The grey-bay mare, and other humorous American sketches
page: Illustration (Illustration) [View Page Illustration (Illustration) ]WHAT NUMBER? page: (TitlePage) [View Page (TitlePage) ] THE GREY-BAY MARE, AND OTHER BY HENRY P. LELAND. WITH NUMEROUS ILLUSTRATIONS. PHLADELPHA: J. B. LIPPINCOTT & CO. 1856. page: -iii[View Page -iii] Entered, according to the Act of Congress, in the year 1856, by J. B. LIPPINCOTT & CO., in the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the United States for the Eastern District of Pennsylvania.
PREFACE
THE following sketches made at different times, are here bound together, in hopes that their union, if it does not bring strength, will at least afford a good hearty laugh. With no wish, at the start, to blind his reader by blowing the dust of a dry Preface in his eyes, the writer bids him a pleasant journey on the road to FINIS. page: -ix (Table of Contents) [View Page -ix (Table of Contents) ]
TABLE OF CONTENTS.
I. The Grey-Bay Mare ................................................. 11
II. Winning a Widow with a "Spring-Hat"........................ 18
III. Wood-Ducks.-"Down Jersey".................................... 24
IV. Pigwidgeon's First Fire-Hunt ................................... 32
V. The Owl-Eaters ................................................... 37
VI. Reed-Bird Shooting................................................. 42
VII. Bill Reardown's Brag Overseer................................... 44
VIII. What Number? ..................................... 50
IX. Arkansas Snipe ...................................................... 54
X. Frogs shot without Powder ......................................... 58
XI. Single-Handed Bluff ................................................ 63
XII. The Tallest Dove-Shooting on Record.............................. 67
XIII. A Scientific Dream................................. 71
XIV. A Song of Punch .................................................... 77
XV. The Lively Sally ....................................... 79
XVI Rail-Bird Shooting ............................................. 86
XVII The Dutchman who had the "Small-Pox" ........................ 89
XVIII. A Scientific Set-to, and a Practical Set-down .............. 95
XIX. One of the Snow-Storms ........................................ 99
XX. A Regular Crabbing-Party .......................................... 103
XXI. Ganderlegs after Snipe .............................................. 112
XXII. Hoop, Hurrah! ...................................... 118
XXTII. Patience.--A Short Dog's Tale .................................... 123 (ix) page: x (Table of Contents) -11[View Page x (Table of Contents) -11]
CONTENTS.
XXIV. A Tramp through a Louisiana Cane-Brake................. 127
XXV. Gideon Grinder's Turkey-Raffle ...................... 165
XXVI. Pulls at a Real Havana.--No. 1.--The Harbor ......... 173
XXVII. Pulls at a Real Havana.--No. 2.--The City ...... 182
XXVIII. Pulls at a Real Havana.--No. 3.--A Sunday in Havana .............................. 193
XXIX. Pulls at a Real Havana.-- No. 4.--Street Scenes ....... 202
XXX. Pulls at a Real Havana.--No. 5.--About Town Generally ................ 208
XXXI. Pulls at a Real Havana.--No. 6.--The Last Whiff! ...... 219
XXXII. Old Zeb. at a "Crack" Hotel ........................ 231
XXXIII. Too Game by Half .............................................. 237
XXXIV. Two Novels ......................................................... 242
XXXV. Roman Kalydor ................................................... 250
XXXVI. Blondine .........................257
XXXVII. An Obliging Husband ....................................... 263
XXVIII. The Last Serenade ............................................ 265
XXXIX. Cape May ............................. 271
XL. Sea-Shore Sketches.- No. 1. -Beach-Love ......... 274
XLI. Sea-Shore Sketches. - No. 2. - Race on the Sands ..... 279
XLII. Sea-Shore Sketches. - No. 3. - The Pistol-Gallery ..... 285
XLIII. Sea-Shore Sketches. -No. 4.- The Hop .................. 290
XLIV. Sea-Shore Sketches. -No. 5. -A Letter ............. 297
XLV. Those Noisy Children ..................... 301
XLVI. Sage Dressing ............................ 305
XLVII Fans .............................................................. 309
XLVIII. Robert the Devil...............................................310
THE GREY-BAY MARE.
WELL, sir, I can just bring a mare will trot the legs off your horse, any day! She can go inside-
"Of the track?" interrupted a bystander.
"You may bet high she'll try for it," was the answer. The speaker, familiarly known as Big Bill, here rose from his seat near the stove, in the Horse and Halter bar-room, and advancing towards the man he first addressed, added, "And now, Sifter, if you want to trot your horse, Raghag, agin my grey mare, Lady Shinbone, say the word, and we 'll trot?"
"Done " said Sifter. "I'll trot my horse against your grey mare, a mile heat, tomorrow afternoon weather permitting. Fifty dollars a side."
This little affair settled, all parties at once renewed their legitimate business--whiskey drinking and talking horse.
"I never saw flies worse than they are now," said Big Bill; "they worry Lady Shinbone's life out of page: 12-13[View Page 12-13] her. She's 'blood' all over, and a mighty thin- skinned beast, to that; consequence is, the flies peg it into her like sixty. I'd give something to know how to drive 'em off."
"Keep your stable dark," said a man with a white hat.
"Keep a fly-net on her," added the man who struck Bill Patterson.
"Rub her with pen'r'yal," suggested an apothecary.
"Try pizzerinctum intment," said the apothecary's ernemy. "Use a fly-brush," slyly insinuated old uncle Ned, and as he spoke, a bright light shot into his black eyes; there was an idea behind them, and as he jerked the corners of his mouth down and looked serious, a looker-on in the Horse and Halter took a little note of it. A few minutes afterwards, he motioned to Big Bill, and drawing him away from the rest of the crowd into a corner, said, with a mysterious air:
"I know an infallible recipe, Bill: there is no use in telling the crowd of it, but as you're a friend I will tell you con-fidentially, remember, con-fidentially."
"Certain, honor-bright," confirmed Big Bill.
"Well, then, you go git a lot of walnut leaves and make a decoction just as strong as you can make it. Wash your grey mare with it, and to-morrow you'll see if she don't look like a different beast."
"Did you ever try it yerself?" asked Bill.
"Yes!" answered Ned, "my old bay horse owes half his good looks to the decoction." Whereupon, Big Bill again joined the social circle, and after a few flirtations with the whiskey bottle rose up and departed. The decoction was on his mind, liquor in his head, and the grey mare in the stable. As he got near home, he remembered that a walnut tree stood back of the road, near his house, so hauling down a fence rail he made a vigorous attack on the lower limbs of the tree, and soon had leaves enough on the ground to "keep the flies out of the whole State," as he judiciously remarked to himself, while employed in trying to gather up the leaves. "Never see such leaves," he soliloquized, 'they stick to the ground like as if they were glued there." He said this after making several futile attempts at gathering up one especially large one that kept eluding his grasp. He made a desperate lunge at it, and over he went; "Take care, old boy," said he, " don't go to cutting up such capers; Steady now, steady!" and like the memorable Toodles, he balanced himself on one thumb, preparatory to assuming the perpendicular-- he assumed it. "Guess Ive got enough, no use taking more than you want, you know," said he, as he cast a longing look at the big leaf which had already caused him one tumble. "Old fellow, I'll leave you j-just where you are, I don't mind you," page: 14-15[View Page 14-15] " and closely grasping to his breast all he had gathered, he cork-screwed home. When he got there, he had just two ideas left, one was a big copper kettle (to boil the leaves in), and the other was the grey mare; whether he had to put the copper kettle into the grey mare, or the mare into the kettle, was more than he could cipher out. Luckily he stumbled over the pump, and finding a bucket there filled with water, he instantly plunged his head in, "up to the handle," several times; then, taking breath, he went in several times more, finally feeling, as he remarked, "as if somebody had taken a lot of blankets off his brains!" Cooled off, he boiled up the walnut-leaves, made the decoction, and going out to the stable, by the light of the young new moon, which kindly lent itself for the occasion, he "soused the beast," to use his own expression, "till she hadn't a dry hair on her hide." "Now, my lady," continued he, "you won't be at home to receive no more fly-calls, and that tail of yours will know a little rest. To-morrow, you've got to spread yourself agin Ragbag, a mile heat. I've bet fifty on you, old woman; don't disapp'int me." And after this exhortation Big Bill'cleared out of the stable.
The next morning Big Bill went out to the stable, threw open the door, looked in, the grey mare was gone! and there stood a bay mare in her place. Bill opened his eyes till they reached the roots of his hair, which stood up straight. "What are you doing here, my lady?" asked he, of the bay mare. A peculiar switch of the tail, a shake of her mane, and a side look from her large liquid eyes induced Bill to look closer at her. "By all that trots!" he burst out, "that cleans down everything I've heard of lately, a grey mare turned into a bay; somebody hold me! the end of the world! the---" Bill suddenly checked himself, "the walnut leaves boiled. They did it!" Yes, they did it; and Lady Shinbone, the grey mare, was now a sight to behold; she was of an ugly bay color, with stripes, something the appearance of a piece of mahogany veneering, in the rough. "Now," continued Bill, "you're a beauty, you are! Nothing can take the devil out of that eye of yours, though; there's grit there, proof agin all walnut leaves, Past, Present, and Future."
In the afternoon Bill was on hand with his " variegated" mare, and having duly driven over to the Horse and Halter tavern, he gave the mare in charge of the hostler, first seeing her well blanketed, and then went into the bar-room. Here he found Sifter, the owner of the bay horse, Ragbag, who at once accosted Bill:
"Here I am, you see, ready for the trot, put up your money. Colonel Stubbs shall hold the stakes. You are to trot your grey mare against my bay horse, that's the agreement. Fetch out your animal."
Bill had Lady Shinbone brought to the door; the page: 16-17[View Page 16-17] crowd gathered round. "Don't touch a rag till I have the reins!" said he, and jumping into his light trotting wagon, the hostler at the moment pulled off the covers, and the Lady came up to the starting-point in fine style. Just at the same time Sifter came up with his bay.
"Well, Bill! why don't yer bring out your grey mare?"
"What do you call this?" answered Bill, as he held the lady in with a taut rein.
"It may be a zebra, 'tain't a grey mare, this side of Jordan!" replied Sifter.
"I tell you," said Bill, "this is my grey mare!"
"And I tell you," replied Sifter, "there ain't a grey hair on her. You've gone and got some kind of a wild beast and want to come the giraffe over me; 'twont work! The race was between my bay horse and your grey mare, and the Colonel holds the stakes. So fetch on your grey mare!"
"This is a grey mare, one of the greyest kind of greys, only, you see, Uncle Ned, he told me---"
"To thunders with Uncle Ned," roared Sifter. "I don't want any cock and bull stories, I want your grey mare. If you can't produce her, I claim the stakes as forfeit."
"I tell you this is a grey mare, only I washed her with biled walnut---."
"Pickled her, I s'pose," broke in Sifter.
"Washed her," shouted Bill, "with the walnut leaves, which dyed every hair in her hide, and that's a fact by all that trots!"
Just at this instant old Uncle Ned made his appearance, casually, on the track, and Bill, who had his eye upon him, at once jumping from his wagon, caught that respected individual by the arm.
"You've done it, my boy," roared Bill; " put your foot in it this time! Fork over fifty dollars, or by all that trots, you'll believe its raining millstones on you. Didn't you tell me to wash that grey mare with walnut leaves? didn't I do it?--look at her, jest look at her. She looks like a brown-stone house gone to seed!"
"Well," said Uncle Ned, "what if I did tell you to wash her with walnut leaves? Didn't I tell you, at the same time, it would make her look like a different beast, and don't she? Didn't I tell you my bay horse owed half his beauty to this decoction, which is apt to beat Tricopherous at dyeing. Didn't I tell you all this?" Here the laughter and cheers of the crowd came in as a grand chorus, and Bill was waxing "tremendous wrathy" when Sifter rode up and shouted out:
"All right, Bill I'm satisfied to trot against Lady Shinbone, although she isn't a grey mare, and has been in a dyeing condition; only the next time you page: 18-19[View Page 18-19] intend to trot her don't ask Uncle Ned for another fly recipe for your mare; it might turn her inside out."
G'lang! The grey bay mare won that race!
II. WINNING A WIDOW -WITH A "SPRING" HAT.
AFTER riding twenty miles reached Donaldsonville, La., just at dark. The Natchez packet sometimes arrived about ten o'clock at night, and as I was bound up the Mississippi, and did not want to miss her, determined to wait in the wharf-office. Shortened the time by paying a few visits to a coffee-house and billiard-room in the town. During one of these, noticed the arrival of a party of French creoles, who talked and swore over a dozen "mallard ducks" loud enough to have made you believe they'd been on the war-trail after Camanches, and brought in as any scalps. At last walked over to the wharf-office, settled down and found comfort in a segar, and as much of a newspaper as the rather misty light of a bull-eyed lantern would give me. The fire in the stove roared bravely and sent out plenty of warmth. I had dropped the paper and only held on to the segar, when I suddenly woke up on hearing the door open, and a couple of men enter. They found chairs, and drawing up to the stove continued a conversation, evidently just commenced as they entered.
"And so Buffer is going to be married?"
"Wal he is! and a good match he's made of it. I tell you what, she's a rearer. If he don't have to put a kicking breech on her afore he's married a week, you may call me a fool. She's got eyes like a panther; an' if he only lets her get the bit atween her teeth-just for once-she 'll carry him further nor he wants to go!
"What makes him want to marry her then?"
"Niggers, mules, and as neat a plantation as thar is on the Bayou. Two hundred and fifty hogsheads clean sugar last crop, an' if they'd only cut the cane airlier, fifty more atop of it. She had a new steam ingine put up last season, and tho' that cussed bagasse burner's a rousing humbug, yet I reckon it's all paid for; an' all Buffer's got to do, is step in, hang up his hat, an' sot right down to live like a fighting-cock."
"Why didn't you go in there? The last time I page: 20-21[View Page 20-21] came down the river I heard you were bucking up to the widow?"
"Wal now, Jim, to be honest, I did thenk afore that Buffer stepped in, that I just had it all my own way, and that I was goin' to get her--sure! As these here French say, 'I made eyes at her'-savage! But, somehow or 'nother, she olways went dead agin old Massissip. A man from our State had no kind of a show, and though I put the 'tentions to her like an uncle, it didn't seem to be no use tryin'. 'Bout one time she did kind o' lean my way. You see nare 'bout the end of grinding season old Farabole giv' a dance down in his sugar-house, and 'vited me and the widder, and a raft more; an' down we went, and the widder kind a felt her oats and we reeled it off in the airly part of the evening fit to kill; but by'm by that Buffer he came on an' just knocked me cold!
"Ye see he'd been down to the city (New Orleans), and only 'rived on the Bayou that night, an' hearin that thar was goin's on down to Old Farabole's sugar-house, down he cum. Wal, sir, he was drest to death in the handsumest kind of store-cloths, an' the women war right up on cend soon as he cum in.
"I see the widder a fixin' her panther eyes on him, and I jest said to myself--,'Dick Tareout, you mout as vell clear; that 'ere Buffer's too much for you in the close line!' I felt it at oncet. Wal, sir, in about a minnit up comes Buffer, smiles at the widder in a fashinatin' manner, an' ensists on dancin' with her. Sez she, 'Yes! Mister Buffer, it will 'ford me the gratest pleshure!' Gratest pleshure! wal, the way he squeezed her, when they danced, I rather think it did. I kept an eye on Buffer. Now, you see, he'd been stayin' at the Saint Charleses, an' puttin' it through like forty, an' he'd larnt all the last agonies in the way of bowin' and scrapin,' an' sayin' leetle nothin's; and, sir, he carried his hat round in his hand all over the sugar-house, down among the bilers, and up round back of the ingine--whar the licker was - every whar he toted that ar' hat.
"Now the widder didn't jist ezactly know what to make of it-coz it was a new wrinkle---so twicet she said to him he'd better let Big Jake, one of the house niggers, hold it for him; but 'twant no use, he held on to't tight as a wrench: at last, jest as they war in the middle of a dance, sez Buffer, with sech a smile, ses he--'Mrs- Noiryeux, for yure sake I'll do most ennything!' An' he actilly held that ar' hat in one hand, an' hit it a lick with t'other, and fetched top and rim right into a pancake; knocked it right down flat.
"I tell you wot, when the widder see him do that, she was jest ready to drap--she was so come over with his intentions. Sacryfizing a bran new hat, and all to gratify her little whim! I see at once how he was goin' it, an' I determined, sir, to head him off. page: 22-23[View Page 22-23] So I stepped up round back of the ingine--whar the licker was - an' I took a most a rousin' big horn of Old Farabole's rum, and huntin' round found my hat. It was a right new one - none of your Kosshoot or wool-hats, but a reg'lar beaver, stiff as a stove-pipe, and shone like a pair of new blacked boots; so I lays hold of that are hat, an' goes round back of the ingine an' takes another swingin' big pull at the rum--an' then I felt jist ready for action. The dance was through, and as cheers was scarce, the women were all seated on a few seats in front of the bilers, an' Buffer was a pilin' on the soft things, an' the widder was a lookin' tickled to pieces--when I made my appairance on the stage!
"I works up to'rds the widder, and when I'd got atween her and Buffer, sez I, ' A-low me the pleshurte of your hand for the next set!'
"Oh, sez she, with a leetle sigh, 'I am so come over that I hardly feel abul to dance agin!'
"'Now,' sez I to myself, 'old feller, spread yourself or die!' and I jest swings my hat round for'ard, and as I said-' You had better say "Yes!" you'll get over it a dancin,' I held that ar' hat in one hand (jest as Buffer did his), and with t'other hand I druv the crown down with sech another lick, that the linin' jumped right through, and bust the eend clean out.
"'Raaly,' said she, you skeered me!' an' I think I mout have done it. Thar was my hat all knocked into infernal pieces no bigger than bits, the rim all hanging loose, the sides smashed in, the lining running out, and the top off. 'Bout that time I turned my eye, and thar stood Buffer a holdin' his hat--jest as good as new, and all in shape, sir! I looked at it twicet-- no mistake, it was whole.
"Sez he, 'You ought t' get a Spring Hat--a, Shappoh Mechanic, as the French call 'em. I've one here!' An' then he ups an' shows the whole insides of it, an' how it works, an' the hull lot of women looked at him, like if he'd had a stove-pipe chock full of dimonds; the widder specially patternized him, tuck him under her wing, an' giv' me the cold shoulder--straight. Buffer's got her. I'm tired of La Fooshe, an' am goin' back to the hills, whar thar ar' no more widders that fellers can cotton down to with Spring Hats." page: 24-25[View Page 24-25] 2^4
"III. WOOD-DUCKS.
"A DOWN JERSEY."
THERE is no doubt, whatever, concerning AUDUBON'S correct description of ducks in general, and wood-ducks in particular. We are inclined to believe that the species (ANAS LIGNEA; sive ALLECTOR:) which our friend HARD ALLWAY tried to shoot last winter, are not enumerated in AUDUBON'S splendid work. To fill up this hiatus, here's at them.
On the New Jersey side of Delaware Bay, just before its waters pitch into the Atlantic, large meadows, everywhere intersected by streams from cedar-wamps and other sources, skirt its waters. These meadows, overgrown with long grass or sedge, at times nearly covered by high tides, are again left bare by the re- ceding waters, and offer, in the rank luxuriance of the tall sedge, a good cover for the duck-shooter. Here, safely ensconced, with his boat artfully concealed, he awaits with becoming patience and resignation the wild fowl, as they come in to, feed in the still waters of the creeks. Especially during the heavy winds that ruffle the bay are the ducks wont to resort to the meadows, and the wary sportsman, well knowing the proper time, selects the best position, places his stool-ducks or decoys correctly, draws his boat into the sedge, and concealing himself skilfully behind the high grass, patiently waits the coming of the web-footed game. Nor has he long to wait. Toward sun-down, as he peers cautiously out of the tall sedge, he sees perchance, slowly winging their way up from the bay, a flock of wild fowl. Instantly lying down full length in his boat, he awaits their coming. The moments seem almost hours to him as he lies, his gun carefully kept in a horizontal position, until at last over his head he hears the rush of wings; the ducks have seen his decoys, have taken them for mates feeding on tranquil waters; and as they circle round, ere finally settling near them, the watchful sportsman, carefully aiming his trusty double-barrel gun, selects the best shot, and with unerring precision pours the deadly contents of both barrels into the devoted victims.
Having thus given "the way they do it," we may as well proceed to our story:--
HARD ALLWAY having determined to give the ducks particular fits, provided himself with one of KRIDER'S page: 26-27[View Page 26-27] A. No. 1. guns, and forthwith took conveyance for down Jersey, in order to bring back to the city his spolia opima, a lot of ducks. Arrived at the ground, HARD was by no means loth at once to enter into the manly sport, but was deterred by bad weather from indulging in his propensity; so that, at last having fretted and fumed for two days, he determined, will he nil he, to "pitch in," and do something on his own account. Having secured a staunch boat and a few "stool-ducks," HARD started alone one afternoon, and after rowing down a long creek, at last, as he turned his head, espied in the distance a wide opening of water, or pond, in which he believed he could set his "stools" to advantage, and wait the coming of the ducks.
But what made him so suddenly bob his head and lie low? Why, he saw at the further end of the pond, six as handsome ducks as he wished to see, in his present excited state of mind.
"By thunder!" said he inwardly, "there's a chance! No stools to set, no time to wait. All chalked out ready for me to go in!"
So he drew his boat up to the side of the creek, waded out into the blue mud nearly up to his knees- gracious! how cold the water and mud felt! -seized his gun, which he had loaded before starting, and then commenced his mud-wading. Slowly, as an Indian after a scalp, or a still hunter after a deer, our friend wormed his way through the high grass and deep mud; more than once he felt his heart fail, but as he saw ever and anon, far up at the head of the pond, those ducks, he kept up his spirits and went bravely on.
At last, he is within shot; he levels his gun; takes deliberate aim. "Rip-bang!" goes the right-hand barrel. "Flip-chung!" goes the left.
"I say, hello! What air ye about, say now?" roared out a Jerseyman, just as the reports took place.
HARD jumped back in horror. There were the ducks, just as tranquil as ever, only one had his head shot off, and the tails of two others were terribly mangled.
"What air ye about, firing at our stools?" yelled out two Jerseymen.
"All right!" shouted IARD, necessity adding to his invention. "Practising, that's all. What's the damage? How much to pay?"
"Wal now!" they shouted back, "are you goin' to pay for 'em?"
"Certainly," said HARD. Then over the pond came the two Jerseymen. All idea of shooting other ducks was lost in sight of the present game before them. Shoving the nose of their boat into the mud near where HARD stood, they held a consultation, resulting in the thinnest-figured, but "thickest-skinned" one of them wading out of the boat. page: 28-29[View Page 28-29]
"We don't want to be hard on you," said the messenger; " but I tell you wot, you've ruinated at the werry least three of the most beautifullest stools as ever were sot. Now wot do you gin for stools up to town?"
"Haven't the least idea!" said HARD. Hereupon, Jersey's eyes began to sparkle, and a bright speculative thought shoots through his brains. "Wot if I could make a five dollar note out of him!" thought he; but he said:
"We want to act all fair and square. Now s'pose you gin us ten dollars an' call it even; that's 'bout the most evenest way we know of settlin' for 'em."
"Ten dollars! Ten devils!" exclaimed HARD. "Why I can buy a farm down here for ten dollars."
"Mebbe you kin, but you can't stock it for that. Can't get no creeturs for ten dollars. We're gwine to lose money, but rather than make a row, we'll take five dollars. Come now."
"Five dollars!" replied HARD. "May be you see something green about here. Five dollars! Why all the ducks you 'll shoot this winter, if they 're, black ducks, won't fetch five dollars."
"Aint you gwine for to count the mush-rats?"
"Yes! -but what have musk-rats got to do with ducks?"
"Why, you see they're all just one an' the same thing to us who progue round here in the mash. Butwe don't want to be hard on yer if ye air a city feller; so gin us three dollars, and we won't say nary a word more about it."
Then HARD "rose up." "You are a couple of blackguards, who would like to be swindlers!" said he; " and before I 'll give you three dollars, I 'll give you the best thrashing you ever had; I won't give. you three cents! If you had come out in the first place like men, and put a fair value on your stool-ducks, I would have paid you at once; but as it is, you may sing for your money. Do you hear me?"
Both the Jerseys heard him, and their wrath waxed great.
"Ain't you gwine for to gin us three dollars?"
"Nary a red!" sung out HARD,- as he imitated the dialect of the "Bath-tub State."
"Wal, then, by mighty! we'll gin you the most infernallest lickin' ever you heerd on!"And suiting the action to the word, the palavering Jersey aimed a round swinging blow at HARD'S head, leaving his body and face entirely unguarded. HARD warded the blow with his left arm, and bringing in a shooting shoulder blow with his right, knocked Jersey head over heels into the soft, squashy ooze and liquid mud. The other Jersey seeing, in the meantime, that it was "goin' to :take two to lick the city feller," no sooner saw his noble brother wallowing in the mud, than he too pitched at HARD in the real dung-hill style of cock- page: 30-31[View Page 30-31] fighting, rolling one arm over another, as if winding up a clothes-line, and looking "despurtly wickid" out of his white eyes. His style of tactics was the most amusing HARD had ever seen. He would jump up in the mud as well as the depth and stickiness of it would allow, and make a feint to finish winding up the clothes-line by striking an arm skyward, but all the time keeping well out of harm's way or HARD'S arm. HARD finding that, unless he changed his position, his legs would soon be entirely embedded in the mud, essayed to get a new standing-spot; but just as he had hauled one leg half-way out, Jersey, seeing his position, struck in two swinging blows, one of which taking HARD on one side of the head, staggered him.
Settling down into his old tracks, and quite content to stick in the mud, HARD waited for a good opportunity, taking one or two blows to encourage his man, and then put in a terrible punishing blow under Jersey's left ear, knocking him senseless. First Jersey, rising from the mud, presented such a sight that HARD nearly choked with laughter, as he looked at him; mud, dirt, wrath, vengeance. He stumbled along till he got near HARD, and then struck at him with both hands, one after another; but the first round had sickened him, and when HARD added a few more telling blows, Jersey was fain to holloa enough. "Nuff, nuff!" Second Jersey had conveyed his goods and chattels to his boat, and sat there, evidently satisfied; so HARD, picking up his gun, bade them good afternoon, with:
"The next time a man fires into your stool-ducks, charge him a fair price, and get it. It's much better than to get nothing, and a thrashing thrown in." HARD travelled through the blue mush to his boat, entered, and rowed up creek, wishing from his heart that the fight had been on hard ground, where there would have been some chance for the Jerseymen. And this, my reader, is the story of WOOD-DUCKS,- as put down in an Un-natural History, not by AUDUBON.
----"Dicimus integro Sicci mane die, dicimus uvidi, Cum Sol Oceano subest." - HORACE.
This is the tale we tell,
In morning, when we 're sober: this is the tale we tell,
At night when half-seas over. - FREE AND EASY TRANSLATION. page: 32-33 (Illustration) [View Page 32-33 (Illustration) ]
IV. PIGWIDGEON'S FIRST FIRE-H1UNT.
GREAT State, that Louisiana! Great people those Pelicans! Hearts as big as houses-first class houses, filled with good liquor, at that. Never shall forget the week I passed at Shirt-Tail Bend-- one unmingled scene of bliss, like the last act of a melodrama, where the curtain rolls up to slow music, and discloses
VISION OF THE SUN AND REALMS OF BLISS.
Landed there one afternoon last winter, by the Magnolia--found the Colonel waiting for me at the landing, or rather he came aboard the boat and after we had wet up, we went on shore, found his boy with horses, and after a twelve-mile ride, arrived at Tiger- Cat Plantation just as the sun set. It cut up rather rough at first sight, and thinks I, that old house can't have much music in it. That's where I missed it.
Supper-time came, and brought a pair of mallard page: -33[View Page -33] ducks, venison and bear-steaks, hot rolls, and all that sort of thing, and a cup of coffee of immaculate vir- tue; while the regalia to top off with, as we sat round the roaring big wood-fire after supper, was of such tobacco that Cabanas would give his new store to have the refusal of a crop of it.
"Pigwidgeon," said the Colonel, "you are fond of gunning; thar ar' deer 'round hyar-lots of them. When you want to shoot one--shoot!"
Said I, "Colonel, there is no better time than the present. I've heard tell at the North of fire-hunting deer; you may count me in for a trial at it this very blessed night."
"Very well, my dear Pig," said he, "you shall go. I never fire-hunted in my life; but Moran, the over- seer, is up to it, and he'll put you through."
In a few minutes Moran came in, and after a talk all round he agreed to take me. "But," said he, "have you ever been on a fire-hunt before?"
"Never," said I.
"Young Brant, over hyar at Saddletree's, shot a full-blooded colt, Dare-devil stock at that, one night last week, while he was out on a fire-hunt. Saw its eyes a-shining, and put a load of buckshot atween 'em. I reckon his old man swore some, for he bragged high on that colt of his'n. Ef you'll on-ly wait tell to- morrow night, I reckon we can git up a fire-hunt of the tallest kind for you; thar are some gentlemen page: 34-35[View Page 34-35] coming over to-morrow, who are up to fire-hunting, and a little over it-they 'll show you the ropes rather better than I can."
Which speech being wound up, the Colonel proposed as a pious idea, to take a drink, and drinks it was.
Needs must when the devil drives, so I waited im- patiently for the next night. It came, and after a "swell dinner," with such wines as an emperor might sigh for, and three such jolly good fellows around the mahogany as no emperor ever could cypher at his table, the fire-hunt was made up, and as soon as it was dark enough, three of us started to kill a deer. Old Joe, one of the house negroes, who had been on hunts many a time, went on before us, with the pitch- pine knots blazing away, and we followed close in his wake. The first shot being given to me, I kept my eyes wide open; you may bet your life on that! We crossed a cypress slough, and were just tramping through an old cotton-field, when Joe came to a dead stand.
"D-d-d-dere he is, mas'r! D-don't you see he great shiny eyes? Take keer-fire away right atween his eyes. Bully big buck, dat!"
No sooner said than done. I blazed away, taking as straight aim as a man with any amount of wine, and without the buck ague, can take. To my astonishment, the two balls of fire, which did not seem twenty yards off, never blinked, but stood gazing on me unflinchingly; while old Joe, furiously waving the pine-knots, kept on whispering a la Bowery theatre--
"Fiah, fiah 'way, mas'r! Gib him todder barril!"
"I let rip the left-hand barrel. No use. There they gleamed- those red eyes- glaring savagely at me- unshaken, firm. What an awful fire there was in them!"
"I say, Pig," said one of the company, "did you load your gun?"
"No!" said I, "the Colonel told me I had better take his, and that it was ready loaded."
"Let me load it," said he.
"Still keeping my eyes fixed on those two deer eyes, which from two eyes began to grow into four eyes, and lost in astonishment at this phenonemon, the gun was handed back to me. I took aim once more, let drive, and - there still sparkled those awful eyes-the left-hand one, especially. Rendered desperate, maddened by ny terrible shooting, and by the stoicism displayed by that old buck, I swore like a deaf and dumb trooper-silently; and telling old Joe in a whisper to creep up nearer, I prepared to give the beast the benefit of the left-hand barrel.
"No go nearer, mas'r. Fiah! Fiah quick, while demmed old buck skeered!"
"Again I took aim, coolly and deliberately as I could, pulled trigger chip-bang! Oh! horror! for page: 36-37[View Page 36-37] yards around, pecks of fiery, flashing light burst forth in every direction."
"Knocked his brains out this time, Pig; saw 'ema fly. Let's grab the game," said one of the company.
"We rushed up pell-mell. I had drawn a terrible large knife in order to cut up the deer, when one loud laugh broke from the whole company, as old Joe held up, in the full glare of the pine-knots, the smashed remnants of a big squash! It had been hollowed out, two holes cut in it for eyes, and a light put behind it and stuck up on an old cotton-wood stump, by some one- nobody knew who! Sech laughter- sech yelling! Old Joe put the pine-knots down on the ground, and broke for a palmetto patch, where occasional bursts of thunder were heard, as if there was laughter going on in the bowels of the earth.
"We got back to Tiger-Cat, and the Colonel, who ! stood at the door to welcome our return, when informed of my luck, never moved a muscle, and swore by all things visible that he had no hand in it; but owned up to having had two in the manufacture i of a big bowl of punch then brewing in doors. So in we went, and in a couple of hours, or more, I had ! the solid satisfaction of kind of half realizing the fact, that, owing to the strong brew, there wasn't a man of that party could tell squash-lights from deer's-eyes!"
V. THE OWL-EATERS.
NEVER saw anything like it in all my life! Gracious, I don't won- der you like living in the city." Here the curtain rose at Niblo's Theatre, the Ravels appeared in the "Red Gnome," and Jack Apple was in raptures. Now Jack (christened John) Apple was raised near Vealtown, New Jersey, on a farm, where he grew in size until his twentieth year, when he received an invitation from his cousin, Tim Oldport, to spend a week in New York. Jack accepted, just as fast as his pen could travel over the requisite amount of paper needed to tell Tim Oldport "he'd come-and no mistake!"In a few days he was in the city, and under cousin Tim's guidance was rapidly "learning the ropes," and "seeing the lions" which were held by them.
Niblo's, of course, had to be visited, and it is of there and thereabouts, including the "Jerseys," that this sketch speaks. Jack, at the first blush, was page: 38-39[View Page 38-39] delighted with the Ravels; the terrific combat of the White Knight, and the cudgelling business, was after his own heart, but as the pantomime advanced he grew uneasy.
"What's the matter, Jack?" asked Tim, as he watched his contortions.
"Why, when are they going to begin the talking part?"
"They don't talk at all in it. It's a pantomime. They make actions speak louder than words. Just watch them," answered Tim.
"Yes, I understood that fighting part. But what all this rubbing of hands, pointing with fingers, shaking of heads, trembling of knees, and rolling of eyes, and so on, means, I can't see. It's all a dumb show to me. I wish they'd get up another fight!" And here Jack relapsed into silence, and commenced looking round the house for distraction. After a long time he happened to look at the performances on the stage, and saw Bertusio making the most violent love to Eugenia: pulling and hauling her around after the most approved theatrical fashion of high-pressure courtship. This plunged Jack right into life and in good spirits.
"Hurrah! old fellow, go it! You're talking plain English now; I understand every word of it!"Jack spoke right out in meeting, and under cover of a hearty peal of laughter from the people sitting round, Tim hooked Jack's arm and led him off with--
"Come, Jack, before they get dumb again let's travel." And the two got out of the theatre and into Broadway in short time.
"Suppose we take supper," said Tim; and in company they entered a restaurant. "Let me alone, Jack, I'll order something that will suit you." And letting Jack enter a box, Tim remained outside, gave his orders to the waiter, and before they had finished reading four evening papers, including advertisements, it made its appearance.
After receiving every attention at the hands--and mouths--of Jack and Tim, it was with great satisfaction they slowly drank the last glass of champagne, and called for segars to smoke homewards. Tim settled the bill, and Jack, with glistening eyes, declared that "He never eat-partridges better cooked!"
"Partridges!" exclaimed Tim, "those were squab owls!"
"Squab devils!" shouted Jack; as turning pale he rushed for out doors and fresh air. This made him feel better, and finding that Tim didn't follow, he went in and found him still seated, a segar just lighted between his teeth.
"You're joking, Tim; who ever heard of eating owls?" asked Jack, as he re-seated himself and lit a segar. page: 40-41[View Page 40-41]
"I tell you there is no joke about it. Just read ! that bill of fare"--handing over the paper; and there Jack saw, in legitimate pen-marks, squab owls. "You I wrote that down, Tim; it's some fun of yours."
Tim called the waiter. "Now, Jack, just ask him what we had for supper." Jack put the question, to which the Irishman answered--
"Squab owls an' tremmin's, sur; bottle cham- pagne, sur"----
"That'll do," said Tim.
"Yes! that will do," said Jack; "this child is done this time, and no mistake. No matter, I'll be even with you some time. Squab owls! Why I shan't sleep a wink for a week; I shall hear them hallooing and screeching 'tu-whit, too-whoo'-and, by thunder, they're trying to get out now! Let's get into fresh I air."
Tim, after enjoying the fun for some time, at last, with any amount of laughing, explained to Jack, a "that partridges, at certain times, were called squab owls, and that he had in reality eaten partridges."
Jack was satisfied, and there the matter dropped.
Time passed on--Jack Apple had returned to the country--and autumn came round. Tim Oldport was very fond of gunning, and so in answer to Jack's pressing invitation to "pay him a visit at the farm near Vealtown, and have a crack at the birds," Tim. started one fine morning for New Jersey, fully determined to do execution in the game line. After a pretty long ride, Tim arrived towards night at Jack's farm, where a hearty welcome and a hearty supper were ready for him.
"And now," said Jack, after they had taken off the rough edge of their appetites, "here come the partridges!"The servant brought them in nicely broiled, piping hot, with plates well warmed, and as Tim received one on his plate there was a certain sensuous sparkle in his eye-he did love good eating.
"How do you like it?" asked Jack, as Tim swallowed a part of the breast.
"Ah, pretty fair; but when you shot these birds you didn't pick out the youngest in the covey! This eats like an old partridge."
"They were in the nest, they ought to be young!" said Jack.
"In the nest? Then you shot hen partridges sitting. I wouldn't have believed that of you, Jack.
"I didn't shoot them at all, I knocked 'em over with a fishing-pole!" replied Jack.
"Jersey all over, by thunder! Who the devil but a Jerseyman would ever ' shoot' game with a fish-pole. Except he took a broom, as those fellows did down in Cape May, two years ago, when the high tides drove the mud-hens up, so that the inhabitants knocked them over with anything they could lay hands on. But seriously, Jack, how did you kill them?" page: 42 (Illustration) [View Page 42 (Illustration) ]
"With a fish-pole, over in old Scudder's barn, up on a rafter!"
"What are you driving at, Jack? Come, I'm listening."
'Why," said Jack slowly, as he watched Tim stowing away a wing, "You call partridges squab owls, in the city; we call squab owls partriges down here! You're eating a squab owl, my boy!"
"Sold, sold, by all that's lovely. Pass me that brandy, quick! The next time I give a Jerseyman New York squab owls for supper, I'll look out that he doesn't treat me in turn to Jersey partridges!"
VI. REED-BIRD SHOOTING.
THREE men and a bull-dog ugly,
Two guns, and a terrier lame:
They'd better stand out in the mud there,
And set themselves up for game!
But no! I see, by the cocking
Of that red-haired Paddy's eye,
He's been 'reeding' too much for you, Sir,
Any such game to try! page: -43[View Page -43]
Whist, JAMEY, me boy! kape dark there,
And hould the big bull-dog in:
There's a bloody big cloud of rade-birds
That nade a pepperin' !'
'Chip-bang!' speaks the single-barrel;
'Flip-booong!' roars the old 'Queen-ANNE :'
There's a Paddy stretched out in the mud-hole,
A kicked-over, knocked-down man!
The big bull-dog's eyes stick out,
And the terrier's barks begin;
The Paddy digs out of the deep mud,
And then, the 'discoorsin'' comes in :
'Oh JAMEY, ye pricious young blag-guard,
I know ye're the divil's son!
How many fingers' load, thin,
Did ye put in this damned old gun?'
'How many fingers? Be jabers!
I nivir put in a one!
D'ye think I'd be afther ramming
Me fingers into the gun?
'Well, give me the powdher, JAMEY!'
'The powdher! as sure as I'm born,
I put it all in yer muskit,
As I had ne'er a powdher-horn!" page: 44-45[View Page 44-45]
BILL REARDOWN'S BILL REARDOWN'S BRAG OVERSEER.
TALKING about overseers," said Rock, as we sat one morning in the rotundo of the St. Charles Hotel, New Orleans, "have you heard that story about the one Bill Reardown bragged so high on?"
"No!" said I, "let's hear it."
"Reardown, you know, owned a plantation back of Rodney (Miss.) Well, getting tired of raising two bales of cotton to the hand, on worn-out land, he sold out, bag and baggage, and bought a place 'over in the swamp,' just back of St. Josephs (Louisiana.) He reckoned on raising at least ten bales to the hand there-you may bet your life on that! Well, he took over his niggers (he had twenty field-hands), and as you know he always has about ten irons in the fire at once, and couldn't tend them all himself, he hired an overseer to look after his swamp place. Now, this overseer was a likely man enough when he was sober; but when he took to drinking, everything was at sixes and sevens. He had been living on a place belonging to General Buncombe, a few miles back of Natchez, and managed it pretty much as he pleased, for you know the General isn't a very close calcula- tor; and as long as he kept the place in order, and cleared the expenses, the General, whose whole time was taken up in politics, never cared the first 'red' for the balance; looking to his sugar place for money making. Well, the General determined to sell his place back of Natchez; he sold it, and the overseer- his name was Bigwins--was thrown out of employment. The General gave Bill Reardown a first-rate account of the man-and Bill believing the General a first-rate judge, took this Bigwins for his 'swamp place' solely on his recommendation. I met Reardown here in the city, about two months since."
"Well, Bill," said I, "I hear you've bought a place over in Louisiana. What's the prospect for cotton?"
"I cannot wish for better," he said, in his measured way of speaking. "The crop looks admirably. I 'll get ten bales to the hand, at the very least. The place is comparatively a new one, and requires care to develope its resources; but I have succeeded in getting one of the best overseers in Mississippi, and in a year from now I'll have a place worth looking at. There is a good deal of ditching and fencing to page: 46-47[View Page 46-47] be done, but my overseer-Bigwins-understands all that thoroughly. By the way, you're fond of deer-hunting; what do you say to going up to the place with me the next time I go? The deer are plenty."
"Certainly, I will," said I. "Business is quiet now, and if you are going up any time within two weeks, I will go with pleasure."
"I start next Thursday," said he, "and shall expect you to go along!"
Well, Thursday came, and we took the steamboat New Natchez, and started up the Mississippi. Bill the whole way talked of nothing but Bigwins, what a splendid overseer he was, and the ditches and fences that were to be made, so that by the time we reached St. Joseph, I had fully made up my mind that Bigwins could fence in this whole country, beautiful as it is, and whitewash it besides.
Arrived at St. Josephs, we had the tallest climb up that bank you ever saw. You know how low the river is; well, we went straight up that mud-wall, like flies on a sugar hogshead. At last we got at the top, went into the hotel, and asked the man who kept it for our horses. Bigwins, the overseer, hadn't sent them over, although Reardown had written especially for them to be there. This made Bill rather mad. However, we chartered a team, and started for his place. After riding a good many miles through a pretty rough country we came through a lot of cotton, wood and pekan trees to a clearing, which Bill at once pointed out as part of his swamp place. I saw him draw in the corners of his mouth as I looked at it. I said to him:
"Haven't fenced that in yet?"
"It should have been, by this time," replied Bill, and the corners of his mouth, as he spoke, were screwed down so tight you couldn't have got in a tenpenny nail. Just then we heard the plantation-bell ringing. It struck just as many times as Bill always had struck for a " general assemblage" of the niggers. So he said; but what it was rung for at such time in the day, when they ought all to be at work in the cotton-fields, was more than Bill knew.
Said Bill to me, "Something's wrong here. Suppose we stop, tie up the horse, and reconnoitre?"
Nothing loath, I got out, we hitched up the team to a cottonwood, and then, under cover of a cane ridge, we walked up (completely hid from sight) to within a hundred feet of the negro-quarters; from here we could see the mustering of the hands, who, as they came up from the fields, were in high glee, but as they reached the overseer's house pulled long faces and looked solemn.
The house was built of logs, and had a raised piazza all round it about six feet from the ground. From where we stood we could see the Brag Overseer, Mr. Bigwins, standing up on the piazza and holding on to page: 48-49[View Page 48-49] one of the pillars; he evidently seemed to derive much assistance from it as a support.
"He's weak in the knees. Had the chills?" I whispered to Bill.
"No," said he, "he wrote me three days ago in high spirits." Then he added, "I don't like this 'laying low,' but I really want to see what the thunder he is driving at." And suiting the action to the word, from one hut to another, we glided along until we were within twenty feet of the overseer's house. We arrived just in time to hear Mr. Bigwin's speech:
"B-b-boys, I've called you up hyar----"
"Yes, mas'r, yes, mas'r, yes, mas'r," interrupted all the negroes, in a low tone of voice, as if to assure Mas'r Bigwins that he was right. "I 've c-called you all up-pup hyar t-to tell you s-sus-some things that you m-m-may n-n-not kn-know. I'm a k-kind s-ser-vant, but a d----d b-bad m-m-marster."
"Yes, mas'r, yes, mas'r, yes, mas'r," chorussed all the negroes.
"I m-mean I 'm a k-kind m-marster as long as y-you b-b-bub-have-"
"Yes, mas'r, yes, mas'r," hummed the twenty voices.
"B-but if-fif any of you-you undert-takes to dig off into the s-sus-swamp, I'll give you---"
"Yes, mas'r, yes, mas'r, yes, mas'r!" "S-so now you all k-now j-j-jest wot you may g-git if you d-don't w-work right. I've t-told i7ce, the d-driver, to put you at f-fuf-fences, and if you c-can't f-fence, I'll give les-sons in f-fencing!"
This was too much for me; I roared with laughter. Bill, who was hopping with rage, held in splendidly, though. He walked straight up to the overseer, and said to him:
"Mr. Bigwins! if you are through with the boys, send them back to work."
Had a small thunderbolt raised Mr. Bigwins, he couldn't have been sobered sooner. He sent the hands back to the field in double quick time. It was really astonishing to see how sedate he acted: and I almost believed, as I talked to him, that I must be the one who had been tipsy. But the reaction took place, and in five minutes I could see the whiskey beginning to work on him. Bill undertook to talk to him, but there was no use in it; every other word, the overseer would break out with:
"The swamps ain't fit for a man from the hills to live in, no how! Fences! why, jest ask Gineral Buncome, I'm death on fences. Ditches! I'm d-death d-death on dit-ditches! I'll make this hyar mud-hole blossom like roses! Fences! I think I'm some thar! Fences!---" So we left him talking.
Bill fell in, regularly caved on that overseeer-- swore he never was so deceived since he was born; 5 page: 50-51[View Page 50-51] and the next day, when Bigwius was sobered down a little, discharged him.
He's got a really good overseer on the place now, but never brags of him, and if he occasionally gives tongue about his " superior abilities," just ask him if, like Mr. Bigwins, he's great on "making snake fences!"
VIII. WHAT NUMBER?
OUR hero, Tim Raghorn, came down the river to St. Louis ! ',K d with a load of corn (both shipped by old Raghorn), per steamboat "Bully Belle," the latter as per Bill of Lading. It was Tim's "first come to town," and great with the importance of the mission with which Raghorn, senior, had intrusted him, he "dug round" among the corn men until he found a purchaser--cash down. Having pocketed the proceeds, and night coming on, Tim cast his eyes round for a roost."
Coming up from the levee, he struck The Planter's House, and thereat went in, registered his name, sent to the boat for his trunk, got supper, and spelled over the papers. Bed-time coming, and wanting to go to his room, a waiter showed him up one pair of stairs over another, till Tim-stopping on a landing-swore roundly that "he warn't a goin' to climb another one of their ladders."
"Sure, sur, it's on-ly another flight," said White Jacket.
"'Taint no flight to me, it's a crawl, and an onkommon tight one at that," growled Tim. However, he went upyanother " ladder," and at last reached his room. Just before doing so, he had noticed sundry pairs of boots lying at the different doors of the rooms. After revolving it in his mind, he couldn't come to a definite conclusion as to the "'i-dea." Not wanting to hang out a green sign, Tim determined to solve his doubts, something in this style:
"Onkommon hard on boots, these city stones!" said he to the waiter, glancing at the boots.
"Sure it is, sur; had to have mine minded this morning, sur. Wore 'em out showing gentlemen up stairs, sur. Cost me two bits, sur!"
"How is 't thar ar' such a blasted raft of 'em toted out hyar all to onst, though?"
"Och, ha! yer honor; the boots is jist sit out to be blacked, not minded. Ef yiz sits yern outside yer page: 52-53[View Page 52-53] WHAT NUMBER? door, they'll be reddy blacked for yiz in the maurnin." And having unstrapped Mr. Tim Raghorn's trunk, and received two bits (for Tim remembered the hint about boot-mending), the White Jacket withdrew.
"Thar's a -great pair of boats that ar' goin' to be shined, that ar' a fact," soliloquized Tim, as he drew one off after the other, and gazed with admiration at their size and make. Now Tim stood two feet in his boots, and six feet five inches in. his stocking feet; consequently, the leather consumed in covering his extremities was considerable; in fact, he wore-" big boots."
Carefully placing them outside his room door, he turned in, to dream of corn-roasted in cakes, " biled" in whiskey, and shelled as he had sold it. At the first crack of dawn he woke up, but wanting to conform to " city habits," he waited till sunrise before he rose. Those "boots" of his being the first object on his mind, he opened the door to take them in.
They were not there !-Tim opened his eyes. IHe was wide awake now. When all of a sudden-like a "fresh" on the Mississippi, like a stampede among camp-horses, like the rush of a herd of buffaloes- tore through his mind the conviction--" Them boots ar' gone-ers !" In the heart of that giant there was a sudden faintness. HIe grasped the side of the door. At this crisis he saw a White Jacket hurrying down stairs.
"Stop! stop!" shouted Raghorn, in a voice like a bull alligator in spring time. White Jacket held up, quicker.
"Yes, s'r. Ennything th' matter, s'r?"
"Thar just is--a matter. Whar the thunder are my boots?"
"Boots, s'r? Yes, s'r!"Here White Jacket screwed his head round to see at what room door the boots were wanted. But Tim's " big" figure covering it, he asked:
"What number, s'r?"
This convinced Tim that he was the thief!
"Number?" roared he, "lMumber twelve, peg-soles, d---n you, and I believe you're the feller who stole 'em!"
The boots were soon found, and brought up with other boots. But from that day to this, Tim Raghorn never puts his " boots" outside his sight. "Ef they ever shine 'em at all," said Tim, "they 've just got to do it-on the hoof!" page: 54-55[View Page 54-55]
IX. ARKANSAS SNIPE.
YOU'RE off now. Good bye! Take care of yourself; and, give those bears particular fits!" sung out Dory, as the plank of the steamboat, on which we were bound down the Mississippi, was drawn in, and we left our friend Marion-one night last winter-on the wharf-boat at Napoleon, Arkansas.
We should have left him in pitch darkness had it not been for the pitch-pine lights which shed a halo * of glory around his head, and the tail of his New- foundland dog. They were bound up the Arkansas River on a bear-hunt. A more whole-souled man, or a finer dog, never walked-although a Scotch terrier is a better dog for bears: and as we left him behind, there was a sense of something lost.
In order to find composure, and fill up the vacuum, we adjourned to The Exchange or Social Hall of the steamboat, to take "a snifter." On entering this favored region we were at once made aware of the fact that the Rackensackians at Napoleon considered a fair "Exchange" no robbery; in payment of our Roland of a Marion they had given us an Oliver of an Arkansian. He was a beauty. Straight as a hickory sapling, and fully as' tough, he seemed to be just the stuff that red-eye whiskey-barrel hoops are made of-water-proof at that. He was already a firm friend of the bar-keeper, having taken two drinks inside of 90 seconds, and as he still wore a thirsty look in his left eye, we at once asked him to take another.
"Stran-ger," said he, " count me in thar!"
So we did, and after drinks all round, we settled about the stove with segars. Conversation soon fell on bear-hunting, deer-hunting, and finally was closing up with a description of a "mighty big coon-hunt," wherein our friend, the Rackensackian, had performed prodigies of valor in the way of putting whiskey hors du combat, or out of harm's way-cut down an untold number of cotton-wood or pekan trees, and pitched into -a live-oak till he made dead-wood of it; and finally killed, on that one night, one hundred coons, whose united weight he judged to be well on to a ton! After this we knew the man, but Dory, in whose locks the "hay-seed" still gleamed, was moved, in turn, to tell his tale of hunting, and dwelt long and feebly on a certain snipe-shooting excursion, wherein each page: 56-57[View Page 56-57] 56 ARKANSAS SNIPE. gunner bagged his four dozen birds he drew it strong, being away from home-and went on sawing away about how the snipe rose and fell, until Racken- sackian woke up with the question-
"What ar' snipe?"
"Snipe," said Dory, "are the best game that flies. The kind I mean are called English or Wilson's Snipe, and are splendid! Long legs, long bills, dusky hue"--
"Stran-ger, stop thar! I've seen the critters; know 'em like an old boot," interrupted the Rackensackian. "I 've been down in the Lewsianny swamps -I have! Do you raally eat them ar' critters on North?"
"Certainly we do," said Dory; but you said you had seen them down in the Louisiana swamps- they winter there, I expect."
"Winter and summer both. Thar' ar' a few, I should think, in Arkansaw! Two of my boys was down choppin' wood for the steamer t'other day, and them ar' snipe sung so loud they come back at night, and said thar war a camp-meetin' goin' on down river."
"Sing?" inquired Dory. "That is singular. At the North, as they rise, I have heard them utter a low whistle, but never knew they sung before!"
"Sing!" said the Rackensackian--"they sing so they make my ha'r stand on eend. You raally shoot them ar' critters on to the North? Stran-ger, if you 'll only come up to my plantation and shoot off the crop thar, I'll give you the best horse you can pick out, and throw in a nigger to take keer of him."
"Where do you live?" asked Dory. "If I ever am up your way, you 'll have to owe me a horse and a negro."
"Wall, stran-ger, I live at Powder-horn P'int, on Meto Creek, 'bout thirty miles from Napoleon, and cuss me if the man that shoots off them ar' birds for me don't be my eternal friend-he will! Look hyar, the infernal things pitched into my youngest child arter it was born, so that its head swelled up as big as' a punkin!"
"Pitched into your child!-swelled head!-big as a pumpkin! Did snipe do this?" asked Dory, in great hopes of having discovered something new.
"Wal they did! Leastwise what you call snipe. We call 'em mus-kee-ters!"
Grand tableau. Curtain descends to slow music of toddy-sticks, broken ice, and the song of an Arkansas Snipe! page: 58-59[View Page 58-59]
X. FROGS SHOT WITHOUT POWDER.
IN such a low stage as the Mississippi undertook to \n travel down to the Gulf in, during the past winter, even a fast steamboat is a "slow coach," especially if she draws more water by several inches, than you can find on the bars; and so I found that, spite of rifle practice at wild fowl, going ashore when we wooded or tied up all night, overhauling a bound-down boat, passing a sunken steamer, and all the other little outside diversions, time hung heavily on hand. "Social Hall" was the real Exchange, where most of the passengers managed to work off any uncurrent hours they might have on hand for current drinks; here, too, was the favorite spot for hearing good stories, and smoking cigars, the flavor of both being often rather too strong for the saloon.
One evening, an unusually cold one, we rounded to at a wood-wharf in Arkansas, where we were to wood and tie up for the night; as usual, the passengers came out "to prospect." The red light from the pitch pine, as it blazed up, showed a steep bluf; and a very large wood-pile. The planks of our boat were run out; the deck hands, in a long line, at a very quick step, "put" over them, returning on board with the cotton-wood piled upon their shoulders; the mate stood on shore, by the light, as usual "cussing" away at the hands; the clerk having measured the wood and struck a bargain, came off, and with him the owner of the wood. As for the latter, figure a man about as long as a clothes-pole, with a white blanket coat hung on him reaching to his heels; a broad-brim felt hat on, a large-sized cane in his hand, and a thin sallow face, showing traces of determination and whiskey admirably blended. Entering the cabin, he sauntered up to the bar-keeper, and in a few minutes the latter was seen bringing out bottle after bottle of Old Bourbon whiskey, which were duly put down at the foot of the "Arkansaw traveller;" there he stood like a blasted old cypress, with a good-sized crop of "knees" below him.
"Two dozen bottles. Is that enough?" asked the bar-keeper, as he put down the last bottle of the count.
"It'll last, with the few barr'ls on hand, tell you work up stream again. I don't use up so much now page: 60-61[View Page 60-61] as I used to do. And that 'ar little wood-pile o' mine keeps me in licker better nor it ever did afore. I've got six niggers chopping, and run three teams, so I shan't run dry if old Mississip does!"
The "Arkansas Traveller" herewith straightened out for shore, followed by a " nigger" bottle-holder. His speech, delivered within hearing of a crowd in "Social Hall," was the cause of some hearty laughter. "The little wood-pile" he spoke of, extending along shore as far as the eye could reach, at least at night, by torchght, gave one the idea that the "Traveller" must be owner of a pretty good sized thirst, to enable him to drink up a wood-pile, the continued drain on which was meanwhile filled up by the aforesaid six niggers and three teams. All hoped he wouldn't run dry, and he got full credit for his abstemiousness from water, which, like the Western editor, he wouldn't waste by drinking, when every drop was required for purposes of navigation! One remark brought out another, one story another, 'till at last the pilot of our boat--everybody called him John-commenced giving in his sporting experience. From buffalo hunting down to frog killing was something of a jump, but John made it, with
"After all, buffalo hump is a very fair thing, but a frog's hind legs are just about as good. They cook 'em right in New Orleans, and I don't know anything suits me much better. When I was a boy, thar was nothin' I liked so well. The d-1 of it was, I hadn't always money to buy powder with to shoot the creeturs, and so I tried spearin' 'em, hookin' 'em with red flannel bait, settin' traps for 'em, teachin' a little span'el dog of mine to catch 'em; somehow I never could get enough at a time.
"One day I was travellin' round the pond, tryin' to invent some way of layin' hold of a lot for supper, when an idea jumped through my head, and afore it could get out I grabbed it. Cuttin' a long elder stick, as straight a one as I could find, I split it in two, lengthwise, dug out the pith, and so made a long narrow trough. Going up to the house, I filled my pockets with No. 7 shot, and comin' back to the pond, snaked round 'till I saw a thunderin' big 'Bull-paddy' sunnin' himself right under a clump of weeds; he was rollin' his eyes round like a stage-actor, and opening his mouth as if he was going to swallow the pond. There he sot! Slowly and gradooally I crept up behind him, 'till I got near enough to run the elder trough out, so that its eend was about two feet 'bove his nose. Takin' a handfull of shot, I put some into the eend of the trough and let it run down; it fell in the water--plunk! about an inch front of him; he jumped at it, missed it, and then squatted quietly down again, with his mouth 6 page: 62-63[View Page 62-63] 62 FROGS SHOT WITHOUT POWDER. wide open. I let another lot of lead slide, and he caught it, and another, and another, 'till he had swallowed 'em all, and I hadn't a shot left in my pocket. There he sot, and when I stepped out from the grass, may be didn't try to jump: his legs flew up and down like drumsticks, but the rest of him wouldn't work-he had too big a load on! So I picked him up, held my hat under him, gave him a squeeze, and the shot run out in a stream, like they would from a pouch. Fact! and I tell you what, after that I always shot frogs without powder!"
XI. SINGLE-HANDED BLUFF.
A GAME PLAYED AT NATCHEZ.
SUFFERING acutely from the torture of a twelve days' crawl down the Mississippi from St. Louis, it was with solid pleasure I heard the steamboat bell ring to announce our arrival at Natchez. In a few minutes we were alongside the wharf-boat, and in a few more I was crammed into a box-trap, hung with rags and tatters, called a hack. Before the long-drawn sighs and sobs of the high-pressure steamer told she was on her way down stream, I had reached the top of the hill, and was peering out between the aforesaid rags and tatters of the hack to catch a glimpse at the Big-Old-Strong, alias Mississippi, as it slowly swept along far down below me. The view from the Public Garden, situated on the edge of the high bluff on which :Natchez proper stands, is, on a fine sunny day, one of great beauty-but seen as I now saw it in the cold page: 64-65[View Page 64-65] grey light of a winter's morning, before sunrise, it certainly left much to be wished for --particularly a warm breakfast.
My thoughts were interrupted by the box-trap hack stopping with a jerk, the driver letting the steps down with a run, and saying at the same time, "Dis am de Ho-tel, sar!"--apiece of information very necessary, asI thought we had halted in front of an old printing-office, one of the kind where they have such a press of business that the ink runs out of the windows. There was no help for it, and in I went. Thank somebody, there was a roaring bituminous coal fire at work in the grate of the bar-room. I put in there, told the dumb-eyed Irishman in attendance that I wanted a room, and then took a seat to wait for further revelations. I hadn't to wait long. As I sat there, in came a couple of early birds--the kind that catch cocktails. Immediately the dumb-eyed Irishman behind the bar, before the liquor, was after waking up.
"And when (his eyes) were open, the birds began to sing."
Cat-bird.--"Couple of brandy cocktails, Teddy! Make 'em strong, we are to be set-up."
Tom-tit.-"Look hyar, Teddy! None of that ar' sky- rocket dye-stuff-put-it-away! Old -- told me he was down the river last week, and he swore he bought the very best brandy that was to be had in all New Or-leans, and he hoped he might be -- to if he didn't give sixty-two and a half cents a gallon for it! So rush round and trot her out! We want the best!"
Tom-tit.-- "He did it, sir! Sam Patch is no whar --he jumped into water, but Paddy McPherson landed in a pig-sty, clean as a whistle! One hundred and ten feet, or I'm a liar! Just about the neatest leap ever made by anything in shoe-leather."
Teddy, the bar-tender.--"Shure, and where did he lape from?"
Tom-tit.--"Didn't you hear of it? You must have rammed that head of your 'n under a mighty big pile of blankets, then. Why, Paddy's old woman yelled so-when he came home safe after it-you'd have thought she was working half a dozen steam-whistles. You see Paddy came up on the hill last night, with half a dozen more, and then they pitched into red-eye and corn-water as ef they had the wust kind of a drought. They got into old Haley's, and found a crowd there putting into ' Forty-deck'-deep! Says Paddy,
"'Be Gorra, I kin bate the whole of yiz - single handid, with yer nasty little paces of paynted paypir!'
"But they didn't want him to have any hand in that game; so they stood the licker for him till he rolled out of doors quietly, and never bothered their heads about him. When all of a sudden a fellow page: 66-67[View Page 66-67] came dashing in to tell 'em that Paddy had taken the Bluff at a flying leap-gone over clear! Nary a soul would believe the first word, but the way they piled out of old Haley's and broke for the scene of action- jest for curiosity--was a caution. Thar ain't a hoss in Natchez can make the time between 'on the hill' and 'under the hill' them ar' fellers made. But they found rather a big crowd down thar before them, quick as they went. They picked Paddy up out of a pig-pen at the foot of the bluff, thinking he was dead as a herring; when- he jest opened his eyes, and said he, as sober as if he never smelled at a cork:
"'Be Gorra! Is there another mother's son of yiz kin play single-handid Bluff?. Sbure, I belave it's me own peculiar game!'"
XII. THE TALLEST DOVE-SHOOTING ON RECORD.
POPULAR tradition has cast upon one of the States of our Union the odious imputation of having been made on Saturday night, after the rest of the world was completed; and in that State, I had been spending a week. That Sahara come to anchor; that great Sand-Box of the United States; that State whose grand productions may be thus enumerated, as you point at the tall pine tree: "This is the pine tree, from which was made the charcoal, which melted the glass, which made the bottles, which held the apple- jack, which was distilled by wood cut from a pine tree which stood in New Jersey."
The stage started from "The Balm of Gilead" i Tavern at any time in the afternoon after it had I arrived, and as I wished to leave New Jersey by that i conveyance, I was at the tavern at an early hour, and ready to start at the usual half-hour's notice. It was page: 68-69[View Page 68-69] one of the cold days in November, the sun kept dart- ing in and out from the clouds, like a kitten playing with a ball of yarn; there was a generally well-swept look about the tavern, the combined effects of the wind and a big birch broom. Inside the house, the principal room-the bar-room-was filled with segar smoke, the heat from a large stove, and Jerseymen; a very long, wide, staring, horse-dancing -placard, red, white and blue, announced the past-performance of some circus company; rampant stallions stuck up their cards and address; notices of town meetings, public vendues, &c., &c. I read them all, and then lighting a segar, waited patiently.
"I say, you: that ain't no kind of shootin', no how. Now doves is doves, and 'taint right no how to be a. killin' of 'em off. I never shot nary a dove, and wot's more, I never 'ntend to!"
"It's jest 'cause yer can't!"
"'Taint nuther! But my old man used to say to me, 'Now 'taint right to shoot them creeturs; 'cause Noah he kind 'er made them are birds holy a sendin' 'em out on ayrands like;' so that's the cause I never shot nary a dove."
Here a Young Jersey, about twenty-five years long, I who was evidently 'i very dissipated," and who seemed i anxious to sustain a very bad character, by using the i red-hot side of the stove for a spittoon, broke out into a fierce horse-rake laugh, saying:
"I don't b'lieve it's gwine to be sinful to shoot doves, now that there aint no ark, I don't. They're 'bout the best eatin' I kin git hold on!"
Great horror painted on the face of Old Jersey, as he listens to the, blasphemy of Young Jersey, and reflects that "revivals" can't move him.
At this stage of proceedings, the commencement of silence was broken in by a lively-looking young man with:
"Well, now, whether it's right or wrong, I'll tell you, I never see doves no thicker than they've bin this season. Why, t'other day I was down in that big corn-field of ourn, right back of the old house, when I see a flock of 'em. By mighty! they riz up till they made a cloud big enuf to cover a five-acre lot. Brother Jake he seed 'em; he was up to the house; we was gittin' in corn that day; he'd jist driven the team up to the barn. As I wos sayin', he See them ere doves, so he, jest for greens, gets down his gun, and comes down into the corn-field. Sez he, 'Jim! ye'd better git your gun, too, an' I reckon wo'll knock a few!' So I goes up, gits my gun, and down I comes. He goes on one side of the field, Ii goes t' other; we git 'long nigh to the middle of the field, nary a dove rises; suddently whiz, whirr, they flies, bang goes my two barrels: brother Jake he lets up, and wot do you think? We picked up ten bushels---" page: 70-71[View Page 70-71]
"You, Jim Scudder, you! Don't go for to tell that ere now. Jist hold up. You kin take my hat, you kin! You didn't git nary a bushel, leastwise ten of 'em!" Thus spoke "dissipated" Jersey.
"You won't hear a feller out. You aint a goin' to give a feller a fair hearin', said Jim Scudder.
"I tell you, there aint no use of givin' a feller a hearin', when he tells such out-rage-ous lies as that 'ere. Now, wot's the use of talkin'? I'll jest bet drinks for the whole party you never got nary ten bushels, no how!" spoke "the dissipated," as he brought down his fist on his knee with great vehemence.
"Well, now, I 'lljest bet you that we did pick up ten bushels. And I'll leave it to old man Perrine, there," said Jim Scudder.
The bet was made, and the old man Perrine was referred to, to settle the bet. All the white bristles on his unshaved beard began to stand up on "eend" with delight; gradually the corners of his mouth caught the complaint, and his eyes rolled with great joy at the most excellent "sell" that he felt he was to be the author of. Looking at Jim Scudder, and then down on the floor, and then all round the room, as if counting the flies that were still buzzing on the ceiling, he said, tasting the flavor of each word as it came out:
"That ere corn-field aint much, no how, and if them are Scudder boys (smiling on Jim Scudder) contrived to pick up ten bushels of---CORN! out of it, they did purty well, they did!" "The dissipated" stood the liquor--that time!
XIII. A SCIENTIFIC DREAM.
SEEING "THROUGH A GLASS DARKLY."
QUIET dinner at the Girard House, with a couple of bottles of champagne, allayed by a cup of coffee and a regalia. The long summer afternoon was growing shorter. "Suppose," said Jim B----, we visit the 'Cademy 'f Natchral Sci'nces."
"Ready," we replied, and a cloudy omnibus, filled with misty people, rolled us somewhere very smoothly. We had to get out of that omnibus: we walked a little ways: remember mounting some very steep stairs. page: 72-73[View Page 72-73]
Here we are among the d-denizens of the past," said B . "Oh! what great jaws they've got! S'pose they came to life, what'd you do then?" he continued, as we stopped before some ante-deluge monsters.
Think we told him we'd "call the police."
"Just look at these pickled snakes! Wake snakes! S'pose they came to life, what'd you do th-then?" quoth B---, steadying himself against the side of the gallery.
"Holla fire!"
"'Twouldn't do," said B---; "they'd crawl all round your p-pantaloons, and get into your hat, and---"
Here our patience gave out," Jim B---," said we, "don't go on that way; consider a man's feelings."
"So I do," says he; "they'd be awful! Stop!" says he; "that p-polar bear winked at me. Spose now he was to come to life!"
"An'mals I See the El-elephant, the 'Noceros, the ch-ch-cheerful Monkeys--blessed in-sti-tu-tions!"
This was too much for our humanities. We walked along one of the galleries, toward an open window. We wanted fresh air.
"J-just look at those skulls; Chippeway, Choctaw, Ch-chinese, Cherokee, Egyptian. S'pose they 'd come to life, what'd you----"
Here we reached the window; a breath of air came timely in, and we winked and blinked over a case of humming-birds, till B--- murmured:
"S'pose---"
"Now don't," said we; "what's the use Ain't they all d-dead and d-stopped up? --no, stuffed, we mean."
"W-well," said he, "I w-wasn't goin' to s'pose they were 'live; only g-going to s'pose we sit down on the floor here: there are no chairs. What th-then? Let's sit down."
And down we sat. No unruly police told us to move on; the janitor couldn't see us; no visitors were about. We went to sleep.
THE DREAM.
COOL and soothing felt that gentle breath of air, blowing from the Gulf of Mexico! For two days had we tramped through the cane-brake, and as at last tired and way-worn we emerged from its close, dark cover, how welcome felt the breeze, how grateful the sun-light, how beautiful the sight of the grass-grown prairie, stretching away as far as the eye could reach! The reins hung loosely about my pony's neck, and as he cropped the bright, green, waving grass, I page: 74-75[View Page 74-75] would have gladly stopped in that cheerful spot, and -dined; but no, on we must go, and on we went, till about noon-day a halt was called, and by the banks of Bayou, -we had the dinner served alfresco. It was one of the most lovely spots I ever remember to have seen. A mammoth live-oak, with its dark robe of green leaves, was to our right, and sheltered us from the warm sun-light; the feather-leaves of the wild cane rustled near us; the palmetto shot up its lance-like foliage; soft, green grass carpeted the ground; and as we came to a halt, the rush of wings and their cry told us that wild ducks had been swim- ming in the Bayou at- our side. Birds of bright plumage winged their way over the open ground; the shrill chirp of thousands of insects sounded on the ear; and the spirit of the Indian maiden, ONKAHYE, she who re-visits this spot, leaving even the delights of another world for this dear place, I felt was invisibly hovering round. And the legend they told seemed possible.
"In life, ONKAHYE dwelt with her tribe near Houma; in summer-time, she would steal away to the Bayou; and here in this paradise of delights would she come to be alone, to be happy. The wild birds knew her, and feared her not; the mild-eyed deer would feed by her side; for they saw in ONKAHYE the spirit of love and peace; the brilliant flowers blossomed round her feet; the butterflies wavered in their flight, and settled to rest near ONKAHYE. Years rolled on, and the Indian maiden was called to rest, but the GOOD SPIRIT heard her last prayer, and granted it: she could re-visit the place on earth so dear to her.
"HERR SCHNEIDER was a spectacled man, with no hair on his head, and a tin box in his hand, sent by the Royal Big-Bug-Gathering-Society of Vienna to wander abroad and 'entomologize.' He came to the Bayou; he impaled all the bright-winged butterflies, and beetles, and grasshoppers, and bugs, on pins, and poured poison over them, which killed them. And he returned to Vienna; he had discovered a ptermiognastis schedamzinatomethon, a bug just one-tenth the length of its name. He was crowned with honor, and now sleeps at night with a long title hanging over his head. But ONKAHYE wept. Still, her birds, her flowers, the myriads of the inhabitants in the Bayou, were left.
"Then came an ornithologist with a double-barrel arrangement, and knocked over the bright, brilliant, gorgeous-colored birds that sang for ONKAHYE; he filled them with cotton and arsenic, and only left their bones as a relic. ONKAHYE wept again, but she had, her darling flowers, her fishes.
"A young man, with elegant long hair, a KOSSUTH hat, and a pocket full of segars, with a hortus siccus or herbarium, or some other sort of rum, came and I page: 76-77[View Page 76-77] jerked up the flowers, and squeezed them, and pressed them, and called them all sorts of hard names: Dam-uroliesagin Illtareyurrootsuptoo, and he discovered a new herb, and the THOMPSONIANS canonized him. Again ONKAHYE wept, and her tender heart became steeled at the cruelties her poor favorites had suffered.
"A hard-looking old nut, in a straw hat, with a snuff-box, came to the Bayou one mnorning, and corm- menced peering into its waters; he unwound a long string, put a bait on a hook, and commenced the operation of catching a gudgeonensis uncommonsizetoo; he also was a natural historian, with a piscomania on him. Then ONKAHYE looked down from the white clouds in wrath; she begged for a thunder-shower of the largest size; she obtained it, sent it down on the Bayou, and the angry waters and the storm came upon the hard-looking old nut. Next year, a snuff-box was found, but the gudgeonensis uncommonsizetoo still floats in Bayou Inconnu. No one ever again disturbed the Bayou; birds came from other lands; other flowers grew up."
"Come, gentlemen, going to shut up," said some one, shaking me by the arm; then silently on that summer evening, JIM B---and we glided out of the Academy into the coming shadows of the solemn night.
XIV. A SONG OF PUNCH.
WHAT THE HEART OF THE YOUNG MAN SAID ABOUT PUNCH.
TELL me not, ye empty tumblers,
"Life" last night was all a dream!
That the Punch was drunk--in slumbers,
And things are not what they seem.
Whiskey's real, sugar's ditto!
Lemons do unite the whole;
Dost thou dare, or dost thou dare not
"Pitch into" the full Punch Bowl?
Not in haste, and not in sorrow,
Should we send it on its way;
But so drink it, that to-morrow,
Finds us "straighter" than to-day.
Punch is going, Punch is fleeting,
And our heads, though stout and brave,
Still like muffled drums are beating,
Funeral marches o'er its grave! page: 78-79[View Page 78-79]
In that glorious field of battle,
In the Punch Party of life,
Drink! but not like thirsty cattle,
Quarrel or create a strife.
Trust no champagne howe'er pleasant!
French or German, or "Home made!"
Drink--drink all the Punch that's present-
Think not of an aching head!
Lives of Topers all remind us,
That they had a "jolly time,"
And departing, thus defined us
Their position in the rhyme:
"Drink! my loved ones-lest another
Eager soul the Punch Bowls drain;
Drink! or else some thirsty brother
Will take heart, and drink again!"
Let us then be up and doing,
Doing, drinking, soon and late;
Or while some one Punch is brewing,
Learn to make it, and to wait!
XV. THE LIVELY SALLY
A TALE OF THE SEA.
The writer of the following tale has, since childhood, like Byron, nourished a love for the sea. Born in an inland village, he has. in imagination, often viewed the wide expanse of blue, and still more frequently misquoted those splendid lines-
"Roll on, thou dark and deep blue ocean."
In this tale he has endeavored to embody some of the risks, some of the pleasures, that he dreams are ever attached to the life of those who go down into the great deep. If he has succeeded, the smiles of the'reader, though unseen by him, will nevertheless be highly encouraging. He would here return thanks to Mr. Falconer, or his heirs and assigns, for the valuable assistance obtained from his "Shipwreck ;" also, to the accomplished author of "Two Years and a Half Before the Mast," and to a great many unknown authors whose works, on the sea, can be purchased at the book-stands in great cities. It would be ungrateful, too, to omit i mention of his obligations to Old Peter, a colored man now in the writer's employment, who for many years "followed the sea," which finally led him to an inland village, and to whose vivid accounts the writer is mainly indebted for his correct use of nautical phrases. page: 80-81[View Page 80-81]
THE TALE.
NEAR the close of a beautiful October day, quite a commotion might have been observed on the lower side of Duck Island, on Long Island Sound. The staunch built A 1, copper-fastened and clinker-built sloop, the Lively Sally, was to sail that afternoon for Newport, with a cargo of live stock, and provisions; and as its staunch captain, Peleg Clapp, assiduously busied himself in hastening the preparations for her departure, dike most sea-faring men, he indulged profusely in the use of chewing tobacco and oaths,) the beautiful vessel bade fair ere night to be on the rolling sea.
"Bear a hand, there, to cat that anchor, Mr. Hawes," he observed to the 'mate, who instantly rushed forward to obey the summons. A large puss of the Maltese breed at once jumped down into the cabin, fearful that she was the "cat" alluded to. The anchor was catted, however, without her assistance.
"Now stand by to cast off the hawser!" Quick as sheet lightning the order was obeyed. "Spread the mainsail! Unfurl the jib! Let go the jib-boom! Haul down the shrouds! Belay there! belay! What the -- and has got into you? Somebody bring me a marlinespike till I kill somebody! Take care of them pigs there! Open the lee-scupper!"
In a few moments everything was arranged ship shape and Bristol fashion, and the Lively Sally, catching the breeze on the weather-quarter, soon left Duck Island far to leeward,; the light on Goose Island bearing S. S. W., a little W. of South. As soon as Captain Clapp saw things steady, he went into the cabin to consult his charts and to splice the main brace, as he told the mate. Now what "splicing the main brace" meant, I do not know; but I believe it is one of the most important points in navigation; : since this was the fourth time within the afternoon '1 that the Captain had to go through with it.
"Keep her head a little eastwardly of south. If you see any suspicious-looking sail in sight, call me at once. Keep a top eye open, and look out for squalls." Here the live stock on deck set to moo-ing, baa-ah-ing, cackling, crowing, grunting, while a donkey or a i. jackass commenced a trombone solo of the vilest description; "Aw-aw-awnkey-awnkey-awn-key-a-a-awn!"In the midst of which the Captain again 'spliced the main brace," and, sinking down ,on his hammock, soon fell into a sound, snoring slumber.
And how was it on deck? There, at the wheel, stood the mate, one hand hold of the tiller, the other page: 82-83[View Page 82-83] in his breeches pocket jingling some loose change. While one eye was fastened on the binnacle, and the other on the north star, his thoughts were fixed- where? Ah! at Duck Island. He was thinking of one fair girl who was the keel of his heart, the tran- som of his affections, the knees of his love, and the top-gallant yard of his existence-of her, and of a big red calf and six chickens, three geese and a jackass, his little all, now ventured on that craft and bound for Newport and a market. The numerous noises of the live stock fell harmoniously on his ear, and even the nocturnal snorts of the Captain confirmed him in his speculations. The bright stars shone overhead in the clear sky, like new buttons on a midshipman's blue coat. The sloop, indeed, seemed, as the poet says,
"Sleeping on tranquil waters."
Ah! you quiet people, who live on land, little know the joys, the pleasures, that await the mariner floating on the bosom of the deep. But what is that cloud in the northwest? at first scarce the size of a schoolboy's pocket handkerchief-when he has one! It has grown rapidly; it spreads alarmingly. Unconscious mate! knowest thou no tthe danger overhead? Yes -yes, oh, yes! He has his top eye open! He sees the cloud! He sees it! Yes; ha! ha! he is saved!
With the quickness of a lamp-lighter he jumps to the main-hatch, and screams, at the top of his sten- torian voice:
"Capting! Capting! Avast there. Rouse out! Belay! Quick! quick!"He seizes a capstan bar, rushes to the forecastle, strikes with hasty blows the caboose, and yells, "Beat all hands to quarters! What, ho! there! Man the pumps! Batten down the hatchways! Let go the pent-halyards!"It seems as if the last sleep had seized on that doomed crew. The mate felt the wind coming; the big drops fell on deck; the stars went under cover; the night birds fled shrieking by; and yet the sailors awoke not. Desperate, the mate jumped down the companion-way, seized the still sleeping captain, and shook the deadlights out of him.
"Yew Capting Clapp! Yew git right up ne-aow, and come straight onto the deck! I guess you 'll git fits if ye-ew go sleeping ne-aow!"
"Wy, wot in thunder's--all-the r-ugh-row about? Yew d-d-darned old Ha-aw-ss. J-jist wait ter bit- t-till I sup-p-plice mu-mum-main brace!"
Nothing daunted, the first officer dragged the captain into a standing position, and, waving one hand, rushed through the hold on deck. He did not arrive there one moment too soon. Through the foaming water, through the pouring rain, his quick eye caught sight of an approaching piratical boat.
"Ha! fiends! would you murder us?" thought he, page: 84-85[View Page 84-85] 34 TRHE LIVELY SALLY. though he said, "Wal, ne-aow, I guess yew carn't :etch a weezel asleep, no haow!"
On came the boat with the rapidity of a cricket- ball. She gains on the sloop! Horror on horrors! She is at her side! At this moment, through the black night, a monster is seen leaping from the sloop into the piratical craft, at the instant staving in her bulwarks! There is a scream- two --three, in fact, several. A dismal wail is heard: "Awn-key--awn-key!" She fills! She sinks! and the piratical miscreants meet a watery grave!
Hawes, on the spur of the moment, had goaded the jackass, who jumped into the boat, and sunk it. Thus, at the expense of an old jackass, had the gal- lant mate saved the sloop and cargo from the ruthless J chicken-thieves who would have captured her. Hawes saw that all depended on his single arm. The crew consisted of a small boy, who, as the captain said, "Was no p-pumpkins in bad w-weather." So, nerving himself to his task, he ran the sloop before the wind to get to leeward of Fisher's Island, and I there lay by till the storm blew over. The captain, where was he? "Still in the cabin? "Oh, recreant! Wherefore are you not on duty? he was consulting his charts, and still splicing that mystical main-brace. He navigated scientifically-took observations with the "sexton," and the "hydrant"--no--" quadrant" --and attended to the main-brace.
Mr. Hawes made land just as the clouds stopped making water, and, running the Lively Sally's nose towards an anchorage, he was in a few moments out of the reach of the war of elements. At this epoch the captain, nerved to exertion by the noise overhead, I worked his way by short tacks up the companion-way, out of the cock-pit to the quarter-deck.
"I s-say-yew Haw-wa-wes, how d-does she h-head?"
"Wall, ne-aow, that's a purty kwes-shun to ask ne! Yew jes' go right de-own into the cab-bin. Cause I'm gwine to come to an-ker."
"D-darned if yew dew, ne-aow! I guess I'm -c-capting on b-board this here s-sloop. Yew go I -forward th-there, and tend-ter yer own part of the slewp."
Mr. Hawes went forward, and in a moment the rattling of chains was heard, and round came the loop's head as she swung to anchor.
"There, now, Capting Clapp, I have 'tended to my art of this slewp, and yew can jes' go de-own below 8 nd splice that 'ere main-brace of yours till yew git ) all-fired drunk yew can't stand. Ne-aow, I tell ew, when yew git to Newport, I 'll jes' have yew sent d ght straight away, I will; and wot's more, the next apting of this 'ere slewp shan't never 'splice the lain-brace' as long as I'm part owner. Ne-aow.' page: 86-87[View Page 86-87]
RAIL-BIRD SHOOTING.
HE went out in the morning early,
Cocked and primed was he,
"I'll bring home a load of RAILS!"
Was his mental soliloquy.
He hired a splendid "pusher,"
A cock-eyed, stout-built man,
Who'd always stand by liquor,
'As long as water ran."
His "ammunition box"
He put in the stern of the boat;
He loaded his KRIDER gun;
He took off his shooting-coat.
"I'll have warm work to-day,"
He spoke--but a gentle creek!
Showed him a rail just rising,
So he raised his gun to his cheek.
"Rip-bang!" went the right-hand barrel--
"Mark!" said the pusher: then
Uprose from the reeds another Rail;
Rose up-to fall again!
He loaded and fired away
Till the tide began to fall;
Up to his knees in Rails he stood,
The BRAG-SHOT of them all.
"We'd better git out of this,
For the tide's a running down!"
Thus spoke the stout-built pusher,
As he whirled the boat around.
No answer the gunner made;
For he was taking a drink
Out of a big black bottle;
Containing rum--I think.
(GUNNER speaks.)
"I want more RAILS, by thunder!
To fence my hunger in:
I've only shot six dozen yet:
To knock off now's a sin."
(PUSHER answers.)
"1 rather think I've got
Three dozen 'staked out' here.
You'll make the bulliest shooting,
Been done down here this year!"
Then fraternally both took a drink
From the big black bottle of rum.
The stout pusher said with a wink,
"I guess that liquor's some!" page: 88-89[View Page 88-89]
Over the side of the boat,
Over the side leaned he,
And pulled in the "staked-out" Rail;
"You've shot nine dozen!" said he.
As he turned to hand them over
To the gunner in the stern,
The bottle tripped up his foot,
And he made an over-turn.
Into six foot mud and water,
Went gun, men, birds, and all;
And-then came the genuine railing;
RAILING with shout and bawl!
XVII. THE DUTCHMAN WHO HAD THE "SMALL-POX."
VERY dry indeed, is the drive from Blackberry to Squash-Point; dry even for New Jersey; and when you remember that it's fifty miles between the two towns, its division into five drinks seems very natural. When you are packed, three on one narrow seat, in a Jersey stage, it is necessary.
A Jersey stage! It is not on record; but when Dante winds up his Tenth "Canter" into the Inferno, with-
"Each, as his back was laden, came indeed, Or more or less contracted; and it seem'd As he who show'd most patience in his look, Wailing, exclaimed: "I can endure no more!"---
the conclusion, that he alluded to a crowded Jersey stage-load, is irresistible. A man with long legs, on a back seat, in one of these vehicles, suffers like a page: 90-91[View Page 90-91] snipe shut up in a snuff-box. For this reason, the long-legged man should sit on the front seat with the driver: there, like the hen-turkey who tried to sit on a hundred eggs, he can " spread himself." The writer sat alongside of the driver one niorning, just at break of day, as the stage drove out of Blackberry: he was a through passenger to Squash-Point. It was a very cold morning; in order to break the ice for a conversation, he praised the fine points of an off horse. The driver thawed:
"Ya-as; she's a goot hoss, und I knows how to trive him!"It was evidently a case of mixed breed.
"Where is Wood, who used to drive this stage?"
"He be's lait up mit ter rummatiz sence yesterweek, und I trives for him. So-- ." I went on reading a newspaper; a fellow-passenger, on a back seat, not having the fear of murdered English on his hands, coaxed the Dutch driver into a long conversation, much to the delight of a very pretty Jersey-blue belle, who laughed so merrily that it was contagious; and in a few minutes, from being like unto a conventicle, we were all as wide awake as one of Christy's audiences. By sunrise we were in excellent spirits, up to all sorts of fun; and when, a little later, our stage stopped at the first watering-place, the driver found himself the centre of a group of treaters to the distilled "juice of Apples." -It is just as easy to say "Apple Jack," and be done with it; but the writer, being very anxious to form a style, cribs from all quarters. The so oft-repeated expression, "juice of the grape," has been for a long time on his hands, and wishing to work it up, he would have done it in this case; only he fears the scepticism of his readers. By courtesy, they may wink at the poetical license of a reporter of a public dinner, who calls turnip juice and painted whiskey- "juice of the grape,"-but they would not allow the existence, for one minute, of such application to the liquors of a Jersey tavern. It's out of place.
"Here's a package to leave at Mrs. Scudder's, the third house on the left-hand side after you get into JERICHO. What do you charge?" asked a man who seemed to know the driver.
"Pout a leffy," answered he. Receiving the silver, he gathered up the reins, and put the square package in the stage-box. Just as he started the horses, he leaned his head out of the stage, and looking back to the man who gave him the package, shouted out the question:
"Ter fird haus on ter lef hant out of Yeriko?" The man didn't hear him, but the driver was satisfied. On we went at a pretty good rate, considering how heavy the roads were. Another tavern, more watering, more Applejack. Another long stretch of sand, and we were coming into JERICHO.
"Anny potty know ter Miss Scutter haus?" asked page: 92-93[View Page 92-93] driver, bracing his feet on the mail-bag which lay in front of him, and screwing his head round so as to face in. There seemed to be a consultation going on inside the stage.
"I don't know nobody o' that name in Jericho. Do you, Lishe?" asked a weather-beaten looking man, who evidently "went by water," of another one who apparently went the-same way.
"There wos ole Square Gow's da'ter, she marri'd a Scudder; moved up here some two year back. Come to think on 't, guess she lives nigher to Glass-house," answered Lishe.
The driver finding he could get no light out of the passengers, seeing a tall, raw-boned woman washing some clothes in front of a house, and who flew out of sight as the stage flew in; handed me the reins as he jumped from his seat, and chased the fugitive, hallooing:-
"I'fe got der small pox, I'fe got der " here his voice was lost as he dashed into the open door of the house. But in a minute he re-appeared, followed by a broom, with enraged woman annexed, and a loud voice shouting out:-
"You git out of this! Clear yourself quicker! I ain't goin' to have you diseasin' honest folks, ef you have got the small-pox!"
"I dells you I'fe got der small pox. Ton't you versteh? der SMALL POX!" This time he shouted it out in capital letters!
"Clear out! I'll call the men-folks ef you don't clear;" and at once she shouted in a tip-top voice, "Ike, you Ike, where air you?" Ike made his appearance on the full run.
"W-w-what's the matter, mother?"'-Mi'ss Scudder his mother! I should have been as shocked as I was on my first visit to New Jersey, if I had not a key to this. "That is a very pretty girl;"I said on that occasion to a Jerseyman, "Who is she?"---"She's old Miss Perrine's da'ter " was the reply. I looked at the innocent victim of man's criminal conduct with commiseration.--," What a pity!"I remarked./
"Not sech a very great pity," said Jersey, eyeing me very severely. "I reckon old man Perrine's got as big a cedar-swamp as you, or, I either, would like to own."
"Her grand-father you speak of?"
"No I don't, I'm talking 'bout her father; he that married Abe Simm's da'ter and got a power of land by it: and that gal, their da'ter, one of these days will step right into them swamps."
"Oh," I replied, Mrs. Perrine's daughter.' Accenting the "Missus!"
"Missus or Miss; it's all the same in Jersey:" he answered.
Knowing this, Ike's appeal was intelligible. To page: 94-95[View Page 94-95] proceed with our story: the driver very angry by this time, shouted:-
"I dells you oonst more for ter last dime. I 'fe got ter small pox! unt Mishter Ellis he gifs me a leffy to gif der small pox to Miss Scutter; unt if dat vrow is Miss Scutter, I bromised to give her ter small pox."
It was Miss Scudder, and I explained to her that it was a small BOX he had for her. The affair was soon settled as regarded its delivery; but not as regards the laughter and shouts of the occupants of the old stage-coach, as we rolled away from Jericho. The driver joined in, although he had no earthly idea as to its cause, and added not a little to it by saying, in a triumphant tone of voice:-
"I vos pount to gif ter olt voomans ter small pox!"
XVllI. A SCIENTIFIC SET-TO, AND A PRACTICAL SET-DOWN.
UPON a bright, clear, cold, November morning, Big-licks, having a spare hour, and feeling ripe for a turn at the bars round at the gymnasium, started to go there; stopping, however, on the way, to pour down a pint of ale. As Biglicks entered the gymnasium, there was a conscious feeling of muscle all over, a certain ripeness, a fulness of life, brought out and excited by ale and frosty air. He felt " good," and as he threw off coat, hat, cravat, and waistcoat, it was done with a twitch, as much as to i say-"Hurrah! clear the track. This is my forte,' and I 'm about to play the liveliest kind of a tune on I those bars, ropes, weights, ladders, and so on "At the parallel bars he went, bringing in the "grasshopper" i agony, with forward and backward springs, and double shuffles, completely throwing himself away in 1 the "wild luxuriance" of his action, and inwardly ",1]i page: 96-97[View Page 96-97] thinking "how this would stun some of the outsiders," and wishing he had a few for spectators.
Unconsciously he had a "few," for, as he stopped to rest, he noticed, standing behind him, a short, but not very stout man, whose face pointed out admiration as accurately as a clock-face does dinner-time. It was just such a face as ought to be carved on an admiration mark! As you looked at it, you felt inspired, delighted; it showed its carrier bad so much to learn, was so jolly green; his wide open mouth was ready to receive gallons of information, and his eyes looked as if they'd hold a dozen elephants, and long for more. All this, Biglicks noted at a flash, but he showed not the information in his face. "Now," thought he, "I'll show our rural friend something he never dreamed of before!" and, taking a long preparatory spring, Biglicks swung grasshopper, and with one stretching spring reached the end of the bars. It was well done, and the spectator showed such untold amounts of delight at the spectacle, that Biglicks walked like a " star" in regimentals. Wherever he went, Spectator followed, and as Biglicks got through exercising, he passed into the boxing-room with him. Taking down-a pair of gloves, Biglicks commenced putting them on, and turning to the Spectator with an air of mildness, tempered with mercy, he asked him:
"Perhaps, sir, you would like to take a few rounds, just for exercise? It's quite a cool day."
Spectator, at this question, looked as if there were "chambers to let" in his brain. He evidently did not understand the reason of putting pudding-bags before his paws. "Boxing," added Biglicks, "is an excellent amuse- ment. Take this pair of gloves," handing him down a pair; "put them on, and I'll give you a lesson. Shall charge you nothing--just do it for the fun of the thing!" This seemed to reassure spectator, who, after some awkward pulling and hauling, contrived to get one on, all but the thumb- -that he could not manage; the other hand was in still worse condition, and as, agreeably to Biglick's instructions, he held. them up, it gave the idea that his hands had on leather poultices, and were broken off at the wrists. N"ow, see if you can hit me; strike in!" spoke Biglicks; and Spectator, according to directions, worked the gloves assiduously and wildly, but without putting in a blow, and, as Biglicks encouraged him to renewed exertion, the leather was well exercised and aired by Spectator, without any telling effect. "I believe," thought Biglicks, "I'll give him a slight touch in a minute, just to show him what muscle and science can do," and herewith he planted a full blow in Spectator's chest, the astonishing result 9 page: 98-99[View Page 98-99] 98 A SCIENTIFIC SET-TO, ETC. of which was a perfect back summerset by the Spectator, who, landing on his feet, again came up to the scratch with renewed vigor. Biglicks opened his eyes as wide as saucers at the unexpected result of his blow, and hardly believing his own eyes, thought he would realize his own sight, and put in another blow. Head over heels went the Spectator, throwing one summerset over another, till he nearly reached the door of entrance; then returning on a run, Spectator struck a position this time, accurate as a Professor's, and before Biglicks knew where he was, had put in two blows at his head and chest, and, as Biglicks slightly stooped to ward off a belt blow, Spectator, with one spring, vaulted over his shoulders, and tripping up his heels, Biglicks fell sprawling on the floor; having thus received from Spectator, in a scientific set-to, a practical set-down. A burst of applause from the crowd. who had assembled in the gymnasium, brought Biglicks to his feet. Throwing off the gloves, he exclaimed: "I knock under! Who are you?" "Franqois Ravel, at your service!"' was the answer. ONE OF THE SNOW-STORMS. 99 X!.X, ONE OF THE SNOW-STORMS. DOWN it came, flake on flake. Dame 'ature was hard at work, throwing scraped lint on this "be-ruised" earth, in the shape of snow; inch on inch it lay on flag and cobble-stone, Russ and iron pavement. The street inspector hailed it, for it hid his delinquencies; the man who had fast "crabs" and cutters to hire, welcomed it for his business; the men with shovels greeted the harvest of shillings to be reaped in clearing it off. Many an ear listened for the sound of the first sleigh-bells. "Hurrah!" said JIMBY, as we all sat round a roar- ing big fire in the OAK-BOX, "I hear the hoofs of horses ringing; I hear the jingling sleigh-bells come " "Last line is out of order," said OWLET; " so much for trying to improvise. Better stick to your text." "And stick on it? Owlet, my boy, you're too critical. Sometimes vary your diet; one would think t! il page: 100-101[View Page 100-101] O0 ONE OP THE SNOW-STORMS. Tou had been fed on shingle-nails and vinegar, to iear you talk. Pass me that pitcher of punch, you're wearest the table. Now what do you all say for a ileigh-ride to-morrow?" "Second the motion," said TOBY, singing:-- "We drove him down with four gray hosses, Long time age'l" "Count me in," growled the BARON; "I believe in Bleigh-rides." "Come, OWLET," spoke Jimby, "we want your voice." "My voice-" commenced he- "Is still for war-gods '" broke in Toby. "Shut your clam-shell, Toby," grumbled the : Baron. "My voice is against any proposal for a ride, until we know whether there will be snow enough on the ground to make it an object," said OWLET. "Twice one--make two. Amen," croaked the Baron. "Now," continued OWLET, 'if we were in Bos- ton "In -a lecture-room-without a horn!" roared the Baron. "In Boston, I say. We might calculate with some i certainty that a storm like this, would end in giving ONE OP THE SNOW-STORMS. 101 . us good sleighing: here, however, the case is very different: the temperature of the climate---" "Whenever you are dry, help yourself to Punch," interrupted Toby; "I am going to sleep. Wake me ;i up when the lecture's over." S "Toby!" exclaimed OWLET, "you are always tri i fling: but, as I was going on to say, the climate here is so variable, that snow at night may be slush next morning. Now, when I resided near Jamaica Plains---" . "Is that where the rum comes from?" gruffly asked the Baron. i '"No!" answered OWLET, " quite the contrary. When I resided there, the snow was so deep, that it reached the top of the lower windows." "I believe you, my boy," moaned the Baron. "And we were compelled to walk out of the second * story windows." !EX "Walker!" murmured the Baron. i "The intense weight of the snow was such, that it He think the earth and raised the house---" i "About a feet!" muttered the Baron. "Yes, something over a foot. The winter wheat as forced so far into the ground, that it never - brung up 'till late next summer: a spring near the house was squeezed into a fountain: a very valuable family hog-----" 9* . l page: 102-103[View Page 102-103] 102- ONE OF THE SNOW-STORMS. "Did he come over in the May-Flower?" asked Toby. "Was lost to us for weeks, but finally appeared; emaciated, it is true, but still " "The same old hog as ever," grunted the Baron. "I don't want to interrupt you, Owlet," said Toby; "but it is no uncommon thing for us to have snow over the tops of the houses, here!" "You intend that for a burlesque," exclaimed OWLET; "but the facts that I have stated, any one on Jamaica Plains can swear to." "You may bet high on that!" bellowed the Baron. "There is no burlesque in it, but one of the most unshakable kind of facts; is -just what I have said," shouted Toby. "Over the tops of the houses?" asked OWLET. "Over the tops of the houses!" repeated Toby, "and I 'll bet a champagne breakfast, a wine dinner, or an oyster supper on it!" "Done!" said OWLET; "I take that bet. Gentle- men, you are all Avitnesses." "Every bloody one of us!" bawled the Baron. "Just step to the window then," said Toby, " and see, if even now, the snow is not on the tops of the houses, and over them in consequence!" There was an oyster supper that night, and OWLET had to stand it! A REGULAR CRABBING-PARTY. 103 XX. A REGULAR CRABBING-PARTY. Atl .EERE you ever on a crabbing-party, while you were down at Long Bough?" asked JOLLY- BOY of PROPERTON, as they sat one winter i evening talking over their last summer's experiences. "Yes, once or twice. It's part of the performance of the sea-shore drama, that has to be endured. A burning sun, plenty of mosquitoes, no crabs, and a headache next day. A great bore," answered PRO- PERTON. "There you go again, PROP. You never have any fun. You probably went with a company from the hotel, were dressed to death, wouldn't unbend and carried consternation to the crabs. Now, I fell in with a right, good-natured soul, named Hawkins, an old bachelor, who lived down there on a farm; a man . comfortably off; who spends three-fourths of the year in the country gunning and fishing, and the other 1 page: 104-105[View Page 104-105] 104 A REGULAR CRABBING -PARTY. fourth in the city, getting ready. Just as soon as he had made me out, he said- "JOLLYBOY, we'll get up a crabbing-party; a regular one. None of your four-in-hand-barouche-and-hoop- petticoat affairs, but a hay-cart-homespun party. What do you say?" "I'm on hand, any day. Suppose we say to- morrow." "'It's settled then. Sister Bet will ask the girls, and I know the boys; we'll have a time of it.;' The next morning, bright and early, I was over at Hawkins' house. The hay-cart was ready, plenty of straw on the bottom, a smart team of horses ready to go at the word, were hitched to it; and a right merry party were waiting, all ready to jump in. "Just in time," said Hawkins to me; his jolly face full of laughter. "Couldnt think of starting with- out you. Hurry up, James," said he to one of the farm boys, " put in those baskets: take care of that demi-john. Now JOLLYBOY help the ladies into the cart, I'm going to make you useful, as well as orna- mental." It was good sport helping the girls in, and I and the other young men made the most of it; more than one good squeeze of the hand, more than one little scream and plenty of laughter, till at last X we were all packed in like herrings in a tub. t "What an outrageous comparison," said PROPERTON. "Htierrings!" Y A REGULAR CRABBING-PARTY. 105 "It's in keeping with the description," answered JOLLYBOY. " Well, we started, Hlawkins driving; some of us singing, others talking, laughing, joking. It was a three-mile drive to Hawk-eye Inlet, and for a mile we followed the sea-beach; the breeze blowing fresh, the breakers dashing in grandly, the waves sparkling, the sun shining, the sea-gulls screaming and diving just outside the surf; the fishing-boats rocking up and down as they lay anchored off the bar; the white sails of outward-bound vessels; and then, in [ addition to seeing such a charming view, to have a light heart-and pretty girls by you !" " Tramp, tramp along the land we rode; Splash, splash along the sea.' " Who can sing' Some love to roam ?'" asked pretty Kitty in a loud voice. "I," and "I," and "I," shouted out the singers; and at it we went with a rip-staving chorus, and a rattling accompaniment by the breakers, with a cer- tain look in their big jaws, as if to say, "Just let us catch you trying to roam over us, and see if we won't change your tune!" I whispered this to Kitty, who was intensely taken with it, and as the road just then turned inland, she waved her hand playfully to the "dear, delightful old fellows," saying, " No, I thank you, not this morning; good bye!" and then she page: 106-107[View Page 106-107] 106 A -REGULAR CRABBING-PARTY. laughed so heartily. Through the woods, under the perfumed cedar trees, listening to the songs of birds; by meadows glistening with dew, the fragrant clover offering up incense to the morning sun-- " "Don't do anything of that kind," said PROPERTON. "Along past corn-fields, the long leaves rustling in the wind, past all these, till at last, we reached Hawk- eye Inlet. Here we got out of the cart and found a large sail-boat all ready: cushions on the seats, landing nets, fish-lines, a large basket of bait-. nothing wanting. "Punctooal as a clock," said the Captain to Haw- kins; "you jest soot me. I've got everything to rights, ship-shape. "Plenty of bait, lines, nets?" asked Hawkins. "Everything straight as a trivet. I'll tell Ben to look sharp a'ter that team of yourn. An' now young folks jump aboard, I'm going to shove off." We piled in, scrambling and laughing, jumping and shouting. "Hurry up," shouted some one, " the last bell has rung. Steam 's getting up." "Ting-a-ling-a- ling! draw in the plank. All those left behind, will please stay on shore. Boat's off," cried another. And, as we started, the wind soon caught the sail, and wearing round, we stood down the Inlet, bound for "Squash P'int," as the Captain duly announced. "I'm afloat! I'm afloat!" shouted one of the I A REGULAR CRABBING-PARTY. 107 party, a stout-built, ruddy-faced young farmer, named GREY. "Just listen to BILL GREY," said Sally; "I wonder if he'd sing that if he fell overboard? He'd swim like a stone." "And dive like a feather," instantly spoke BILL, adding, "Do you want to gee me try. Here goes!" and as he stood in the bow, he made a feint to go over. "Dear BILL, don't, oh, don't!" screamed Sally, as she jumped forward. "Ahem!" said Kitty to me, in a low tone of voice. "'Dear BILL!' did you hear her? There will be a marriage somewhere. Oh, my, ain't I glad!" "Ditto, ditto, dear Kitty," said I. She opened her large, dark eyes so slowly you could hardly notice the movement of the long black eye-lashes, as she settled . their flashing light on mine, I was on fire down to my boot-heels. "Run and get me a fish-line quick, and bring some bait, I see a crab," she said, suddenly, and pointed over the side to one of the hard-shell persuasion, who was, making himself scarce just as the boat rounded I to. I sprung forward to get the line, and the 'fire' went out at my boot-heels; when I went back with the line, and bait tied to the other end, I was as cool : as a cucumber, . "Now get a landing-net, and I'll catch the first IC - 01 page: 108-109[View Page 108-109] 108 A REGULAR CIRABBING-PARTY. crab," said Kitty; and I got it. She threw her line into the water, and waited for a bite. o "How are you getting on, JOLLYBOY?" shouted ti Hawkins; " you 're as quiet as a mouse "f " waiting for a nibble! Hurrah! Kitty's B caught the first crab!" said I, sliding the landing-netst under her line as she pulled it in, and throwing on deck a good-sized specimen of a hard-shell. "That's your sort," said Hawkins, "Kitty's my man. And now you've caught him, let me show fil you how to handle him." As he said this he stooped sh down, and catching the crab directly from behind, between his thumb and fore-finger, he held him up, W showing how impossible it was for him to pinch with he his claws when thus held, and then threw -him into a sh large basket. All were now busy, the men baiting a,] the lines for the girls, then their own, and getting ha landing-nets ready for use. th( "Now, Sally," said BILL, "YOU must put on your he most captivating looks, for the crabs are very dis- p] criminating." I "You keep out of sight, then!" said Sally: "you'll jib frighten them all away."a This answer was received with- much applause. for "So much for giving good advice," said Hawkins. ing The Captain, during all this time, employed himself , making the boat fast, spreading an awning over the war deck, and wading round in the water generally. vsi# A REGULAR CRABBING-PARTY. 109 There was a fine breeze, which kept the mosquitoes off, and moderated the heat of the sun. We con- tinued the sport for a couple of hours, when, having filled the basket with crabs, and had plenty of fun, Hawkins proposed that the Captain should pull up stakes, and, sailing further down the creek, land us all on a point of land near which there was a beautiful grove, and not far off, a house, with a fine spring of water. We were assured, too, that the baskets were filled with a first-rate pic-nic dinner, and that we should have it in the grove, and if we could be patient, have the crabs cooked. This proposition was unanimously carried, and we all commenced hauling in lines and getting ready to start. Sally, as she pulled up her line, felt a bite, I sprung for a landing-net, but BLL was too quick for me, and, as it happened, too quick for himself; for, jumping up on the side of the boat, in order to better land the crab, he lost his balance, and over he went with a "mighty" splash into the water. "Man overboard!" shouted Hawkins. "Let go main top-gallant sails, haul in jib-boom, square the yards, lower the quarter-boat. Gallantly, my lads, gallantly!" and here he sprang forward, using a thole-pin for a spy-glass, and sweep- ing the horizon, as if to descry the drowning mariner, "Pull, boys; pull for your lives!" shouted he, as he waved the thole-pin, as if in encouragement of a visible boat pulling after an invisible object. BILL 10 page: 110-111[View Page 110-111] "O A REGULAR CRABBING-PATY. had, in the meantime, recovered his feet, and standing up in the water, laughed merrily at Hawkins per formance. "Belay there!" shouted he; "throw a rope overboard!"Instantly the Captain, seized with what appeared to him a crack joke, threw over the jib-sheet, and, as Bill seized it, all hands caught hold and hauled him in. Hawkins proposed rolling him on a barrel to drive the water out, but I proposed a glass of brandy to drive it in. Which proposition meeting Bill's approbation, the demijohn as called upon to stand and deliver. All hands were in a gale of laughter, and as 'LLL passed me to go forward, t dyly pointed out a crab to me, and told me to ritty sly p Catching One UP 'I went fasten it on his coat. forward, and as it kept its caws working,I soon let it cateh hold of the skirt of BILL'S coat; as the salt water dropped down gratefully, it held on tight. T had no sooner fastened it on, than Kitty, looking round to see that no one noticed me, called out:-- ,Look! look at the crab on Mr. GREY's coat!" Hawkins wheeled him round, and there it hung. "Oh, what a taking creature you are, BILL; the very crabs are attached to you," cried out Sally, while a full chorus of laughter greeted the speech and BILL at the same time. , Let's set him again! said Hawkins; " live bait is always best." , Well, I declare," said BILL, "it is a crab, and no A REGULAR CR A BBING-PARTY. 111 !S mistake. If the majority is in favor of making me food for fishes or crabs, say the word, and over I go." 'No, no, no!" we all shouted; and the boat get- ting under way, down we sailed to the point marked by Hawkins. We landed, went ashore, selected a ; place in the grove where we would dine. Took BILL ' down to the house and got a dry suit of clothes for him, and then, while the crabs were boiling, we all walked round the grove, or sat down, and talked and sung, and were as merry as crickets. The Captain told us of several long 'v'yages" he had made, and the wonders he had seen in "furrin parts," and din- , ner being ready, we all sat down and had tie jolliest kind of a time. In the afternoon, we again took a ii long sail, caught more crabs, had more jokes, more fun, and finally wound up the day by riding home by moonlight, singing with undaunted vigor, much to the amazement of the melancholy owls as we rode through the woods, and of the solemn waves as we dashed along the sea-beach. I i "What kind of pantaloons did you wear that ; day?" asked PROPERTON. . "Hanged if I remember;" answered JOLLYBOY, "some old pair." "An old pair. An-old-pair--of--pantaloons," repeated PROPERTON, slowly. "I must try and i remember that the next time I am at the sea-shore, and receive an invitation to go and catch, hard-shell crabs." page: 112-113[View Page 112-113] "2 GANDERLEGS AFTER SNIPE. XXJ. GAlNDERLEGS AFTER SNIPE. ONLY little Billy Gan- derlegs! The sight of a thirty-six inch gun-barrel always re- minds me of your size and your ambition You would not be out- walked or out-talked, and your valor thus led you into a few tight places. One of which was Ruggles' meadow. Do you remember it?" "'Deed I do! Shan't forget it as long as I live. There, take a pen and put it in print. If I am little, I want to live long. You remember the night you and I, and Goliah had a snipe-supper at the old res- taurant; how Goliah swore it was the top notch- of sport to shoot snipe; how he made me promise to come down to his farm that very week and try it on, and how I went! Good! Now I'll tell you the balance. I never was a crack shot, and never shall be; living in a city all one's life don't exactly fit one to kill on the wing; and sharp shooting in law don't GANDERLEGS AFTER SNI-PE. 113 indicate ditto in gunning. But then I had a leisure week-wanted to stretch my legs--I stretched 'em!- and taking brother Harry's gun, off I went. Harry's about six feet high, and has a strong faith in long- 1 barrelled guns; consequence was, as II'm very short, when I came to handle that gun I looked still shorter, i much to Goliah's great amusement. This was my first bout at snipe. I had read about them and seen a number, cooked and uncooked, dead as door-nails, never had seen one on a 'flier,' so I had something to learn. - "It was a warm morning for March. Goliah, who ; knew all about snipe, said we had a glorious day for the sport, the ground was softened, the birds could bore well; and whistling for his setter, a capital dog to find birds after they were shot, off we started for Ruggles' meadow. I had always thought of meadows in connection with green grass, hard ground, well i fenced in, cows feeding here and there, perhaps a little stream of water, fordable however; and though I was willing so early in Spring to give up green grass, yet I couldn't let go the rest of my fancies. Had to do it though! "Here we are on the ground,' said Goliah, as he left the road, and sprung into a lot of mud and water up to his knees. \ "'On the ground'?' asked I. 'Thunder, there's no ground here, it's all 'mud;' and I stopped short to 10* page: 114-115[View Page 114-115] "4 GANDERLEGS AFTER SNIPE. contemplate the prospect. Where now were all my mental meadows? Before me, right and left, up the sides and down the middle, extended a marsh, acres on acres in extent; dotted through it, stumps of old cedar trees, patches of burned grass, ponds of water. Despair must have sat right down in my face, for Goliah, turning round to see if I followed, uttered an exclamation of surprise: "What on earth's the matter with you? Come on! Here, give me your hand, I'll help you in. There, tread on that stump. Take care, or you'll get in over your head! You know you ain't as tall as the Bel- gian giant!"That last word did it; I made a rush, missed the stump, and went in up to my middle -in mud& and water. Goliah took hold of me with one hand and lifted me bodily on terra firma, not firmer terror; for as soon as I felt dirty beyond measure, I was reckless, and followed right in his wake. "I don't care a damn!" said I. "I know you don't, my pet brick!" replied he. "You're little, but you 've got pluck. You are lemons! There, now, you look like a working man; good, sweet-dirt, it will come off-when it's dry. Take the right-hand side of the meadow---" "Cussed old mud-hole!" interrupted I. "Good again! Cussed old mud-hole it shall be," continued Goliah. "You take the right-hand of it- peacefully now!-and I 'll take the left-hand; so hand GANDERLEOS AFTER SNIPE. 115 in hand, like noble brothers, we'll gun it up to Wells', where we can get something to drink." He had just finished speaking, when up rose a snipe, and before it had made a couple of twists, "bang!" went Goliah's gun, and down it dropped. His dog brought it in. "That's the way to drop them," spoke he; " this waiting for them to straighten out, or to squeak, and so on, is all flam! Shooting snipe, I'm a snap-shot, slow-shot, -long-shot, short-shot, any kind of a shot; and imy count at the end of the day will show who's who i" Off he went, shot after shot told me how he was going it, and stirred me up to follow his example. Right and left, under my very nose, sprung up a couple of snipe, so near, that before I could get over the start, they had settled again, only a few rods ahead. I marked one of them and soon had him up, but his zig-zag flight worried me. Just as he straight- ened out I fired, and had the unspeakable joy of see- ing him dive for some distance, and then come down --dead, as I found out. "Pocketing" this one, I felt bound to "cannon" on another, and loading up soon got a second shot, but missed my bird. I had now come to a pretty broad sluice cut through the meadow for a drain; I followed it up and down, but could see no way to get over it; in the narrowest place it was at least five feet wide; a mere nothing for Goliah with his long legs to jump over; but a small Mississippi for page: 116-117[View Page 116-117] "6 GANDERLEGS AFTER SNIPE. me. While I was deliberating, I looked out for Goliah: he was far-ahead of me; "he'll be at the tavern first and get drinks ahead of me!" flashed through my mind. Holding my gun, with both hands, . over my head, like the Ravels in the "Bedouin Arabs." I run a few steps and sprung over-all but! Two inches more and I should have done it, but my foot slipped, my leg turned, and the next instant, I plunged into mud and water over my head. I re- ' member struggling with might and main to get my mouth above water, a feeling of being stirred up in cold mush, an idea of water-snakes, my knee striking something hard, and of raising myself up, a glimpse of blue sky, and crawling out on the coarse grass and j lying down. That's about all. When I woke up, great Goliah had me in both arms, carrying me like a baby, and hurrying along as fast as he could go. Tears were running from his large blue eyes. "What's the row?" said I, suddenly. "Great God! He's alive!" shouted Goliah, as he stood me on my feet., "The little fool ain't dead yet. How you scared me. Thought you were on the road!" pointing to the sky. Not yet; how did you get me out?"I asked. "I didn't get you out. Found you lying in the mud. I luckily missed you before I got to Wells', and afraid you'd tumbled in, I came back, and came in a i GANDERLEGS AFTER SNIPE. 117 I :hurry too! Thought you were suffocated when I ' found you." i We got to the tavern, and with the assistance of a pump and a borrowed suit of clothes, I was soon ready to join Goliah in his attempts to punish a cer- tain black bottle, which needed it. Goliah went back in the meadow and killed a good lot of birds for me to take to the city; but you can safely bet ten to one, that I didn't go over that bog again. I hunt snipe, now, in market, and "bring them down"--with shillings. Ganderlegs has "shot" his last snipe -on the meadows. X at ifljn kmrr tm! page: 118 (Illustration) [View Page 118 (Illustration) ] "8 HOOP, HURRAH! HOOP, HURRA H! PREFACE. Things as they are. Vive la Bizarre. INTRODUCTION. KEEP cool! and let me introduce you to Miss Blanche Cerceau. CHAPTER I. -And I waited in the drawing-room, till I thought my hair would grow grey before she would appear. The carriage was at the door-it was a bitter cold night -I could hear the coachman swing- ing and slapping his arms to keep his hands warm. I had wound up the musical box for excitement, and listened to its soulless jingle for occupation; I had made the little King Charles Spaniel stand on his hind legs till he began to think that was his HOOP, HURRAH! page: -119[View Page -119] HOOP, HURRAH! 119 normal position. I tried with my right hand to coax ' Uncle Ned" out of the piano-much to the chagrin of that grand instrume f whose mission was Classical music. I beat a retr at from the realm of sweet J sounds to that of sweet feelings--my patent-leather boots were awful tight. In blissful agony I heard, at last, the opening of a door, a musical laugh, - the rustle of silks - and there before me, just giving the last tightening to her glove-lace - was Blanche Cer- ceau. Such a seraphic smile, such a cooing voice-- "And did I keep him waiting?-the dear little Arthur! And did he grow fretful?" "In the lexicon of Politeness which Fate has ordained for a bright man-of-the-world, there is no such word as Fretful!" I answered.-I had been studying this answer for two hours-Bulwer gave the lesson.-'As I replied, my eyes fell on the ball-costume of Blanche. The Pyramids of Egypt were evidently intended to be represented by that dress, her head the apex, and the bottom of her skirt the base. I had to open my eyes twice to take in the full circumference, there was no end to that lower hoop!-"Can she get out of the front door"-thought I; "granted, yet can she get into the carriage? Hadn't I better ride out- side with the driver." I mildly' asked her this last thought. She answered, "Never, dear Arthur-- on such a night as this! page: 120-121[View Page 120-121] 120 HOOP, HURRAH! Ride inside, only put your feet up on the cushions; then, I can stand up." "Kind-hearted Blanche," thought I - what " sacri- fices you make for one you love!"-I entered the carriage first-it was not gallant, but then she insisted on it!-Then, she came in -how I can't tell, but she did it. And standing up like a Hippodrome girl in her chariot, and holding on to the hand-straps --off we started to attend Madame Ravencourt's grand ball. CHAPTER II. It was a full house - how it would have gladdened the heart of a prima-donna, at a dollar a head!- Through the crush of human beings I swept onward with Blanche, once only I thought it was all up with the whale-bones, but we got through-a little bent but still elastic: occasionally a passer-by would sweep the skirts round till I saw those daintily chausse tiny feet, and her figure looked like a dinner-bell cut in two-but the wave swept on, and the pyramid was a pyramid. "Will you waltz?"I said to her, as the music sounded. "Oh, no! I never waltz now!"--"Confound those hoops," thought I. But we " did" a quadrille--very eaily. Only two steps, and the figure was complete --an awkward step from the gentleman vis-a-vis, and H00P, HURRAH! 121 rip went the lady's skirts, hoops, &c.--then .came apologies, retreat to the dressing-room-repairs im- possible-had to send home for the carriage-and in- stead of having a splendid evening Blanche and H she sat down on the seat now, and I took her dear little gloved hand in mine and poured consolation into her heart-rode home before eleven o'clock. Oh, horrors! CHAPTER III. In a few days Blanche and I will be married. Hoop, Hurrah! The wedding-ring -I wish it was ,some other shape, it reminds me so much of hoops- now les on my table. And that cart-load of whale- bone I saw going into her house, one day last week: -"Blanche," said I, "is there an umbrella manufac- tory near you?"-reminds me that the bridal dresses -- la Pyramids of Egypt-are being built. Blanche hasn't been to church for three months-- owing to the narrowness of the pews, and the width of her hoops. CHAPTER IV. -And I sit down in my arm-chair-and wonder if such things can be possible, and if--what was, was right. And I've come to the conclusion that every- thing is that is. My wedding-day! N"Now, old boy!"-I solilo- quized, "you can only go through this operation, * page: 122-123[View Page 122-123] 122 HOOP, HURR A H once in your life -three or four times at the outside. Just raise the window and see if there are any un- usual operations going on in the heavens above, or in the garden below, or over in the neighbours' houses the other side of the street.--Nothing!-Then Nature is un-auspicious. There'll be a row to-day-some- where!" Prophetic words!- We were to be married in church en grande tenue: at ten o'clock in the morning. The hour came, carriages, friends, &c., along with it; we went to the church. We descended --walked up to the door-side door-very narrow-bride couldn't get through--couldn't get into church. Hoops too large, door too small. I grew as red in the face as a boiled lobster. "Put her through"-I gasped-con- fused, agitated, and vulgar! "Sir-r-r 1" said Blanche--" such language at such a time!" We re-entered the carriage, ditto the friends theirs, returned to the bride's house, and then H-Arthur O'Bandylegge-received a formal dismissal. I got the sack, M'lle Blanche Cerceau retains the hoops.-Shall I not write- Things as they are I Vive la Bizarre! PATIENCE. 123 PATIENCE. PATIENCE. A SHORT ; IDO)'S TALE." BE G"^te^^ ET out, you cur!" It was a wet Novem- ber night: tired out after a long walk, I was scrap- ing my boots, prepara- tory to mounting the marble door-steps --those Sisyphus stones for Phila- delphia servants, eternally rolled and rubbed -when casting my eyes to the top step, there I saw couclhant, a poor, miserable, houseless, outcast of a dog. "Get out, you curl" This time I said it, shouted it out energetically, and waved my umbrella over his head as an intimidator. He never moved, but broke out into a-- "Whoo-hoo-hoo-woo-oo-uu!" that sounded, as it drew to a close, like a long wail over a dissipated life; sung, however, by a middle-aged gentleman, whose lungs were yet strong as leather. I believe that cur -if there is anything in metempsychosis-had the soul of a defunct house-breaker inhabiting him, for he had chosen his lying-down spot, now changed into a sitting page: 124-125[View Page 124-125] 124 PATIEN CE. up position, right under the front door handle; and had I used the dead-latch key, he would instantly have darted into the house. The gas-light from the street-lamp shone directly on him, and as I raised my umbrella for the second time to give him a " whack," he turned his head up side-ways, and looked at me in such a human, comical manner, that my wrath gave way. "Poo-oor fel-low!"I said this in a soothing voice, thinking, "I 'll give him kind words, if he can't get bones." They acted like magic. From a sitting- up-on-end, loafer-in-a-bar-room position, he jumped into four-legged life. What a figure! He looked like one of those long, low foot-stools, you find in church-pewa, set in motion by a galvanic battery. In a spirit of waggery, some one had tied round his neck a couple of old window-blind tassels, which hung like cow- bells, and, at every motion of his body, swung respon- sive to his movements. I burst out into a roar of laughter. He jumped round frantically, with about as much grace in his movements, as a playful cow might show, stopping every now and then, to turn his head up side-ways, and witness the effect his dancing produced on "the man with the umbrella, who told him to get out!" I opened the front-door. Contrary to my expecta- tions, he made no rush or scramble to get in first. He stood out on the step with his head cooked side- A . . PA T I E NCE. 125 ways, looking up in my eyes, the big tassels waving in time to the wagging of his tail. "Come in, PATIENCE!" said I, and in he came. As I opened the vestibule door, he required a second in- vitation, looking for all the world like a bashful Irish- man (?) on whom I was about to bestow an old suit of clothes; and, as he followed me through the entry, and I saw him as it were counting his steps, I felt sure he held in one of his fore-paws, an invisible hat. "DOROTHY!" said I, as I opened the kitchen-door, "give this dog a good washing, something to eat, and then bring him up stairs." And turning round to my friend, I said to him: "Go in, PATIENCE." In he went. As I closed the door after him, and walked up stairs, I could hear the peals of laughter that greeted his appearance. It's a good thing, thought I, to bring sun-light into a house, 'especially of a stormy November night; for what is joy, laughter, good-natured gayety, but the very best kind of sun- light-that of the heart? That evening, as we all sat reading, chatting, sew- ing, round the table, the parlor-door opened, and in walked PATIENCE. With a keen appreciation of the ludicrous, DOROTHY, in washing the dog, had washed the tassels; for she knew the one couldn't be separated from the other, and thus he entered with them re- hung about his neck, and an extra sparkle in his eye, resulting from a good supper. "* page: 126-127[View Page 126-127] '126 'PATIENCE. "Oh! what a looking dog!" exclaimed KATE, and then burst into a hearty, ringing laugh, joined by MARTHA, SALLY, and cousin DICK, in full chorus. "Where did you get him?" "He 's built like a crocodile!" said DICK. "IHe's only one story high!" said KATE. "A perfect picture!" said MARTHA. "And cord and tassels to hang him with!" chimed in DICK. "He's my friend," said I, "and his name is PA- TIENCE." Whereupon, I waved my hand over his head with great delight, as he stood there modestly waiting a recognition. At the wave of my hand, he stood up on his hifnd-legs, walked forward a few steps, rolled his head around, and stood like a sentry on guard. This unexpected performance filled my heart with joy. Louder laughed the merry party. I grew bold, adventurous. I stooped down, held out my arm, and said: "Jump, PATIENCE!"Over he went! I threw down my handkerchief: he picked it up and brought it to me. "He 's a perfect treasure!" said KATE: " make him talk, now!" "Couldn't think of it," I answered-: "not words, but deeds with him.' And as PATIENCE lay down at my feet, and watched me with his large eyes, I told them all, the way I found him. Then were we all glad that the outcast A TRAMP THROUGH A CANE-BRAKE. 127 had found a home; and smiling faces were turned on poor PATIENCE, as he lay at my feet and wagged his tail. Are there no other outcasts standing at night out over the threshold of our hearts?-and if we take them in and treat them kindly, will they not gladden us? XXIV. A TRAMP THROUGHr A LOUISIANA CANE-BRARlE. NOW, said the COLONEL, you are about to see life in Louisiana-in the rough. Are you all ready?" "Rough and ready," I answered as I pulled a wool-hat down over my eyes, gave a stamp to settle myself in my new pair of nigger shoes, and unbut- toned a red flannel shirt at the throat. It was in the early part of January, and a very warm morning at that, the thermometer standing at 74 in the shade of the broad piazza of the Colonel's house. page: 128-129[View Page 128-129] 128 A TRAMP THROUGH A "Where's PORT?" asked the COLONEL; "For it's time to be off. Here he comes," he continued, and then hailing him, "Are you ready?" "Well, I shall be; just as soon as I tan get a light for a segar!" "Glad to hear that's all that keeps you. We'll take an 'antifogmatic' all round, and then start. It's time." In five minutes we were fortified, and in five more were in saddle, and off on the Tramp. Behind us at a respectable distance, a mule and cart- the baggage wagon with the commissary department - over which, that ace of spades, LITTLE JOHN, pre- sided with all the dignity of a well-trained house negro. As we followed the road leading past the negro quarters, the assumption of " state" by JOHN, was intense; to the nods and becks of the "field niggers--"(for the grinding season was over, and it i. was now a week's holiday for them) he did not pay the least attention, for the course of a minute; at the I end of which time, also fell his dignity, and his eyes rolled fearfully, as he shook all over with his attempts to restrain laughter; luckily we passed the quarters, before he was too severely tried--thus saving an ex- plosion. We passed the sugar-house, all was still; the high-pressure steam-engine that had been " coughing" night and day for weeks, had obtained a long respite; no longer the trash gang piled on the stalks of sugar- cane to feed the mill; no longer did the mule teams in "OUISIANA PANE-BRAKE. 129 long lines bring in the cane; no longer the thick black smoke came pouring out of the chimney, where they burnt the bagasse: (refuse sugar-cane)- silence had possession, save in the store-house, where the overseer was just having some of the drained sugar over-hauled. The COLONEL had furnished me with a little pony called COPPER, and, as my legs hung over his sidesj-I congratulated myself on the possibi- lity of anchoring him, by digging my heels in the ground, should he undertake to make way with me. Gently touching him on the flank with the butt end of a double-barrel gun, which I carried, he shot ahead of the COLONEL and PORT; and in a few minutes, I found myself considerably in advance, and just enter- ing a thick wood, through which our road wound. On my right hand, a Bayou, with scarcely a drop of water in it, save at long intervals; and yet; in a few weeks, boats with good sized cargoes, would be float- ing down it. Its present use was a good preserve for English snipe, as I had found out by experience; no- body gunning after the birds, they were as lazy as hens, and when they rose, seemed to consider a fifteen foot fly, as something very excellent. For which folly they suffered--some. Scattering canes now began to appear, and in a few minutes more, I was in the cane-brake, and no mistake! High over my head, waved the green cane leaves in the faint breeze, and a soft twilight took the place of the bright light I page: 130-131[View Page 130-131] 130 A TRAMP THROUGH A left behind. "Fish-polesj" thought I, "for ten-mil. lion disciples of Izaak Walton! IIow I would have jumped at the very least of these, when a boy, fishing in some-up country creek, with a gnarled hickory pole.-Pretty tall 'grass,' this, fifteen feet in the clear, and stout in proportion." Thus reflecting, I had let the COLONBL and PORT catch up to me and pass by. PORT'S voice, I soon heard some distance ahead, call- ing out to me lustily -- "Ride up, ride up! Here is one of the great curiosities of the South-west!"Burning with imlpa- tience, I applied the double-barrel spur to COPPER, and turning a corner of the road, found PORT and the COLONEL drawn up, and attentively examining some object hanging from the bending end of three or four canes. "Do you see that possum?" asked PORT. Riding up close, I saw that it was an opussum, and accord- ingly answered in the affirmative. "Now," continued he, "I can't expect you, who have just come from the North, to believe it-you 're all so sceptical! but that animal voluntarily committed suicide. It's a way the beast has; some say it's dis- appointed love, that compels him to hang himself- others say----" "That he must have borrowed a piece of twine to do it with!" said I, triumphantly; as bending down the canes, I showed PORT the twine noose around his I: LOUISIANA CANE-BRAKE. 181 neck.: The loud laughter of the COLONEn, here put a stop to any more of PORT'S theories, and the trapped possum was left for the negro who had thus caught him. Riding on, we soon came in sight of clearings. The COLONEL pointing with his riding whip, called my attention to a sugar-house, which, at first sight, I thought was a good-sized corn-bin. "That," said he, "is one of the primitive sugar-houses, worked by horse-power; steam has driven them almost out of the land, but now and then, you'll come across them."--"They ought to be kept as relics," I an- swered. The longer I looked-at it, the stranger it seemed; the fantastical weather-cocks-on each end of the house, the light style of building, the "creek creek" of the machinery as the old horse went round. Of a truth, this is Louisiana under the French; this is of the good old-times-when there was a court at Natchitoches; when men danced, and sung, and paid compliments, and drank claret. Walking, talking slowly and sedately; making money, and inspecting whiskey, has usurped all that. Advances the twen- tieth century' I touched np CoPPER. "Push on, old fellow!" said I, "there is gold ahead." And through the dark green leaves of orange trees, I saw in truth the golden fruit-and wanted some. "Wait awhile," said the COLONEL, "they're bitter as pills. In half an hour we'll be at Thibodeaux's, and then you shall see something in the way of page: 132-133[View Page 132-133] 132 A TRAMP THROUGH A oranges, worth looking at, and eating." We arrived at last at the place, dismounted, and walking up through an avenue of orange trees, were met at the steps by Monsieur, who warmly greeted us; made us sit down in brave, old-fashioned chairs, and in a few minutes out came the oranges; such fruit! Havana hasn't any better, and, as for size, they were un- equalled. I had to brush up what French I could command, and spread it out in a chat with Monsieur; but the COLONEL was my main reliance; to him French was the same as English; and, so after en- quiries as to our route, and our compliments to a bottle, which stood on a table in the salon, just under a colored engraving of La Sainte Vierge, we bade Monsieur, " good-day ;" mounted and pushed on. We now left civilization behind us; the road became rougher; fences disappeared; we rode into the woods; right and left rose mighty trees, prominent among which the monarch live-oak, with regal robe of dark green ;-if he wants purple, he gathers it from sun-sets-tangled vines, long hanging moss, thick clumps of palmetto; and ever the canes, the graceful, tapering, feather- fringed canes. Another opening in the woods; here, the first commencement of a clearing-trees are girdled; the cane cut at the roots, slowly dying, changing to faded yellow; the log-house; the fresh sawed planks enclosing a small lot, in which stands a vicious looking little pony, and a quiet demure old "OUISIANA CANE-BRAKE. 133 cow; a few pigs too are rooting away at the enclosure, trying to get out into the wild-woods, where they can catch mocasson and -congo snakes, and -grub up cypress nuts and mast. There is nobody in sight;- but the clear ring of the\ axe is heard, andbthe settler is not far off. On we ride, into the woods once more; their silence and grandeur quiet us, till at last, just for a touch of humanity, the COLONEL starts a song, and with chorus, we jog merrily on, till we come to another clearing. A log-house, clap- boarded; over the front door a piazza, thatched with palmetto leaves-suggestive to me in some incompre- hensible way of Paul and Virginia -perhaps it was the colored engraving at Thibodeaux; perhaps oranges; perhaps a wicker flask, that had been industriously circulating among "the three solitary horsemen." In another minute, a large black-hound came bounding down the road, giving mouth in fine style. "Down, Julie, down!" shouted the COLONEL, and we rode up to the door of the house of Monsieur Pierre Dubois. He was off duck-shooting, but Mons. Achille Dupaix did the honors in his absence. Now, Mons. Achille was a real Frenchman; if not in appearance, at least in birth. Marseilles saw him first open his eyes; but that dreadful engine that drives exiles out with a forty horse power--la politique, had been at work at Mons. Achille, and knocked him into Louisiana. He was now, as he touchingly remarked, "Rien qu'un maitre 12 page: 134-135[View Page 134-135] 134 A TRAMP THROUGH A d'ecole." I don't want to put bad French into Mons. Achille's mouth, but I really think he made that re- mark. le too, carried out the idea of Paul and Vir- ginia, for he had on a pair of striped breeches, of the same pattern that the hero of that romance is always represented as wearing, on all occasions. The interior of the house was dough-nut color, therein agreeing with the smoked and weather-beaten appearance of the outside; there was one room in it, and an attic overhead; at its side was a wing containing an apart- ment, used for a kitchen. From out the door that led into that kitchen, I had at times seen several heads, or the same head often repeated, stuck out and again withdrawn with the quickness of a "Hoffmagander." (I am indebted to the COLONEL for this word, or 'at least its sound, and spell it at random.) We had dis- mounted, tied our horses to a fence, and at the COLONEL'S suggestion, taken "a little something" from the wicker-flask, assisted by Mons. Achille, who, although he did not smoke, yet was " all-fired" fond of " fire-water." Je I'aime beaucoup! which was a lame conclusion. "Now," spoke the COLONEL, "that black d 1 ought to be here by this time; let us take chairs and wait." So we mounted a couple of steps, got chairs, and under the palmetto thatched roof, waited with becoming patience; conversing with Mons. Achille, and admiring the largest and handsomest hound I ever "O UISIANA 'CANE-BRAKE. 135 saw, who, with his wife, la biche nozre, were death on deer. But, helas! (Frenchman do say, helas!) the tigres had frightened the deer away for the last two weeks, and venison w as scarce. "What are tigers?" I asked of the COLONEL. ' Tigres, are panthers," was his answer. The panthers had lately prowled 'round so mnuch, that Dubois was severely exercised in spirit, and had lately had his cows driven inside of the yard every night. "A few weeks ago," thought I, "and a thousand miles or so from here, I was looking at one in a cage, reflecting what a horrible thing it must be to get into a fight with one of them; and now, I'm where they are:" and I looked up into the .branches of an old live-oak tree, just across the road, to see if I couldn't see one, glued down to a branch, ready for a spring. " Such is life," I reflected: " a few years, and the march of civilization will be over these wild swamps "It's coming now!" said the COLONEL. "How?" asked I, thinking the COLONEL had an- swered my mental question. "On wheels!" said he. "You lazy black d- 1," shouted the COLONEL, "where have you been all this time;" this to LITTLE JOHN, who now drove the mule cart straight up to the house. "Mas'r, roads mitey ruff. Ole Sylvy (the mule) mitey lazy." "Drive to that clump of trees, take out that cham- page: 136-137[View Page 136-137] 136 A TRAMP THROUoGH A pagne-basket, lay it down carefully. Take the mule out of the cart, put her in the stable, feed her!" In a few minutes we were dining out. Our pro- visions unpacked, the cork drawn from a bottle of claret, and with keen appetites, we made a hearty- dinner. On our return to the house of Dubois, we were regaled (that's the word) with a cup of "black coffee," which, with a segar, was intensely composing. i Mons. Achille having withdrawn, probably to continue his functions as teacher, the COLONEL informed me that Monsier and Madame Dubois, were half-breed Indians, talking half-bred French; and that Mons. Achille, the victim of la politique, was at present the instructor of the young Dubois in full-bred French, so that the children might become educated Ameri- cans. Rather odd, this! here, in a log-house, in a cane-brake, miles from any neighbors, among owls, i panthers, bears, and such like; a plan of education, I pursued similar to what we find in our best schools for young 'ladies, in New York and Philadelphia. Verily, extremes meet! And the non-chalance of a thorough-bred man of the world, is only equalled by that of a Sioux savage. Hereupon, a heavy shower 1 of rain commenced falling, and we retreated still ; further under the palmetto thatched roof; here, with chair tilted back, and leaning against the door- post, delivered myself up to reflections; concocting bear-hunts in my brains, &c., while the COLONEL and i "OUISIANA CANE-BRAKE. 137 PORT held a long and animated discussion about our route, and so on. From my seat near the door, I had abstractedly glanced inside, and once or twice caught sight of a pair of glistening eyes, that I judged be- longed to one of what Murphy called the "tinder" sex; they were just such a pair of eyes as I once saw in a gipsey encampment, gleaming through fire and smoke. Gitana or Houma, it's all one to me, thought I. Just then the rain stopped falling; and the COLONEL pro- posing a little walk in the swamp, to see some canal cut by the duck-shooters, I accompanied him and PORT till the water was above my knees. I told them I rermembered I had forgotten something, (dr/y shoes!) and went back to the house: leaving them to note the wonderful canal-it was about a yard wide, and a foot deep. After a time they returned, and a consultation was held as to where we should camp for the night. The COLONEL selected a spot under a clump of trees, and was ordering the boy LITTLE JOHN, to cut down cane tops for a bed; gather wood in readiness for our camp-fire, and so forth; when Dubois returned, and at once insisted on our sleeping in the house; it would rain in the night, and Monsieur, indicating me as he spoke, he knew must be from the city (New Orleans), and not yet used to sleeping in the rain. So the COLONEL yielded, and with Dubois we returned to the house; here we sat by a roaring wood-fire, which had been built up in the room of the main-house, and 12* page: 138-139[View Page 138-139] 138 A TRAMP THROUGH A talked, and smoked, and paid attention to the J "wicker work," till some owls told the hour for re- tiring--by hooting at us. And now came a mathe- , matical question into my head; how twelve souls - for I had counted nine beside the COLONEL, PORT and I, could sleep in one room and not fight, to say the least? I looked at Dubois, pere and mere, sons and daughters, (gipsey eyes included) and Mons. Achille the victim of la politique; and then at the COLONEL and PORT. NOW for some fun, thought I, as the COLONEL carefully setting down the wicker work, said in French: "The eyes of our young friend are heavy." It was agreed that PORT and I should have beds up in the attic, and the COLONEL a shake-down in the main room. So following Dllbois, who mounted a ladder, holding in one hand a lamp, con- structed on the old Roman principle, a crockery saucer full of oil, with a wick hanging over the edge; PORT went up hand over hand, and as I mounted the shrouds, I gave a " yo-heave-ho, good-night," to the COLONEL. The attic was hot as Tophet, and there seemed to be beds on beds in it, growing up like toad-stools round an old stump; each one had mos- quito bars round it. Pointing out one to PORT, he at once clambered in "full fig," while I, having a good sized one pointed out to me, kicked off my shoes, and with a Bon soir! Dubois went down the rattlings. There were mosquitoes that night, and in my dreams "OUISIANA CANE-BRAKE. 139 an ox fell down on me; I woke up at once. "Sac" "Don't," said the COLONEL; "the mosquitoes eat me up down below, and so you 'lll have to share your cot with me." "Oh, give me a cot in the valley I love!"I sang out; "Don't," said the COLONEL, you 'll have the Injuns down on us!" So giving up one-half of the bed I fell asleep, and before morning fell out of bed, incited thereto by the COLONEL; who, travelling on a night-mare, believed he had tumbled in the sea, and struck out so valiantly, that he struck me out on the floor. Requiescat in pace, which is, more than I did. But day broke, and we all broke like quarter-horses, out of that old attic. Going down to the Bayou, I found out a respectably deep hole, where I plunged in; the alligators were frozen stiff, or were in the mud, and didn't trouble me; and my ablutions (the COLONEL says, that's the Greek for "wash") over, returned to breakfast. The sun shone out gloriously; and for a description of the appearance of the rain-drops on the grass and leaves, for it had rained hard at night, look over the poets, where they touch on aquatics. "To horse, and away!" shouted I, as I struck a light for my regalia; they smoke regalias in the South-West. "Not yet," said the COLONEL; 4"wait a bit!" :S , . * . page: 140-141[View Page 140-141] "O A TRAMP THROUGH A "Two bits, and then cry quarter," spoke out PORT. They were the first words I had heard him utter that morning, and they sounded cheerfully. "Good," said the COLONEL, "he has survived. He ain't dead yet." Here he was interrupted by the sight of some negroes on mules coming up the road; they were five boys he had sent down the day before to cut a road through the cane-brake for the mule cart. After clearing away about five miles, they had lost the direction given them and had come back. Order- ing one of their mules and two of the boys to stay with us, he sent the rest back to the plantation. "And now," said the COLONEL, IPORT and I, are going with Dubois up that canal, to explore. We have a couple- of pirogues. Will you go with us, or wait at the house? I'm going to send the cart with mules on ahead with a couple of the boys." "I'll go along with the cart," said I.. Visions of shooting ducks, as the road skirted the Bayou, running in my head. "You 'll find it slow work," answered the COLONEL. "But if you want to go, push on. We'll overtake you." Leaving my pony with the COLONEL, for his boy to bring on when they came, I started off after the mule cart. The cane-brake had been cut away wide enough to let the cart through; but from the bent over-tops a constant shower of the last night's "OUISIANA CANE-BRAKE. 141 rain-drops fell, soon wetting me through, over-coat and all. Before leaving Dubois' house, I had loaded my }( double-barrel gun with a charge of buck-shot in the right, and duck-shot in the left-hand barrel. For the panthers run in my head, and though, without a hound, there was no great possibility of scaring one up; yet the quieensabe of what might happen, was on my mind. Walking ahead of the mule cart I soon saw some distance down the Bayou, a flock of mallard ducks; creeping along as silently as I could over the fallen canes, I was just within long shot, when "quack, quack," and "whirr!" off they flew; two, it -however, still swam on, taking aim when they were in line; I let drive the left-hand barrel, knocked one over, and saw, by the way the other one flew off, that he was indisposed. Of the two boys who were with the cart, I sent one into the Bayou-when he came out he said it was c" very muddy;" and I'm inclined to believe he told the truth, from what I saw. The farther we got into the cane-brake, the thicker rose up the mosquitoes; clouds on clouds, they covered my neck, face, hands, and made vain attempts to dig through the nigger shoes I sported; they seemed to be insensible to tobacco smoke. The little breeze that first fanned us when we entered died away, the sun went under clouds, and in twilight we pushed on through the clouds of mosquitoes, that at every turn page: 142-143[View Page 142-143] "2 A TRAMP THROUGH A of the cart-wheels rose up on the " ruthless invaders," 'specially the white man. Every now and then we caught glimpses of the Bayou through the thick canes; at times, its stagnant waters covered with a green coat- ing, or so filled up with aquatic plants, as to hide the water, which again would appear further on, dirty, muddy, dismal. Not a bird was to be seen, not a sound to be heard, save occasionally the "quack, quack," of the ducks, as they took wing down stream, long before I could get within shot. The silence of that cane-brake would have appalled a deaf man! And what must be this scene in the stifling heats of summer, when the vegetation even now so luxuriant, is then a hundred fold more abundant; when the leafless trees that now skirt the Bayou are in full foliage; when creepers, and long hanging vines, add their quota to the grand canopy? Really, they must travel this cane-brake with a bull's-eye lantern at mid-day. And then the Alligators! Hold a dog up by the tail for five minutes, during the month of July, along this Bayou, and then write down what you see, and send it to the Academy of Natural Sciences! It will make a chapter, believe me. I soon found out that getting another shot at the ducks seemed improbable; the clatter of the mule cart as it crashed over the cut-down canes, and the noise of the negroes as they talked and shouted to the mules, made the ducks take flight before I could "OUISIANA CANE-BRAKE. 143 get a shot at them. I soon came to an opening in the cane-brake, and saw, in a deserted camping-place, another reason for the wildness of the fowl. Some duck-shooters had just been on the Bayou; I stopped to notice the place; four forked-canes stuck in the ground, at about five feet apart, formed the corners of their shelter; four other canes, laid in the forks, formed the basis for a roof of palmetto leaves; the shed was four or five feet high; it has one ad- vantage, that it is made in a very few minutes, at a very slight cost; and here the advantages end as far as I could see, unless as regards shade from the sun, or slight shelter from dew. I should have liked well to have met these same duck-shooters, Aeadigns pro- bably, or a mixture of Acadian, Canary Islander, Spaniard and Indian. Of the real Acadidn stock of Canada, of such as Longfellow chants in Evange- line, few are left: yet, on La Fourche, they told me that some of them still lived; one or two in particular, tall, well-built, sturdy, old men; "Men, whose lives glided on like rivers that water the'woodlands, Darkened by shadows of earth, but reflecting an image of heaven." Not such are the pony riders; sassafras-gumbo gatherers, duck-shooters, &c., of mongrel French and other descent, whom you find along the Bayous, or back in the swamps; like the Indians, they seem to A - . page: 144-145[View Page 144-145] "4 A TRAMP THROUGH A fly before the "practical" planter; he buys up a dozen or twenty of their little patchee of ground along the Bayou, starts a sugar plantation, buys out more of the habitans, and back they go into the swamp. You see many faces that bear the Canary Islander stamp; a class of colonists brought over to Louisiana under the Spanish rule; the same breed of Canaries who sing out " na-ran-jas" and '( malojo," in the streets of Havana at the present day. And then the houses of this class of Creoles! They may have glass in them, but if so, it's in the shape of tumblers, not in the windows; in these they have long blue, or yellow, or red, calico curtains to keep the sun out, and they close shutters when it rains. To be sure, the winter is short; and another advantage besides keeping the house ventilated, is, that not living in glass houses they can throw stones (they are very scarce) or rather corn-cobs at their neighbors. Reader, do you pride yourself on your stock of patience? You do! You've tried it under an awning, during a sudden shower, waiting fifteen minutes for an om- nibus. You've-but what is the use of specifying each trial? Have you ever driven a mule cart with two half-broken mules through a cane-brake, filled with, gullies, fallen trees, stumps- while two negroes with cane knives cut their way through the brake, at the rate of ten feet in five minutes--while mosquitoes L0 UISIANA C ANE-BR AKE. 145 pegged it into every accessible part of your flesh- while you held on to a full-grown demijohn with one hand, and a pair of rope reins in the other, and dH -managed a segar with your elbow-while you balanced yourself first on one side of the cart, then on the other, according as either seemed about to lurch over and spill you out? It's a long question, but soon answered. If you have done this and not lost your patience, all I have to say is, you 're ahead of me. About three o'clock in the afternoon, while both boys were hard at work chopping down a tree which stood in the way, I heard a shout, and turning round, saw the COLONEL and PORT coming up at a tearing rate, with the pony COPPER, mounted by a negro, bringing up the rear. I was heartily glad to see them. Prepara- tions for dinner were soon made, and that over, the COLONEL, PORT, and I, mounted our horses, and pushed on, through the cane-brake, leaving the negroes to bring up the cart. The previous part of the'journey or tramp, was child's play to the next is hour's ride. The bridle path winding along the Bayou rIb' had been so little travelled, and the canes grow so fast, that you had to squeeze through them like a rat through a barrel of rake-heads. One minute having to bend your body, so that your head lay on your horse's mane, the canes scraping you on both sides, as if ready to tear your clothes off. From the trees, that grew everywhere through the canes, hung long 13 ,'i page: 146-147[View Page 146-147] "6 A TRAMP THROUGH A vines, that unless on your guard would catch in foot, or round your neck, and stop you as quickly as a lasso. The COLONEL and PORT, used to these rides, soon left me far in the rear, and were quickly out of sight: I lost the path, got in among the canes, was caught by two or three long vines hanging from a live- oak, was wound round and round, couldn't extricate myself; Copper, getting the bit between his teeth, my right-hand encumbered with a gun which I held on to, my left-hand couldn't hold him. The next in- stant, I felt the girth give way, and before I could wink, the pony had sprung forward, and left me sitting on the ground, with the saddle between my knees. Free from his encumbrance, instead of dash- ing on he went to work eating the green leaves of the canes, that in the " unsaddling" had been bent down and torn off. Catching him by the bridle, I again put the saddle on him, this time looking well at the girth fastening; mounted him, and shouting, was soon answered by PORT, who had turned back to see what was the matter. "Keep up with us," said PORT; "lay on the switch." And I followed his advice: the way that pony rattled and drew me through those canes, was a caution; "rip" went my pantaloons, as a dry cane entered at the foot, and came out at the knee; "crack!" and my red flannel shirt was sawed by a thorn vine; "brush!" and my wool hat was carried "OUISIANA CANE-BRAKE. 147 off my head: I recovered it; and half blinded, buffeted, rubbed, scraped, sawed, filed, torn, worried by vines, canes, creepers, trees, I shut up my eyes, dug my heels into the pony and followed the othere, perfectly reckless as to rags and tatters. After three miles of this exercise, the COLONEL called, "Halt!" I answered at once, including myself under the " halt and lame."' "We can't reach Francois, until after sundown," said the COLONEL, " and it might be hard on you," turning to me, " to travel these cane-brakes at night. We 'll go back to where we left the boys, and camp there to-night." No sooner said, than we turned our horses' heads, and the next instant began such another race, the COLONEL leading off on a powerful bay horse, PORT after him on a smaller white animal, and I bringing up the rear on the bay pony, but making him come to time by the aid of a cane. I kept the others in sight, and such another ride I never expect to have again. We reached the cart at sunset, and set all hands at work cutting down canes, trees, palmettos, &c. Using a fallen live:oak trunk for a back-log, we soon had a -roaring fire; a cleared space among the canes was covered with the leafy cane tops: on four upright canes we stretched a couple of mosquito bars, and with our saddles for pillows, and blankets for bed clothes, we were ready to sleep in a cane-brake with sky for canopy, and the moon for a night lamp. A page: 148-149[View Page 148-149] "8 A TRAMP THROUGH A good many hours were passed, before we got at this legitimate night business; supper had first to be thought of; while one of the boys made coffee, another brought water from the Bayou, for man and beast, another fed the horses. PORT courted the Muses, "the tuneful nine," whistling, "Old Uncle Ned," and harping on the mosquitoes- which were thick. The COLONEL overhauled the camp luggage for twine, to make the mosquito nets fast; and the writer lit a segar, and- watched the scene. As we sat at supper, it was a picture for a sign-painter; in the fore-ground, on an old log, sat the COLONEL, sur- veying with cheerful face the writer, as with a mug of coffee in one hand, and ham sandwich in the other, he battled with the mosquitoes; PORT, using his saddle for a seat, employed in the same style; the roaring fire eating into the noble old live-oak, now dead as a herring; beyond it the sparkling eyes of the horses, as they stood feeding; and directly in the smoke, the negroes who had built up a shed, like the one I had seen in the morning, of canes, and palmetto leaves. Supper over, we got under the mosquito bars, lit segars, and with a cup of coffee, were as com- fortable, according to modern romance writers, "as an aristocratic and pampered nabob, in his gorgeous, yet palatial mansion." "One of the advantages of sleeping on the ground Be LOUISIANA CANE-BRAKE. 149 is, that you can't well fall out of bed," commenced the COLONEL, in an oratorical tone of voice:- "You rather roll," suggested PORT, as he gathered his blanket round him, and looked like an Indian; this latter idea, entered the COLONEL'S head; and, as he gazed through the bars, he spoke it- "PORT, you look like the DANCING SNAIE, an old Houma Indian; there is an Indian legend about his fair daughter (she was a half-breed), which I am going to narrate. John!" said the COLONEL to his boy, "pass round that demi-john." It went the rounds, and remained with PORT; he was as dry as a powder-horn. The COLONEL, ordering John to keep - the fire up, thus commenced "The DANCING SNAKE had a daughter-- " ' You 've told us that before," interrupted PORT. "I repeat it, so as to impress it on your memory, which is naturally poor," added the COLONEL; and, Or' after this clincher, he continued:- "Her name was Wallasi, or as they called her in English, Betsy Beans. An untutored child of Nature, her acquaintance with art was limited to cheating, when she sold baskets, and stealing chickens, when 13* ! page: 150-151[View Page 150-151] 150 A TRAMP THROUGH A she got a chanee. Never having seen the inside of a school-house, her knowledge was very 'outside;' yet, when she held up three fingers, and said, ' bit,' you always felt so, if you paid her that much for a basket, or bunch of herbs; this was her practical arithmetic. She could not read a line in a book, but she'd read every line in your face, and understand it too. She could not write, but she left her mark in every hen-house in the neighborhood. With these talents, she reached maiden-hood, and their possession attracted suitors far and near; especially those who lived far. Among these, was THE FROG WHO SMOKES, familiarly known as BLUE BILLY- . -" "Sure you got the right vowel in there?" queried PORT. "All right," said the COLONEL. "Can anything induce you to let go that demi-john?"It was passed on. BLUE BILLY was in love- "Draw it mild, now," begged PORT. "Deeply in love, with Wallasi's (Betsy Beans you know) talents, and ten silver dollars, which she was reported to have as dowry. He came ten miles down the Bayou, on a little red-headed pony, which be- longed to a French Creole, on purpose to sue her. I should say, sue for her hand-with the ten dollars in it. He rode up to her father's wigwam, dog hoveD: the DANCING SNAKE was 'at home,' sick a-bed, with J LOUISIANA CANE-BRARE. 151 rum. BLUE BILLY got Off the red-headed pony, and entered the wigwam:-*' Aish' hdlak?' asked he, of the DANCING SNAKE; -' ar'd jiddan!' growled he- " "You'll cut our throats, with your Indian gib- berish," said PORT. "It proves," continued the COLONEL, "my ac- quaintance with Indian. But to proceed:-BLUE BILLY was not to be dismissed so quickly. Sitting down on the floor, he drew out a 'dudheen,' or pipe of peace, and cutting some slips from a plug of nigger- head tobacco, he filled it, got a light from the embers of a fire, and began smoking, and ' showing, his hand ;' first removing the balance of an old wool hat from his head, and letting his long straight hair fall over his face. 'It is many moons since the heart of THE FROG WHO SMOKES, has been heavy in his bosom; like the ring-dove, he mourns for his mate.' The DANC- ING SNAKE groaned out, 'Pale-face Pat, say 'mate;' Houma, say ' meat!" "' 1Fd'dil!' continued THE FROG; 'he mourns for his meat. Ugh! his meat be Wallasi.' "' Ha! Jarie .' shouted THE DANCING SNAKE; 'is it there ye are? Askshtourabah! the light of her father's eyes, goes not thus from the home of her childhood. Shafah allah! How much give for wifey?' * Do the IIouma Indians talk Arabic?-QUERY BY AN OUTSIDER. i page: 152-153[View Page 152-153] 152 A TRAMP THROUGH A "' Ugh!' groaned BLUE BILLY. ' Al'hamdu Mlah! Me got log-hut, corn in ground, pony! ugh!' Money malke, sugar grind.'-Just then, Wallasi, the Indian's daughter, entered the hovel: with one glance at BLUE BILLY, she divined his intentions, and mnen- tally resolved, never to be his. He never raised his head, but his ears were wide open, to catch the chink of the ten dollars. "' You got pony, s'pose you go sell her. Get rum- we all go on bender;' thus spoke THE DANCING SNAKE. "' Col di camdn!' roared BLUE BILLY, as he jumped to his feet; ' I go, bring back rum!' I draw a veil over the scene which ensued," said the COLONEL. "He got half a barrel of whiskey for that animal. THE DANCING SNAKE, and THE FROG WHO SMOKES, drank themselves dead in two days, and Betsy Beans, the sole survivor, still lives to rob hen-roosts, gather herbs, and make baskets; she married ?" "Who, whoo?" sung out a voice from the top of a tree, just over our heads. "Pierre Garan! you: big blackguard," answered the COLONEL, as he looked up at the swamp-owl. "So ends the Indian Legend!" and we rolled over in our blankets, and, to the hum of outside mosquitoes, and the yells of owls, soon fell asleep. A confused noise, the sound of voices, a burst of light, and I woke up next morning, to find the j LOUISIANA CANE-BRAKE. 153 COLONEL superintending the packing of our camp equipage. Rousing PORT by the simple announce- ment, "that the breakfast bell had been rung," he was soon on his feet; and, Little John giving us each a cup of coffee, we were soon wide awake, and ready for breakfast. Mem.-the Louisiana custom of bring- ing a small cup of coffee, with oranges or other fruit, to your chamber before you rise, is worthy of imitation; two good purposes are served by it: it wakes you up, and serves as an admirable guard against the ill effects of the morning dews. Break- fast over, we found that the COLONEL had determined to leave the cart behind, and pack our camp-traps on mule-back, in order to- expedite matters. Strapping blankets over my saddle, to ensure an easy seat, I was soon mounted on COPPER, and following in the wake of the train. The baggage mules with negroes going in advance, the COLONEL and PORT following, that they might keep an eye over the pioneers, and the trusty COPPER with rider, as rear-guard. The sun shone -brightly over-head, as we could now and then see through an open space in the canes, and by the occasional glitter of a cane knife, as the boys cut right and left, to make a passage for the mules. As we pushed on, we passed through a palmetto patch, thick studded with giant trees, from every bough of which Spanish moss hung in festoons, yards in length; wild grape, and smilax vines found here a page: 154-155[View Page 154-155] 154 A TRAMP THROUGH A genial soil; such fighting as we had getting through that patch, troubles me to think of. At last, we were through, once more in the tangled cane-brake. I took one long look at PORT, and the COLONEL, and broke out into a loud, hearty laugh. "Hallo, Harry! what's to pay?" sung out the COLONEL, as he turned half round in his saddle, to look after the pony rider. The long grey moss had caught in his hat; under his chin; round his breast; and hung trailing behind him for yards; he looked like a long-bearded, grizzly, old Vikingir. PORT was accoutred in the same style. Telling him the funny appearance he cut, he asked me to take off my hat. Round that black wool hat hung a weed, that trailed out behind, like many tails of a Pasha. "You're in a glass-house this time," said PORT; and I acknowledged it. "Hurrah!" added he, suddenly, as he pointed to a narrow beaten path, that led through the cane-brake to the Bayou; "Bear tracks, and here's a wallow." Pointing to a muddy place, that bore evident marks of having been the favorite rolling spot of that, or some other animal. "Now's your chance, young man!"The COLONEL looked back, and I translated the broad smile on his face, as a confirmation of PORT'S remarks. "Hark!" spoke he again; and, as I listened, I heard the broken-down canes crack, and crunch "OUISIANA CANE-BRAKE. 155 under the tread of some heavy beast. Sending both heels into COPPER'S sides, I urged him up the narrow path; the noise was nearer, I gained on the retreating beast, I raised my gun ready to put both barrels into him; I saw a mass of black hair - it made a rush at me -it-was an old black sow, with a litter of pigs! What a bore! Shade of Hawker, forgive me, but I came very near shooting her as she charged - such a sell! "PORT," said I, as I rode back and overtook him, "I: don't believe it pays, unless you have dogs, you know-to hunt bear round here." "No!" answered he, "it don't;" and he winked so diabolically. "More bear signs!" sung out the COLONEL, as he turned round smiling, and waved his whip over a hog wallow. "'Twon't work," said PORT, "it's too bare a joke now." They laughed; some people will laugh at such trifles! I fought mosquitoes for ten minutes, at the expiration of which time, my wrath departed. The Bayou had quite a respectable depth of water in by this time, and from being a mud-hole became a stream. DIucks were more numerous than on the preceding day, but -wild as hawks. I told the COLONEL I would ride on ahead, and get a shot at them. "They are too wild," said he; "if you had a pirogue, you might get within shot. That's the plan page: 156-157[View Page 156-157] 156 A TRAMP THROUGH A along these Bayous." As I had no -pirogue--these boats require more dexterity to manage than I could lay claim to had I had one--I let the ducks fly. On we tramped, it grew warmer and warmer, the mosquitoes rose up thicker and thicker, the mules got their packs caught by vines-had to be cut loose, the canes grew closer togettier; till at last we reached another Bayou, had to ford it, and then got into a more open region. Canes not so thick, but trees thicker; here and there swampy, horses laboring hard; two or three hours more trudging, and suddenly the trees ended, and an open prairie, reaching for miles, was, before us, with here and there, at a distance, clumps of trees, looking like islands on a brown sea-if there is such a thing! I pulled off my wool hat, gave my pony the rein; and, as he stopped to eat the grass, that near the Bayou was fresh and green, I breathed in great-lungs full of the soothing breeze, that canme over that prairie from the Gulf of Mexico. After that cane-brake, how welcome the blue sky, the fresh air, the boundless view! Liberty! But our's is a great country, made for great hearts. The time comes when we shall no longer be servile copyists, but models to copy from; look at Nature- "Look here!" shouted the COLONEL, "we've got some miles yet to go before we goet dinner." I caught up the reins, slung pn my hat, touched up COPPER, and was soon rattling along into another "OUISIANA CANE-BRAKE. 157 stretch of timber. Through more canes, vines; till at last hot, tired, nearly worn out, I saw signs far ahead, of a clearing; as we got nearer, a fence. Huzzah! we're there! Inside of the fence, the sugar-cane untouched by frost, rattled its long green leaves in the south wind. Long lines of orange trees, newly set out; then the house. We rode up to it, the COLONEL shouted-no answer. "No one 's about, that's certain," said the COLONEL; as dismounting, he gave the bridle of his horse to a boy to hold. He went up to the house, it was locked. "They've gone off," said he; "we'll dine here at any rate, and then go down the Bayou to another house." There was something oppressive to me in the silence around this place. I walked down to the Bayou. Two or three boats were lying there half filled with water: over a landing-place a shed i had been built, under it were fish-lines and poles, landing-nets, &c.; and down near the Bayou, I noticed the dead carcass of a large house-dog. Near the main house was a smaller house, the windows j closed, but the door only latched, I opened it and - looked in; kitchen-furniture, chairs, working articles, - spread round as if the occupants had but left it for a moment. The sun played merrily in: as I opened the door, a house-cat came near me, looked wildly and ran off. Chickens were feeding round the door. "Well," spoke the COLONEL, "I don't understand it. " page: 158-159[View Page 158-159] 158 A TRAMP THROTTGH A However, we'll dine." And dine we did, cooling the claret in a bucket of cold well-water. After a segar, we again mounted horses, and rode down the Bayou, telling the negroes to stay with the mules, until we should send word for them to come down. A mile further on, and we came to another house. This was tenanted. A queer wild-looking couple, were that man and wife, with a goblin kind of a child ;--a boy -who seemed to be the quietest ten year older, I ever saw. The entire family took our coming as a matter of course. No "fuss or feathers" shown -and yet, I believe, we were the only "white folks" who had been down that Bayou for six months, at the least. The COLONEL was disappointed on hearing that Francois, who lived at the first house we came to, had gone off with his family on a visit, and, would not return for a week; gone off in a boat; bag and babies. They had left everything standing; nobody ever came down there; they were miles on miles from any other people; nobody would disturb any- thing. "How do the Red-fish bite?" asked the COLONEL. "Well, they bite. Ask my son there, he'll tell you. He brought half-a-dozen up this morning." "Have you got your lines?" asked the boy. "Yes. Have you got any bait? We want a boat too." The COLONEL sent back word for the negroes "OUISIANA CANE-BRAKE. 159 to come down with the mules. While he stayed to give orders, PORT and I, with the boy, went down to the landing. Here the boy shoving the boat off, threw in a net, and, in a few minutes, had plenty of bait; we then rowed down the Bayou to its junction with another stream: anchored the boat, baited our lines, threw in, and, in a few minutes, PORT had a bite; he played with his fish, and finally brought him on board. A noble Red-fish, fully two feet and a half long. These, and "Pompanos," are the boast of New Orleans bon vivants, and just reason they have to be proud of them. I soon hooked some salt- water trout, and rowing back, we took in the COLONEL. On the opposite side of the Bayou, there was an old dilapidated shed; a rickety tumble-down door formed the entrance, a window without shutters let in light. Inside, there was fortunately a fire-place, by two long pine tables, a three-legged stool, that always declined the honor of giving you a firm seat, some old barrels, and a smoked duck. There, you have an inventory. In the construction of this shed the boards had given out, there was only enough to cover the front, and two sides; the other side or back of it was filled up, or covered over with an old sail cloth full of holes, which gave noble ventilation to the inmates. A shower coming up we retreated in- side of the shed. The boys, after bringing down the mules and baggage, had commenced fishing; they page: 160-161[View Page 160-161] 160 A TRAMP THROUGH A stood the rain out bravely-so much real fun did they have; every time a fish was caught, such hearty roars of laughter, such odd remarks I never heard before: but it grew dark, the COLONEL called them in, they brought fire-wood, set to work cleaning the fish, nd4 before long, we sat down to supper. All great cooks of ancient, or modern times, might have ransacked the world, and never got up a better dish than that fried Red-fish; what a supper - and what appetites! Perhaps there was something in the last that added to the first--who knows? Then a regalia, and to bed-to boards rather. There were no springy cane- tops to lie on here-nothing but boards, and a pine table at that. Again were the mosquito-bars stretched ; again saddles for pillows; again blankets; and again the hum of mosquitoes. Towards midnight the wind veered round, and when I woke up, the rain was dashing full force through the open window, which was directly at the foot of our pine table beds. I got up and leant some boards against the open place. The fire was roaring, and burning brightly; stretched on the floor tight asleep, were the three boys wrapped in blankets; the old sail bent and boomed out with every blast of wind; and on the roof "pattered the rain-drops. Two or three hogs were- rooting, and grunting, round the door. Next morning by sunrise, we were up and after the Red-fish; while lying off in the boat, I noticed a "OUISIANA CANE-B-RAKE. 161 couple of small ducks swimming up the Bayou, and believing that Nature owed me a dinner, I took it into my head to exact payment. Rowing ashore, I got my gun, and commenced crawling along on hands and knees, to get within shot; I might as well have walked up to them perpendicularly, they seemed to have no idea of going off; that was not their style of tactics, as I soon found out. Finding that they took it easy, I thought I might as well follow suit. My hand was steady-I had just taken Pierce Egan's prescription. For the benefit of those who never have read his- quaint book of sporting anecdotes, I may as well mention, that he earnestly recommends the sportsman to carry a small flask of spirits-a moderate application to which will steady his aim; more especially before the dews are dissipated. I sat down on an old stump, waited till the ducks were abreast of each other, and then taking aim, fired. Both ducks went down like stones. "You've done it, my son," I inwardly repeated; "knocked them from time, and earned your dinner." As there was no one to applaud me, I said, "Bravo!"As the word escaped me, up rose one duck, and sailed tran- quilly down stream; then a little behind him, up rose the other, and followed suit. I felt completely "combed down." They apparently had, like the Irishman, their lives insured, and were impressed with the idea, that they couldn't die, on that account. "* page: 162-163[View Page 162-163] 162 A TRAMP THROUGH A They came swimming up stream again. I covered one fairly, and pulled trigger; down he went, and up he came; he had hardly swnm a rod, before I heard a loud report; and instantly the feathers flew, and the small duck was defunct. I looked down the Bayou; on the other bank, his figure in strong relief against the sun-light, a tall spare man leaned on a gun. It was impossible, at the distance, to notice his features; but the ease of his position, the rest, and tranquillity of that pose, showed me his exact state of mind. I've heard of long shots, read about them, seen them, but this one beat themn all. I wanted to see that gun; I wanted to see that man. Jumping into a boat, I pulled off for the duck, picked it up, and again rowed for the spot where the man who shot it, stood. Reaching him, I lifted up the duck to hand to him, and, for the first time, caught a glance at his weather-beaten, storm-proof, face; a laugh played round his eyes, but stopped long before it reached his mouth, which was shut too tight, to be opened by the laugh up-stairs. "Don't want it," said he; " shot him for you. See, you 've never tried a hand to Double-divers before." "' Never," I answered; "I thank you for the duck. Your gun carries well." " That shot's a short one; for a long one, I never saw the gun could outshoot this." And he glanced down the stock, as he. still stood leaning on it. I was i -LOUISIANA CANE-BRAKE. 163 swamped; the perfect coolness of the man's state- ment, and a look about his eyes, that told you he had been introduced to Truth, and dwelt with her, wouldn't allow me to doubt him. What a long shot was, I didn't enquire; his short shot knocked me cold. The gun, he said, had belonged to his father, who had bought it of an Indian, who got it, nobody knew how. He had had it re-stocked and altered, into a percussion lock, but the original barrel was there, and a better one Manton never made. Along the breech, curious arabesque designs had formerly been let in in gold; most of this had worn away, but in one place, near the stock, they still shone but, and the letters ONA, evidently the termination of a word, seemed to point its Spanish origin. Spanish gun- barrels, were once the best in the world. Lighting segars, we had a long talk over hunting, gunning, fishing, life in the swamp, &c.; and when I rose up to go, it was with regret. Shaking a hand, tough as the hide of a bull-buffalo, I gave him grip for grip, and in a few minutes more was alongside of PORT, who had just hauled in a Red-fish. We passed that day fishing; the next morning, the COLONEL roused all hands up bright and early, for the homeward path. A large Red-fish, carefully packed in a champagne basket, in wet moss, was the COLONEL'S trophy, of our cane-brake excursion. After we were all ready, the CoLoNEL, taking out page: 164-165[View Page 164-165] 164 A TRAMP THROUGH A CANE-BRAKE. his watch, mentioned, that it was now eight o'clock, A. M., and, that by tight riding, we might reach the plantation by sundown. The past two days, it had been showery, and the soft ground made it hard work for the horses. But we pushed on through cane- brake, palmetto patch, wood, vines, briars, keeping our horses well up to their work. A little after mid- day, we halted a few minutes for lunch; and then, freshened up, again put our beasts through the brake. At five o'clock, we reached the COLONEL'S house, having made twenty-eight miles, since eight in the morning. Considering, that it took three days to go down, the time back was good. It was a good time, generally, and--" long may it wave!" GIDEON GRINDER'S TURKEY-RAFFLE. 165 XXV. GIDEON GRINDER'S TU1RKEY-RAFFLE. PEA1TTPA i KTNG of turkey- raffles," said GIDEOX, my father thought it high time for me to be moving into business. I had always lived down in Delaware, on the farm, till this time; so I started for the city, with a letter to my uncle. Now, uncle was a staunch old Quaker, in the dry-good business; and he at once took me into his store, to let me learn business; and into his home, to look after me out of business; so that I was pretty well guarded at both corners. But, boys will be boys, and I soon found among the young men in the store one or two who were willing enough to teach mne city-ways. I was a pretty apt scholar. Time flew round; and one Christmas-eve, about two years after I came up to the city, I was down at the store packing oeotwwhweewlin enug to tech page: 166-167[View Page 166-167] 166 GIDEON GRINDER'S goods to fill some order, along with: another young man, named NAT. Said Nat. to me: "Gid., my boy, this is rather hard, to have to work on Christmas-eve, ain't it?" "Rather!"I answered; "but then to-morrow is Christmas, and we'll have that for a holiday, any way!" "Not as you knows on!" said Nat. Nat. used a great many slang phrases. Then he added: "Old Shadwell (my esteemed uncle,) said he should give us to-morrow as holiday, except afew hours in the morn- ing, when we might pack some goods to fill that Mobile order-just for exercise! Now, Gid., if we do have to come down here to-morrow, we'll make a time of it, you'd better believe! I'm going to bring a bottle of whiskey, and, if there's any virtue in that old counting-house stove, it's got to come out in the shape of hot water; so hurrah for whiskey-punches!" There was something irresistibly attractive to me in the idea. Here, right in my esteemed uncle's strong-hold, to brew that awful abomination called by the world's people whiskey-punch; in this store, where six days of the week he was bodily present, and mentally present on the seventh. "It shall be done!" said I to Nat. And then we went to work in earnest and packed the goods, nailed up the boxes, marked them, and having finished this much, we went down stairs to the counting-room; for we had been at work TURKEY-RAFFLE. 167 up-stairs while packing. The head-clerk, who was busy at the books, told us we might go, and he would leave the keys at my uncle's house. "M Mr. Shadwell said you must pack those goods for Mobile to-morrow morning, and as soon as you get through you can have the rest of the day to your- selves," added he. "Thank you for nothing, very kindly," said Nat. aside to me, in a low voice; and we left the store. It was a hungry kind of a night, and as we passed an oyster-cellar Nat. spoke out again: "Gid., what do you say to a few of the natives, on the half-shell?" "Done!"I replied; "I can stow away half-a- dozen." So down we went. There was a crowd in there, and great excitement round a table, where a man stood with a dice-box, rattling the bones. Having eaten the oysters, finished a couple of glasses of ale, noted the exquisite care bestowed by the oyster- opener on his " top-knot," and wondering if his curls were the work of art or nature, we turned to see what caused the crowd and -excitement. "A turkey-raffle!" said Nat. "Here's your way to win a Christmas dinner. My eyes, what fine birds! I'm in for one chance." So Nat. put down his money, and at the sight of his boldness I went in too. After the amount .was made up, the dice were thrown, and a famous large gobbler fell to the share of a beefsteak- :' page: 168-169[View Page 168-169] 168 GIDEON GRINDER'S faced, burly, 'broth of a boy,' who was porter in the store next to my uncle's.- I tried my luck the second time, and, by great good chance, threw the highest, and a rousing hen-turkey was mine. Now, I had never given it a thought that I should have such good fortune, and, as I took up the defunct hen-turkey, I felt ' sold,' without being so. "What shall I do with her, Nat.?' "Take her down to the store and leave her there," he answered. "To-morrow mornirg we'll get her, i have her cooked at the cellar, sent to the store, and i have a first-rate Christmas dinner, all to ourselves. i I board up at old Mrs. Shinley's, and won't get any- i thing fit to eat there;--your uncle Shadwell never i makes a spread on Christmas;--so it's the best thing we can do." I agreed with him, and we both went to the store, but found that the head-clerk had cleared out, and locked up. "Well," spoke Nat., "there's no help for it-you'll have to take her home with you, and keep her all night. But mind you bring her down to the store with you in the morning." j "All right, you'll see her;" and so saying, I put her under my over-coat, held her by the neck with one hand, covering her body and tail, as well as I could with the coat-skirts, with my other hand, and propelled towards my esteemed Uncle Shadwell's house. Arrived there, I rang the bell softly, and the TU R K E Y - LE. 169 servant-maid opening the door, I rushed in, nearly oversetting her; so great was my anxiety so reach my room unobserved; but my foot tripped over the door- mat, and falling, the hen-turkey shot out about six feet ahead of me into the entry. "Och, shure, misther Gideon, an' are yiz afther bringin' a babe inter the house?" asked Biddy, as the flesh-coloured mass shone out under the light d6 the hall-lamp. "Keep quiet, Biddy," said I, hastily picking up the turkey: , "It's not a baby, only a Christmas present;" and I darted up stairs just as my esteemed uncle's snuff-colored coat was seen coming out of the parlor; and his voice came winding up-stairs:- "Gideon, what is thee doing?" "I fell on the stairs, uncle!"I shouted back; and so I was allowed to gain my chamber in the third- story back room, without any further impediment. It was a fine, clear, cold, moon-light night, and I determined, I would hang the turkey out of the win- dow, where I thought no one would see it; take it in early in :,he morning, and after breakfast, carry it down to the store, and dispose of it as Nat. had pro- posed. The turkey was hung out, and while thinking over it, I fell asleep; in my dreams, I distinctly heard the "quakeresque" voice of my Uncle Shadwell, saying- "Gideon, thee is very thoughtful, to remember thy It page: 170-171[View Page 170-171] I 170 GIDEON GRINDER'S relations thus. There was need of a turkey, and thou hast brought it. Rise, take in thy fowl, and hand it to me, for thy aunt will see that it is hung up with care, and drawn with neatness!" "It's already 'drawn.' I drew it to-night, at a I raf----"This, I spoke out loud. A sharp rap at my chamber-door, showed me, that I had answered a, question, made in the body. I opened the door. There stood my uncle. "Gideon," grunted he, "I was out in the garden, and happening to glance upward, I saw thy Christ- mas present for thy uncle, hanging at thy room-win- dow. Thee is very kind; thee need not wait till the morrow, but even give it to me now. I will confide to thy Aunt Prudence, and she will see that the cook draws it, and hangs it up in the area." Had old Shadwell turned a hose-pipe at me, and soaked me with water, he couldn't have stunned me more. However, I made a virtue out of a snuff- coloured necessity, and, taking in the turkey, I handed it to him. I!"How much did thee give for it, Gideon '" "O, uncle!" said I, "don't ask the price of a pre- sent." I didn't believe it would conform to his ideas of propriety, had I told him that I won it at a raffle. "Well, Gideon, thee is one of the world's people, and they have strange ways; I won't press thee to i . TURKEY-RAFFLE. 171 know how much thee gave; perhaps thee has been cheated; for the chicken-hucksters in the market worship Mammon. Ah! Let it go. Thy turkey is in safe keeping now!" And down stairs he went with it, while I returned to bed as mad as a hornet; and yet, in the intervals of anger, ready to laugh at the ease with which my esteemed uncle, had "boned" that turkey. Next morning at breakfast, Aunt Prudence greeted me with a smile, and said:- "Gideon Grinder, thee was very kind to present us with that turkey. Of a truth, it is a weighty one. ! We will dine on it (!) to-day. So, remember thee comes home early." I went down to the store, and when I had told Nat. of my misfortune, great was his wrath; however, he calmed down, and, after abusing my esteemed uncle like a pickpocket, brought out a bottle of whiskey, put water on the stove to boil, and, in the interim, we packed the goods. After we got through with this, Nat. brought out lemons and sugar; in a few minutes, we had the tallest kind of a punch rewed, and sat till dinner-time, discussing its merits. Then we rose up, and, with slightly clouded "intellex," started for our different homes. When I reached Uncle Shadwell's, and sat down to dinner, great was my disgust, at seeing the turkey brought on boiled. Boiled turkey I despise. And Uncle Shadwell! There he stood, carving-knife in . ? page: 172[View Page 172] 172 GIDEON GRINDER'S TURKEY-RAFFLE. hand, ready to go in and cut off the wings. Delusive hope! a hand-saw would have been more useful than that steel-blade, sharp as it was. First, slily coquetting with the steel, Uncle Shadwell next plunged the fork into the turkey, and then made his first cut at it; he might as well have tried to cut out gun-flints with a razor! Uncle Shadwell grew red in the face; he, the man of peace, yet prince of carvers, not able to cut a turkey! He made a second attempt. "Gideon," said he, "the hucksters have proved' too much for thee! they have sold thee an aged turkey." The punch was in my head, and as I looked round the table at the guests (for two or three had been invited), I answered, very meekly: "I thought she was tender and true!" "Truly tough," replied my uncle, "but not tender. Thee and friends -will have but a tough dinner to-day.' And so it turned out. (Boiled leather would have been tender compared to that pizee de resistance!) But I had my revenge for losing the turkey, in the sad-looking faces around me, and in the idea of half-a-dozen Quakers eating, or trying to eat, a turkey won at a raffle! I came to the con- clusion that the next time Uncle Shadwell saw a turkey hanging by moonlight out of his nephew's window, he wouldn't, at least, have a Christmas din- ner on the 'strength' of it. So ended the fruits of my first turkey-raffle!" page: Illustration-173[View Page Illustration-173] PULLS AT A REAL HAVANA. 173 X . VI. PULLS AT A REAL HAVANA. No. I. IN THE HARBOR. "No sabe vm. que hora es? Don't you know what o'clock it is?" JOSSE'S SPAN. GRAMMAR, p. 323. COME up on deck, come up; Cuba's in sight!" shouted Pote, in a highly tremulous voice, to his friend Brick, who, still seated at the dinner-table, was dallying with a coy kernel of a hickory-nut that refused to come out, pick he never so wisely. "Good! very good!-now, Pote, sit down calmly and help me finish this bottle of sherry. I've a pre- sentiment that we're all going to live long enough to finish it, and go up --if go up we must-see Cuba, and then-smoke." 15' page: 174-175[View Page 174-175] 174 PULLS AT A REAL HAVANA. "B-but Cuba's in sight!" added Pote. "Good again! Very glad to hear it; hope it'll stay so. Sit down!" In about half an hour, Brick and Pote were on the deck of the steamer "Crescent City." "See! see!" spoke Pote, " over there, on the wea- ther-quarter, that light-blue cloud, as it were, that's Cuba!" "Smoke! You can't fool me," remarked Brick, sententiously; " d'ye see that steerage-passenger there, with a short six in his mouth'? Well, he's making Cuba!" a N-no he ain't! Captain M'--C just said it was Cuba, and it seems to me - yes!" and here Pote stopped and snuffed up the air-" it seems to me I can catch a smell of spicy air, a perfumed zephyr from beautiful Cuba!" ' "Hold on, Pote! Don't exhaust yourself; it's only an exhalation of hedyosmia from Miss John- son's handkerchief. Don't you see her coming up from the cabin?" A great deal of conversation, ditto liquor, was dis- posed of by the passengers during the afternoon. The subject of their discourse was, whether they could reach the Moro Castle before sun-set, and thus be able to run up the harbor to an anchorage, and go ashore that night. Practical Brick and poetical Pote the former smoking like a house on fire-as the hIt PULLS AT A REAL HAVANA. 175 sun went down, walked forward, and over the steamer's bow gazed into the dark water of the Gulf; the one in mild-eyed wonder gazing at while querying "whence came the fragile shells that, Nautilus-like, floated over the sad waves, and where went the swift-winged flying- fish that shot from wave to wave?" while the other revolved over "how those cussed little Portuguese men-of-war must be mashed up after the steamer had run 'em down, and whether fried flying-fish wouldn't go well?" As it grew darker, the Moro light shone out, then another and another, till gas-lighted Havana was before them. The pilot came on board; and New York, Jr., having discovered, during the voyage, two hand-organs, with grinder-attachments, to Brick's great joy succeeded in getting them aft on the quar- ter-deck, and the steamer ran under the walls of the Moro to the tune of" pasta Diva," while she sat in "The Low-Backed Car" promiscuously, and came to anchor by the guard-ship, under the walls of the Cabanas. Soon through the dark waters flashed in phosphorescent light the oars of a custom-house boat, which rowed all night round the steamer. Every oarsman had a lighted segar in his mouth, and the man at the stern seemed to have two. Beautiful Cuba! A flash of light and the report of a gui/ came booming over the water; then from out the guard- I . page: 176-177[View Page 176-177] 176 PULLS AT A REAL HAVANA. house in the Cabanas fort, high over the heads of Brick and Pote, came the shrill cry of the sentinels, "Alerta!" and the roll of drums and the blast of bugles rang out as the guard made the rounds. The sound of music came faintly over the waters of the harbor; it was the military band performing on the Plaza. Pote strained his eyes to make out form or shape to the city; then up to the fort; then at the custom-house boat; but darkness was over all; then up at the sky. "Oh, Brick! this is very lovely. How brilliantly the stars shine! Heaven seems nearer to the dwellers in this fair land than to us of the cold and dismal North!"But Brick heard not; he was leaning over the side of the steamer, listening to the roll-call of Spanish oaths coming out of the custom- house boat. Some one, regardless of the old saw, "Coals to kNewcastle," had chucked a lighted segar into this nest of hornets, and they were singing. Beside giving one ear to this, he had a mental eye fixed on the dark-eyed senoras, and the dark-brown segars, and the opera, and cock-fights, and a bull- i fight, and all those other' little arrangements he proposed putting into the next day, and so on. "Good-night, Pote! I'm going to turn in; it's too damp on deck. I'll see you to-morrow morning early." Brick hereupon dove down into the cabin, where a select little party were drinking rum and porter. , PULLS AT A REAL HAVANA. 1" He had an indistinct recollection on waking up, of being in some strange place, and jumping out of the berth, looked through the dead-light of his state- room, and found the moon shining brightly on the walls of the Cabanas. Looking at his watch, and finding it about four o'clock, he dressed, and went up on deck. Now, for the first time in his life, as he I gazed on the strange scene around him, made misty in the moon-light, did he feel at heart, oppressing symptoms of a new-born sensation!-a love for the beautiful; not even to be choked by a cup of coffee, and a segar. As morning dawned, the vessels of every nation at anchor, in the distance; the fort on the Punta, the hospital, prison, barracks, the Moro Castle, with its light-house; and the Cabanas stood out in bold relief, against the strong light; and, at sunrise, as the steamer started for her wharf, they passed the Havana, bathed in rosy light, and rising from the water, like an exhalation of the morning. By the time the steamer had reached her wharf, boats of all kinds and shapes, from the man-of-war's cutter, down to the waterman's two-oared boat-a cross between a canvas-covered Jersey wagon and an Italian gondola-had been, or were along-side. at once saluted him: "G Good-morning! haven't we got the tools here for a romance, hey? But what hotel are you going to?"Brick might as well have page: 178-179[View Page 178-179] ! 178 PULLS AT A REAL HAVANA. left this question unasked. Pote was all eyes. He hadn't an ear just then for a syren, let alone Brick. Ten minutes toned him down though to the realities of life; and in answer to Brick's repeated hotel ques- tion, he answered: "The Colon, of course, if we can get in there. The major-domo of the hotel will be here before long with a boat, and then we can go over to the Havana with him." Brick's mind at rest, he opened on Pote. "Isn't this the place to live and die in, 'specially the latter, about August? Look at that boat-load of oranges, piled in like coals in a collier. See those palms over there at Casa Blanca, and over there at Regla. Admire the soft green of those hills. Twig the moustache of that old cock in the custom-house boat. Look at those 'coolies' rowing that boat; they're a fresh importa- tion from the East Indies, brought here to do away with slavery; 't wont work though. Hallo! there's two English men-of-war, and a brig ditto. What are they doing here? And there's a Spanish man-of-war steamer. Never a bit of striped bunting in the har- bor. But here's our boat. Where's your baggage?" In a few minutes, Brick and Pote were seated under the awning of the boat, with their luggage, spinning over the flashing waters of the harbor, toward the custom-house wharf. One of the oars-men, a negro of "tremendous build," had a breadth of chest and 9 PULLS AT A REAL HAVANA, 179 mass of muscle large enough to establish a Farnese Hercules in business. The other oars-man, a Spaniard, pulled the bow-oar in fine style. Together they made I La Gertrfudis run the water like a lively thing. While Pote was vainly endeavoring to drink in with his eyes the "things of beauty" all round him, that he might lay in a stock of "joy for ever," the major- domo ordered the small sail spread, and on they flew. But hark! --what shout is that? Not ten feet astern of them a rival boat, El Poder de Dios, is cracking on all sail and oars; New York, Jr., standing up in her, is shouting for delight at the prospect of going in ahead; but the oars-men in Brick's boat lie down to it; they strain every nerve; the water runs by them like a mill-race. "Push on! Cara! oh! go -ahead!" ; shouted the major-domo in Spanish, and by miracu- lous exertions, La Gertrudis shot -ahead like an arrow, and the last heard from New York, Jr., was, "Oh! get away with your d--d old 'La Ger-beer- tub!' " Arrived at the wharf, they clambered up, had their luggage brought after them, and stood under the shed, waiting till the "most faithful" of her Catholic Majesty's aduaneros would give them a landing-permit and examine their baggage. The steamer "Isabel" had that morning arrived from Charleston, and her passengers, added- to those of the "Crescent City," gave the officials plenty of business, and necessarily page: 180-181[View Page 180-181] 180 PULLS AT A REAL HAVANA. delayed los Americanos in their hot haste to see the Havana. New York, Jr., boiled over with wrath at the detention. "Only just wait till we get hold of things here! Won't we change all this? Isn't there ! any way of swimming round the Custom-house, instead of going through it?" said he, as he examined the depth of water round the wharf. "Look there!" he continued, "ain't we in an outside country? There's the captain of a bark giving orders on horse- back! Don't he look jolly, tearing round decks there?" Looking in the direction indicated, Brick saw sure enough, on the forward deck of a vessel just coming to anchor near the wharf, a man on horse-back. Whether he was captain or not, New York, Jr., only knew, and he had spoken. Half-a- dozen sailor-rigged functionaries, with Capitan-Gene- ral painted in gilt letters on the black ribbons round their straw-hats, with each a segar in his mouth, assisted by looking on at the opening and examination of trunks, band-boxes, valises, chests, &c. The heat of the day was soon felt. One gentleman, an invalid, fainted, but he was not uncared for; almost in an in- stant assistance was rendered him, for were there not Americans there? One lady fanned his pale face; another applied a vinaigrette; a glass of ice-water was brought; and while the invalid slowly revived - the excitement at its height-the door of the office was thrown open, the landing-permits given. The major- !l Jt PULLS AT A REAL HAVANA. 181 domo of the hotel asked Brick and Pote to open their trunks. The Custom-house officer lifted up the lids through cerempny-your real Spaniard is so courteous -and the next instant Brick saw his trunk -a trunk heavy enough in the States to have occupied thb united groans of two Irishmen-lifted like a cork bt a stalwart nigger to the top of his head. Pote's baggage was handled in lik-e manner by a couple more, and passing the sentinel at the gate, they 'found themselves, after a minute's walk, in the comfortable Hotel de Colo'n. 16 , , \ page: 182-183[View Page 182-183] 182 PULLS AT A REAL HAVANA. XXVIL. PULLS AT A REAL HAVANA. No. II IN THE CITY. From thence we went to HAVANA, the first sight of which agree- ably surprised me. We lodged altogether in one khan, and I had the view of a city that was large, populous, full of handsome people, and well fortified. We employed some days in walking up and down the delicious gardens that surrounded it; and we all agreed that IIAVANA was justly said to be seated in a paradise. ARABIAN NIGHTS. NOW don't say "Pshaw! the fellers that wrote that book never heard of Havana!" Who said they did? I only substituted Havana for Da- mascus; and what is more, all through this article, intend to do just as I please. My friend Brick, who was the hero of the last article, having engaged too freely in the attractions offered at the capital of this "ever faithful island" (religiously PULLS AT A REAL HAVANA. , 183 speaking), is now hors du conzbat, or we " count him out," and has engaged me to handle the papers for him; and since he can't give in his experience, here goes for mine. Beautiful Cuba! If, on your first visit to Havana-with information of hotel-life gleaned only from the Revere, St. Nicholas, Girard, or St. Charles--you expect to find accommo- dations similar to these, great will be your disappoint- ment. But if you have prepared your mind, by the diligent perusal of such sketches of the island as "the low, radical, vulgar, literary" men have from time to time set forth, you will find the scant-furnished rooms of the Havana hotels exactly in keeping with the requirements of the climate. Not but that there are days when a prevailing "Norther" would make you long for the comfortable carpets, and all that sort of thing, appertaining to a rugged climate; but then they are so few, that in this capital of "The Isola Bella of the Caribbean," as B calls Cuba, there is -only an occasional hint at such a thing as frost. Be that as it may, I found the cement floor of my chamber, the unglazed windows, the X bedstead, with only a thin mattress, but a thick mosquito-bar; the I one chair, one writing-table, one wash-stand, one looking glass, yes! pitcher and bowl; two yards and a half of Canton matting-amply sufficient furniture. Beside, if a friend called on me, had n't I a very large trunk to offer him--for a chair? Vamos! It's just page: 184-185[View Page 184-185] 184 PULLS AT A REAL HAVANA. as well to introduce a few Spanish words--they round off a sentence. This is my first morning in Havana. Were I asked to candidly write down my first impressions in two words and a half, they should be Moorish. White-wash. Having taken an inventory of the furniture I was temporarily master of in my chamber, and "toil- etted," I descended to the sala or hall, and in a few minutes the breakfast-bell rang. Waiting for the ladies to sail past me. What a delightful air of comfort there was in those light, flowing, muslin morning-dresses! What attractions in the dark eyes, and darker tresses! Beautiful Cuba! I took my seat at table in front of strange dishes. An old friend at my right hand, in the shape of a bottle of red wine, I cheerfully greeted, and poured a part of him into the- half-filled goblet of ice and water. Beautiful Cuba! We drank sante to the fried bananas, roasted yams, eternal fried eggs, and I can't tell the names of how many more dishes, winding up all with a cup of coffee and roll. Breakfast finished, the next thing was a segar, and now, said I, let us see the Havana, that I am going to smoke. For years I've been puffing away at Figaros, Partagas, Flor de Cabanas, and I do n't know how many more brands, including Neptunos, 2Esculapios, and Higueras; let me go out into the highways and invite the canaille in-the nameless segars, the unbranded ones--and give them a trial. PULLS AT A REAL HAVANA. 185 As I walked out of the hotel into the street, the intense lightness and brightness of the sun-light almost blinded me. I looked for the side-walk; in the Cale Inquisidor, at the corner of the Calle de Luz, there was none. What was I to do? Such a thing as a street without a side-walk was hard to under- stand. Luckily I remembered the "Irishman" who found "the middle of the street the best side of the way," and siding with him, I boldly struck out. But all my calculations were knocked on the head, and I just escaped a similar fate from a volante, which, dashing up behind me - the street not being paved, its approach was unheard-just gave me time to jump aside as it whirled past. A very odd affair i; a volante, especially at first sight. If Callot, in one of his wildest fantasies, had drawn one, I should not have been astonished. But then they are so comfort- able to ride in! Granted; and the long shafts, and the high wheels, and the old-fashioned chaise-body, and the driver, who rides horseback, all covered with trimmings, and the many silver-buckles, are forgotten as you dash along, making the street-walkers fly right and left. Beautiful Cuba! Oh! what a contrivance it would be for New York! What a great assistant in reforms! B , who is a great philantiropist, when he first saw a volante - I was with him at the'me - clutched me convulsively by the arm. "At last, said he, "I see a worthy object of compassion. My 16' page: 186-187[View Page 186-187] 186 PULLS AT A REAL HAVANA. energies shall all be devoted to purchasing that vehicle, horse, and nigger, conveying them to New York, and then liberating them on Broadway. What office do you suppose they'll elect me to, in compen- sation?" The quitrin or the volante is to the Haba- nera what a bonnet is to an American lady; she can't go out of doors without it. The narrowness of the side-walks in the Havana streets, and "old custom" prevent the Havana lady walking out, and thus the volantes are always in demand. In wealthy families, one volante is always in waiting, ready to start where- ever the ladies' fancy leads them; and often each lady in the house has her own private vehicle. In a little pamphlet called "Pasatiempo de las Damas en la Isla de Cuba," you will find in that part of it called "The New Oracle," the following question: Con que c6nientiar mi amada? What will content my lady-love? i;: A very knotty question, and which, if well solved I thought the bookseller deserved the peseta he asked for the book. It gives seven answers. We will takb the first: "En sosteniendola quitrin, Contenta la tendras sin fin, In keeping for her a quitrin, Ever contented she'll be seen." PULLS AT A REAL HAVANAO 187 Which answer shows what a quitrin will do, and is more gallant tha n another to the same question: "Aunque la muger es mueble de lujo, Prueba con tasajo brujo." Consider me walking all this time past houses with front-doors: large enough for the volante to drive in and out; with windows ten or twelve feet high, and five or six broad, with iron bars, d la menagerie, from top to bottom; inside shutters, d la New York, and the aforesaid windows reaching within a foot of the ground; construct these houses of stone walls, two feet thick, and then blue, yellow, or pink-wash them outside; make them two stories high, and, as it is now about eleven o'clock in the morning, shut the shutters tight, so that you can see nothing of the interior, and let us walk down the shady side of the Calle de Mer- I caderes. I see a segar-shop; there is a Murillo-like tone in all its colors, save the white wrappers of cigarritos; four or five men are rolling up tabacos, and in I go, buy a bundle of segars, just tied up in ribbon of one of the two national colors, yellow or red- (think of this, reader, when next you open a box) - and, fresh as grass, light it and start out. There is an aroma about these nameless segars reminding one of coffee made by the Acadians of Louisiana; if you * Translate this for yourself; I 'm out of Dictionary page: 188-189[View Page 188-189] 188 PULLS AT A REAL HAVANA. are nervous, don't smoke them. Go to Carvajal, in the Calle de San Ignacio, or any other good manu- facturer, choose segars Pajizo color, and be satisfied. And now having a bundle of segars for a cornm panion, and with all faith in ounces, pesos, pesetas, and reales for guides, let's see the city. Came to the Calle de Obispo, looked up and down, saw a large building to my right-hand, turned towards it. It 's the Governor's palace, and in front of it the beautiful square, or Plaza de Armas; but the sun's rays are too hot to allow a walk there now, although I feel an in- tense desire to stand under palm-trees, and do the Oriental for a few minutes. Walk on, however, keeping in the shade as much as possible, and, after turning up a street, see at its corner a sign I've heard of before, "La Dominica." Oh! yes! that's the place, and in I go to refresh. Well, a caf6 is about the same thing from Cape Cod to Jerusalem, the only difference is in the traveller; and as this sage obser- vation flowed through my brains, having lit a fresh segar, disposed of a bottle of Scotch ale, and bought a lot of Dominica tickets, I was slowly making my way along the street, when a grave-looking old gentle- man, in a clean shirt and straw-hat, waved his hand for a light, murmuring ' "Candela." He took the segar, and having succeeded in striking a light in one corner of it, gave it back, saying: "Sir, I am very much obliged to you;" and this he did without PULLS AT A REAL HAVANA. 189 speaking a word! It was done by a certain turn of the hand as he returned the segar. How it's done, I can't tell. I practised one afternoon with , the result of which was the burning of two fingers and some reversed blessings; but no poetry of motion. There is a pleasant little walk- Cortina de-Valdes - along the harbor, not far from La Dominica; over the water, the Moro Castle, and the Fort Cabanas, look down on you; opposite, is the little town of Casa Blanca, where Captain Canot 5aw a few slavers; while off in the harbor lie vessels at anchor. Turning from here, in a short walk, you are in the noble old Cathedral, the burial-place of Columbus, who, not having had the foresight of Shakspeare, or his ability to curse, has in consequence had his remains moved about from one place to another, till at last they have brought his ashes here. An urn containing them is placed in the wall to the right of the main altar, and before it on a marble slab is a bust in basso relievo, of the "Giver of a New World," under which, in gilt letters, you read: O! Restos y imagen del grande Colon, Mil siglos durad guardados en la urna. Y en la remembrancia de nuestra nacion. They sound well-in Spanish.-The exterior of the Cathedral, with its sombre hue and time-worn look, hardly prepares you for the brightness of its interior page: 190-191[View Page 190-191] 190 PULLS AT A REAL HAVANA. decorations; awaking few religious sentiments ex- cept, perhaps, an adoration for some animate orna- ments of the church, kneeling here and there on the marble pavement. I The Bishop's gardens, though sadly neglected, still form for the stranger a beautiful overture to the ' abundant wealth of tropical vegetation. Beneath the shade of feathery palms, under bread-fruit trees, along alleys of bamboos and (un-pickled) mangoes, by sheets of water, where rose-red lilies float, and by the running stream that skirts the broad walk, I wandered one sun-lit morning. The fresh land- breeze stole softly through the foliage, fanning my face; bright flowers bloomed in the gay parterre in front of the ruined house; birds winged their way across the shaded walks. Beautiful Cuba! I saw no trail there of that "old serpent" which disturbed Miss Bremer in Cuba; the only approach to a "snake in the grass" was a very old negro, who rose slowly out of a clump of rose-bushes as I passed the parterre. Had he told me he was a black eunuch, sent to conduct me to the palace of "Schemselnihar," or down into. a hole in the ground, where a big genie sat guarding a treasure, I was in the mood to follow him anywhere, and believe everything. But he only asked for segars. Viewing his ex- treme age and infirmities, I gave him a "quarter," which, after attentively turning over, he handed back, shaking his head,- and mumbling, ("No me PULLS AT A REAL HAVANA. 191 gusta, Senor!" (No go, Sir.) I took it, found that it was an American piece, and gave him a veritable real fiuerte, or shilling; great was his joy thereat. What a possession is wisdom, 'specially arithmetical!* The aged negro stirred up the animals confined in the cages, and said, pointing to a savage looking brute of the tom-cat-tiger species, that he could put his arm into the cage, and the animal would not bite it. I looked at his arm, and believed him. On the ride out to these gardens, you pass many beautiful private residences, their carefully-tended grounds filled with beautiful flowers, at least at this time of year-February. The Market-Places in the Havana offer attractions to the stranger by the variety, queer shapes, and colors of fruits, vegetables, &c. To look at them, one seems to realize the magic fish, flesh, fruit, and other fancy articles of the "Arabian Nights." Of a truth, Cuba is Nature's paint-box. Towards sunset, it is pleasant to ride out in a volante or quitrin (the only difference that I notice between them is, that the quitrin has a movable top, while the volante has a stationary one) to the Paseo de Tacon, roll along this splendid road, admire the fountains, statues, trees, and the beautiful senoras as they ride by -particularly the latter. Then to the Paseo de * "Never mind, the time's coming when these chaps will be glad to get ' quarter.' " - Note by B----. page: 192-193[View Page 192-193] 192 PULLS AT A REAL HAVANA. Isabella Segunda, over which, too, a continuous line of vehicles roll leisurely, or rattle quickly along. The thunder of wheels dies away gradually after sunset, and then if you haven't the opera, or theatre, tertulia, or any thing else to attend to, ride to the Plaza de Armas, and listen to the military band performing there every night between eight and nine o'clock. If you like a sail or row in the harbor, it is but a short walk to the wharf, and I can assure you that there are a great many beauties in one of these night ex- cursions over the harbor. Beautiful Cuba! I don't believe that even Sir Charles Coldstream would have said, had he ever visited Cuba, that "there was nothing in it." The curtain of black letters is falling over the white sheet. The second act is over. You who have not visited Cuba, go there; for you know not how long it may be ere its romance yields to reality, or how soon some parodizing Spaniard may sing; "CARTAS le fueron venidas Que Habana era ganada. Las cartas echo en el fuego, Y al mensagero matava. Ay de mi, O! Cuba!" "Letters to the monarch tell How Havana's city fell. In the fire the cards he sticked, And the messenger he kicked. Ah! my eye, oh! Cuba!" , ( PULLS AT A REAL HAVANA. 193 XX-VIII. PULLS AT A REAL HAVANA. No. III. A SUNDAY IN HAVANA. "ONG rays of sunshine fell on the stone floor of my sleep- ing chamber in the Hotel de Colon. No panes of glass were there to dim their bril- liance; they broke in even through iron bars set there to guard the caseneent. Do, mingo had that moment come in to wake me. I knew it was seven o'clock in the morning; for he held in one hand a cup of coffee, and in the other a plate of oranges; the one awoke, the other refreshed me. He brought me Cabanas segars, with a light. The mosquito-bars thrown aside, leaning my head on my hand, I looked out of the window lazily, dreamily, between the light-blue clouds of segar-smoke, across the harbor at the Spanish steamer " Fernando Cato- 17 page: 194-195[View Page 194-195] 194 PULLS AT A REAL HAVANA. lico," at the English mansa-of-war ' ]Boscawen," at the American steamer "Isabel," and over to Regla and- Casa Blanca, then up to the blue sky, and thought hallo! mass to be performed at eight o'clock, and here I am in bed. "Alerta!" which is a Spanish word sung by the sentinels over there in the Moro, Cabanas, and other places, meaning, "You can't catA us asleep; here we are, wide awake!" which is a very good thing. It being a very warm February day, I dressed in a thin linen suit, lit another segar,- and started for church. Now be it known that Don Juan, the lively major-domo of the Hotel de Colon, had informed me the night before, that a military mass would be per- formed in the morning at the church of San Ignacio, and as I had an intense desire to do it, I at once set out for that time-honored pile. Arrived there, I found a mass-of people, but no military. Was told to go to the church of Santa Somebody; went there; found her in dishabille, the carpenters and masons having been tinkering at her all the week; no mass there. Made another break, and, if I remember right, in Santa Clara's holy aisles stopped. In a few minutes heard a fife and drum come marching down the lane-street they called it, or calle-de Luz. Soon l the troops came marching in, the band of music filing off to the left-hand aisle, the soldiers to the right. Six soldiers with drawn swords walked up the elevated . PULLS AT A REAL HAVANA. 195 platform, on which stood the altar, took their places, three on each side of the officiating priest, presented swords, and stood there emblems, I suppose, of state upholding church. The military band played ravissant, as a pretty French lady at my elbow said. In sober truth, Doni- zetti ought to have felt rejoiced, at seeing his airs puri- fied in such a way as they were that morning. How lovely to bring the "Borgia" out from among the contaminations of the opera-house, and make her, by contact with the church, as pure as it made her when she was alive! Yes, the music nearly undid me; I felt loose, just as if I should fall to pieces; and then the nmantilla 'dsenoras, those dark eyes, and those dark-skins! for there were many negresses there, in all the adornments of rosaries and starched robes. Mass being over, I lit a segar, ,nd returned to break- fast, where a table d'h6te, at half-past nine, awaited me. This over, I revolved on my proceeding for the balance of the day. Rose from the table, lit a segar, and see-sawed in a rocking-chair for half-an-hour, (who is the patron-saint of rocking-chairs?-bless him or her,) then lit a segar, and strolled along the calle de Inquisidor, on my way to the Cathedral. Arrived there, entered, sauntered along the ailes, admiring everything, till a little boy who was arrang- ing some altar-cloths asked me, "If my mercy was not in search of the tablet to Crist6val Colon?" I page: 196-197[View Page 196-197] 196 PULLS AT A REAL HAVANA. told him, I was. Accordingly he invited me to enter the raised platform by the main altar at the end of the church. As I turned to leave the platform, there at my feet, with up-turned faces, knelt -two Spanish ladies, wrapt in prayer, and--black lace mantillas; they- were kneeling on a rich carpet, brought by their negro, who, gorgeous in embroidered livery, knelt a short distance from the ninas. As I silently stole from the church, I turned to catch one last look at the dark-robed, dark-eyed younger senora; and I caught her eye! What a good thing it is to be married; it removes one from so many temptations! Lit another segar, and as I turned into the calle de Obispo, saw Josd in his volante, waiting to be hired. One finger raised, brought him and his vehicle over. "Plaza de Toros," said I, and started off. Now, the Plaza de Toros, I sh'All take the liberty to freely trans- late " bull-pit." To that interesting spot was I bound, to see a bull-fight. Lit a segar, and meditated over that noble Roman, who slew a cow with his fist,' and was glad-he-ate-her. "A Dutch lady once wrote a book of travels," said Jim B , "and she described in it a ride she took in a volante in Havana, remarking, that she felt while in it as if 'rocked on clouds.'"I felt just so; only when I got beyond Monserrate--outside the walls- it seemed as if thunder and lightning were mixed up with the nebulous matter. Lit another segar, and PULLS AT A REAL HAVANA. 197 arrived at the Plaza de Toros. Everything wore a shut-up look to it. Asked a man at the door when the Puncion de Toros came oftf? He said it had been postponed till the next day. Determined not to be outdone, and knowing there were no more churches open, I shouted to the volante driver, "Vallo de Gallos!" and the little shuffle-trotting horse, with his tail plaited and tied to the saddle, and his mane cut off short and standing up like the rufft to Sir Charles Grandison's shirt, set off with the greatest pleasure, while Jose, having lit a segar, settled him- self in saddle, and on rolled the volante, tip and siftering along as comfortable as Punch. The Vallo de Gallos, in the vernacular, means a cock-pit, and ten minutes' riding brought me to the door or en- trance to what seemed a little, old, narrow, neglected summer-garden, with a board fence, to protect it from the weather. Two reales fuertes gave me the freedom of the cock-pit, and in I went, walked a few steps, and saw a round building made of boards, open on alla sides, with a roof to it. One tier of seats rose above another, while over all, reached by two flights of steps, one each side of the main entrance, a gallery with railing, over which you could lean and look down into the cock-pit. Before I clambered into a seat, I "took a look," but saw nothing save a thick forest of legs--not black, but white- linen panta- loons being the order of the day. Determined to see 17* page: 198-199[View Page 198-199] 198 PULLS AT A REAL HAVANA. the heads of the people, scrambled up between a lot of legs, lit a segar, and the next minute was "stun- ned!"Now, I don't possess any great powers of translation, so I'll only try to render the Spanish into English. Suppose, for an instant, about four hundred men, including a sprinkling of boys, working both arms, as if they were exercising a fire-engine, shouting at the same time, at the top of their voices, "Go it, Top-knot! Hurrah for Blanco! Four to one on Blanco! Hit him again, old fellow! Well struck! Three ounces on Blanco! Now he's got him! Down again! Viva Blanco, vi-i-va! Caramba, Top-knot! Viva!-while all the time the two cocks, game to the back-bone, are pitching into each other, and ren- dering themselves mutually unfit for any more fights. But a decisive blow from Blanco upsets Top-knot. Time was called; he couldn't come up, spite of the aguardiente blown into his wounds. The bell rang; the betters came down into the pit to settle up; and I, scrambling down, walked over to the adjoining pit, a smaller out-door building, where another fight wras coming off, to the great delight and intense satis- faction of a smaller audience. Saw it out; and then lighting a segar, returned to the large pit, where a very interesting battle had just commenced: it lasted about an hour, and the agony of suepense was piled up immensely before the victor was proclaimed. Lit another segar, and having discovered among the PULLS AT A REAL HAVANA. 199 crowd of jipi-japa hats a wide-awake felt tile, knew there was one of los Yankees there, and turning over, found B , looking as if he scented afar off the church-bells of New York; we spoke df dinner, and at once left the cock-pit for the hotel. Arrived there, performed a toilette, and at three o'clock sat down to dinner. It being over, walked out to the sala, took a cup of coffee, lit a segar, and was at peace. There I staid till my watch warned me that it was half-past 1 four. The grand parade came off at four o'clock! Took a volante to drive to Campo Marte, and in a few minutes was at the Paseo de Isabella Segunda. Found out that the troops would pass the Tacon Theatre, lit a segar, and so went up stairs to the billiard-room, in the second story, front of the theatre, and got a good place at one of the windows. In a few minutes, a military band, playing a march from "La Fille du Regiment," came by; then soldiers, infantry, dressed in dark-blue field uniform, marching quick step. One company after another passed, more music, then a sprinkling of cavalry, then a company of "nigger" soldiers; and, bringing up the rear, a number of mules, each one with a cannon, wheels and all, on their backs. What an idea!- mule-guns! There were about four thousand soldiers on parade. After they had passed, I ' assisted" at a little fight in a i neighboring caf6, then lighting another segar, took a volante, and was rolled and rocked along the Paseo, I "! page: 200-201[View Page 200-201] 200 PULLS AT A REAL HAVANA. looking at the beautiful bonnetless senoras, as they drove by in quitrines, with one or two horses, re- splendent with silver buckles, and a negro postilion, gorgeous in embroidery, top-boots, and ditto same as horses, silver buckles. The ninita or prettiest senora occupies a seat in advance of the other two ladies, and thus these brunette triads roll by, settling on you starry glances (fixed stars!) Got up an innocent flirtation, lit a segar, and drove to the Tacon Theatre, to see Beneventano in "Don Giovanni," or, as the play-bills read, "Don Juan Tenorio." Magnificent building inside; kept scrupulously neat and clean; has five tiers of boxes; the front of each tier, to a height of about three feet, having an open-work iron- railing, allows a view of the audience, the ladies' skirts, and occasionally a little Cinderella slipper peeps out. The parquette very large, and seats con- venient of access, with arms and stuffed-leather cushions. I had a seat in it, with ticket marked "Y. 146," Y standing for Yzquierda, left hand; and there I sat over the left, and gazed my fill at the splendid forms and swimming eyes of the Habaneras, occasionally looking up at the gallineria, filled with female affections, and thinking how different it was from the Vallo de Gallos! Jim B-- said the stage- curtain was a splendid work of art, and that the scene on it represented Columbus at the battle of Palo Alto! The Captain-general Concha's box, was in the first *it PULLS AT A REAL HAVANA. . 201 ,; tier, at the extreme right, and there he sat with i Madame. I liked his face; that of the Senora ^ Concha was attractive, from its very sadness. But ' the curtain rises. Steffanone, Salvi, Beneventano! i -how pleasant it is to see again these old familiar faces!"iDon Giovanni" is well produced; a full orchestra; complete chorus; and then isn't Bene- ventano lordly when he extends the invitation to supper? But all things must end. The opera is over. Jim B. suggests our attending a masked-ball at "Sebasto- pol"-a very ball-giving name, isn't it? I light a segar. One must finish the day...... Towards day-light, under the soft light of fading stars, and under the lofty palms, and by the fountain on the Paseo, I light another segar. The cool air carries off all the heated, perfumed air of the ball- room; and--Sunday is going---gone! Adios! -"f page: 202-203[View Page 202-203] 202, PULLS AT A REAL HAVANA. XXIX. PULLS AT A REAL HAVANA. No. IV. STREET SCENES. EVENTY-TWO hours. brought me from bitter cold weather in New /=:; -Orleans, to a summer climate in the Havana: and a few more saw me safely ensconced in the Hotel de Colon. Consulting the state of my feel- ings, I at once hauled out a suit of linen clothes, and put them on. Consulting the thermometer, that hung in the broad hall of the hotel, I found it at 82 at half-past nine, A. M. I r6member the hour and the minute, for the breakfast bell rang as I finished the consultation, and over a bottle of Catalo- nian wine I came to the conclusion that- it was good. PULLS AT A REAL HAVANA. 203 Reader, if you expect me to give you a statistical account of the treasures - agricultural, mercantile, civil, negro, military, &c.-that are in the Havana- you're out! If you want a few random sketches taken on foot or in a volante, without pen or pencil, not daguerreotyped, only recollected--you 're in! After breakfast I strolled along the calle de Merea- deres, not exactly knowing whether I was not after all existing in a city, built in my own brain, from views furnished by a certain architect-the same who "did up" the street scenes in the Arabian Nights. We all know pretty well by this time what kind of weather comes in February, and I thought I did--I didn't. Learned in about five minutes that the shady side of the street was desirable; and, as I crowded up against the wall to let a dashing, flashy volante whirl by me, I began to think of buying a Jipi-japa hat. What is a volante? If any body objects to this style of asking questions, and then rolling out answers, I shall point triumphantly at The Initials"- which book has been through untold editions--for an ex- ample of the excellence of this plan. It's a' superior one--it instructs the ignorant, and helps to fill up the pages. In newspapers, at a cent a line, it works still better. What is a volante? On consulting a little, vile, 16mo. Spanish and English Dictionary- which I in- tend to use up for shaving-paper I find page: 204-205[View Page 204-205] 204 PULLS AT A REAL HAVANA. VOLANTE, a. flying, shuttle-cock, balance of a watch, coining mill. Now allowing that Job ever used a little, vile, 16mo. Spanish and English Dictionary, isn't that enough to try even his patience? I'll tell you what a volante is: it's a pair of wheels something less than as high as your head, with a red, blue, yellow, brown, or gilt chaise body, hung low down in front of them. Shafts stuck on, as long as from here out of doors, say ten or fifteen feet; one or two little horses with their tails plaited with ribands and then tied up tight to the saddle, their manes cropped short and standing up like those of war-horses on bas-reliefs. Take a "big nigger," put him in full bob-tail livery; red or blue jacket trimmed with gold, silver or worsted em- broidery; encase his legs in white tights and a pair of postilion boots up to his thigh, seat him on one of the horses, and then stand off with about a bushel of silver buckles, and fire them at the " animals," and' wherever they strike let them stick, and take my opinion of it, you 've got a complete idea of a volante. The one that came dashing by in the meantime, is out of sight, besides a dozen others. Right face. Halt! You came to Havana for the climate, did you? SEGARS! Before me was an open shop about eight feet wide and ten deep, all door. The "Three Spaniards"--you read about-sat there, eadh one with an inclined wooden trough before him rolling PULLS AT A REAL HAVANA N 205 e cigarritos. Walking in the owner rose, and waited to I supply demands; handing him a half-dollar I expressed a wish to have some of the best segars, tabacos puros; ,i he handed me a bundle and a realfuerte or shilling, ' change. Ingenuous American! How long will it take ! you to find out the way to buy, in the Havana? And ? now lighting one of the segars, as the smoke rolled out, it seemed as if I was smoking a cup of the richest i coffee, so aromatic, so perfumed was the flavor. Oh ye of little faith in fresh segars, go to Havana and smoke them just out of the " mill." Coming out of the segar-shop, I nearly stumbled over a stalwart negro, whose entire wardrobe con- sisted of a very small pair of pantaloons, not quite reaching his knees; he was holding conversation with a negress, on whose head was poised a large basket filled with clothes, and having a very large mouth partly filled with a very large segar, which she was puffing away at, in order to give a light to our black Hercules in small-clothes. El (Gallito, no mistaking the letters, and no mistaking the meaning--luckily I hadn't that vile little 16mo. dictionary in my pocket --El Gallito, and here I stopped; now I had heard of Hen Conventions before I left the States, but I didn't know the "fever" had spread over the Gulf. Neither had it. The Little Rooster was only a sign for a clothing-store. Lighting on a sign-board, found 18 page: 206-207[View Page 206-207] 206 PULLS AT A REAL HAVANA. I was on the Calle de Obispo; in a few minutes reached the Governor's palace; found it scorching hot in the sun, but couldn't resist the temptation to walk into the Plaza, look at the flowers, stand under Palm- trees. Yes! stand under Palm trees; thought of soap. Found it lvery tropical-rather too much so; in about two minutes made a straight line of march for the cafe of La Dominica, that great source of guava jelly, &c., &c. On the way heard a nigger talking Spanish; thought I ought to give him my hat; concluded not to. Met three creoles, all jewelry and little boots, talking Spanish, too. Noticed everybody had black hair, while at the North they have it white; wondered why, it was? Suppose it's all right, or wouldn't be so. Went into La Dominica; found a couple of tables, near the door, filled with young English navy officers, all drinking brandy and water, thermometer at 90. Didn't wonder they got as near the door as possible. Hate imitators, so determined to go in for native food and inward refreshment. Noticed small boy with big head, and a waiter with glass of water and two frozen bananas-thought they were. Called another small boy with big head; told him to bring me a couple of frozen bananas; said he didn't entiende; told him he must. Small boy with big head brightened up, said banales, and off he went; left me to my reflections and a big table; came back in a minute with waiter, PULLS AT A REAL HAVANA. 207 glass of ice-water, two frozen bananas on a tin plate, small pewter shovel, and half a lime; didn't compre- hend what the lime was for, unless to stick them together. Picked up shovel, took off my hat and went in; made a dig; no go! too tough. Tried it again; sides caved in of one of 'em; squeezed lime- juice over it, and tried to swallow it. Wouldn't work-stuck in my throat; washed it down with I ice-water; saw old Spaniard at side-table going both i eyes at me. Took breath and went in again; took another taste--dry as powder. Concluded it was i made of whites of eggs and very little sugar; got through about an inch of one of them, and left. Found out next day that I ought to have melted i'1 them in ice-water, and squeezed lime-juice over them. i Don't pay, this eating like Spaniards; work half an hour to make a poor lemonade, and no stick in it at x that. Concluded to go in for first principles; went I back to hotel, and took a pull at a bottle of Monon- gahela I managed to smuggle in. In my next article shall go into the Fish Market, and make things fly 'round. !t * 21, page: 208-209[View Page 208-209] 208 PULLS AT A REAL HAVANA. XXX. PULLS AT A REAL HAVANA. No. V. ABOUT TOWN GENERALLY. HERE I am, at half-past six in the morning- having finished a cup of coffee and lit a segar--ready to give another Pull at a Real Havana. To thoroughly enjoy life here, you must rise when the sun does; as for going to bed with him, that's another affair; but believe me, there's nothing like these young, rosy, morning hours -in Cuba! What do you think of a hotel, its outside white- washed blue, and only five windows in the front of the house? Yet that's all this one can boast, and it's the best in Havana. Suppose, however, for the sake of harmony, I give you, as well as I can, an idea of the entire building. It is square, with an open, PULLS AT A REAL HAVANA. 209 marble-paved court-yard in the centre. The front is of two stories, one window on the lower story and four on the second. The entrance is through a wide-arched portal, with heavy folding doors, studded with iron bolts, and stout enough to resist any common attempts at forced entrance. Entering through this, you pass the volante drawn up in the passage-way, and see the court-yard before you; along one side a handsome ie private carriage is drawn close to the wall, on the other are several offices, while at the end you hear the stamping of horses' feet, and see the stable-door open. Two wells are at opposite corners of the yard. Turning to your left hand, you mount a short flight of stone steps, finding, on the landing at the top, a ; case in which formerly stood an image of the Virgin; another short flight of stairs, and you reach the broad gallery, running around the four inner sides of the building, and leaving the court-yard in the middle, open to sun and air. Venetian blinds shade the hall; these, with marble floors, lofty ceilings, unglazed win- dows, furnished with heavy wooden shutters, the light furniture, and the small quantity of it, tell you that they have hot weather here. Wherever a white- wash brush can go in, there one has been; the walls are kept scrupulously white and clean; to relieve this intense lightness, each wall, for about three feet from the base up, is painted in lines, angles, figures, flowers, of different colors. It is a trace of the old Moorish 18* page: 210-211[View Page 210-211] 210 PULLS AT A REAL HAVANA. spirit, a dilution of the Alhambra adornments. Sleep- ing-chambers are on three sides of the building, the doors all opening on the gallery overlooking the court-yard; on the fourth side, or front of the hotel, is the dining-room. The main walls of the building are between two and three feet thick; thus, if stones were affected by electricity, as cucumbers are, you might draw this hotel up to the leg-trying height of our first hotels. Although but two stories high in front, yet on the rear is a third tier, formed of three rooms, from which strong-legged bachelors can look on the spectacle below. Here am I located. I step from my chamber-door on the flat cement roof-- la azotda-there is an overgrown turkey in a large cage, about twenty feet off, but he is not noisy - he is sedate; probably sangre azul runs in his veins. The floor of my room is of cement of a dark-red color. The window, iron-barred, with ponderous shutters, ever enframes one of the most beautiful views human eye can witness. Two doors open on the azotda; as I look out of one I glance over the tops of roofs, all flat, yet ornamented with urns on pedestals, giving a finish to what else would be plain straight lines. Far in the distance wave the Palms, beyond them the green hills, and still farther the sparkling blue waters of the Gulf. Walking out on the roof, I look down into the narrow street, and over into a pretty little garden, filled with blooming flowers; a very gorgeous PULLS AT A RRAL HAVANA. 211 looking parrot is there, but a sad rake, to judge by his language. And as I look into the street, there comes a Canary Islander, on a small horse, with a large coffee-bag slung in front of him filled with golden fruit, and in prolonged nasal notes, at the top of his voice, he cries,. a-aran-ha-ia-yah-hah-hoah-yi- naha-ran-ia-yah, with a hint of a tune in it, leading you to suppose he is about to sing. But he don't. He has oranges for sale. And there is another Canary bird, with a small basket, loudly bawling, Hoo-waay vosfraay-scoo-os, he's the egg-huckster. And so they go. But, in the name of all that's funny, what is that? A very large bundle of green corn-stalks, with a head and tail to it. It's at least six feet high, eight wide, and as many long. Right after it comes an- other, and another. The man leading the head bundle is the malojero, with malojo packed on his horses' backs; it is used for fodder, and is brought into Havana daily for sale. But I must return to my room, jot this down, and, as I have an engage- ment over at Regla, leave, and finish my letter this afternoon. Returned from Regla in time for breakfast, after that I took a stroll around Havana. The clearness of the atmosphere, and the absence of smoke over the city, render distant objects so apparently near, that it is hard to calculate distances; and then the novelty of objects around you so attracts your attention, that page: 212-213[View Page 212-213] 212 PULLS AT A REAL HAVANA. it is only by surmise you find out how far you have been engaged in sight-seeing. You turn into a street of shops; here and there dash along showy volantes; the side-walk, two feet wide, compels you to make yourself as small as possible, to let an approachiug pedestrian pass you, or else step into the street, which is only wide enough for two volantes to pass abreast. Awnings extend from one side of the street to the other; and as the sun-light pours down, the shade is eagerly sought. Now you pass the shop of a silver- smith, where volante buckles and ornaments form the chief part of the wares, interspersed with a case filled with those long, oriental-looking, hoop ear-rings-- the delight of the negress. Then the small, dark- brown shops of dark-brown segars, with perhaps a little sign, CAMBIO DE MONEDA, by which you know that you can have your silver turned into gold, or vice versa; by a certain alchymi- cal process, wherein a heavy discount figures as chief agent. Then the China store, with those Moorish- looking earthen vessels, made of porous clay, used everywhere in the island, for keeping drinking-water cool. Then a little old furniture-shop, with that necessary announcement, FANS MENDED HERE. NOW our long stroll enables us to see ladies shopping in volantes, the interested shop-keeper bringing his I PULLS AT A REAL HAVANA. 213 goods out to them, instead of their having to descend to enter the shop. One lady, however, descends from her volante; scarcely has her tiny foot touched the step, before a gentleman, passing by, touches his hat, presents his hand to assist her to alight, pays a corn- pliment, and passes on. I recognise him as a near acquaintance of mine, and speak to him of the sernora's I beauty; he assures me he never saw her before; only performed a customary act of duty, including the A compliment. "It is the custom of the country. Don't you try it on, when you return-to Philadelphia, and see a car- riage drawn up in front of Levy's," said he: and I solemnly promised I never would. ii Sauntering along I remembered I had yet to go to the Opera, and as I was near the gate of Monserrate, separating Havana inside, from Havana outside the walls-(extra muros or estramuros, as the segar-boxes i have it)- I walked over to the Tacon Theatre, and purchased a ticket. The different Captain-Generals of Cuba have handed down their names to posterity, by erecting monuments to themselves. O'Donnelli got ahead of a number of them, when he stuck his 1 name in yard-long letters on the side of the Moro Light-house facing the sea, so that even if you didn't come in the harbor, you learned outside that O'Don- nell had been there before you. Tacon, not to be be- hind the rest, tacked on his name to places he may be page: 214-215[View Page 214-215] 214 PULLS AT A REAL HAVANA. proud of. The Tacon Theatre, Paseo Tacon, Tacon Fish-market, and so on down. There is a pleasant little walk along the harbor, with shade trees, having a monument at the end raised to Valdez, from which you can look over the water at the Moro and Cabanas. If you haven't had all your love for moonlight walks pained out of you by rheumatism, I can recommend it under that light. It is pleasant too in the early morning to walk there, breathing the fresh breeze, watching the white-sailed vessels far out on the Gulf, the breaking waves, and the sunlight on the old Cas- tle. Then you can stop at the Fish-market on your way up town. Stretched out on marble counters, these " denizens of the deep"-as the Poet says-look as if they had been dipped in dye-pots, then twisted out of shape, and flung up there, to become the pro- perty of goblin speculators. The idea of fried gold- fish causes a tremor. Chocolate color'd eels, shaped like sword-blades, and picked in and out with white spots; pink shad, blue tails, green and yellow sides; purple cod-fish, with red noses and yellow eyes; sata- nic cat-fish, split-tailed, goggle-eyed; wall-sided, little pickerel in silver livery, striped with black. Eat such trash?-should just about as soon think of swal- lowing a barrel of mixed-paint and horse-mack'rel. In looking at these colored fish, a dim recollection of a story in the "Arabian Nights" came to mind, and I looked 'round for the Enchantress, who was again to PULLS AT A REAL HAVANA. 215 give these fish their primitive forms of Mahometans, Christians, Persians or Jews. She wasn't there, luckily for "the black, in the habit of a slave, of a gigantic stature," who was there, and held, as I looked at him, a red-jawed nondescript in his fist, which, if allowed to assume a human shape of Turk or Tartar, would have held him. This climate is enough to loosen the Gordian knot. I can't write a good, jolly, jerking sentence to save my life, and my pen dawdles along as if it were self- driven. I promised you "to make things fly 'round in the Fish-market," in my last letter, but all I can do is sit down and cry Beautiful Cuba! I'm only fit fori volante riding, and too much of that is laborious-but I'll tell you what I can do-as it is after dinner-I can take a siesta. Got through that siesta without breaking down, and now, as I write in the cool night hours, I feel corn- posed and strengthened enough to go on; nothing disturbs me but the awful yelling of a watchman or sereno--what a satire to call such an ear-splitting shouter, sereno, which that vile, little 16mo. Dictionary of mine says, is the Spanish for, calm! Towards sunset, to-day, I jumped into a volante, shouted Paseo, and was rolled over there smooth ae a billiard-ball. Pulled up my side-whiskers, lit a fresh segar, assumed the easiest possible attitude, arrived at Z l page: 216-217[View Page 216-217] 216 PULLS AT A REAL HAVANA. the Pasco and went in! Swimming eyes, clouds of floating muslin, bright flowers among black tresses, little fip-penny-bit feet, and tiny hands to match, pon- derous volante wheels, palm-trees, flowers, embroidered "niggers," little booted young Cuba, a long line of segar-smoke; beautiful moon rising over all. Rolling along in semi-oblivion, saw little fan dropped-picked it up-went in, came out. Desperate flirtation- finished up the Paseo, and found a piece of paste- board in my waistcoat pocket. Remembered the Opera-drove up to the Tacon Theatre--moved from the volante into the box-remember flood of light, more dark eyes, and eye-filling forms; waving fans floating like butterflies over rose-buds; tier on tier of boxes; curtain rolling up, music, harmony, con- cord of sweet sounds-euphony. First act over. Slid gently out of the box, lit an Opera or entre actos segar-met B perfect brick-went into the cafe in the Theatre-had a bottle of claret-talked over the music--somehow or other found myself in the Theatre again-curtain rising over the orchestra- chorus playing divinely-house encoring-prima donna -Captain-General applauding everything that showed its head--things goings along smoothly as-. Met B again. Gas-lights going round-another bottle of claret in the cafr all by it's self iced- touched a segar in the head -box going 'round on a PULLS AT A REAL HAVANA. 217 piano solo. B about this time recommended putting head in ice-water. Hard work getting a towel. Came to. Cup of strong coffee set me up straight as a ten-pin. Listened to the rest of the Opera with composure. Felt a piece of pasteboard in my waistcoat pocket-remembered it was a card- - bid B- good night, and, calling a volante, was i driven at tip-top speed to the Calle 6d Obra-pia, to make a call. Caballeros, hombres buenos, Dezid de mi parte al Rey. Al Rey Moro de Granada, Como no le devo nada. Ay de mi, Alhama! So I'm perfectly independent. Afraid you won't find this letter very clear-but then the weather. Ay de mi, Alhama! At this hour how still it is, how quiet, serene, tran- quil! even men are at peace with each other-for they are asleep. I light a segar, and step out on the azotga -the moon-beams silver the quaint houses below me, while at times the revolving light in the Moro flashes over the white-walled city, and over the dark waters of the Gulf. I hear the low strumming of a guitar-it comes from the little garden, where the roses bloom and the 19 page: 218-219[View Page 218-219] 218 PULLS AT A REAL HAVANA. parrot swears. I cannot hear the words, but a soft musical voice is singing an air I have heard before. It is late, but the night is beautiful. I still smoke and listen to that song, and fancy paints a scene of love, incited not, as in colder lands, by dollars and dimes, but by climate and constitution. Vamos! we're on volcanic ground. Good-night. PULLS AT A REAL HAVANA. 219 XXXI. PULLS AT A REALT HAVANA. No. 'VI. THE LAST WHFF. WHEN the usual ride on the Paseo this evening was over, I ordered the calesiro volante driver to take me to the Plaza de Arm as, to hear the military band; : which performs there every evening, between eight and nine o'clock. Arrived there too early by half-an-hour, and believing that an ice would keep me cool 'till that time had expired, I drove around to La Dominica. My experience with the banales-detailed in a previous chapter -discouraged me from attempting any dish, with the contents and mode of eating which, I was not perfectly familiar; so calling for an ice-cream with wafer attached, and a small glass of cognac, as a counter-irritant, I meekly page: 220-221[View Page 220-221] 220 PULLS AT A REAL HAVANA. took an out of the way table, and sat down to observe the goings-on. White-clothed waiters were running here and there filling orders; the gas-lights burnt with a -steady glare; things generally wore quite a hum-drum look; behind the counter at the end of the marble-paved saloon were persons serving out refreshments, as they were ordered, to the waiters; and while they worked they smoked! Beautiful Cuba! Half lulled to sleep, the sharp cr-rrr-re-reek, like a Greenwich Fair "scraper," or a small rattle, shot through my ear-there was a fan about - as I turned my head to see the holder, she sailed by me,eand with her a younger lady, escorted by two gentlemen. It's astonishing, really very much so-in fact stunning to account for it-that the Cuba ladies who never walk, walk, so gracefully! B says he never sees a Cubana approaching him without believing she is on an errand of mercy-no doubt of it. Really there is something so bewitching in their walk, that you lose sight of the lady in the object-I mean the subject you're thinking of. But this is getting disturbed, let's cast a glance at the lady of the fan; she throws aside the folds of that black lace niantilla, with a hand so tiny, that you feel an irresistible desire to see it nearer. From the bracelet encircling her arm, flashes of light spring forth from KOHNOOR'S relations therein held captive; and then those lustrous, brilliant PULLS AT A REAL HAVANA. 221 eyes, that magnificent--, "and I say, waiter! don't forget the 'am sandwich!" These few words, uttered with an unmistakable accent, destroyed all the chain of romantic and real reflections, I and a neighboring mirror were casting on the senorita. "I want a 'am sandwich." This said in a still louder voice quickened the waiter's understanding, who at once disappeared in search of "the man who spoke English." In a minute or two this celebrity appeared, and com- menced polishing the marble table-top with a very sizeable napkin. This salutatory over, he gravely re- quested to know what they would have. "Branny and war-rr for three, a bottle of pale ale, and a 'am sandwich." "The man who spoke English," took in the brandy and water; the pale ale too he could overcome; but the ham-sandwich did his business; hewas evidently disgusted. "Am san-no-vitch! No unnerstan gen'lemen; we no have him. Ice-creams, yas! all sorts theengs, yas! am san-no-vitch, no!" "I say, Stubbs, you speak the d--d language; tell 'im I want a 'am sandwich, and 'ow to make it; tell 'im to 'urry it up too, for I feel peckish!"And the sandy whiskers, and the tight fitting blue coat, 19* page: 222-223[View Page 222-223] 222 PULLS AT A REAL HAVANA. and brass buttons of the English navy officer gleamed in the gas-light. Suppose you imagine a conversation, in which he who knew the d d language raised all kinds of ghostly Spanish words from out the dead past- when he used to speak it!-and showed these appari- tions to " the man who spoke English," in order to scare a ham-sandwich out of him. "I say, Stubbs, how're you getting along? Bow- into him!" "All right!" answered Stubbs, "it'll be here right away." In a few minutes re-appeared the man who spoke English, and the table being next to mine, I saw him put down the glasses, but, as he produced the plates, the heartiest, merriest peals and roars of laughter broke out. "By ----, Stubbs! we '1l vote you-ha--ha--ha- the liberty of the town and all that's in it! Ha-ha -hooh. A SOAP SANDWICH! My ---, to think of it! A soap sandwich! Stubbs had only made the slight mistake of calling for a slice of zab6n, soap, instead of jamon, ham; there it was on the table, as stout, strong, dark-brown a piece of bar-soap as ever was turned out. I congratulated myself on my plan of calling for no more banales. As small change is scarce in Havana, your best PULLS AT A REAL HAVANA. 223 way at the Dominica is to buy tickets; it is the most convenient, most economical. Walked over to the Plaza de Armas, and as the clock in front of the Governor's palace struck eight, the military band stationed in the square began playing an air from Semiramide. It was excellently performed. I walked about the plaza; it was lighted by gas, and crowds of people slowly sauntered around the broad wallks, while volantes and quitrines, drawn up outside, were filled with ladies listening to the music or chatting with friends. Imagine the marble statue in the centre of the plaza, overshadowed by the four lofty palm-trees with their feathery foliage, and surrounded by other tropical trees and plantes rustling softly in the gentle night-wind; draw on your imagination --if you read this by day-light - for brilliant stars, and draw them at the same time considerably nearer to you than our northern ones-they'll allow it--it's a freak of Nature--; fill-in the gaps with gas-lights, and segar-smokers; and with Miss Bremer, throw " over all, the blue sky of Beautiful Cuba;" voila! you've the Plaza de Armas by night, never forgetting the band playing charmingly all sorts of airs, save "revolutionary" ones. Do polkas come under this head? The music over, arm in arm with B- , I started for an evening stroll 'round the city. Whether you will or no, you have Havana uinteriors" spread so in- page: 224-225[View Page 224-225] 224 PULLS AT A REAL HAVANA. vitingly open to gaze, that you must take an occa- sional glance at them en passant. At night the wooden shutters of the long windows, reaching to the floor, are folded back, and through the bars you are often a witness of evening assemblages or tertulias; or a looker-on at the family groups, where rocking- chairs, butacas, in two rows facing each other, are occupied by the inmates. As you note the rounded form of some black-haired, flashing-eyed senorita rising and sinking in the moving seat, and balanced by the little foot, just peeping from the folds of falling drapery, while the waving fan moves in unison with the rocking motion, your only wish is, that she may thus rock on, and fan for ever. She may be seated near the window; fear not, but gaze into those full, dark swimming eyes; you'll find no falling of the eye-lid there, but look for look. Although a stranger, you may touch your hat to her; may put yourself at her feet, not literally but figuratively-by saying, "Sefiorita, a los pies de vm." A quick fluttering of the fan, a shot from the dark eyes, the words "Gra- cias, caballero!" and you pass on, feeling pleasantly at heart. SOCIETY stands the shock, and no one is killed. She was a lady to whom the compliment was paid, and - my dear Mrs. Grundy, will you believe it? - scandal, with her tea-cup helmet on, never assailed- her reputation. Mrs. Grundy, by "steaming" round PULLS AT A REAL HAVANA. 225 a little, you'd learn strange things things never heard of in "our set." Indeed you would! On we walked, here and there, taking a passing glance at some interior of more pretension than the rest; listening to forte executions on the piano and once to a guitar, only once: and found ourselves at last on the alameda, or public walk, of San Paulo. The moon rising -how very fortunate, just as it was wanted-shone through the leaves on the marble pavement and gleamed on the elaborately carved monument, standing on the half-circle extending into the harbor; the waves were dancing at my feet, and clouds of light-blue smoke, playing about my nose, rolled out, of the fragrant segar; a watchman 'round the corner loudly bawling, "La-as-aw-aw-aw awn-ce.-y may-y-ay-dee-yo"-the aw-aw-awn ce part of it in imi- I tation of the braying of an ass -while to this music we slowly turned hotel-wards. When we reached it, - the folding-doors were tight closed, and a lot of dark I wood and iron knots stared us in the face-fit food for reflection. B , nothing daunted, knocked lightly, and the doors were opened by the porter, whose X bedstead, I noticed after entering, was drawn up against the door with his head to it. He I sleeps thus all the year round in the open air; but : porters generally are soldiers on. half-pay, and used i; to camping out. Their situations are no sinecures, i but they pay well, travellers always bestowing a !li t IJ., page: 226-227[View Page 226-227] 226 PULLS AT A REAL HAVANA. gratuity on them, more especially if they keep late hours. The porters employ themselves in rolling up cigarritos, at so much a thousand, &c., during leisure moments. Well, I'm tired, but before I say adios for the night, I'll just mention the fact that A'DiZs, which is written adios, and which, according to a dictionary before alluded to, means farewell, is used quite as often for a salutatory, as a valedictory. It is the shadow of a past religious feeling-- for spited of the number of black shovel-hatted, long robed, white stockinged, black-pumped priests everywhere about, YOUNG CUBA doesn't go very often to church -viewing the hatred they bear Old Spain, perhaps they take Hatuey's view of the church.* Church-going is left for the senroras, who to judge from what I saw, leave it nearly all to the negresses, who give quite a coloring and tone to the "masses"-in church. This religious feeling among negroes was quite strongly displayed in the reply of one of a bun color, whose wife was of the same hue. Now it fell out that a daughter was born to the father, exceeding fair, in fact a quadroon; * "HATUEY, an Indian cacique, who was condemned to be burnt alive by the Spaniards, was, at the stake, asked by a priest to take pity on his soul-join THE CHURCH, and go to Heaven. HATUEY asked if there were Spaniards in Heaven, and upon being answered affirmatively, replied: 'H-1 is good enough for me then!'" " PULLS AT A REAL HAVANA. 227 f and a philosophical friend of mine, in his investiga- : tions for "'trewth," asked the aforesaid bun-colored man, how it happened? "La voluntad de Dios," was the answer; and peace reigned in Warsaw. Devoted this morning to Bight-seeing; churchs, views, buildings, one or two third-rate exhibitions, stroll through the markets, to see the different fruits, vegetables, &c., and around town generally. Never forgetting an' hour or two devoted to fan-buying. French goods- if you know how to buy, that is bar- gain, and have the face to offer one-half of what the shop-keepers ask--can be bought, they tell me, very cheap. There is to me a delightfully cool and accept- able look-in the dress of the Havana lady. The air of neatness in the robe of muslin or pina - (I think I spell this word right)--the great care taken with the chaussure, the easy arrangement of natural flowers in their dark hair, the graceful folds in which the man- tilla falls around such necks. Just for variety let us take a seat in the passing omnibus, and ride out to one of the suburbs-Jesus del Monte. It's early in the morning yet; the land breeze blows gratefully in our faces as we ascend the hill, and we are well re- paid for the ride by the beautifill view we have of the harbor filled with vessels; over which, and the capital of the "Ever Faithful Island," the guns of the Moro and Cabanas keep good guard. This latter fort cost ' .* \ * page: 228-229[View Page 228-229] 228 PULLS AT A REAL HAVANA. the Spanish crown millions of dollars. When the amount was -told to King Charles, he deliberately walked to a window and looked out. "A pile of stones," said he, " that cost so much as that, should be 1 large enough to be seen from here!" As I .entered rthe omnibus to return to Havana, I noticed FIFTH AVENUE in gilt letters on the -door. I couldn't under- stand what this road had to do with the one that leads to Jesus del Monte. I asked the driver what it meant, but his only answer was, "I don't know;" and he looked as if he spoke the truth. B---- ex- plained, and I was satisfied. Omnibusses, railroads steamboats, gas-lights, rock- ing-chairs, wooden-clocks; and to conlplete the cata- logue I read in this morning's Diario, that las tan eelebradas galleticas de soda, Boston, were for sale in a certain cake-shop. What will become of Spanish characteristics? I almost groaned. Here, in a land cut out especially for a resting-place; with palm-trees, the best segars, negroes to do all the work, soft winds and excellent oranges, must some busy-body of a- bustling son of east-wind and dyspepsia, drop those ground-up bones of dissension-soda-biscuit ! Great as the trouble these articles gave me, it was nothing compared to that of a young friend of mine, oc- casioned by even a simpler object-a boot-jack. Listen. PULLS AT A REAL HAVANA. 229 .i He sailed from Liverpool one day, in a steamer for New York. Before he bid "Good-night" to his native land-he was an Irishman-he purchased as a souvenir of the Old Country, a boot-jack. "It was f made, 'said he,' of the virry bist mayhogany, with the brightest brass hinges, and folded up into a space so small, that I might have putt it in me waiscoat pocket, ef it haddent have bin so large. For two intire days I lay on me back spacheless, through say-sickness, but when I got betther I roused meeself to exertion and wint on deck; but I soon had to turn in agin, and then canle me tribulations. Faith I couldn't git the boots aff mne feet at all, at all. And as they were tight I dedn't want to lie down with them on; but me pattint boot-jack kipt shutting up, pinching the life out of the soles of my feet. It was the most contrary little baste ye iver saw. I'd lay it down one way, and it 'djist jump up another, tell at last I was mighty wroth with it, and sez I, ef you did come from the Ould Country, d'ye think I'11 allow the likes of yez to abuze me in this fashion? So seek as I was, I climbed up the cabin stairs, and flung it down to the bottom of the say; and ef nobody's picked it I up, it's there yit!" Which was a great consolation. Let the drums beat. OR OWNU OwN FILIBUSTER" Standing in the stern of the fast boat La Santa Tri- nidad, pushing off for the steamer, waves a farewell 20 page: 230-231[View Page 230-231] 230 PULLS AT- A- REAL HAVANA. to his kind friends, the waiters of the hotel, as they hold out their hands for more pesetas. He bids therm adios, if that'll do them any good. He casts sorrow- ful glances at a pink-house with blue ornaments; he thinks of Dolores-not dollars. He believes the nodding trees on the Alameda San Paulo bid him good-bye; he is sure of it. "Beautiful Cuba!" apos- trophizes he, "I may never see you again, but I bear away your productions in the shape of segars and dulces -not to speak of smaller items - with intense pleasure. I wish I had more of them!"At this moment he reaches the steamer. Our Filibuster dives into the cabin - he is thirsty - his mission is over - he has taken Cuba-on his way to New York. e HOW OLD ZEB. WENT TO A "CRACK"HOTEL. 231 XXXl. HOW OLD ZEB. WENT TO A "CRACK" HOTEL. I'LL tell you all about it now," said Cromwell. ' Zeb Beeswing was as hard-looking an old : nut, as you'd find on a : twelve hours' travel. The first time I saw him, he was sitting on a mule, meek as Moses, dressed in an old, dark brown, soap-colored blanket coat, originally white; an old, battered, broad brim, low crown, black felt hat; old cottonade breeches of an invisible blue color, and a very square pair of old russet shoes. Zeb. had probably seen sixty summers, * and remembered them. His face -well! I don't be- lieve I can do it justice. However, if you'll take a hickory nut, one that age has stained, leave the sharp ; end for a nose; drill two holes each side of it, and put in black glass beads for eyes; cut a long slit from right under the nose to the corner of the left eye, for i; a mouth;-perhaps you can approach it. The cords i f il page: 232-233[View Page 232-233] 282 HOW OLD ZEB. WENT TO of his neck were loose, for which cause, possibly his head hung down. When you spoke to him, he'd slowly turn his head round sideways, shutting his right eye, if you were on that side of him, till he could see you with his left eye, and then he'd open on you. "Wishing to reach the landing at St. Joseph's, in time to take the morning boat which left there, on her way down the Mississippi, I had pushed my horse pretty well, until I came within sight of the river. The mist rising as the sun came up, I saw that the boat was not yet in sight, and so held in and walked my horse. Turning a corner of the road, I met Zeb., looking as I have described, and riding the same old mule. As I came up to him, he slowly twisted his head round, until seeing who it was, he drawled out- C6 Mornin', Squar'. How d'ye do this mornin'?' - (Right well, Zeb. What brings you out so early, before the fog's off?' "'Cottin, cottin, ollaways cottin, in course! Sent a load down t'other day to landin'; heerd last nite it hedden't bin shipt. Am gwine thar now to give sumboddy hell.' And he gave himself, at this moment, some tobacco; first thrusting one hand down, down, down in the pocket of that old blanket coat, till his whole arm disappeared; and when he drew it out again, bringing up a ' chunk of honey-dew as big as a hyme-book!'-to use his own expression. A "CRACK"HOTEL. 233 ' On-ly twist me into a b'y agin, an' I reckun -' here was a pause occasioned by the honey-dew--' I'd ractify thengs. Squar' em upp, You're gwine to the city. You're young, you kin ractify for me.' '"' Certainly. What can I do for you?' "'Yew kno' Dew-barry -Frenchman in P'ydras street? keeps licker oll kyinds. I'm sore for abowt ten gallins of his best Con-yag bran'ny. Got kinder racked down on whisky an' want a change of feed. Tell him ter drive it up by nex' boat; - ef he dis-ap- pints me, he an' me will have the sivairest kyind of a battel, nex' occashun we meet.' I promised to call and give his order, and then asked him, why he didn't visit the city occasionally, mentioning to him, that I had heard he had never been down the river but once in his life- "'Troo, as trooth! Never wos thar bot one occa- shun; never go agin. Crack hotels. Hell!' "' What's, the matter with crack hotels?' "' Cracks ar' the matter with 'erm. Cracks more 'n siventy foot dape. Oh yes, I've been thro' 'em-- from top to bottom!' "'How?' "'Yew lissen!'-here the honey-dew caused a cessation of words for a second. 'Some yares agone I travelled to the city fur the fust time, an' mebbe I hadn't a few thengs. to larn. I 'rived thar of a mornin', went strate to my marchant, drew on him, 20* page: 234-235[View Page 234-235] 234 HOW OLD ZEB. WENT TO an' then streaked fur a fust class ho-tel--mind ye, a crack ho-tel. The ho-tel wos filled. Spring races, an' all that sort of theng on; an' they lo-cated me up in the top loft. I pro-posed to work on thair feelin's, sayin', I wos a ole man, week an' fee-bull in the jints like, an' couldn't mount them air sta'rs. 'Twouldn't jerk. Had to stan' it. In the a'ternoon, jined forces with a onsightly fast crowd of ole b'ys, an' the way we made thengs cirkoolate, wos 'stoundin'. Tore up everything as wos to be seen-by the roots. We did! Drunk more licker nor one could bottle in a yare; an'^ then-wal I've a faintish i-dea 'bout bein' toted to'rds mornin', up very high, over one story, and then 'nother; feelin' orful mizzable bout the boddy gine- rally, incloodin' my hed: rek'lect con-cloodin' to git a leetle more licker to coore me; gittin' out ov my roomb, loosing my way in a entry; end of all, gittin' to wot I s'posed. to be my roomb, and laying rite down in bed, an' goin' to sleep. "'All of a suddin, I started up -out ov a soun' sleep, the room was dark as black nite, an' thar was the mos' tearin' an' poundin' soun', a ringin' in my yeares, like ef they war tryin' to bile down a thou- san' thunder claps inter one. All to once I feel the flore a sinkin', an' givin' way unner me. Way I went, fallin', fallin'; the n'ise a bein' addid oll the time; sech a sereamin', yellin', thunlderin', roaring' row! Knew I wos on the road to fire an' brimstun when I sA "CRAC K" HOTEL. 235 started; sech kind ov low-commotion ain't pious- goin' down hill is olloways cussed bad biznis. Went on- fallin' faster an' faster, till I wos bro't up with a rqund jirk; an' pitcht rite inter the block-hole-jes as I 'spected! Thar wos all the fires a burnin', an' nigger devils busy brilin', roastin', stewin' -jes as I 'spected! Smelt kyind 'o' nateral down thar the'; sumthin' like fride eggs an' bakin'; and may I never chaw honey-doo more, ef I dedn't scent coffy. P'raps, sez I, I'm doomed to 'go into' eggs an' bakin'--whoo nose? Jes then, up rushes a big devil, drest in white an' pre-pares ter hawl away at the close I wos rapped up in. Sez I, ' Hallo!' "' Sez he, ' the devil! Air yew heer?' "C' Come at last!' sez I. 'Don't be hard now, on a pore ole man. Draw it easy. I ollaways lived pie- ously on airth.' "' Wot er yer doin' down heer?' sez he. "' I 'm shore I dun kno'!' sez I. "'Clare out then!' sez he; 'thare's the dore.' 'Twan't kwite clare in my mind, whether 'twOs quar- ters for bad sperrits or no; but I ash-shore yew, I dedn't need no second invite to make myself scace 'bout thar! I made a rush for the dore, like ef ole Sanglier's blud-houn's war affer me: an' wood yew believe it, the :nex' minnit, I wos in the bar-roomb of the i-dentikle ho-tel I put up to, when I came to the city. It wos 'bout nine o'clock in the mornin', an' page: 236-237[View Page 236-237] 236 HOW OLD ZEB. WENT TO A t CRRACK"HOTEL. fortoonitly thar want but preshus few roun' thar, so I goesup ter the bar-I hadden't nothin' on but a shirt, an' felt cool, nayborhood ov my legs--an' gits a bruisin' strong cocktail, tells 'em to send two more up to my roomb; then I got shozred up myself. 'Taint every feller gits inter the 'fernal regins, an' out agin 'fore nine o'clock in the mornin'. Belikes! c' They wantid ier make out a history 'bout my gittin' inter a dum' waiter, whar close were h'isted up to the top of the house ter dry, an' how as I had gone down in it an' stept out inter the kitchin. But that cock won't fight. Dzum' waiter! Whar did oll that n'ise cum from, then?--o Sir, I 'll stick to it; I went to a crack ho-tel, an' I fe:l thro' the crack. Whar I went to, is nobody's biznis. I conceit!'" e - - [, TOO GAME BY HALF. 237 -x XXlll. TOO GAME BY HALF. "I send you a well-broken pointer, avery game dog, especially recommended by Swin. Let me know how he suits you, as soon as you have had a fair trial. His name is Brag. Yours, &c., JULIUS JUMPER." HERE, in brief, are the con- tents of the note given to Jim Ratskin by the stage- driver with one hand, while, at the same time, with the other he hauled away on a chain, at the end of which, Brag made dead weight. The dog finding stage-rid- ing suited him, refused to come out from under the seat, although incited to movement by the strong pull at the end of his chain, and the toe of a passenger's boot at the end of his tail. "You come out ofthere, now!" shouted Ratskin to the dog, in a tone of voice very well adapted to i' keep him in. The beast never budged; whereupon, Ratskin, who was of a very impulsive nature, at once jumped into the stage, and seizing him by the hind i ,E page: 238-239[View Page 238-239] 238 TOO GAME BY HALF. legs, and nape of the neck, "'isted" him out at the rate of a mile a minute. No sooner had Brag touched the ground, than, putting his tail between his legs, and yelling out "ki-yih! ki-yih!" he put off up the road, as tight as he could split. Ratskin, was after him like chain-lightning, an4 Brag finding he couldn't distance his pursuer, crouched down, as if he was going to sink into the earth, and waited for the wrath to come. Up "it" came, grabbed the dog's chain, and led him off home, soliloquizing; "You're a well-broken dog; ain't you now?" "Ki-yih--ki-yih!" "Shut your head, or I 'll finish I breaking' you, in short order. I see with one eye, you ain't worth your salt. You're made to sell! ' Well broken' -well de- villed, you'd better say. No m tter, I'll give you a trial; my mind's made up to condemn you before- -hand!" And with this impartial decision Ratskin reached his house, tied the dog up in the wood-shed, fed him, and went in doors to read over his friend Jumper's note at his leisure. Ratskin lived where quails whistled, grouse drum- med, woodcock bored, and snipe followed suit. He wanted to shoot them, over a dog, and his city friend Jumper, in the kindness of his heart sent him one, bought at a high figure from one Swin, a well-known fancier. The next morning at break of day, Ratskin was TOO GAME 'BY HALF. 239 up, determined to give the quails a lift, and in antici- pation, saw his dog in the field, making the most per- fect points, obeying the slightest commands, by motion of his hand, or tone of voice. It was a Sep- tember day.-For a description of its beauty, the reader had better consult any writer, who is "some on scenery," weather, &c., and then multiply the re- sult by six--he 'll hit it! As the sun was pried up by enormous beams, out of the east (of course), Ratskin "mout" have been seen whirling round and round in a circle, like a dancing dervish, his legs bound tight by an iron chain, at one end of which the pointer was nearly jumping out of his skin, in his vain en- deavors to get at the poultry, which were hurrying, clucking; flying, squawking; running, gobbling; slid- ing, crowing; ducking, quacking; fluttering out of the way in every direction. As fast as Ratskin unwound the dog's chain, the brute would make another circle, completely winding up again his master's legs, till at last, he lost patience; and must we write it? he "footed" that animal severely. "You're too game-by a poultry ' yard!' Take that! and see if you'll meddle with any more old hens." At this, Ratskin let go his chain, and sud- denly slung out his right leg, in the direction of the dog. "To heel, now!"Brag followed pretty well through a corn-field; it was evidently something new to him; quite a change from brick walls and back alleys; and, as long as he was frightened, he acted page: 240-241[View Page 240-241] 240 TOO GAME BY HALF. like a new broom! Throughthe corn-field Ratskin struck into a ten acre stubble-field, and at once hied on Brag, to beat the field up-wind. At it he went, going over the ground from right to left, and back again very thoroughly; suddenly he stopped, crept along slowly a few steps, with head down, and then came to a point, his stern well up, and his tail out so stiff, you might have hung a hat on it. "Steady! ste-ad-y!" said Ratskin, as he came up, his double- barrel all ready to pick off the Bob Whites, right and left hand. Not a bird rose. Ratskin waved his hand for the dog to go on, at which signal, Brag jumped forward, and commenced a hot chase after an old toad! "That's the ticket, is it? You're a game dog! Try that again, and see what will come of it!"And thus, communing with himself, Ra-skin administered corporal punishment to the "well-broken pointer," at the conclusion of which, Brag gave evident symptoms of a wish to retire somewhere, anywhere out of the reach of Ratskin's muscular powers. Considerable coaxing, however, induced the dog once more to un- fold that straight tail of his, and commence quarter- ing the field again. He went on so well, for a few minutes, that Ratskin's heart grew stronger, and he thought, "Perhaps, after all, the dog is only a little wild at first; he 'll gradually come to his work, and put the birds up in style." Another point, more straight tail, his eyes nearly out of his head with ex- TOO GAME BY HALF. 241 citement, a nervous tremor running over the dog's body: a beautiful sight. "There he is in earnest," thought Ratskin; "now for it! Steady, steady!"But Brag couldn't keep steady, seeing that he was drunk with wild excite- ment; at the sound of Ratskin's voice he made a rush, and up flew- a meadow lark! and,- as Ratskin i at the sight, lowered his gun, "Whir-rrr-rrrrr!" right behind him, sprung up a small covey of quail, and before he could bring his gun to bear, were out of shot, pitching into a thicket, that a rat could hardly crawl through. "You thick-headed son of a wretch!" said Rat- skin, letting fly a clod of earth, full swing at the dog; "is that the way you work? A game dog! Game be hanged! Youl've got the 'game twang' one way -you've been kept too long! Get out of this! Shoooo!"--and the dog, quickly seeing which way the wind blew, and feeling which way the clods flew, set off for parts unknown at top speed. Ratskin let : drive both barrels after him, as an accelerator, men- i tally adding, "that's the way I'll shoot over you!" And the last seen of the "well-broken pointer," he was on his way to town, at a break-neck rate, evi- dently disgusted with the way they hunt-in the country! :I "He was too game a dog by half- a cur! for any- thing but a parade dog," wrote Ratskin to Jumper. 21 . -I i page: 242-243[View Page 242-243] 242 TWO NOVELS. XXXIV. TWO NOVELS. One of the Wind-Mill and Water-Power School; the other, of the High Pressure Steam-engine and Tele- graph Class. NOVEL THE FIRS. RODOLPH OF THE BRAZEN-FIST. - A ROMANCE. PREFACE. Sixteen pages praying for pity from critics, and describing full particulars of the writers in-abilities. CHAPTER I. N old ruined castle by moon- light. Owl-club in the fore- ground. Plenty of ivy, and a moat full of hop- toads, and water-snakes. A mysterious knight, dark and dirty, on a "fiery" black charger, which lights his way to the castle, thereby saving fuel. A horn hangs at the gate-with nothing in it; the knight blows dust, cob-webs, and a tune out of it. The gates TWO NOVELS. 243 fly open by magic, to very slow music, and the knight finds himself suddenly transported to Fairy Land. CHAPTER II. TO XXX. Eau de cologne description of the fighting-cock life he had of it. He rises one morning after a thunder- ing bender, and hearing up in the clouds a bag-piper, lilting away at the tune of "The girl I left behind me," instantaneously remembers a vow he had taken, to relieve an imprisoned princess with blue hair, and light golden eyes; or, on the contrary, quite the reverse. Immediately the Fairy Queen waves hker wand, and presto agramento--pass! he is standing just where he stood in the First Chapter. CHAPTER XXXI. He blows a second blast on the horn, and the noise he makes, awakens the owl-club, who, at once, com- rmence singing, like a hundred old rusty trombones: thunder and lightning dart all round his head, and run down his iron breeches; the rain comes dowmn, and completely "squenches" his fiery steed. He blows a third blast, and the walls of the castle tumble on him, and a fiery dragon, with a tail like a string of old rusty camp kettles, comes rearing at him, catches him between his jaws, and breaks out both wisdom teeth, on his hard shell of armor. They "fit and fit" for hours; the dragon finally receives page: 244-245[View Page 244-245] 244 TWO NOVELS. Jessy, the knight getting his head in chancery, and punishing him so seveiely with his right mauler, that he succumbs, caves in, and exclaiming, "You 'll find the key in the top bureau-drawer, third story, front roomn"-dies! CHAPTER XXXTT. TO L. The knight climbs up the round tower of the castle, finds the key, comes down in the basement, unlocks the cellar-door, when suddenly, about twenty thou- sand cart-loads of demons rush out, and commence a free fight with the knight. Just as he is about to count himself out, a gigantic bird swoops down, and carries him up to the Land of Clouds. Where he has a good time generally for eighteen long chapters, not including heavy rains. Here he makes love to the Cloud Queen, and by his intercession, there is a splen- did potatoe crop in Ireland; and the pigs are in ecsta- cies. Through a hole in the clouds, he one day hears a hand-organ playing, "Then you'll remember me!" Recalls his vow, bids adieu to Cloud Land- is kicked out, and CHAPTER LI. Finds himself where he was at the commencement. Takes a horn for the fourth time, and blows himself inside out. Finding the flies troublesome, blows TWO NOVELS. 245 himself outside in, except one of his spurs, which sticks in his throat. The clouds grow dark, more thunder and lightning, grand procession of monks, with beards down to their boots, abbey bell slowly tolls, wax-lights, goblins, spooks. "Hah'! Fiends, demons, supes have at ye!" and he takes a horn for the fifth time. -Blows the whole scene into a ball- room, a la Ravels. Syrens in flesh-colored tights, spangles and gauze wings, fly around, attached to ropes; band-box boats drawn across canvas seas: elegant blue, red, and yellow wreaths of paper flowers, and large gilt jugs, supposed to contain liquor. Suddenly the orchestra strikes up La donna e mobile from Rigoletto, and SHE, the Enchanted Princess, stands before him! A sixth horn, and lo! Right, left, up the sides, and down the middle, blue, red, green, yellow fires burst up; large Catharine wheels in the centre, and Petruchio axles at the sides, turn into a dog-cart, and the KNIGHT OF THE BRAZEN FIST, and the Enchanted Princess, disappear in a whirl of smoke, for 'Je lnirq MslrS tht relms nf %lis! CONCLUSION. 21* *. , . page: 246-247[View Page 246-247] 246 TWO NOVELS. NOVEL THE SECOND. THE KNIFE-GRINDER.--A REALITY. NO PREFACE. CHAPTER I. INTERIOR of a miserable, dirty, squalid, wretched, poverty-stricken, filthy, vile, low, damp cellar, with no gas, or bath-tub in it. The front door opens, and a man, hardly passed the prime of life, enters with his scissor-grinding machine tied to his back. There is { something in his eye, (a drop?) that tells of better days. He throws open the windows, and gazes upon the autumnal moonl. A shadow passes before him. "Ha! Walter, art thou there? Fetch me with speed a quartern loaf, and a mug of ale--I would drown my sorrows;" and he gives the poor, half-clothed, whole starved child of sin, a bent sixpence, and bids him flee. Stealthily the scissor-grinder draws from under his hat a pair of scissors, he presses them to his heart. "They are her's, oh her's!" he rapturously exclaims, and falls asleep. CHAPTER II. TO XX. Occupied with a description of a "palatial man- sion" in Fifth Avenue-of course. Every article of ' TWO NOVELS. 247 I furniture from garret to cellar is described, and their prices. The following expressions, are used in connec- ; tion with the description '-Perfectly beautiful, 'be- witching, entrancing, dearest little, perfectly splendid, gorgeous, magnificent, excessively rich, perfectly ex- { quisite, highly finished, chaste, subdued, perfectly de- it licious; and two thousand, six hundred, and forty- . seven more. After the upholstery comes the stable, then the wine cellar, then a few chapters on balls, ' dancing-teas, talking-suppers, wine-dinners; the opera '! all hammered over again; a grand wedding, and this ! brings us to CHAPTER XXI Rose-colored curtains; subdued light; three quar- ters of a peck of pomatum pots; essence and oil, ' cologne, and hair-dye bottles. Two bouquets of flowers, the size of prize cabbages; one pearl-handled hair-brush; two ebony, ditto; one ivory with tortoise shell sides, ditto, and so on, till we get at " a creature fairer than the dawn," who is being combed down by "a being -beautifiul to look upon," and excessively high up in language. The first is the mistress of the establishment, and the last-" the being beautiful to look upon" is her "attendant Sylph," vulgarly known as waiting-maid. The waiting-maid has been weeping, and to her mistress' anxious enquiries, re- plies, that her tears are occasioned by the loss of a pair of scissors, which were " an heir-loom in her family;" page: 248-249[View Page 248-249] 248 TIWO NOVELS. and which having sent out the' day before to be ground, had been carried off by the grinder, to her consternation, and deep sorrow. They walk over this wicked business for ten pages, when suddenly the title of the book seems to flash on the author: and back we go to dirt and wretchedness, in CHAPTER XXII. The scissor-grinder awaklens from his troubled sleep, just in time to see the low, sneaking, pitifil, mean, cringing, dirty (and twenty other epithets) face of the Thimble Rigger glaring at him. "Hah!" says he, "still poor, still needy, still wretched, still scissor- grinding! Why will you not court the favors of Dame Fortune? Five, ten, fifteen, twenty collars bet you can't tell which hole the ball is in! that's the talk. That is the road to fortune. - "Avaunt thee, fiend!" said the scissor-grinder, 4 tempt me not;" he rushed out into the night air- and the next twelve chapters are occupied describing scenes he did not witness; this brings us to CHAPTE R XXXV. Time, midnight on the same night as the opening of chapter twenty-second. The scissor-grinder driven by fate, is beneath the window of the mansion in the Fifth Avenue, so fully described in previous chapters. Accidentally he leans against a lamp-post under its {i TWO NOVELS. 249 windows, gazing at the moon. ITah! what does he Add see-Thimble Rigger coming up the Avenue; he sees him; he (Thinmble Rigger) rushes at him; there is a . grand fight; window opens in second story; Thimble Rigger hits scissor-grinder's hat a crushing blow, and I; knocks it into the second story window; it is caught I by 'the being beautiful to look upon" (i. e. waiting- maid,)- a pair of scissors drop into her hand, she ; recognizes them; a piece of paper drops from the hat; she has only time to read, "Marquis de Casa Blanca!" to pick up a cologne bottle, walk to the arm-chair, send for a servant, and faint-dead away. Coming to, she screams, bursts from the attendants, rushes into the 4 midst of the combat, throws her arms around scissor- grinder, screams "Alfonso," and goes off again. The next four chapters explain everything; set everything to rights. Prove that the Marquis de Casa Blanca, a i Spanish Grandee, fearing the filibusters, fled to the i United States; loses his wife in a crowd; becomes re- ' duced, and grinds scissors for a living. Fate wills I that they shall be restored to each other's arms; he I sues Concha for damages; recovers his estate; goes to old Spain, and lives in peace, on the banks of the blue Guadalquivir; repeatedly being heard to say, i Muerte a los filibusteros! : THE END .. *, . ' I !, page: 250-251[View Page 250-251] 250 ROMAN KALYDOR. X XXV. ROMAN KALYDOR. A MDDLE-AGED HERO IN THE XIXTH CENTURY. O O WH ERE in the Old Do. minion, at the time we allude G oYd\i^^: to, could a watering-place maintain its character, un- less towards the close of the E' - season a tournamenlt was held there. The Hyposulphurous Acid Springs were no exception to this rule, and, accordingly, at the date this tale opens, Colonel Roman Kalydo-, Esq., of Roncesvalles Plantation, Orange county, or top of the Blue Ridge, might have been seen delicately balanc- ing his full-blooded body on one corner of one leg, of the only chair that graced his cabin, or offshoot from the hotel. The time was night, or very nearly so, and Roman's meditations were on the Tournament to be held next day at the Hyposulphurous Acid Springs. Roman was in a speculative mood- he had recently lost money at Poker- whether he copperled or not! -Ie had sprung the knees of his old blood-mare trying to make her take a stone wall eight feet high; his fox hounds were growing old; the old house of all the ROMAN KALYDOR. 251 I, JKalydors wanted papering and painting; and he ' wanted more things than he could just then think of, i so he pulled out a plug of real Honey-dew, drawn through a bee gum-log, with the game twang to it; - and at the top of his lungs he called, "Pomp, oh, Pomp!"Now he had no reference to the pomp and circumstance of war, only to his own "Pomp," a ; silver-headed old body-servant, who had assisted at the toilets of all the Kalydors for three generations. "Mas'r Roman, you want Pomp?" said the old negro, as he introduced his white head into the cabin door. Roman Kalydor threw a jet of Honey-dew as : he sententiously said, "Go 'round thar to the kitchlen of the hLo-tel, to-morrow morning after breakfast, and bring me all the tin-kettles and pans, skewers and iron-pots, you can lay your hands on, old man! and : if there is a stove-pipe or two in the way, bring them ? too. Can you remember?" "Yes! Mas'r." "Well then, go 'round to Majori Culpepper, give him my compliments, and say to him that I would like to see him; now, hyar in my cabin, if he's dis- engaged." 't "Yes, Mas'r." And Pomp started for Major Culpepper's quarters, in a straight line. But oh, how crooked were his thoughts. i; "What can Mas'r want of all them thar tin-pans, ,',i page: 252-253[View Page 252-253] 252 ROMAN KALYDOR. and kittels, and stove-pipes, de Lord bress us, what, can young Mas'r be tinking of?" The message was duly delivered to Major Culpepper, who at once started to visit his friend, Colonel Roman Kalydor, without delay. He found him as we found him at the commencement of this tale, only he had now settled down on the two hind legs of the chair. "Major Culpepper!" said Roman, rising court- eously, with some care, from the two legs of the chair, "I am happy to see you, sir. YouI promptness pleases me. Your kindness lays me under a load of obligations. Take that chair, sir! And what will you take to drink?" "Colonel Kalydor, sir; your politeness is only equalled by your manner of conferring it; Sir, let it be juleps!" In a few minutes Pomp appeared with the pint tumblers, on which the big beads of grateful tears, shed by the inside juleps, glistened in the lamplight; and the long straws, showing which way the wind blows, peered over the tops. "Colonel! hyars nmy respects," said Majori Cul- pepper, as hefastened on to the straw, And was silent for some seconds. "And now, how can I be of ser- vice to you? Anything to shoot? 'Anything to ride? Anything to bet with?" "None!" answered Roman. "But I tell you what, ROMAN K ALYDOR. 253 h Major, I want your counsel. You know, sir, they are ' to have a tournament hyar to-morrow, at which a lot i of men and women are going to act circus-show. Thar is one woman in the company with a heart as big as the side of a house, who despises such flum- mery; and, by all the Kalydors, I am going to showa : that woman that thar is a man hyar, who tho' he is i too rough to dance their jigs and fine reels, is just the one to make her a strong husband! I'm going to ' that row to-morrow, sure! Thar's about a dozen dalcing-jacks thar all ready to appear as all sorts of ? knights in all sorts of armor. Anyrbody can go in who wants to, its a free fight, at the rings and so onp; aild it 'll be queer if I can't beat the crowd of tjiem. As for armor, I reckon I haven't forgotten about 'Ivanhoe,' and all that yet. Shall I go in? Hyar, Pomp! bring two more juleps." 6 Colonel Kalydor! let us be friends; you are just the man I want to know. The way you bluffed the table last night with two Jacks has won my heart; and I thoroughly approve of your going in to this tournament and taking off the rags. Sir, it's just what I would be delighted to do myself. And the lady, sir, if I may be allowed to allude to so delicate a subject, is something too bright, long to adorn the galaxy of widows she now ornafments. Sir, she must be NMrs. Kalydor, of Ronsyvally Plantation. And," 22 page: 254-255[View Page 254-255] 254 ROMAN KIALYDOR. the juleps here re-appeared, "I drink to her health! But what's your plan of operations?" "I'm going in," said Roman K alydor, "as the Unknown Knight. Pomp's too old, but your boy Fred. will just do for my Squire; ard I fancy what with my old mare and one of the imules I saw this afternoon over in a field, we can enter the lists." "But your armor?" asked Culpepper. "Got more than we want!- Silver and brass mounted. Wait till to-morrow, you'll see. Hyar, Pomp, two more juleps." And thus this moist conversation was kept up till an early hour. The lists were opened, and through the leaves of the old trees the summer sunlight danced on the Queen of Beauty, and all the pretty ones around her. Here and there imitation Knights rode horses at full speed; crowds of grinning negroes, convulsed with good humor, watched the proceedings, and things were evidently working as smoothly as velvet; when the loud notes of a horn, sounding fishy, broke in on the hilarity, alias, mirth, of the Tournament-ers. It was a strange Knight-very strange; he was wrapped in horse blankets from head to foot, with two holes, burnt through one of them, for eye-holes, a horse brush and curry-comb formed the ornaments of his helmet, which was made of the flaps of an old saddle; a broad girth across his chebt held a stalwart pitch- If I ROMAN KALYDOR. 255 i fork; while over his shoulder a birch-broom did the ! duty of a lance. But, as his Esquire, his Sancho i'; Panza, appeared, the nmirth, which had become irre- pressible, burst forth, and one hearty peal over :: another greeted the trusty Squire of low degree. Two stove-pipes encased his siraightened-out legs, a tin kitchen enclosed his manly breast, an overgrown tea-kettle served as helmet, a skewer was held in rest, like a sword in cavalry exercise. While the mule, on ;, which he was mounted, painted all colors, and hung if over with tin-pans and kettles, presented a sight never i equalled since the Zooglodon! "Charge, Cheater, charge!" shouted the Unknown Knight at the top of his voice; and in another' minute the tin-pans, kettles, stove-pipes, rattling like ;; a charge of the "Old Guard," carne thundering down on the bewildered Tournament-ers- their :, horses, frightened by this "'unseemly apparition," ,: took to flight. The Knight of the horse-blankets added to the confusion by the sturdy application of i his birch-broomn, and in a few minutes the Unknown Knight was the victor of- the field. Putting both spurs into the sides of his blood-mare, he took one flying leap, spite of her sprung knees, over the mule, 5 and, dismounting, begged the Queen of Beauty to give him not the wreath, but a kiss from her fair hand. She was no other than the beautiful widow i before referred to, and, as she extended her hand, the ! page: 256[View Page 256] 256 ROMAN KALYD R. Unknown Knight tore the blanket from his brow, and revealed the middle-aged face of Roman Kalydor, Esq., of Roncesvalles Plantation. "Ah!" said she, "I knew it was you!" Three weeks afterwards Ronman Kalydor, Esq., married the woman who was "too bright, long to adorn the galaxy of widows." "By force of arms," Roman had won her esteem. His old blood-mare now feeds at peace in green meadows; there is a new kennel of hounds at the Plantation. And the home of all the Kalydors is re-painted and re-papered. Roman still has confidence to go it blind, or stand on two Jacks in Poker; and blesses the day when he first thought of going in to tLat tournament, and winning the widow with the hundred thousand sweep-stakes! page: Illustration-257[View Page Illustration-257] BLONDIIE. ; , BLONDINE. 257 IB L O N D I N E. 'M thirty-five. This morn- ing I noticed two grey hairs in my left whisker; I must renounce waltzing! .; tu- ti- tum - ty - tum-I ought to be married-its high time. Let me see - there's the widow Belvidere, ten thousand a year- i she won't do;-Kate Phaeton!--I wont go any further, she'll do; I'll call oh her to-day; she's her own mistress; she's independent--good! Let me think; how will it sound--"Richard Curricle, married to Kate Phbeton"-admirably! couldn't be better. "Is Miss Phseton at home?"I asked of the waiter, who opened the door. "Yes, sir!" he answered; as ushering me into the parlor, he took my card. The door was left ajar. I heard a noise in the hall- "wah, wah!"--I was certain that was a familiar sound. Yes, said I to myself, I remember an old clock, in an old house, in an old country town, that made precisely such a noise. It must be an old 22* page: 258-259[View Page 258-259] 258 BL ON D N E. fashioned clock, and it's just struck " two." I looked at my watch; it wanted a quarter of three. I was non-plussed. The parlor-door swung lopen, and in sailed Kate Phaeton. Blue eyes, black hair, a figure beautiful enough to have shaken Saint Anthony. (Strange that a Saint who has giver rise to a " fire" - should have been so cold!) l "Mr. Curricle! I am slo glad to see you. Yol have been such a stranger!" and her blue eyes beamed on me. i "Only on compulsion, I assure you. For the last' two months, I have been exiled from the city, and although Canada has attractions, yet " "Wah! wahif wah 7i!" broke in that "clock" again; but this time the sound was near me. Positively, as I live, Miss Phbeton must have it on her lap. What won't they do next, I thought. But, no! dim though the light is, I see it move ; it's a . No-it's a lap- dog! e "Blondine you naughty 'ittle fellah, keep still!" said Miss Phoeton to her pet; then turning to me, she added, "Oh, you've no idea what a charming little dog I have here; Mrs. Grasse presented him to me yesterday, and, as he is a stranger yet, he will bark a little. But do tell me hove you liked Canada, and the Canadians. I expectL yo lost your heart a dozen times'" - BLONDINE. 259 'ti "Not there!"I answered-"French bread, but not " ' French half-bred: one can like eafe noir, without in- : i clining to the same colored eyes." i. "You don't think so! How did you leave the belle , of Montreal? Ah, hah! you see that though absent, : you- have not been forgotten. Kind eyes have fol- lowed you, and " i "Wah-ah-ah-wah!" With a series of most terrific, e colicky barks, Blondine attempted to leap from his mistress' arms, to attack some yet invisible foe in the hall. :! "Oh! he 'll run out of the door!" ' Never," said I, "I'll catch him, (something whis- ; pered kill him first)," and suiting the action to the word, I attempted to grasp him 'round the neck; it slipped through my fingers, and instead, I caught him, by what felt like a pound and a half of wool, with a lead pencil through it-it was his tail. Turning furiously 'round, he bit through nly kid glove, making me cry : out, as I let him go, "Oh!" To which exclamation, Miss Kate added a piercing ; "Ah-h!-I 'm so sorry!" Away bounded Blondine into the hall, but the waiter closing the front-door suddenly, he again bounced into the parlor. "Stevens!" called Miss Phbeton to the waiter, "come in and catch the dog." / In came the man, but it was easier said than done; page: 260-261[View Page 260-261] 260 B t O N D I N E. Blondine darted here and there, as if possessed with the polka-mania. Heedless of calls, commands, en. treaties, he made one headlong plunge through the lower shelf of an etagre, smashing into the minutest fragments Parian figures, Sevres China, Swiss cot- tages, a Leaning Towper of Pisa, and any amount of curiosities- but the Tower of Pisa did the business; it pinned him down, and as Stevens, profiting by his situation, grasped him, he gave just such a yell as Don Giovanni ought to give when the devils catch him; and in the next minute was carried out-his body overcome, but his yells unconquered. I finished my call, for I could see that Kate Phaeton was uneasy about her "s dear little pet." As I wished ' her "good-day," I determined that the next time I called, the pet should be indisposed, if there was any virtue in medicated Cough Lozenges. This will never do, I reflected on my way to dinner, to lose a wife like Kate Phaeton, all for a little bundle of wool, with a wasp inside. I'll wait till the animal is domesticated, and then-the Cough Lozenges.. At this moment, I felt a pain in my hand. There was an apothecary on the other side of the street. I crossed over, had some court-plaister applied, and purchased the Lozenges; on the outside of the box were the directions for taking them. The- most im- portant, to pay for them, was omitted. The printed advice was, " not to take more than one at a time, else I BLONDINE. 2G61 1A the consequences might be disagreeable!" I hoped they might be - for the lap-dog. i * * * - + Two weeks have passed since I commenced this ;' article on Blondine. I've met Kate Phaeton since then at balls, parties, at a the dansant, (she wouldn't I go to a cafg chantant!) at the Opera. I 've paid her i particular attentions-she has received them very en- couragingly. To-morrow I shall propose in form, for l her hand. Will I be accepted? We shall see. Again I am in her house. She is "at home." I " 7 hear no "wah, wah!" on the stairs, but I hear the i rustle of a silk dress. Kate is before me. The corn- pliments of the day have been passed. We speak of ; Evergreen's approaching marriage. We are sitting ; on the sofa. My heart is in my mouth - I'm about i to offer it to her-also my hand-the one the dog bit! "Kate! I have loved you long: may I not claim this hand -" (making a dive at it, and sinking front the sofa on one kneo old style)--I was just pressing it to my lips, when " wah-hitty-wah-wah!" and a pair of teeth were fastened in my ankle, (it was Spring-time, and I wore patent-leather pumps, and silk stockings), producing such exquisite agony, that, entirely forget- ting all respect -due IMiss Phaeton, I involuntarily saluted Blondine with such a severe kick in the head, that if dogs ".see stars," he must have viewed the page: 262-263[View Page 262-263] 262 BLONDINE. whole Siderial Kingdom at a glance! I had done it! To use a popular saying, "put my foot in it!"Invisi- ble to me, that little brute must have entered the room, and, seeing me with Kate's hand in mine, must have had an j admonition, that I was about to deprive him of his mistress. From that sofa Eate Phaeton rose an angry being. "Mr. Curricle, take this as my answer: I never will marry a man with such a temper as you have shown!" Stevens opened the door, and I passed out. Mechanically I put my hand in my waistcoat-pocket. I felt the Cough Lozenges there. I murmured- "How long, oh, ' Blondines,' will ye abuse the patience of bachelors, who would become married men?" } 1 I ] ; ' ' ( AN OBLIGING HUSB AND. 268 iAft!l XXX I VII. AN OBLIGING HUSBAND. 13 HOMAS FLETCHER'S feet were occasionally too large ,!1 for him; he would make ! ' ' worm-fences, become tangle- "Iegged, trip over his own ; toes, get lordly, become ; : sewed up, and bring home i;i ricks in his hat. This was very annoying to Mrs. 'letcher, who, again and again, talked to him, "like !: Dutch uncle:" one evening in particularu, as he - ;:! ame home pretty well "tore," she at once "tackled" 'l im. ' ' ':' "I tell you, now. Mister Fletcher, I ain't going to L ave no more sich carryins on: ef you will go an' I lake a beast of ye'self, you may jes go, but mind youn on't come back to hum no more in sech a woful I; ondishun!"Mr. Fletcher leaned against the mantel- iece, made three attempts to cross his legs, so as to , )ok at his ease, and replied: "Miss's Fle-lesher, I w-want ter know 'bout c-con- ; ishings; d-dont I allers 1-let you h-have jes wot you page: 264-265[View Page 264-265] 264 AN OBLIGING HUSBAND. want-er. Ain't you the head and front of-fof all my 'fences?" "There! there you go now, with some of y'r play- house talk. I don't want to hear another word out of y'r head. Y'r at the the-a-ters, an' round drinkin' rum, an' leavin' me to hum without the most barest necessities. I ain't goin' to 'low it no more. I ain't." "J-jus menshun the sly-ti-test oljic on which you 've set your af-fef-fec-shuns, an' see ef I don't 'low you to have it. I'm-a the m-most obligingest hus-bus- band that never wos." "Oh yes, you are! All the naybors know how I ware splendid gowhds, an' a grate goold watch, an' a elegant bonnet with maraboo fethers, yaller kid gloves. Oh yes!" "St-trikes me y-yer kind a sat-tat-tirikle, Miss's Fle-lesher. No matter. Say ennything you want, an' see ef y-you don't git it." ' Well then, Mister Fletcher, I wish you'd go right straight, ef you kin, an' bring me a jar of pickles. We hain't had a mossel of one in this house for a week." \ Mr. Fletcher looked as solemn as a tipsy owl, while he replied:! "Enny-thing bout J-jars, Miss's F'le-lesher. 'J- jars' we wont have!" Mrs. Fletcher-gave it up - after that! , . THE LAST SERENADE. 265 \ XXXVIII. THE LAST SERENADE. ,R. TANCRED TUBS was :mci twenty-three years old, possessed of a fine figure, expressive eyes, and well- , turned legs, the contour of which owed their de- .... velopment to his constant zeal, his undivided atten- tion, his love for the Polka. We speak now of things past. When he danced, his heart was completely absorbed in his legs-anatomists gazed, they were be- wildered; they proclaimed it a disease, the diagnosis of which they took down to music. But our hero sung. When we say sung, we don't mean he always hummed tunes to wretched accom- paniments on bachelor banjos or guitars: no! He sang to pianos played by light or dark-haired, or eyed ladies. He had, they said, a great volume to his voice; and they all read in it and found, as they did in Alexander Smith's poems, much sweetness. 28 page: 266-267[View Page 266-267] 266 TH E LAST SERENADE. So the reputation of our Orpheus, was as wide in "the world" around him, as his of Mythology, only it wasn't so deep, stopping short of the "Inferno." Now there tarried-don't find fault with this word; 1 it's of the pure Saxon order of verbal architecture, ecclesiastical school-in the same city, and at the same time, a street-singer, who was born just twelve months before he; was a year old, in a town with houses in it; and this was all he knew of his pedigree or parentage; when asked where his home was, he described a circle round him with his right arm, and' said, briefly, "Ze-a-whirl," which being translated, means " the world:" a fine house, but too many occu- pied rooms in it. So ERCOLE - for he was an every- day character, enough to have A NAME hanging to him like a bell-rope, the better to call him when wanted--sang night and day in the streets, accom- panied by a female page who bore his guitar; for he told me once in lingua franca, "( that it was all he could do to carry his woes, so he handed the musical instru- ment over to one, whose heart was not so heavy." ERCOLE sang; his songs were those of many lands; and he had learned them on the spot; so his memory was like a musical leopard-skin. Most of all lan- guages, he favored Italian; and it favored him, bring- ing in money to his pockets, as fast as he pushed it out in songs. He sung airs from all the-operas, ex- 1 THE LAST SERENADE. 267 cept the "Opera Horatii;" it hadn't been set to music then. Often, on a summer evening, I've heard his organ (vocaD squares off, singing in sonorous voice and full, some favorite air, perhaps from "La Favo- rita," or an Extract from "The Elixir of Love," vulgarly called "L'Elisire d'Amore." But where is TUBS? He's standing, as every Tub should, on his-dignity; Music and Dancing, acting as supporters to bear him on in "the world." Tancred has met, as he confidentially and confidently told her intimate friend, ' the idol of his soul"--he didn't know how idle she really was--, one whom he could love with all the fervor of his heart; a heart that beats for her alone;" (regarding her fortune and herself in strict combination:) and quite a number of other epithets equally strange, to be found in every truly romantic heart; ditto novel. The temple of TUBS' idol was in one of the third story front rooms of a fashionable house, at the west- end--the idol being short and stout, resembled the Chinese Joss- so we find TANCRED worshipping like a Pagan, and at last forgetting all "low-flung" methods, such as pens, ink, paper, post-offices, despatches, &c., he determined to breathe his love upon the air; to tell her how much he suffered; that he would die-if he had added, his whiskers for her, he'd have told the truth -in plain English; he in- page: 268-269[View Page 268-269] 268 THE LAST SERENADE. tended to serenade her in Italian words--and I don't know what kind of pronunciation. The night came. Eleven, twelve o'clock sounded and TANCRED beat -a retreat from his chambers, and sallied. No! let's say "tancreded" out (he had a walk of his own,) with his guitar, bent on "smash- ing" his idol-by! music. "Tink, tink, tingle-ingle-rungitty-dingle-boom! Tung, tung, tung, tung-tooing!" And the strings were screwed up,l and run over. "All right," soliloquized TUBS; "now for it! i' "Move on, there! no more of that noise. Didn't I tell you last night " "Who are you! speaking to?" said TUBS. "Oh! pardon, Sir; thought you were that 'ere Dutchman as was howling 'round here last night; so dark didn't see it was a gentleman."-And on moved the "star." "Tinkle, inkle, ing." Once more TUBS touched the guitar, and this time commenced altissimo voce - *"Ve ran, oh to tease ole L'AURA; He may so spare a lament, oh!" and had advanced thus far into that beautiful air from ( "UCIA, and was just out of air in his lungs, when he * Verrano a toe ull' aura, I miei, sospiri ardenti Udrai nel mar che mormora, &c., &c. THE LAST SERENADE. 269 heard the window above him open. He sang with renewed animation; "You'd ratha mark a murmurer l" "So I had! so I had!" said a voice, proceeding from a lady of undoubted age, in an unmistakable head-gear. "So I had! There's three gents for you, good man; do go away now!' TANCRED TUBS was found next morning with a bloody nose, broken guitar, and a black eye; also a gold eagle out of pocket. And it all happened thus: TUBS, rebuffed by being mistaken for the "Dutch" street singer, bad left his idol's shrine (house), using all sorts of reversed blessings, when, who should -he hear in the next street, but that identical individual singing, if he could believe his ears, the identical air he had so auspiciously commenced, by being told to " move on" --in it! TUBS felt like a Malay about to run a "muck;" he gave a yell, and pitched into the "Dutchman," as if forty centuries were looking down on him. That vulgarly-called "Dutchman," was ERCOLE; and thirty years spent among all sorts of loafers, in every country of Europe, had taught him the art of self-defence to perfection. He polished down TUBS in a few minutes, and left him in charge 23* page: 270-271[View Page 270-271] 270 THE LAST SERENADE. of a "star," who politely offered to escort him home, which TANCRED refused, saying, he "wasn't at all in- toxicated, but proposed getting so at once." So the "star" went to light the way to an oyster-cellar, and they made a time of it. TANCRED TUBS that night lost his voice, and has never been able to find it since. LtgeiirEat iNt 'at! ] CAPE MAY. 271 X XX IX' CAPE MAY. I. TRAVELLING CONFESSIONS. Men were smoking and joking, or solemnly croaking, While up went the piston-rod, round went the wheels; Women sitting or walking, were laughing and talking, While black boys and cooks were preparing the meals: Babies dying with crying, setting all your thoughts flying, While on went the steamer, right straight down the bay: Some heeding their reading, some pleading for feeding, While all the gay party were bound to Cape May. page: 272-273[View Page 272-273] 272 CAPE MAY. II. FIRST IMPRESSIONS. Hark! the dashing and crashing, and smashing and lashing, While the breakers roll in on that surf-beaten shore; Coming rumbling and tumbling, and grumbling, and stumbling, While one's head is near stunned by the thundering roar. Bathers in the surf teeming, deeming screaming quite seeming, While they buffet the wild waves, and toss in the spray, Are telling by yelling, what a felling the swelling - While the tide turns they're catching-on shore at Cape May. "I. "AST IMPRESSIONS. Note the wooing, and cooing, and "booing," that's doing, 1 While you walk on the beach. at the close of the day: CAPE MAY. 273 (No denying it's trying-this soft eyeing and sighing, While a plump rounded arm, on your own has a stay.) -Thus flirting and frolicking, bowling and rollicking, While the hot summer-weather is passing away; Every moment enjoying, your time you're em- ploying, While you're cooled by its breeze, to give praise to Cape May. page: 274-275[View Page 274-275] 274 SEA-SHORE SKETCHES. XL. SEA-SHORE SKETCHES. No. I. BEACH-LOVE. ^*'* Z^^i ,UNSET and silence on the landing roar,: 'iThus'Wild waves upon the shore; voice of MNNIE -Where the y brea k with a' towardbooming sound on the sand, Rolling with des p -tone d moaning roar, Ever, yes, ever more!" Thus spoke ALonzo JIMBY. "Oh! Mr. JIMBy, is that original?" said the soft voice of MNNIE Low, as ohe leaned on that gentle- man's arm, slowly walking along the seashore, toward sunset. ( Ay, indeed!" was the poet's role response. "Re-eally!" continued MNNIE; "you ought to publish your poetry, it's so perfectly charming!" SEA-SHORE SKETCHES. 275 ("Could I but charm one fair being, and have her for my minister!" s"Oh! oh! Mr. JIMBY! Why, I declare, you must be in favor of woman's rights: the idea of a woman being a minister is so absurd. Just fancy her in a pul " "(Take keer there!" shouted the driver of a two- horse wagon, as he ' gave the head" to a couple of beasts that were trying to improvise a trot: "take keer!" And they did take care. On1 whizzed the team over the hard, damp beach; breaking up Mss MNNIE'S speech and the gravel at the same time: "STARS shine on the dashing waves, As they boldly leap for shore, And break, like the beat of a throbbing heart, On' the breast they cover o'er; Ever, yes, ever more!" steamed away ALONZO. The hour, the day, the young woman by his side; that great scene-painter, the SUN, working away at the West, and getting up a "Grand Sunset Scene," prior to his de- parture for an Eastern engagement; the roll of the waves, the bracing air from the ocean, all conspired to warm up the boiler of his brains, and send out the steam of his imagination in the shape of rhyme. Nothing could hold him in, not even tallow-tanned page: 276-277[View Page 276-277] 276 SEA-SHO RE SKETCHES. leather reins; or, as we are speaking of steam, not even a "brake" (unless it were a break-down) could stop him. Poor, charming little MNNIE! how I pitied her as she tried to look interesting at the poet, and inte- rested in his--" discourse." It was a flat failure; and when the poet tried to carry her, in imagination, among the ' Dashing waves, as they boldly leap for shore," it was evident poor MNNIE was out of her depth, and was afraid of being drowned in the torrent of his flowing verse: "WHTE wings, like the sea-gull's, gleam, As they lazily rise and lower; The sails of a ship on a summer's night Outside of the breakers that roar, Ever, yes, ever more!" "Be-e-eautiful! charming! But, Mr. JIMBY, I think we had better return to the hotel; the air is rather damp," suggested MNNIE. "Dam--p!" said ALONZO to himself; then added, speaking out; "-but is it not beautiful to wander at sunset by the sad sea-waves, quoting choice gems from bouquets woven in the brains of poets, and recite, in thrilling words, 'Roll on, thou steep and deep blue ocean?' Ah! BYRON was immortal and-- " SEA-SHORE SKETCHES. 2" ' Immoral!" interrupted BEECH BARK, Esq., who, overtaking him, thus suddenly broke in; adding, while he lifted his hat, "Miss Low, good evening! LoNZY, how d'ye do? Miss MNNIE, your mother is very anxious about you: sent me out as bell-man, to hunt you up. They 're all going over to the ' Hop,' and want your company. Am sorry to break in on "ONZY'S poetical quotations -a 'strong point' of his. And now, having delivered my message, I'm off." "But BEECH n-no! Mr. BARK!" imploringly cried MNNIE, "don't go! I haven't thanked you 'for your kindness in bringing Ma's message-- and " "You're tired to death of LoizY's poetry COousin JIMBY, my boy-the poetry of action and the prose of conversation: throw your fancy into the Mazurka and your facts into your speech: just watch me dance to-night, and see if I dont break more hearts by my action than you could by your passion." it-was moon-light. ALONZO JIMBY sat by the sea- side ruminating: "HARK the dashing, and crashing, and smashing, and splashing, While the breakers roll in on that surf-beaten-shore; Coming rumbling, and tumbling, and grumbling, and stumbling, While one's head is near stunn'd by the thundering roar." 24 page: 278-279[View Page 278-279] 278 SEA-SHORE SKETCHES. Along the hotel piazza in the moon-light, escaping from the crowded room, BEECH BARK and MNNIE Low wandered arm in arm. The "Hop" was nearly over. That night Miss Low promised to become Mrs. BARK; and a whisper of the c" engagement" suddenly coming to the ears of ALONZO JIMBY caused him to write those memorable lines: "The world is dark and cold for me i" which sentiment, as it was broached in July, makes us rather envy the poet's situation--if it were not one of "poetical license." a , SEA-SHORE SKETCHES. 279 SEA-SHORE SKETCHES. No. II. THE RACE ON THE SANDS. e 1S M . 'l OME, BUZZY! you've Major," answered the juvenile, " and I 'm with you." o "Not another one!" said Major WHPTOP, grabbing him by the arm. "One more 'duck' and your appe- tite for dinner'll be dished. So come along. I'm thirsty, and they've a prime chowder for ibluncheon." That last arg-ument was a clincher. BUZZY gave in, and came out of the surf arm-in-arm with the Major. As they splashed along toward shore, BUzzY's atten- page: 280-281[View Page 280-281] 280 SEA-SHORE SKETCHES. tion was attracted by something moving along at a slow pace on the beach. He eyed it for some time, and then broke out with: "' That bangs Bannaker!- a regular old oyster-wagon horse with a full-blood racing blanket on, and a groom airing him! I can read the letters on the rag from here: O-L-D P-A- R-R: OLD PARR! What does it all mean, eh?" "Why,"' answered the Major, " haven't you heard of the great scrub-race that's coming off this after- noon over the Plaguey-mean Course? It will be the richest thing of the season, sack-races, soaped pig- tails, &c., &c., not excluded! Two such looking old rips as have been entered! It has been unanimously resolved by the proprietors of the course that it shall be a mile-heat, and as well as I can remember their card runs thus: "SCRUB-RACES. - PLAGUEY-MEAN COURSE. he summer meeting over this course will commence on Friday, the fourth of August, and continue-till it ends! ' FIRST DAY, Friday, club purse .05 cents and a bottle of whiskey. lMile heat, SCoIPIo AFRICANUS GREEN names MNGO BINGS' ch. h. Old PARR, by Good Luck, out of dam Old Oyster-cart, 27 years old. JULIUS C ESAR HANNIBAL names CHARLES GEORGE'S roan h. Corkscrew Polka, by Whiskey; dam Fiddle; aged --- ." "There you have the bill of fare. See what it is SEA-SEORE SKETCHES. 281 to have a good memory," concluded the Major, as they entered the bathing-house. In the afternoon, BUzzY and the Major, having finished a couple of bottles of claret at dinner, (' tacked out" for the shady, breezy piazza, and at last, "coming to anchor" in two arm-chairs, flung out the "blue bunting" of smoke from their segars. (Noth- ing like "nautical" terms at the sea-side!) Thus, FuzzY to the Major: - D' ye know that that claret don't agree with me? It's got claws to it! Hanged if I don't believe the vulture that preyed on PROMETHEUS' liver was nothing but a bottle of hotel claret." "May be you 're right," hummed the Major, " and you 're punished, like him, for stealing my ' thunder' to animate your jokes." "He stole fire!" broke in BUzzY. "And that's the reason he 'burned his fingers!' But here we are! Isn't that a neat turn-out?" added the Major suddenly and energetically, as a pair of well-matched, showy bay horses harnessed to a light trotting-wagon were driven up the road toward the hotel under an easy trot, and stopped directly in front of where the Major sat. "I fancy the mile isn't made yet that they can't go over inside, of 2: 40. So come, BuzzY, jump in." In a minute more the reins were in the Major's hands, and off they went, bound for the scrub-race. 24* page: 282-283[View Page 282-283] 282 SEA-SHORE SKETCHES. The directors of the course .having marked out a mile along the sea-beach and called it "Plaguey- mean," were almost broken-hearted when they learned that the admirers of the turf had held a meeting to know whether it would be lawful for them to admire a race on the sand. An affirmative decision gave great relief to the directors, and the race bade fair to come off swimmingly -if the tide only rose high enough! Four o'clock was the hour named for the race to commence; and at that time crowds, consist- ing of the "unfair" sex, were gathered in and around the course. Horses for miles around had been pressed into service and brought there-perhaps to teach them ambition, certainly to carry their owners, riders, drivers, and tormenters up and down, in and out, and all around what ought to have been the fenced-in racecourse. A fish-horn is blown; the judge's stand a flour- barrel-is mounted by a florid-faced man stout enough to be respectable. With a gesture of his hand in imitation of the Count Palatine in the "saw-dust" play of MAZEPPA, and with a voice strong enough to crack a shaving-glass, he roared: "Bring forth the fiery, untamed steeds!" changing the last word in the sentence so as to suit the scene of action. There was a commotion in the crowd; then followed such explosive yells and roars of laughter that, as the breakers came rolling in toward the beach, one stood SEA-SHORE SKETCHES. 283 on end in fright for a second before it dared to break! In front of the stand stood "Old PARR," bracing himself up against the sea-breeze, and looking down with his one eye and an air of mild unconcern, on the shifting sands of the sea. The twenty-seven years that had rolled over his head had rolled all the meat from his bones, and he stood there, except his hide, an admirable specimen for an anatomical museum. The race was to be " under saddle," and so he was bare-backed, and had a rope halter to guide him. Mr. MASON, in his admirable work, says: "To become a valuable and a good race-rider requires more capacity, judgment, experience, and honor than are often found in boys in the habit of riding." Whether the proprietors of the course had read this or learned it by experience, they decreed that MNGO BINas, the owner of "Old PARR," should ride him. He was certainly a pretty old boy, for when the riders were weighed (by years) MNGO was sixty-four, and CHARLES GEORGE, a dim mulatto, and rider of Corkscrew Polka, only fifty-eight. MNGO BINGS gained the start, and was told when the fish-horn blew '"to strike out!" His jockey dress was white, black, whitey-brown, and brown; namely, a very old white hat, a black face, whitey-brown shirt, and brown breeches. The horn sounded. MNGo BINGS mounted. It sounded again. He gave his horse not the rein, but the rope-halter. He commenced chewing it! page: 284[View Page 284] 284 SEA-SHORE SKETCHES. BINGS jerked his mouth, and up came ( Old PARR'S" head in the air with such violence that MNGO was nearly floored. He jerked it down, and up went PARR'S tail. Some one in the crowd asked MNGO if he'd smoke? He at once assented, took the segar, lit it, and reposed, as the judge said, "Like a Romin warryer on his nobil steed!" But where was "Corkscrew Polka," the competitor in the race? The horn kept on sounding; the crowd continued cheering "Old PARR'S" attempt to g'lang. Suddenly there was a rush, and Polka was before them, attended with unbounded applause. There he was, lying down in an oyster-cart, dragged by another horse! and under saddle. Corkscrew Polka" stock went up, up, up. Bets ten to one on the horse in the wagon were freely made. "He's above PARR!" shouted the judge. "He's beyond PARR!" shouted the crowd as he passed his competitor in the race. I; was growing exciting. As no whips were allowed to be used, the spurring exhortations to movement used by the rival race-riders eclipsed any thing in that line Buzzy ever heard. The prospect of the stakes sharp- ened their efforts. Mulatto GEORqE'S voice could be heard high over MNGO'S, crying, "Go it, ole hoss! Go it; you's good for de money! Go it!" In an hour and a half, by the judge's watch, Cork- screw Polka" came in winner by half a mile: this, as Major WHPTOP declares, being the first race on record won by a horse under saddle in wagon! page: Illustration-285[View Page Illustration-285] SEA-SHORE SKETCHES. 285 XT. TT. SEA-SHORE SKETC HE S. No. III. THE PISTOL-GALLERY. LET'S go over to the pis- tol-gallery, Major! I see the Misses HAMMERSLA- GER with two 'lions' in ladies, you'll assist at their performances. We shall not intrude: they can't have too many admirers." BWell!" hummed the Major, needs must when -BUZZY drives." And throwing away segars, the pair started for the gallery; entering just as Miss JULIA HAMMERSLAGER, having selected a " saw-handle," gave orders to load. Pistol in hand, she announced her in- page: 286-287[View Page 286-287] 286 SEA-SHORE SKETCHES. tention of firing at the word. Between "two and three," she blazed away. The bell rang. "'It'im again! Miss 'AMMERSLAGER; hif'e 'asn't hany friends, 'e's got a hiron constitution!" spoke out the English "lion" of the group, FITZ-HoBBs, as dressed in " ashes-of-cream" colored, "leg-of-mutton" whiskers, supported by a "father-killer" shirt-collar, kept up by a blue polka neckerchief, salmon-colored pantaloons, a short, brown shooting-jacket, historical pattern-shirt, and-gaiters, of course, he watched the young lady's preparation to take her second shot at the iron-target; said target being cut out in the semblance of a man in profile, whose heart being hit, gave out the ring. BuzzY was saluted by Miss JULIA% with: "Good morning, BuzzY! Come over to see me shoot?" "That 's my mission just now," was his reply. "I came over, too, to get up an appetite, for you ring that bell so continuously that I cheat myself into the belief it's the first bell for dinner." "That'll do, now! Keep quiet, BuzzY, and don't spoil my shooting with your wretched compliments. FITZ-HOBBS is trying to make me miss the button, because he has bet a Champagne breakfast for the 'party,' that I can't ring the bell six times out of eight." FITZ-HOBBS protested. "Hi declare hi'm an abused SEA-SHORE SKETCHES. 287 individual; I 'adn't a sinister motive at hall. Hi knew when I made the bet that you'd win it." One! two! Ring-a-ling-a-ling! "There you go again! 'it 'im right in the 'art! You'll steel it hif you keep 'ammnering away in that manner. Hit's positively shocking to 'ir; stunning, hi might say." Miss JULIA HAMMERSLAGER, nothing daunted by HOBBS' remarks, fired eight shots, rang the bell seven times, and won the breakfast; whereupon her sister KATE and the Count DOUcsE SAVON tendered their con- gratulations to Mr. FITZ-HOBBS, desiring him to "name the happy day." He named the next; and then, as if to relieve his mind from a great weight of woe, desired to exchange a few shots with the Count at the "Hiron Duke," as he facetiously called the target. The Count DOUCE SAVON, who wore just the air of a billiard-marker from the Latin Quarter, readily complied. Miss JULIA declared sh6 " wouldn't bet a sixpence on FITZ-HOBBS' shooting," but readily staked two polkas and a schottisch on the Count. "Are you ready?" asked the proprietor of the shooting-gallery. "Pretty nearly so!" answered IIossBBs. Miss JULIA screamed with laughter. "Whby'don't you say 'Ready!9 Air. HoBBS? One would think you had never 'been out,' to hear you talk." page: 288-289[View Page 288-289] 288 SEA-SHORE SKETCHES. "Ready!" answered HOBBS, thus corrected; and before "one!" was pronounced, there was a pane of glass less in the sky-light, his pistol having gone off while he held it in the air. "Ho! My heyes!" A little higher, and you would have said, "Ho! my nose!" sententiously remarked Miss ItAMMERSLAGER. ' Why, I took great pains." "Yes!" she again interrupted, "the sky-light shows that. Go on shooting: only remember that the target is what you are to fire at." Mr. IOBBS looked as if he would like to be ex- cused. His second shot hit the nose of the iron man. "A line shot!" said JULIA. "Yaas! hi always fire line-shots," quickly added FITZ HOBBS. Iis third shot went to the left of the target. "Now, Mr. IIoBB," spoke Julia, I can believe your story of the lion-hunt you had with GORDON CUMMNGS is true; for any one can see, by that last shot, that you have crossed the line!" "Ah! my 'andis hout this morning; I cawn't shoot at hall!" The Count, whom BuzzY set down as having serious intentions on Mr. HOBBS' purse, on seeing his future banker decline shooting, also declined; and the 9) SEA-SHORE SKETC'HES. 289 "party," as Mr. HOBBS would say, left the gallery for the Hotel- Miss JULIA HAMMERSLAGER'S voice being heard (dim-inuendo) earnestly inquiring if HOBBS wouldn't be "particular, and see that they had Morris River Cove oysters, instead of any others," for the Champagne breakfast; "and mind you tell AUGUSTINE (chef de cuisine) to see that we have woodcock." "What do you think of it, Major?" asked BUZZY, after they had left. "Did you ever see such a 'fast' party." "Yes! much faster out of society!" 25 / page: 290-291[View Page 290-291] 290 SEA-SHORE SKETCHES. XLIII, -S EA-SHORE SKETCHES. No. IV. THE HOP. "HOPS are tonic, good in nervous tremors, weakness and tre- mors of inebriates. A pillow made of hops, wet with rum, is good to produce sleep and allay nervous irritation, good for- pains of women, and valuable in fermentations." - LADIES' INDIS- PENSABLE ASSISTANT, p. 66. N referring to the dictionary of that gentleman so often invoked in ambiguous and doubtful cases-- Walker! we found Y^ i69f "HoP, s., a jump on one leg." This was unsatisfactory, for had we not often been present at Hops? Did we not know that in the ."court-rooms of the Muses" hops were composed of jumps on two legs? We gave up our search in despair,--when chance threw in our way SEA-SHORE SKETCHES. 291 that valuable production from which we extract the heading of this sketch. Rheumatic railers at sea- shore balls, read it and ponder. "What the thunder's going on in the dining- room?" asked BuzzY, as he sat in the hotel portico, watching with the Major the evening-star rising in all its beauty, or the drying bathing-clothes waving "harlequinly" in the gentle breeze. "What's going on? is it a May-moving or a free-fight?" He well might ask. Steam-whistles, pigs in a high-wind, trombones, scissor-grinding, all seemed working at once. "They're arranging the furniture and tuning the instruments for the hop, to-night," answered the Major. "Sure enough! ain't I one of the floor-manager? , Won't I shake your old-bachelor heart by the intro- ductions I'll give you to the belles of the ball? Look- out! I'm getting up steam!" "5Yes, so I noticed at dinner. Champagne and sherry! Fire and water! Suppose we let off a little by a walk along the beach? We can return early enough not to miss the quadrilles." And to the beach they sauntered. The hop had commenced. BUzzY, with his pretty cousin, CLARA BELL, was waltzing to the music of the full band, as it performed "La Prima Donna," while the Major, who only indulged in quadrilles and a page: 292-293[View Page 292-293] 292 SEA-SHORE SKETCHES. polka- occasionally, (the latter from principle, it being a camp-dance,) was surveying the room.- He saw the tables that made. it a dining-room piled away at either end in tiers; the band stationed at one end discours- ing music; while along the sides chairs were placed in double rows for the accommodation of the guests. Evergreens arranged along the walls, festooned flags, flashing lights, gay dresses, the hum. of voices, rust- ling silks, perfumes, flowers. Said the Major to him- self, "It will do." At this moment the HAMMERSLA- GERS, pere et mere, passed him, followed by the daughters JULIA and KATE, under the Aprotection of the "British arms" of that "lion" rampant, FITZ- HOBBS. The music stopped at the close of the waltz, and the Major, apprised that a polka was the next in order, claimed the hand of the fair JULIA. "Certainly. I'm not engaged. My hand is yours - for the polka! Do you know that I never refused to dance it but once?" RI How could you ever refuse?" asked the Major. 'Pa insisted on our all going to Castle-Garden one night years ago, to hear ' Norma,' or the 'Daughter of the Regiment,' or some of those operas of ERNANI'S! We went. Young GREEN, ,who was with usyou know him-asked me between acts if I wouldn't like to walk out on the balcony in the moon-light, see the bay, boats, waves, and get away from the music. We went up stairs, walked out, and as we were near the- SEA-SHORE SKETCHES. 293 end overlooking the garden, a hurdy-gurdy struck up the Love Polka. Those delightful Germanians played it so rapturously last summer at Newport! That wicked GREEN just then invited me to polka, and I declare I believe I should if -I hadn't remembered we were at the opera! Now, Major, do stop that waiter and get me a glass of -'lush.' I hope it isn't weak." Another instant the " flush" was in hand. "Just as I thought," pathetically sighed fair JULIA; "it's all water. Take it away." "Poom-poom-poom, ti-poom-poom-poom," sounded the music; and the next moment off started JULIA i * and the Major in his favourite camp-dance. Why prolong the description of the delights of that hop? Had we not better, like materialists, turn the painting round and criticise the horrible coarseness of the can- vas? It's so much easier to " pick things to pieces" than put them together. BUZZY on this night seemed ubiquitous, introducing every body he knew to any body he knew, and to some he didn't know-once in his office of floor- manager, picking up an unfortunate young gentleman who measured his width on the boards. The rosy hours went flying by, old people retired, and a few of the very young ladies, spite of the pre- cautions taken by their anxious mammas to keep their eyes open, by pulling all their hair d la chMnoise 25* page: 294-295[View Page 294-295] 294 SEA-SHORE SKETCHES. to the backs of their heads, began to try to shut their "peepers." Those of the boarders whose "family" prerogatives prevented their entering into the spirited pleasures of -the hop, grew tired of their outside posi- tions at the windows, where they had glared in at the poor " hoppers" with the spirit of middle-aged German barons looking from their castle-eyries down on the low-born in the valleys, antl slowly left. Hops wouldn't allay their irritations. That portion of the outsiders. comprising waiters, nurses, ' villagers and retainers," as the play-bills have it, instead of decreasing, in- creased. Among the sable spectators delight and joy raged fearfully; each appeared to have found a copy of "Endless Amusement" (the usual price of which so-called amusing work is fifty cents.) In the immediate vicinity of the ball-room lay the great magnet for Young America, the bar-room. In this spot the shuffling, shuttling sound of shaken sherry-cobblers, juleps, claret-cobblers, brandy-smashes, and all those "crushing" drinks, seemed never to cease. Particularly to FITZ-HOBBS, between the dances, did the insinuating cobblers come refresh- ingly; he did not heed the velvety steps of "tight- ness," so slowly and gradually did they glide over the sleeping "lion" in him; not until the band played the last polka did FITZ-HOBBS feel as if he " walked on thrones!"He had just entered the ball-room, which to his astonished vision seemed to have been SEA-SHORE SKETCHES. 295 changed into a grand revolving panorama; with wide- eyed wonder he paused an instant, and then, as if to assure himself of the reality of things, grasped a leg of one of the piled-up tables: it yielded, and slowly, surely, irresistibly, he felt an avalanche of tables coming down like ten thousand bricks upon his devoted head; he gave one roar, and the next instant layl "under the mahogany." The grand crash caused a "tremendous" sensation; nervous tremors came over the ladies; the gentlemen, exceedingly excited by drinking, music, dancing, rushed in a body to rescue the poor victim on whom the "tables were turned." Down on hands and knees, the "pattern- men," in white linen cut-away coats and pantaloons; the would-be 914gants in heavy, black tail-coats, and' "extensions," and the outsiders in variegated summer garments, one and all looked under the tables. "Hi say,'waw's aw the row abaw? hannyborry kno?" And there sat HOBBS, like Mr. TOODLES, unscathed, unharmed, but immovably tipsy. He was drawn out and quartered on a chair; there he sat, looking very t owl-ly, nodding his head to the dying notes of the last polka. HioPs must have seemed to him very valu- able in fermentations. The ladies prepared to go; they left. The lights were fast being put out, the musicians departing, when BuzzY, having attended his cousin CLARA to the saloon, returned to look after 1. page: 296-297[View Page 296-297] X 296 SEA-SHORE SKETCHES. FITZ-Hosas, hoping, that as HoPs are tonics, good in! nervous tremors, weakness and tremors of inebriates; he might be all. the better for his experience of them. Alas! he found him supported -by two waiters, who were vainly endeavoring to make out the number of his room, so as to carry him up. He recognized BUZZY at once. ' "Hi s-say, Buz-vzzY, wha's all the row abamr? hay? Le's go an' g-get 'nother cob-bobler!" Pretending to steer him where he could strike another " cob-bobler,"' BuzzY saw him put to bed det us hope that his "pillow of hops, wet with rum, pro- duced sleep and allayed nervous irritation,") and then sought his own chamber, which, being directly over the bar-room, allowed him to study the anatomy of drunkenness for about an hour, before he could pro- secute his researches into that of sleep. The last he heard was a stormy dispute whether two "mellow" vocalists should sing "Oft in the stilly night," or "Behold how brightly breaks the morning," which was finally settled by a reference to watches, and the voice of one declaring "the Hlass ch-chewn the m- mos p-pep-pepper-ro-pri-oh, yuno wha' I m-mean!" * SEA-SHORE SKETCIES. 297 XLIV. SEA-SHORE SKETCHES. No. V. MR. BUZZY WRITES A LETTER "FOR THE PAPERS!"IT DULY APPEARS IN PRINT WITH AN EDITORIAL HEADING WHCH SUITS HM. C APE MAY. RAT HALL, Cape May, July 14th, 1855. Queer Letter from a Queer Stick--Singular Obstinacy of a Land- lord - How to Make a Bathing House - Music at the Hotel - The Cold Spring--The Young Ladies-The President, &c., &c. HIS serene brandy and water- ing spot has already drawn to its shadeless bosom an extremely large crowd of beautiful beings in bonnet", and handsome heroes in hats. So we go! The sunny South, the nitid (see dictionary) North, the empur- pled East, the warm West, send their sons and daugh- ters here to take the infusion of hops "distilled at the page: 298-299[View Page 298-299] 298 SEA-SHORE SKETCHES. hotels, and the forty thousand horse power su rf bath. The latter daily provided free gratis. We are settled in a very comfortable hotel; but our host stoutly refusing to give us our board, including wine, washing and private bath-house, unless we pay him in dollars, we shall not gives him the benefit ofean advertisement in this letter. Apropos de private bath- houses, they are constructed on such a simple prin- ciple, and yet yield such princely revenues to their proprietors, that for the benefit of new salt-watering places, we intend to give the recipe for their manufac- ture. Here goes:-A dozen or two old pine boards, I with the hair on, just as they come from the saw-mill; a fistful of four-penny nails; two pieces of leather for hinges; set 'em up Pour extract of bilge water over the floor, throw in a small curry-comb towel, and you have the apparatus complete. ! Last night the brass band of our hotel "discoursed most eloquent music." The subject of their dis- course was taken from the second act of "Seriira- mide,"--Giorno d'orrore e di contento!-." Oh! day of horror, and yet of joy." The music equalled the words. Not to be invidious where all were so excel- lent, we would allude to the performance of the trombone; which, in this air (salt) turned night into day. - The porpoise manufactory, or rather, porpoise oil factory, now in operation here, bids fair to prove ex- SEA-SHORE SKETCHES. 299 cellent stock. We would commend it for purchase. One day this week we counted in seven minutes, ninety-eight of these marine monsters playing, along the edge of the surf. The Jerseymen are after them with a sharp stick. Enterprise such as this is sure to be rewarded. Since last summer great improvements have been made in Cape May city. Several elegant private bath-houses (recipe for manufacture of which is given above,) have gone up, to take the place of those gone down. The assiduous " cullud pusson," with the title of bath-tender, is re-clothed in "gorgeous array"-- palm-leaf hat, and red ribbon round it. While the roofs over the bath-houses, where the old bachelors sit during the ladies' bathing hours, with lorgnettes, have had whole loads of brushwood added to their tops, to serve as a shelter from the sun, while they complete their anatomical course of study. In their case the pursuit of science is unattended with diffi- culties; The beautiful drive over to Cold Spring iv as great a favorite as ever. Anxious to view this singular freak of nature, we hired a Jerseyman--Fur sang-his horses and wagon, to drive us over there. He took the shortest cut, of course, and over such a shaking road, that when we finally arrived at the spring-our bones being all broken-we expected to be able to out India rubber the "India rubber man," and tie our heels, * , * page: 300-301[View Page 300-301] 300 SEA-SHORPE SKETCHES. over our head. But to the spring. It bursts up from the middle of a salt marsh, and is so delightfully cold, fresh and clear, that we think we might be able to drink a glass before breakfast, if we had it over at Rat Hall. Towards sunset the road is hemmed and stitched with carriages, the eager contents of which (don't mean the cushions, of course,) are dead bent for a cup of cold water. Really, only those who've been over Sahara, where there is no liquor, and at Cape May, where--there is nothing else, can rightly appreciate the luxu of cold water as a drink. Our hotel is filled with the most beautiful young ladies "(that ever were brought in a blanket, by the doctor, from a big pumpkin field," as the nursery legend goes. Owing to the introduction of hooped dresses, the entries of Rat Hall are to be widened so that two can drive abreast. What an elegant grace there is in the shape of a dinner-bell! The exodus of President Pierce has caused a de- pression in political circles here, particularly among the Jerseymen, who were about to petition for the ad- mission of their State into the Union. PAX VOBISCUTM. R i1 * 4 \ f- THOSE NOISY CHLDREN. 301 XLV. THOSE NOISY CHLDREN. YES, there they go-yell on yell! There is no possi- ble use, old-woman-in-a starched- cap-who-acts-as- nurse! in your trying to quiet them. I don't say, "You might as well try to dam up the Nile with bulrushes;" but I do say, "You might as well try to darn down their noise." This is Sunday afternoon! Isn't that announcement enough to frighten you into convulsions? or are you one of the stiff-necked, hooped-petticoat generation, who don't care for the "blessed institution?"Keep those children quiet! Here am I trying to compose a great epic poem on the Destruction of Jerusalem, vide Coleridge's advice; and there you are- where? I'll describe you. I'll put you down in black and white. I'll daguerreotype 'you. I'll give you fits. I'll fix your flint. I'll make you hear thunder. I 'll make you sing small. I'l11 make you--keep those- children quiet-or---" not words, but deeds!" 26 page: 302-303[View Page 302-303] 302 THOSE NOISY CHLDREN. "Their mother has gone to church, and their father has gone out." My dear woman, that's nothing to me-except I wish that they were with their mother. You say that tom-cat with big whiskers and a stump tail is theirs, and t hey can do what they'like with it. No! not while there is such a thing as law, and a "leather-head" to. enforce it, shall they continue their persecution of that:. -I was going to say dumb-I say numb beast! The proper place for a dinner-bell is the dining-room, and not the end of the tail of that tom-cat! Fire-crackers, at the best, are a nervous institution; but what shall I call them when they are attached to a living, moving, meeaowing creature? What if Benjamin West did take his first lessons in painting by drawing out cat's hairs for a brush: is that any reason those children should take lessons in drawing - that cat's tail out? Old lady, I've studied that animal, and his attitudes.; and if there is anything in metempsychosis, the soul of a grave old Judge inhabits the body of that old cat-there is energy expressed in that bullet-head, and ferocity in that sausage-tail. And while I'm about it, I want to know where that little black-and-tan terrier dog has gone to? Run away-has he? You had better say, limped away. What didn't that poor thing suffer from early dawn till late at night, and all night during mosquito season, when the dear children,couldn't sleep, and had THOSE NOISY CHLDREN. 303 the dog up in their bed-room to amuse them! What pulling and hauling his poor body had to undergo! What suffering in order to pull that old market- basket! What tribulations when they put him under the hydrant to wash him! What agony when they -put him in the stove to dry him! A dog isn't a wheelbarrow; and using his two hind feet for handles, and making him propel on his two fore feet, was highly unnatural. Then that tying an old night-cap on his head, and an apron round his body, and hold- ing him up at the parlor window, just as people came from church, was-indecently wrong, diverting, as it did, serious minds, and making them laugh-horrors! - on the Seventh Day, wten they ought to rest, and, be sober. And then those yellow birds, and those pigeons, and that guinea-pig, and the rabbits that wouldn't eat beef, all, yes! all sacrificed on the altar ,of Pets. Well, yes! the dear children must have some amuse- ment. Just what " them old Komans" said when the gladiators fought; and just what General Concha says as the Sunday bull-fight is thrown open to the Havana children now-a-days. And here--here- in the midst of an interesting conversation, when I'm trying to convert these young heathen, there is a noise as of many big fiddles, and the roll of drums, and the door of the back building bursts open, and Tommy, pursued by Dick, rushes out into page: 304-305[View Page 304-305] 304 THOSE NOISY CHLDREN. the Sunday afternoon atmosphere, and vitiates it by yells and hoots! You try to stop them- Tommy calls you " an ould Irish baste!" after which discharge of round-shot he shins up the trellis-work of the grape. vine, and there you are, my old lady, with a broom, trying to wreak deadly vengeance on- him. "No you don't, my darling; don't you wish you could?" yells Tommy. "Ee-ee--you old Irishman, get a longer broom!" And there you are, threatening to tell his mother- till at last, losing all patience, you call him "a dirty little blackguard!" "If I am little, I ain't old and ugly!" screams Tommy. Now what's the use of bandying words with him? Why, he'd beat a canal boatman blackguarding. Just take my advice: go into the house and let him alone. You can't shine anywhere among those children. Good-bye. But try to keep those children quiet-or--I'll be down on you again, like a thousand of bricks! ( SAGE DRESSING. 305 XLVI , SAGE DRESSING. % ERE is nothing like a j young green-turtle-- nicely dressed!" Who was the author of thigs it original remark I do , :! 3L: not know. I did not see e his face, for it was dark when, he passed me -and his back was towards ; me; but his words remain " written on my memory" -as the poet says-"with indelible ink!" He I was a short, very stout (i. e. fat) man dressed i in black; one's beau ideal of an Alderman rather ; than a poet, yet the air of reality so apparent ! in his person I cannot trace in his speech; in it there ! is to me a certain nameless something, savouring of F ideality. Mark the expression, " a young green-turtle" --might not that word, "turtle," have been intended Ai as a term of endearment for some fair young creature 4 in woman's form? A very turtle (dove) of beauty; ; and when we complete the sentence, does there not , seem to be an air of plausibility in our supposition? iiJ 26* ! page: 306-307[View Page 306-307] 306 SAGE DRESSING. But the qualifying word, " green," some carping critic shrilly chirps -there again is a strong point: where could we better place a turtle (dove) than in front of something verdant, which, seen with a poet's eye, might cast a reflection on the aforesaid turtle, making it an invisible green; or, may not "green" be a syno- nym for "tender?"Yes! that last's a stunner! Enough, we 'e proved it to our own satisfaction, let Whately growl or not. Our sentence accordingly runs-"There is nothing like a young and tender lady nicely dressed." Who ever lost his heart for a wman in a bathing dress? We won't pause for a reply we hear it on every side, "No one, nobody." But follow her to the "Hop." Ay, now you talk! Verily, the lines of beauty have fallen in pleasant places: we trace them in the flowing robes, the waving tresses, may be a fluttering ribbon over a little fluttering heart-and we acknowledge with the unknown stout man: "There, is nothing like a young green-turtle-nicedy dressed!" But the morning dress! that's the test. Show me a woman in a neat morning dress, and I'll show you an acquaintance worth having. Flowers fascinate you at night by gas-light-but in the morning with the dew on them they bewitch-there is the difference. "Usef" greatly desired to visit our country when he learned the style of dress, or rather un-dress, worn by I- SAGE DRESSING. 807 the fair sex at balls. Only let them keep it up, or rather keep it down, and one day the world will learn how true it is that beauty un-adorned is then adorned the most. Women should never show too many ornaments: it may do for Jew pedlars, it doesn't be- come Christians. It was said of Moses Aaron, the Great-Dirty-Wealthy, who sported at Saratoga diamond rings and breastpin, that if his brilliants were of the " first-water," he'd better extract it-for personal use! A shudder creeps -over one when a woman, gorgeous with rainbow-colored dress, with gems flashing light, like a Catharine wheel, shoots past you in a ball-room; but the appropriate costume of a lady makes you feel " when she had passed, it seemed like the ceasing of exquisite music." Harmony of colors charms the eye, even as that of sounds, the ear. We have known one to whom all colors were repulsive save grey. His favorite theory, that as those wells of beauty, the eyes of Venus, were of his favorite hue, naught could lay claim to beauty save that tinged with this color. There's an argument for you! He said he had concentrated his affections on a beautiful young "Friend," with grey eyes, in a grey dress, * Since this was written, "Usef" visited this country. He was in Philadelphia; he saw the ladies. (Fact.) He returned to his own country - possibly heart-broken - and did not long survive. He is no more. Wacadna bira'hmat allah rdhah! page: 308-309[View Page 308-309] 308 SAGE DRESSIlNG. who had a father with grey hair, whoB name was Grey, and that he intended to get married inmthe grey of the morning. . He carried out his ideas! / Chocolate-colored gaiter boots, with high esJ . How many a brave man who has gone forth in the morning with wrath in his heart, and his hands in his pockets, has returned at night with his heart and wrath gone together:- all vanished at the sight of a pair of chocolate-colored gaiters- with high heels! And who can blame him? had they been coffee-colored there might have been grounds for complaint; but as it is--go on, poor iran! Suffer and be strong. Apro- pos of little feet; if any man were to offer to treat to champagne cobblers - though the thermometer is at 966 in the shade--I wouldn't quote those SUCKLING lines, "Her feet beneath her," &c. If dress doesn't make the man, it enters largely into the manufacture of a fine-looking woman. Be she clad in white, black, grey, brown or caf4, au lait tinted raiment; in blue, pink, nankin, purple or ashes of roses-hued garments, so long as a refined judgment dictates to her what suits her complexion- so long is she adorable; and we always shall believe, "There is nothing like a young green-turtle-nicely dressed!" PANS. 809 I $ XLVII. FANS. FROM London to Canton, New York to Japan, One hour with another, somewhere waves a fan: Be it palm-leaf or silk,-of wood, ivory, pearl; Be it homely or " worldly," it's e'er on the whirl. Brown Inez at Madrid, dark Julia at Rome, Yellow Wang-ta at Canton, fair Fanny at home; Though so different in natures, are yet of one mind- That fans, like fast brokers, can soon "raise the wind." On the Prado, brown Inez talks love with her fan; On the Corso, dark Julia suggests;--that's her plan; Wang-ta in Old China Street, fans for her ease, And Fanny, "Our Fan," fans "to kick up a breeze." Yes, fans are for Inez, strong "motives" of love: For Julia, assistants, to church and state move; For Wang-ta, celestial, to drive away care; For Fanny, distingue ;-they give "such an air." page: 310-311[View Page 310-311] 3t0 ROBERT THE DEVIL.. In concert-rooms, operas, theatres, and balls, Where bright eyes shine brighter, and love for love calls, Fans are sceptres of beauty, its emblefms of rule, And waved o'er men's heads, bid them love, and-a- , "keep cool." XLVIII. ROBERT THE DEVIL. "OVED, lorgnetted, and with a bouquet for STEFFANONE, I sat in a friend's box at the Astor Place Opera House "assisting" at the second representation of Roberto ill Diavolo. The curtain had gone down at the end of the First Act, and I was "trotting" my glances around the boxes in search of pretty faces, when my eyes suddenly encountered in the next box to that in which I was sitting the lively, sparkling glances of as merry a face as I ever remembered to have seen. Twice had the un-musical name, "Bob-Bob!" sounded in my ears before I thought that the call was meant for me: as I turned to a friend in the box, in ROBERT THE DEVIL. 3" answer to my curtailed Christian name, "Merry-face" gave me a look conveying the expression-"So- your name is Bob!" In the Third Act I flung the bouquet at STEPFA- NONE, as she sang Nel lasciar la Normandia, and as it fell at her feet I heard a voice in th-e next box- which I felt, came from "Merry-face" -say " beautifully thrown!" in a tone that riddled my sus- ceptible heart of eighteen like a charge of duck- shot. The Fourth Act brought in the Cavatina: Roberto, o tu che adoro: as the line commenced, and the words fell from BER-, TUCCA'S lips, I again glanced at "Merry-face," and this time her eyes spoke plainly as eyes can speak, that she "endorsed" the sentiment -"to any, amount," and that I, ROBERT RATTLER, was the being she adored! But who was she? The Opera was over. The rattle of wheels told of a departing and departed audience. I lingered at the doors to catch, if possible, one last, and if it might be -long and lingering glance at my "adorer!" she came, helping another young lady to " sandwich" a middle-aged gentleman, whom I at once set down as the "governor." They did not take a carriage, so I page: 312-313[View Page 312-313] 312 ROBERT THE DEVIL. argued they had not far to walk, and as it was one of the lovely moon-light nights of early spring, I too, filled with love, music, and romance, determined to walk as far as University Place; acting as guard to "'Merry-face," and protecting her from--I don't know what, probably though some of the fierce banditti composing the chorus of the Opera troupe! Halt!--the old gentleman stops, mounts steps, ; takes out a dead-latch key, undoes the door, presto they have vanished. She too gone! Oh my pro- phetic soul!-I wandered on, a prey to the agony of First Love. Hark I what do I hear near Washington Park? an ignoble instrument, a hand-organ - but it is pouring forth on the still night air, sounds that I shall never forget. It is, yes! it is that Cavatina: Roberto, o tu che adoro: "It isn't what we do, but what circumstances do for us!"--Noble reflection. I have it! I 'll charter that organ, I'll play that air beneath her window, and if there is a monkey "attachment," the light-footed Mercury shall bear my card in at her window to her I love-if his chain is long enough. I reached the square; I found the "organist:" by dint of "bad French, worse Italian, and the display of three shillings, I moved his mercenary heart. He followed me. He had a monkey; also, he had four tunes to grind out before he could come 'round to tine Cava- ROBERT THE DEVIL. 313 tina: so great was my haste I made him grind them out as we walked along: it was very moving music. Our trio were beneath her window, at least I hoped it was hers; the Cavatina would prove it. The organ was set in motion, the notes burst forth in all their beauty. I hastily drew out one of my cards, wrote under my name Thine Forever, and as a shadow of a female form was seen waving on the chamber ceiling through the open window of the second story room, I attached the card to the monkey; the c" organist" sent him up: he entered the window; more cord was paid out; several severe jerks were felt; a scream rent the stillness of the night air, when - out rushed the animal, chattering with fury and bearing in his paws ", some white material:. as the monkey reached the organ, I seized it, threw three shillings to the man and started for home, as if destruction was behind me. It's made of muslin, has-lace all 'round it, and two long strings: may be it's a pudding bag, or a mosquito net, were my thoughts as I unfolded the white object I had grasped from the monkey. Later lights have shown me that it is a bonnet de nuit. I have also learnt that I did serenade under the windows of "Merry-face," on that eventful night: that the sudden appearance of a monkey-at the win- dow, had scared her Irish maid terribly; and that after leaving his card, no coppers being given him, 27 page: 314-315[View Page 314-315] 214 ROBERT TIIB D VIL. he seized the cap and made off with it, in spite of the Irish girl's screams for the "perleace: to arrist the thafe of the wur-rld!" And "Merry-face" declares that she never again ' wants to "assist" twicein one evening, at the per- formances of " h rrt- tr ranil!"'
