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51. propriety of firing, as I generally shoot low, and such an error in my
aim could hardly have proved otherwise than disastrous.
There was no use striving to make the bird loosen his hold by
hooting. If there had been any virtue in that sort of demonstration
the old woman would hardly have been raised above the eaves of her
shanty, for she was screaming in a manner that would have made a
Modoc blush. The only thing that suggested itself, and that rather
hurriedly, was to get out my pencil and paper and take a sketch as
she appeared passing over her cottage in the vulture’s talons.
The blood, which at first forsook her cheeks through fear, was
almost instantly forced back into her visage again by the pendant
position of her head.
She beat the empty tin pan which she still retained in her hand,
but the voracious and hunger-pinched vulture had no notion of
relinquishing his hold on account of noise. On the contrary, he
seemed to enjoy it, and with many a sturdy twitch and flap, and
many an airy wheel, he still held his way toward a rugged
promontory situated at the head of the valley. Fortunately, when he
was twenty feet from the ground and about eighty rods from the
cottage, the calico dress and undergarments in which mainly his
talons were fastened, gave out, and the liberated woman dropped on
hands and knees in the muddy bed of the creek, over which the bird
was passing at the time.
While hovering over her, about to pounce down upon her and try
the elevating business again, a sheep-herder who had seen the bird
approaching the cottage, gave him a dose of buckshot, which broke
one wing and left him at the mercy of his captor.
52. FOR BETTER OR FOR WORSE.
Jonathan.—“I hain’t got no tongue for soapin’ of ye, Susan Jane. I mean
business, I do. Will ye hev me?”
Susan Jane.—“I don’t know much about ye, Jonathan Junkit, but I’m willin’ to
risk it, anyhow. Yer’s my hand. I’m yourn.”
Old Volume.
This afternoon I attended a private wedding on Howard Street. I may
safely term it “marriage in high life,” as the combined height of the
couple was something over twelve feet.
The groom was a bachelor, who for many a year had stood around
the fire like the half of a tongs, very good as a poker, but not worth
standing room as a picker up.
He looked as though it wouldn’t require much advice to make him
—even at the eleventh hour—prove recreant to his vows, and back
out from under the yoke the reverend gentleman was about to place
upon his neck.
His companion, however, was no novice in the business in which
she was engaged. She was fearlessly putting forth upon that sea on
which she had twice been wrecked, but she was nothing loth to try it
again. Were she only skilled in navigation as well as in embarkation,
she would have been the one to send on expeditions to either the
North or South Pole, as the case might be.
53. THE TRYING
MOMENT.
It was truly encouraging to the timorous and uninitiated, to see
with what a broad smile she regarded her husband that was to be;
and with what a readiness she responded to the momentous question
propounded by the minister. And when they stood as husband and
wife, her Milesian face lighted up with irrepressible joy, until it
beamed like a Chinese lantern.
Her emotions went far to convince me that there is in those
matrimonial fields a balm for every ill; a perfect bliss worthy the
seeking, even at the risk of receiving the bruised spirit, if not the
bruised head.
54. ODE ON A BUMBLE-BEE.
Oh, busy, breezy bumble-bee,
A fitting theme in you I see!
At once you backward turn my gaze
To orchard, mead, and pasture days,
To watch your movements to and fro
With wondering eyes, as years ago.
Come, let me set my mark on thee,
As thou hast oft remembered me,
When with a seeming special zeal
You hastened to affix your seal.
I’ve heard your gruff good-morrow ring
When meeting kinsfolk on the wing;
Now coming zig-zag, light and airy,
Now going laden, straight and wary;
Still mindful of the spider’s snare
And kingbird, pirate of the air.
I’ve seen you upward turn your eye,
When clouds began to fleck the sky,
55. The winds to chafe the village pond,
And thunder rumble far beyond
And threaten storm, ere you could fill
Your honey sack, so empty still.
I’ve heard you whining forth your grief
When rain commenced to pelt the leaf,
And made you take the shortest road
That brought you to your dark abode.
I’ve marked your grumbling when you found
The working bee had been around;
Had left his bed and waxen door
And reached the field an hour before;
For still, with early bird, or bee,
Or man, the maxim does agree
They all must be content to find
What early risers leave behind.
Against the bell I’ve heard you storm,
Because it kept your burly form
From passing in the honeyed way,
That open to the emmet lay.
Thus human folk are oft denied
What, in their judgment, or their pride,
They should enjoy, though kept instead
For meaner things that creep ahead.
I know how apt you are to cling
To locks of hair, to hide and sing,
And keep the victim still in doubt
Just where the mischief will break out;
I know full well your angry tone,
And how you stab to find the bone;
With what a brave, heroic breast
Ye strike for queen and treasure chest,
Like Sparta’s sons, at duty’s call,
Compelled to win, or fighting fall;
Not fearing odds, nor counting twice,
Ye fix your bayonet in a trice,
And charge upon the nearest foe,
And break the ranks where’er you go.
For not the stroke of halberdier
Nor thrust of Macedonian spear
Can check your onset when you fly
With full intent to do or die!
Beneath your straight and rapid dart
The foe will tumble, turn, depart,
And leave you victor, to report
56. Your doings at the Queen Bee’s court.
And proudly may you bare your brow,
In presence of your sovereign bow,
And tell her why you came so late,
Thus panting, to the palace gate;
And show your limbs of wax bereft,
Your right arm crushed, and sprained the left,
Your twisted horn, exhausted sting,
Your wounded scalp and tattered wing,
But how, in spite of every ill,
You struck for independence still,
Until the acre lot was free
Of all that would molest the bee.
’Tis said that youngsters have a knack
To take you prisoner by the back;
To catch you by the wings, in haste,
A piece above the belted waist,
And hold you thus, to struggle there,
And use your sting on empty air.
But once I tried, and once I missed,
For you’re a great contortionist,
And somehow turn, and manage still
To plant your poison where you will.
Ah, they are wise, who meddling cease,
And let you go your way in peace!
Though many things may slip my mind
Before the narrow bed I find,
In fancy’s field I’d often see
The busy, burly bumble-bee.
57. DUDLEY AND THE GREASED PIG.
Boil-stricken Job had his comforters, who, despite his timely
injunction, “Oh, lay your hands upon your mouths, and thereby show
your wisdom,” would still drum in his ear, “Hear us, for we will
speak.” Poor old Falstaff had his evil genius in Bardolph, his
impecunious follower, with his “Lend me a shilling.” And I have my
burdensome “Jim Dudley,” with his “Let me tell you a story.” I was
kept awake last night listening to his crazy yarn about the “greased
pig,” as if I cared anything about his villainous adventures.
“Oh, yes, that scrape with the greased pig? I never told you about
it, eh? It’s worth heerin’, for that was a tearin’ old race, and I came
mi’ty nigh gettin’ shoved out of the village on account of it, too, now,
I can tell ye. Down on me? Wall, I reckon you’d think so if you heered
the hollerin’ that was gwine on for awhile arter that race, some cryin’
one thin’ and some another. ‘Tar and feather the cheat,’ one would
holler.
“‘Lynch the blamed humbug!’ another would shout.
“‘Put him in a sack and h’ist him over the bridge!’ would come
from another quarter.
“A doctor was never so down on a patent medicine as they were on
me arter that race, especially Parson Coolridge, who was one of the
principal sufferers, yer see.
“It was May Day amongst ’em, and the hull village seemed to be
out thar enjoyin’ ’emselves. They had sack races and wheelbarrow
races. That was the day blindfold Tom Moody ran the wheelbarrow
through the grocer’s window, and Old Shulkin knocked him down
with a ham, and a dog ran away with it. He charged Tom with the
ham in the bill, along with the broken winder.
58. “They had a greased pole standin’ thar with a ten-dollar greenback
tacked on top of it, but no person could get within ten feet of the bill.
The hungry crowds were standin’ around all day gazin’ longin’ly up at
the flutterin’ greenback, like dogs at a coon in a tree-top.
“I didn’t try the pole, but when they brought out the greased pig—a
great, slab-sided critter, jest in good condition for racin’,—I got sort
o’ interested in the performance. His tail was more’n a foot long, and
it was greased until it would slip through a feller’s fingers like a
newly caught eel.
“Several of the boys started arter him, but they’d jest make one
catch, and before they were certain whether they had hold of it, they
would go one way and the hog would go another. And then the crowd
would holler.
“I was standin’ thar a leanin’ over the fence watchin’ of ’em for
some time, and I see the pig was in the habit of formin’ a sort of ring
with his tail; leastwise he’d lap it over so that it e’enmost formed a
knot—all it lacked was the end wanted drawin’ through. I cal’lated
that a feller with pooty nimble fingers could make a tie by jest
slippin’ his fingers through the ring and haulin’ the end of the tail
through. That would make a plaguey good knot, and prevent his
hand from slippin’ off. Arter thinkin’ over it for some time I
concluded if I could git up a bet that would pay for the hardships that
a feller would be likely to experience, I would try a catch anyhow.
“So I ses to Jake Swasey, who stood alongside of me, ‘Jake, I
believe that I kin hold that pig until he gins out.’
“‘Hold?’ he ses, surprised like and raisin’ his eyebrows just that
way; ‘what’s the matter of ye? hain’t ye slept well? Ye mout as well try
to hold old Nick by the tail as that big, slab-sided critter.’
“‘Wal, now, jest wait a bit,’ ses I; so I went on and told him what I
cal’lated to do, and arter he looked awhile, he ses, ‘Wal, go ahead,
Jim, I’ll back ye. I reckon we can git any amount of odds so long as
we keep the knot bus’ness to ourselves.’
“So pullin’ off my coat I gin it to Jake to hold, and jumpin’ on the
fence, I hollered, ‘I’ll bet ten to twenty that I kin freeze to the pig’s
tail till he gins out!’
“Great fish-hooks! you ought to have seen ’em a-rustlin’ towards
me. I couldn’t see anythin’ but hands for five minutes, as they were
59. holdin’ of ’em up, and signalin’, an’ a-hollerin’, ‘I’ll take that bet,
Dudley, I’ll take that bet!’ I got rid of what money I had about me
pooty soon, and Jake Swasey was jest a-spreadin’ out his greenbacks
like a paymaster, and arter he exhausted his treasury he started arter
his sister to git what money she had. I hollered to him to come back—
I was fearin’ he’d tell her about the knot bus’ness; but he wasn’t no
fool and knowed too well what gals are to trust her with any payin’
secret.
“Old Judge Perkins was thar, jolly as a boy on the last day of
school. Wal, he was holdin’ of the stakes, and his pockets were
crammed chockfull of greenbacks. He was a pooty good friend of
mine, and couldn’t conceive how in thunder I was a-gwine to get my
money back.
JUDGE PERKINS.
“Beckonin’ of me one side—‘Dudley,’ ses he, kind of low that way,
and confidentially like, ‘I know you’re as hard to catch as an old trout
with three broken hooks in its gill; but I can’t help thinkin’ a greased
pig’s tail is a mi’ty slippery foundation to build hopes on.’
“‘Never mind, Judge,’ ses I, winkin’, ‘I can see my way through.’
“‘Yes, Dudley,’ he ses, a-shakin’ of his head dubious like, ‘that’s
what the fly ses when he’s a-buttin’ his head against the winder.’
“‘Wal,’ ses I, ‘without the tail pulls out, I cal’late to travel mi’ty
close in the wake of that swine for the next half hour;’ and with that I
moved off to where the pig was standin’ and listenin’ to all that was
gwine on.
60. “I fooled round him a little until I got betwixt him and the crowd,
and when he flopped his tail over as I was tellin’ ye, I made one
desperate lunge, and made a go of it the fust time. I jest hauled the
end through while he was turnin’ round, and grabbin’ hold above my
hand, rolled it down into the tightest knot you ever sot eyes on. It
was about two inches from the end of the tail, and he scolloped
around so amazin’ lively nobody could see it. The crowd allowed I
was hangin’ on the straight tail, and they didn’t know what to make
of the performance anyhow.
“‘Go it, piggy,’ I ses to myself, just that way, ‘I guess it’s only a
question of endurance now, as the gal said when she had the flea
under the hot flat-iron.’
“The gate was open, and arter a few circles around the lot, the hog
p’inted for it, and away he went, pig fust and I arter. He ran helter-
skelter under old Mother Sheehan, the fruit woman, jest as she was
comin’ through the gateway with a big basket of apples on each arm.
I did hate like snakes to hoist the old lady, bounce me if I didn’t! I
would ruther have run around a mountain than do it, ’cause you see
she had jest been gittin’ off a bed of sickness that came nigh
shroudin’ her, and she wasn’t prepared for a panic, by any means. I
did my best to swing the critter around and git him off the notion of
goin’ through, but his mind was made up. Thar was plenty of room
outside for him to pass along without disturbin’ the old lady, but a
hog is a hog, you know—contrary the world over. Besides, he allowed
he could brush me off by the operation, but I wasn’t so easily got rid
of. The money was up, you see, and I had no choice but to follow
where he led and stick to the rooter till he gin out. ‘Where thou goest,
I will go,’ I ses to myself, rememberin’ the passage in the Scriptures,
and duckin’ my head to follow him. I scrouched down as low as I
could and keep on my feet; for I cal’lated, do my best, the old woman
would git elevated pooty lively.
61. BAD FOR THE FRUIT
BUSINESS.
“She hollered as though a whole menagerie—elephants, kangaroos,
snakes and all—had broke loose. Her sight wasn’t any too clear, and
the whole proceedin’s had come upon her so sudden that she didn’t
exactly know what sort of an animal was thar. She would have been
satisfied it was a hog if it hadn’t taken so long to git through. I
followed so close to his hams that she reckoned we both made one
animal. The hog gin a snort when he started in to run the blockade,
and she ses to herself, ‘Thar goes a big hog,’ but about the time she
reckoned he had got out on the other side, I come a humpin’ and a
boomin’ along in my shirt-sleeves, and gin her a second boost,
throwin’ the old woman completely off her pins and out of her
calculations at once.
“She did holler good, thar’s no mistake about that.
“The crowd hoorayed and applauded. The older ones of course
sympathized with the poor old woman; but they could do nothin’
more, ’cause the whole catastrophe come as sudden as an earthquake
and nobody seemed to be to blame. I wasn’t, and they all could see
that plain enough. The young uns went for the scattered apples, but
the pig and I kept right on attendin’ to business. Now and agin he’d
double back towards the crowd, and they’d commence scatterin’
every which way, trampin’ on each other’s feet. Si Grope, the
cashiered man-of-wars-man, stepped on Pat Cronin’s bunion, and he
responded by fetchin’ the old salt a welt in the burr of the ear, and at
it they went, tooth and nail, right thar. A few stopped to see fair play,
62. but the heft of the crowd, about three hundred, kept right on arter
me and the hog.
“Jake Swasey managed to git up pooty nigh to us once and
hollered, ‘How are you makin’ it, Jim?’
“‘Fustrate,’ I answered; ‘I cal’late to stick to this swine through
bush and bramble till I tire him out.’
“‘That’s the feelin’,’ he shouted, and with that we left him behind.
The old judge was a puffin’ and a blowin’, strivin’ his best to keep up,
and for some time he actewally led the crowd, but he didn’t hold out
very long, but gradewelly sank to the rear.
BOW-LEGGED
SPINNY.
“Rod Munnion, the tanner, stumbled and fell while crossin’ the
street. His false teeth dropped out into the dirt, and while he was
scramblin’ on all fours to git ’em ag’in, a feller named Welsh, who
was clatterin’ past, slapped his foot down and bent the plate out of all
shape. Munnion snatched ’em up ag’in as quick as the foot riz, and
wipin’ ’em on his overalls as he ran, chucked ’em back into his mouth
ag’in, all twisted as they were. They did look awful though, stickin’
straight out from his mouth, and pressin’ his lip chock up ag’inst his
nose. You couldn’t understand what he was sayin’ any more than if
he was Chinnook.
63. “Bow-legged Spinny, the cabbagin’ tailor, was thar. He met the
crowd while carryin’ home Squire Lockwood’s new suit, and catchin’
the excitement of the moment, tossed the package into Slawson’s
yard, and it bounded into the well quicker than ‘scat.’ He didn’t know
it though, but hollered to the old woman, as he ran past the window,
to look arter the package until he got back. Not seein’ any package
she allowed he was crazy as a cow with her head stuck in a barrel,
and flew to boltin’ of her doors pooty lively. He had been once to the
Lunatic Asylum, you see, and they were still suspicious of him.
“The crowd thought to head us off by takin’ down a narrow lane,
and it was while they were in that, that they began to surge ahead of
Judge Perkins. He was awful quick tempered, and pooty conceited,
and when bow-legged Spinny was elbowin’ past him he got mad.
Catching the poor stitcher by the coat tail, he hollered: ‘What! a
miserable thread-needle machine claimin’ precedence?’ and with
that he slung him more’n ten feet, landin’ him on his back in a nook
of the fence.
“That was the day they buried old Mrs. Redpath, that the doctors
disagreed over. Dr. Looty had been doctorin’ her for some time for
bone disease. He said her back-bone war decayin’. He didn’t make
much out of it though, and they got another doctor. The new feller
said he understood the case thoroughly; he ridiculed the idea of bone
disease, and went to work doctorin’ for the liver complaint. He said it
had stopped workin’ and he was agwine to git it started ag’in. I
reckon he’d have accomplished somethin’ if she had lived long
enough, but she died in the meantime. When they held a post-
mortem, they found out the old woman, some time in her life, had
swallered a fish-bone which never passed her stomach, and
eventually it killed her.
“‘Thar,’ ses Dr. Looty, ‘what did I tell ye? You’ll admit, I reckon, my
diagnosis of the disease was right arter all, only I made a slight error
in locatin’ the bone!’
“‘Bone be splintered!’ ses the other feller, ‘hain’t I bin workin’
nigher the ailin’ part than you?’ So they went on quackin’ thar and
disagreein’ over her until old Redpath got mad and hollered, ‘You old
melonheads, isn’t it enough that I’m a widderer by your fumblin’
malpractice, without havin’ ye wranglin’ over the old woman!’ So he
put ’em both out, and chucked their knives and saws arter ’em.
64. “But as I was sayin’, that was the day of the funeral, and while it
was proceedin’ from the church to the buryin’ ground with Parson
Coolridge at the head, with his long white gown on, we hove in sight
comin’ tearin’ down to’ards the parsonage. The minister was a feller
that actewelly doted on flowers. When he wasn’t copyin’ his sermons’
he was fussin’ around among the posies. He had his gardin chock full
of all kinds of plants and shrubs. Thar you could see the snapdragon
from Ireland, the fu-chu from China, the snow-ball from Canada, the
bachelor’s button from Californy, and every kind you could mention.
“He had noticed the gardin gate was open when the funeral
passed, and it worried him considerable. So when he heered the
hootin’ and hollerin’, and got sight of the crowd surgin’ down the
street, and see the pig and I pointin’ in the direction of the house, he
couldn’t go ahead nohow.
“Turnin’ around to the pall bearers who were puffing along behind
him, he ses, ‘Ease your hands a minit, boys, and let the old woman
rest ’till I run back and see if that Dudley is agwine to drive that hog
into my gardin. Confound him!’ he contin’ed, ‘he’s wuss to have
around the neighborhood than the measles.’ With that he started
back on the run, his long, white gown a-flyin’ away out behind, the
most comical lookin’ thing you ever see. And he could run, that
Parson Coolridge, in a way that was astonishin’. I reckon he hadn’t
stirred out of a walk before for thirty years, and yit he streaked it
over the ground as though it was an every-day occurrence.
“His j’ints cracked and snapped with the unusual motion, like an
old stairs in frosty weather, but he didn’t mind that so long as he
could git over the ground. He was thinkin’ of his favorite plants and
the prospect of their gittin’ stirred up and transplanted in a manner
he wasn’t prepared to approve. He did jerk back his elbows pooty
spiteful, now I can tell you. He tried to make the gateway fust, and
put in his best strides. But when he saw he couldn’t, he hollered,
‘Keep that hog out of my gardin, Dudley, or I’ll take the law of ye.’
65. NIP AND TUCK.
“‘Don’t git wrathy, Parson Coolridge,’ I shouted. ‘I can’t prevent
the pig from gwine in. I have hold of the rudder, but I’ll be boosted if
I can steer the ship.’ With that, through the openin’ we went, pig fust
and me arter, and the hul crowd a clatterin’ behind us. The judge was
amongst ’em, but got left in the hind end of it, where the women
were a-trottin’. The Parson’s flowers went down with broken necks
quicker than lightnin’. It wasn’t more’n ten seconds until they were
six inches under ground, for the hog kept a circlin’ around and the
hoorayin’ crowd follerin’ arter, payin’ no more attention to the
Parson than if he had been a young ’un a-runnin’ around. When they
saw the crowd, the pall bearers and most of the people who were jest
follerin’ the remains through sympathy, turned back on the run and
left the mourners standin’ thar by the coffin.
“Oh! it was the most excitin’ time the village ever seed. The ground
was too soft in the gardin for the pig to git around well, and pooty
soon he gin out. I was awful tired, too, and was hangin’ a dead weight
on him for the last ten minutes.
“When the boys see the knot on the tail you ought to hear ’em a-
hollerin’, ‘Bets off! bets off!’ They were set on claimin’ a foul, and
surrounded the old judge demandin’ thar money.
“But, as the crowd was increasin’ and the Parson was e’enmost
crazy, the judge told ’em to come with him to the Court-house—he
wouldn’t decide nothin’ in the gardin. As the hog couldn’t walk, the
judge took his tobacco knife and cut the tail off and took it along with
him to introduce as proof. He decided in my favor. He said that I had
66. held on to the tail and touched nothin’ else, and if I managed to tie a
knot while runnin’ I had performed a feat never before heard of in
the country, so he paid over the money.
“But Parson Coolridge was the most worked up of any of ’em. He
had legal advice on the matter, but the lawyer told him to gin it up,
for the judge was on my side. Besides, he shouldn’t have left the gate
open, if he didn’t want the pig to go in thar. Arter a while he gin up
the notion of suin’ me, but while he stopped in the village he never
got over it.
MORE LIGHT ON THE
SUBJECT.
“The boys had pictures chalked up on the fences and shop doors,
so that wherever you’d look you’d see sketches of the Parson runnin’
back from the funeral, and me a holdin’ on to the pig’s tail. He paid
out more’n ten dollars in small sums to one boy, hirin’ him to go
round and rub out the pictures wherever he’d happen to see ’em. But
every time the Parson would start out through the village, thar on
some fence or door, or side of a buildin’, would be the same strikin’
picture of him, a streakin’ it to head off the hog, so he would start the
rubbin’-out boy arter that one.
“One evenin’ he happened to ketch that selfsame little rascal hard
at work chalkin’ out the identical sketch on the cooper’s shop door,
and the Parson was so bilin’ mad he chased him all over the village.
The young speculator had bin carryin’ on a lively business, but arter
67. that discovery thar was a sudden fallin’ away in his income. I tell ye it
made a plag’y stir thar for awhile, and I reckon if Judge Perkins
hadn’t been on my side I’d have been obliged to git out of the place.”
68. CORA LEE.
Would you hear the story told
Of the controversy bold,
That this day I did behold,
In a court of low degree,
Where his Honor sat like fate,
To decide betwixt the state
And a wanton villain’s mate,
Named Cora Lee?
The bold chief of stars was near,
As a witness to appear.
(By his order, Cora dear
Was languishing below.)
And for counsel she had got
A descendant of old Wat—
Noted for his daring plot,
Some years ago.
It was he commenced the fuss,
“For,” said he, “by this and thus,
Here I smell an animus[1]
As strong as musk of yore;
And it’s my condensed belief,
That in language terse and brief,
I can trace it to the chief,
E’en to his door.”
Then to all it did appear
That the chief was seized with fear;
To the lawyer he drew near,
And to him muttered low:
“I could never think that ye
Would be quite so hard with me;
You had better let me be,
And travel slow.”
69. Then the lawyer quit his chair
As if wasps were buzzing there,
And with quite a tragic air,
Addressed his Honor thus—
“At your hands I claim protection.
Keep your eyes in this direction,
Take cognizance of his action,
This animus!”
Then arose the chief of stars,
And his visage shone like Mars,
When he recks not battle scars,
But charges to the fray.
And his hand began to glide
To his pocket deep and wide,
Where a weapon well supplied
In waiting lay.
THE CHIEF.
“Ho!” he cried, “you shyster hound,
If you go on nosing round
Till an animus you’ve found,
My dear sir, hearken you:
I will open, by my soul!
In your carcass such a hole,
You will think a wagon pole
Has run you through.
“You would prate about the law?
You would magnify a flaw?
70. You would touch me on the raw?
So now, sir, say no more!
Keep a padlock on your jaw,
Not a sentence, or I’ll draw,
And I’ll scatter you like straw
Around the floor!”
Now the Judge’s face grew red
As a turkey gobbler’s head
When a scarlet robe is spread
On the lawn or fence.
“I adjourn the court,” he cried,
“’Till that animus has died,
And is buried head and hide
Far from hence.”
Then the rush was for the door;
From the corridors they pour,—
Three old women were run o’er
Within the justice hall;
And above the tramp and patter,
And the cursing and the chatter,
And the awful din and clatter,
Rose their squall.
When the open air was gained,
Then the epithets were rained,
And the passer’s ear was pained
With profanity flung loose,
Back and forth the wordy pair,
Shameless swapped opinions there;
’Till all parties got their share
Of vile abuse.
When the man of “briefs” would flee,
Chieftain followed like a bee,
Or a shark a ship at sea
When hunger presses sore;
’Till, enraged, the lawyer, he
Cried, “If fight you want of me,
Wait with patience minutes three,
Not any more;
“’Till I hasten up the stair
To my office, and prepare,
Like yourself for rip and tear,
71. And piling bodies dead.
Then, if you can blaze it faster,
Carve designs for probe or plaster,
Quicker work a soul’s disaster,
Just waltz ahead.”
But alas! his hasty tongue,
Vulgar name or sentence flung,
And the chieftain’s pride was stung
Down to the marrow bone.
Now upon him, head and tail,
Pitched policemen, tooth and nail,
Hot as bees when they assail
A lazy drone.
And upon the evening breeze
Rose the “begorras” and the “yees”
Of a dozen Mulroonees,
As they roughly hale
The poor lawyer through the street,
Sometimes lifted from his feet,
Sometimes o’er the noddle beat,
Toward the jail.
Now upon a truss of straw,
Lies the counsellor-at-law,
Wishing Satan had his paw
On wily Cora Lee.
For himself to grief is brought,
While the animus he sought
Running is, as free as thought,
Or like his fee.
1. Private enmity towards the prisoner.
72. A BRILLIANT FORENSIC EFFORT.
Having learned that a highly-educated and respectable lady of this
city had instituted a suit in one of our courts for the purpose of
obtaining a divorce from her husband, I stepped into the hall of
justice to learn how the case progressed. The fact of a young wife
demanding a separation in a country like this, which is proverbial for
its separations, is nothing to be wondered at, and I was considerably
surprised, on reaching the court room, to find it so full of people that
I could hardly gain admittance. I was not so much astonished at the
great rush, however, when informed by the bailiff that the ground on
which the lady rested her case was that her husband snored. As I
entered, the plaintiff’s lawyer commenced addressing the court. He
entered into the case with the spirit and fire of a Clay or a Webster.
After reviewing and commenting largely upon the testimony given in
the case, he ended his argument in the following words:—
THE
ADVOCATE.
73. “Now, sir, whatever other people may think of this application, I
take a bold stand, regardless whose corns or bunions I tread upon, so
long as I put my foot down where it belongs. We have too many
snorers among us. They are in our places of amusement, introducing
groans and thunder where none were intended in the play. We find
them in our places of worship, breaking forth in the midst of the
pastor’s prayer, or while he is picturing to the congregation the wreck
of ages and the crash of worlds. I maintain that this application is a
righteous one; that it is a shot in the right direction, which will in all
likelihood eventually bring down the game; and were I a judge
invested with power to decide a peculiar case of this kind, I would
show no hesitation, but grant the plaintiff her natural and very
reasonable request more readily than if the grounds on which she
sued for a separation were drunkenness or desertion.
“The absurdity of an irascible wife seeking a divorce from a
husband because he indulges too freely in the flowing bowl must be
apparent to all. She rushes into the crowded court room, and,
figuratively speaking, catches the astonished justice by the ear, as
Joab in the extremity of his distress laid hold upon the horns of the
altar, and requests him to sever the chafing bonds with his legal
shears. Again: what a pitiable lack of discretion that woman exhibits
who appeals to the court merely because her husband deserts her,
leaving her to pursue the even tenor of her way. Why, in nine cases
out of ten this is a ‘consummation devoutly to be wished;’ she is left
untrammeled, and has no husband to support.
“I will not allude to the many other failings which wreck the home
and put out the cheerful light of many a hearthstone.
“But, sir, it is with no ordinary thrill of pride that I espouse the
cause of the woman who seeks a divorce from a snoring husband. I
say, and I may remark that I say it boldly, that I rejoice it was
reserved for me to raise my voice in her defence. I hold that a man
who with malice aforethought takes from her peaceful home a tender
and confiding maiden without first informing her of his trouble,
commits a grave and unpardonable crime. The dogs of justice should
be loosened at his heels to hound him from Puget’s Sound to
Passamaquoddy Bay. He should be made to repent his villainous act.
Think how the tender nerves of a sensitive creature must be shocked
on being awakened by such an outburst. Picture to yourself her
74. husband, not breathing her name in words of love, but lying flat on
his back, and snoring with the vehemence of a stranded porpoise.
“Now, sir, I ask what mercy should be shown the monster who has
himself shown none? He has doomed a fair representative of that sex
whose presence civilizes ours, to an ever new affliction and a life of
perpetual wakefulness. What course can she pursue? There are but
two roads. Which shall she take? One leads to the court room and the
other leads to the cemetery. She must either be freed from her
husband or go down to an untimely grave, perhaps to have her place
quickly filled by another unsuspecting victim. No, your Honor; this
man, and I regret to say it, this husband and father, should not be
permitted to destroy the peace and bright prospects of more than one
female. Let it be known to the world that he has ruined the hopes of a
loving wife, let it be blazoned upon the housetops and upon the
fences that he snores; then let him get another mate, if he can.
“The wife should not only have a divorce from the deceptive
monster, but she should have the custody of the children. She
deserves them by virtue of her long suffering and patience, while he
who has so heartlessly deceived her cannot be competent to guide
their little feet aright in the dangerous walks of life. On behalf of this
sorrowing wife, all other wives, and of the wives yet to be, who are
ripening into womanhood around our hearths, I cry separation! In
the name of confidence betrayed, of hopes blasted, and of a life aged
before its time, I repeat, separation! separation!”
He sank into his seat, and despite the order of the bailiff for
“silence in court,” generous applause swept throughout the room.
75. The judge took occasion to compliment the lawyer for his able
argument, and said it was the greatest forensic effort he had listened
to since he assumed the responsibilities of his office. The prayer was
granted and the children awarded to the plaintiff.
76. VISITING A SCHOOL.
Accepting an invitation extended by the principal of an uptown
school, I visited that institution to-day. The masses of young
humanity a person finds in these temples of instruction is something
amazingly impressive. Eight or nine hundred scholars are attending
the one school on which I bestowed my attentions to-day.
HEAD OF HIS CLASS.
FOOT OF HER CLASS.
77. This article must be embellished with a faithful sketch of the boy
who stood at the head of his class. How he felt at that moment, I
couldn’t say, never having any experience in the position myself. He
looked happy and confident, however, and snapped eagerly at the
words as they fell from the teacher’s lips, much as a hungry dog does
at the crumbs falling from a table. But my sympathies were decidedly
with the little contortionist who stood mournfully at the foot of her
class. I knew how that was myself. I had been “yar,” and I regretted I
wasn’t a ventriloquist, that I might from afar whisper in her ear, and
assist her over some clogging syllables. If she could have gone into
the yard, where I noticed a scholar of the senior class throwing
herself in a delirium of joy, brought about by a skipping-rope, she
would probably have acquitted herself in a creditable manner, and
won the praise of all, for however inferior a person may be to another
in some matters, when they can choose their game they often reverse
the order, and peradventure the poor stammering scholar could have
skipped the skirts off those jogging ahead of her in the common
speller.
78. THE REJECTED SUITOR.
Not often does a sadder sight
Wake sympathetic strain,
Than glimpse of some rejected wight
Whose suit has proved in vain;
Who often pinched necessities
For bouquets, sweet and rare,
For tickets to the carnival,
The opera, or fair;
A SUITOR NON-
SUITED.
Whose pocket oft was visited
The candy box to fill;
The dollar spent that should have gone
To pay his laundry bill.
Especially the case is sad,
If he who seeks a wife
Has, step by step, encroached upon
The shady side of life.
79. The fly no darker prospect views
That in the inkstand peers,
Than he, whose unrequited love
Must leak away in tears.
At such a time how ill the smile
Becomes the rival face;
The “ha, ha, ha’s!” the winks and nods,
Seem sadly out of place.
And then comparisons are drawn
At the expense, no doubt,
Of him whose overflowing cup
Seems full enough without.
While he who moves away, alas!
Of every grace so free,
To criticism opens wide
The door, as all may see.
His mind is not reflecting now
On fashions, style, or art,
On proper pace, or rules of grace;
But on his slighted heart.
He now but sees his promised joys
All foundering in his view,
His castles tumbling down, that high
In brighter moments grew.
To know that now those ruby lips
Another’s mouth will press,
And now that soft and soothing hand
Another’s brow caress,—
Oh, dark before, and dark behind,
And full of woe and pain
Is life to him, whose heavy loss
Makes up a rival’s gain.
The gravel-walk beneath his feet
Cannot too sudden ope’,
To gather in the wretch, who mourns
The death of every hope.
The swallows, whispering in a row,
Seem mocking at his tear,
And in the cawing of the crow
He seems to catch a sneer;
The cattle grazing in the field
80. Awhile their lunch delay,
To gaze at him, who moves along
In such a listless way.
Perhaps he’ll know a thousand griefs
Ere death has laid him low.
Perhaps, beside an open grave,
He’ll shed the tear of woe;
Perhaps he’ll turn him from the sods
That hide a mother’s face,
A father’s smile, a brother’s hand,
Or sister’s buried grace;
But there can hardly come a time
When life will look so drear,
Or can so little reason show
Why he should linger here.
81. A NIGHT OF TERROR.
I am not the oldest inhabitant, and don’t know what sort of storms
they used to have here before the flood; but I’ll wager a corner lot
against a plug of tobacco, that this section, for the last twenty years,
has not snoozed through a rougher night than the one just past.
It would have been a glorious night for a revivalist to stir up the
masses. Converts would have crowded in like grists to a mill after
harvest. Since the last great earthquake I have not felt so much
concern about my future state as I did about twelve o’clock last night.
I arose from bed, and went to rummaging books, trying to find the
description of a storm that would equal ours. I found the tempest
that Tam O’Shanter faced the night he discovered the witches, and
the one in which King Lear was cavorting around, bare-headed, and
that which made Cæsar take an account of stock and turn to
interpreting dreams, and jumbled them all together; but the product
was unequal to the fury that was raging without. There was no more
similarity than a baby’s rattle bears to a Chinese gong.
A ROUSING EVENT.
82. Then I fished out the storm that howled while Macbeth was
murdering Duncan, and tumbled it in with the others. This addition
made things about even. The “lamentations heard i’ the air” of
Macbeth’s tempest were a fair precedent of the clamorous uproar
from the fire bell in the City Hall tower. Only an earthquake was
lacking to enable us to say, “The earth was feverous, and did shake,”
or boast a night outvieing four of the roughest on record, all woven
into one.
It had one good effect, however—one for which poison and boot-
jacks have been tried in vain: it did silence the dogs and cats. Their
midnight carousals were as rare as they were in Paris just before the
capitulation. Quarrelsome curs postponed the settlement of their
little differences and defiant barks until such times as they would be
able to discover themselves whether they barked or yawned, and cats
sought other places besides a fellow’s window-sill to express opinions
about each other or chant their tales of love.
I know the rain is refreshing, the wind purifying, the lightning
grand, and the thunder awe-inspiring; but as the poor land-lubber
advised, when he was clinging to the spar of the wrecked vessel,
“Praise the sea, but keep on land,” so I say to those people who want
to prick up their willing ears, like a war-horse, to catch the sublime
rumble of heaven’s artillery, or sit by their window and blink at the
blazing sky, like a bedazzled owl at a calcium light; but I know one
individual who could have got along quite as well if there had raged
no war of the elements. He would have slept soundly and never
mourned for what he had lost.
83. MY DRIVE TO THE CLIFF.
I am wofully out of humor, and what is worse, out of pocket, and
have just been settling a bill for repairs to a buggy which was
knocked out of kilter on the Cliff House road the other day. At the
present writing I feel that it will be some time before I take the
chances of injuring another. The moon may fill her horn and wane
again, the seals howl, and the ocean roar, but I will hardly indulge in
the luxury of a drive to the beach for many a day to come. I had a
couple of ladies with me. Splendid company ladies are—so long as
they have unlimited confidence in your skill as a driver. But they try
one’s patience after they lose faith, and want to get the lines in their
own hands every time you chance to run a wheel into the ditch, or
accidentally climb over a pig or calf. Those who were with me on that
occasion are not particularly loud in their praise of my driving. The
fact is, I didn’t acquit myself in a manner calculated to draw down
encomiums in showers upon my head. I drove a span that day. They
were called high-strung animals. But I don’t like high-strung horses
any more. If they would only run along the track like a locomotive, I
could hold the ribbons as gracefully as anybody; but I am very much
opposed to all of their little by-plays. This getting scared at a floating
thistle-down, or grasshopper swinging on a straw, is something I
don’t approve of in a horse. There is no reason in it; no profit accrues
from it.
But my trotters were frightened at different objects at the same
moment—one at a snail peacefully pursuing his way across the road,
and the other at a butterfly winging his wabbling flight along the
ditch. At once they became unmanageable, and vied with each other
in extravagant antics. From the first the ladies had no very exalted
opinion of my manner of handling the lines. Even before we were
well under way I had the misfortune to run down a calf. Then a
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