolly ye through! Wan--two! Time! Mark! Ye march like the aigle in Cintheral Parrk!"

Sez Corporal Madden to Private McFadden: "A saint it ud sadden To dhrill such a mug! Eyes front! ye baboon, ye! Chin up! ye gossoon, ye! Ye've jaws like a goat-- Halt! ye leather-lipped loon, ye! Wan--two! Wan--two! Ye whiskered orang-outang, I'll fix you! Wan--two! Time! Mark! Ye've eyes like a bat! can ye see in the dark?"

Sez Corporal Madden to Private McFadden: "Yer figger wants padd'n-- Sure, man, ye've no shape! Behind ye yer shoulders Stick out like two bowlders; Yer shins is as thin As a pair of pen-holders! Wan--two! Wan--two! Yer belly belongs on yer back, ye Jew! Wan--two! Time! Mark! I'm dhry as a dog--I can't shpake but I bark!"

Sez Corporal Madden to Private McFadden: "Me heart it ud gladden To blacken yer eye. Ye're gettin' too bold, ye Compel me to scold ye-- 'T is halt! that I say-- Will ye heed what I told ye? Wan--two Wan--two! Be jabers, I'm dhryer than Brian Boru! Wan--two! Time! Mark! What's wur-ruk for chickens is sport for the lark!"

Sez Corporal Madden to Private McFadden: "I'll not stay a gadd'n Wid dagoes like you! I'll travel no farther, I'm dyin' for--wather; Come on, if ye like-- Can ye loan me a quarther? Ya-as, you, What--two? And ye'll pay the potheen? Ye're a daisy! Whurroo! You'll do! Whist! Mark! The Rigiment's flatthered to own ye, me spark!"

THE BEECHER BEACHED

BY JOHN B. TABB

Were Harriet Beecher well aware Of what was done in Delaware, Of that unwholesome smell aware,

She'd make all heaven and hell aware, And ask John Brown to tell her where Henceforth she best might sell her ware.

OUR BEST SOCIETY

BY GEORGE WILLIAM CURTIS

If gilt were only gold, or sugar-candy common sense, what a fine thing our society would be! If to lavish money upon _objets de vertu_, to wear the most costly dresses, and always to have them cut in the height of the fashion; to build houses thirty feet broad, as if they were palaces; to furnish them with all the luxurious devices of Parisian genius; to give superb banquets, at which your guests laugh, and which make you miserable; to drive a fine carriage and ape European liveries, and crests, and coats-of-arms; to resent the friendly advances of your baker's wife, and the lady of your butcher (you being yourself a cobbler's daughter); to talk much of the "old families" and of your aristocratic foreign friends; to despise labor; to prate of "good society"; to travesty and parody, in every conceivable way, a society which we know only in books and by the superficial observation of foreign travel, which arises out of a social organization entirely unknown to us, and which is opposed to our fundamental and essential principles; if all this were fine, what a prodigiously fine society would ours be!

This occurred to us upon lately receiving a card of invitation to a brilliant ball. We were quietly ruminating over our evening fire, with Disraeli's Wellington speech, "all tears," in our hands, with the account of a great man's burial, and a little man's triumph across the channel. So many great men gone, we mused, and such great crises impending! This democratic movement in Europe; Kossuth and Mazzini waiting for the moment to give the word; the Russian bear watchfully sucking his paws; the Napoleonic empire redivivus; Cuba, and annexation, and Slavery; California and Australia, and the consequent considerations of political economy; dear me! exclaimed we, putting on a fresh hodful of coal, we must look a little into the state of parties.

As we put down the coal-scuttle, there was a knock at the door. We said, "come in," and in came a neat Alhambra-watered envelope, containing the announcement that the queen of fashion was "at home" that evening week. Later in the evening, came a friend to smoke a cigar. The card was lying upon the table, and he read it with eagerness. "You'll go, of course," said he, "for you will meet all the 'best society.'"

Shall we, truly? Shall we really see the "best society of the city," the picked flower of its genius, character and beauty? What makes the "best society" of men and women? The noblest specimens of each, of course. The men who mould the time, who refresh our faith in heroism and virtue, who make Plato, and Zeno, and Shakespeare, and all Shakespeare's gentlemen, possible again. The women, whose beauty, and sweetness, and dignity, and high accomplishment, and grace, make us understand the Greek mythology, and weaken our desire to have some glimpse of the most famous women of history. The "best society" is that in which the virtues are most shining, which is the most charitable, forgiving, long-suffering, modest, and innocent. The "best society" is, by its very name, that in which there is the least hypocrisy and insincerity of all kinds, which recoils from, and blasts, artificiality, which is anxious to be all that it is possible to be, and which sternly reprobates all shallow pretense, all coxcombry and foppery, and insists upon simplicity as the infallible characteristic of true worth. That is the "best society," which comprises the best men and women.

Had we recently arrived from the moon, we might, upon hearing that we were to meet the "best society," have fancied that we were about to enjoy an opportunity not to be overvalued. But unfortunately we were not so freshly arrived. We had received other cards, and had perfected our toilette many times, to meet this same society, so magnificently described, and had found it the least "best" of all. Who compose it? Whom shall we meet if we go to this ball? We shall meet three classes of persons: first, those who are rich, and who have all that money can buy; second, those who belong to what are technically called "the good old families," because some ancestor was a man of mark in the state or country, or was very rich, and has kept the fortune in the family; and, thirdly, a swarm of youths who can dance dexterously, and who are invited for that purpose. Now these are all arbitrary and factitious distinctions upon which to found so profound a social difference as that which exists in American, or, at least in New York, society. First, as a general rule, the rich men of every community, who make their own money, are not the most generally intelligent and cultivated. They have a shrewd talent which secures a fortune, and which keeps them closely at the work of amassing from their youngest years until they are old. They are sturdy men, of simple tastes often. Sometimes, though rarely, very generous, but necessarily with an altogether false and exaggerated idea of the importance of money. They are a rather rough, unsympathetic, and, perhaps, selfish class, who, themselves, despise purple and fine linen, and still prefer a cot-bed and a bare room, although they may be worth millions. But they are married to scheming, or ambitious, or disappointed women, whose life is a prolonged pageant, and they are dragged hither and thither in it, are bled of their golden blood, and forced into a position they do not covet and which they despise. Then there are the inheritors of wealth. How many of them inherit the valiant genius and hard frugality which built up their fortunes; how many acknowledge the stern and heavy responsibility of their opportunities how many refuse to dream their lives away in a Sybarite luxury; how many are smitten with the lofty ambition of achieving an enduring name by works of a permanent value; how many do not dwindle into dainty dilettanti, and dilute their manhood with factitious sentimentality instead of a hearty, human sympathy; how many are not satisfied with having the fastest horses and the "crackest" carriages, and an unlimited wardrobe, and a weak affectation and puerile imitation of foreign life?