CHAPTER V. HIS ENCOUNTER WITH OLD FRIENDS.
O ur hero, on landing in Cleveland, placed his bundle in one hand, and stick in the other, and thus leisurely sauntered up the hill and through the main street of this young mart of trade. Although his body drooped with sickness, the air of life and thriving industry which surrounded him, aroused his active mind to exertion. His old companion of travel resided here, and now was a fitting time to try his professions of regard. While reading the signs along the street, he mentally ventured the opinion that “Smith & Co.” were doing an extensive business, for their name was attached to commercial concerns all over the country; and as thus ruminating, another, and quite as familiar a name, met his eye, besides it was a vastly more interesting name—none other than his old adopted Father's cognomen. He could scarcely bring himself to believe that the imposing store before him was really occupied by those who were so endeared to him by past kindness—that was a streak of too good luck to be possible; nevertheless, thinking he might gratify himself with a peep at the possessor of so honored a name, he approached the window, and looked into the interior—can it be?—yes it is!—“plain as a pipe stem”—sure enough, his old adopted father stood before him! There, amid the piles of soles and uppers, with spectacles on nose, and head a little bald, stood that veritable good old soul, who had sheltered his infant years. Time had not furrowed his brow with the chisel, but his brush had traced its easy progress; nor had the storm torn away his locks—the gentle zephyr had plucked the silvery threads away to sport with them in the sunbeam. Contentment lingered in his quiet smile, and “well to do in the world,” was legibly written upon his portly person. John entered the store, and putting on the air of a purchaser, seated himself upon a settee, and held his foot up to be measured—the old man adjusted his spectacles, kneeled down upon one knee, stole a glance over his glasses at his customer, and commenced taking the dimensions of our hero's foot; but there was an indescribable something about the face, which drove the foot from his memory, and while he was trying to rake up from the past some known body on which to fix the head and face, he forgot that he was holding the foot, until John asked him, if “there w'as anything uncommon about its shape?” The old man, stammering an excuse, started to his drawers to select a pair of the right size, but the stranger's face again so mixed itself up with the figures on his strap and rule, that he w'as forced to return and measure the foot over again. John observed his quandary, and smiled at the old man's efforts to recollect him. At this moment the old lady came to the door separating the shop from the dwelling, and looking in, spoke to her husband; our hero recognised her in a moment, he could not refrain himself, but springing to his feet with a shout, he laughingly held out his arms, exclaiming “Mother, don't you know me!” If not at the first glance, the tones of his voice, and the ring of his merry laughter, called up the vivid remembrance of his boyish days with the rapidity of thought, and throwing herself into his arms she sobbed with joy, as if he were in verity her own long lost offspring; the old man, too, dropping his measure, seized our hero; and here tears of true feeling mingled in one current—remembrances of the past clustered around, and joy, deep and holy as dwells within the human breast, held uninterrupted revel.
The store was closed early that night, and as they were seated round the evening meal, John would, with sketches of his past history since they parted, at one moment draw from them shouts of merriment, and then again, as he dwelt on some hard streak of fortune, “beguile them of their tears.” Oh, it was a happy night, that night of meeting on the shore of the broad lake. The gay revel within sumptuous halls affords no joy like this, for here the fountains of the heart danced to the music of affection; the air to which they kept time was “past days,” and their pure current swelled into a flood of nature's kindliest harmony—all was joy, all happiness. With a motherly care, as in days of his childhood, the old lady stripped his neck, and washed away the dust of travel, then conducting him to a neatly furnished chamber, she kissed him good night, and retired to thank Heaven that her aged eyes had been permitted to see him again. While our hero slept happily above, the old folks talked long and earnestly in the chamber beneath him, and before they closed their eyes in sleep, resolved that he should never again part from them. They had none in this world to care for, save him, and Heaven, the old lady said, had sent him back to their roof to be an honor and comfort to their old age. In the morning they awoke to a renewal of these happy feelings, and over the breakfast table future plans were freely discussed. John mentioned his travelling acquaintance, and taking the card from his vest pocket, showed it to his adopted father, who immediately recognised the owner as one of his customers, one of the most wealthy, and of course, respected citizens in Cleveland. To visit him a new suit was necessary, and after the morning meal the old man piloted him to a tailoring establishment, and fitted him from head to foot in a fine suit—in short, he disguised our hero, and it was pleasant to see with what admiration the aged couple looked through their spectacles at the change.
“I declare if you don't look like a gentleman, when you're dressed,” said the old lady.
“And why not, mother?” inquired John. “It is the material which passes current for gentility. If half mankind, who now move through good society unquestioned, were placed in my old dusty suit, the world would never discover their claims to the title—no, no! After all, your fine suit is the world's standard of a fine gentleman—it will gain the owner consideration among mixed assemblies—credit in the mart of trade—a high place in the synagogue, and moreover, it is a general ticket, entitling its possessor to the world's civility!”
“Well, bless me!” exclaimed the old woman, “if they don't make a change in your talk—you're gittin' right toploftical.”
After many thanks on our hero's part, and much admiration on the part of his friends, he received permission to wander forth and see his old friend of the road, to whose dwelling he was correctly directed by the shoe dealer. A kiss from his adopted mother, a five dollar bill from the old man, for pocket money, and out sallied John, his person erect, and step buoyant with good fortune—sickness had almost fled before his revived hopes.
The aged pair stood in the store door gazing on his manly form, as he receded from them, and a feeling of pride glowed in their hearts, the nearest akin to a parent's, that nature will permit. They knew that no one could rightfully dispute their claim to him, and proud in their pre-emption right, they retired into their dwelling with newly awakened pleasure. Arrived at his travelling acquaintance's mansion, he looked at the name of “Charles C. Briggs, Attorney at Law,” upon the door plate, and a glance at the exterior of the building, assured him that the dweller therein was one of the prosperous class of his profession. Knocking at the office door in the basement, he was bid enter, and on doing so found seated at a desk, surrounded with piles of legal lore, the same old gentleman who had so kindly bid him farewell at Wheeling. The recognition was mutual, and the old mail's manner truly cordial.
“So, you found me out,” said the attorney.
“Yes,” replied John, “but a precious long tramp I've had to reach you.”
His friend insisted upon his seating himself, and relating an outline of his adventures, at which he laughed most heartily, and when John had finished, he clapped him on the back, saying—“You are a lucky dog—in your first journey you have gathered more lessons of wisdom, than many meet with in a life time, and your mind may turn them into vast profit.”
“Well, I'd like to realise something out of them,” quietly remarked our hero, “for I have expended all my capital in learning them.”.
“And so, you have found other friends besides myself in Cleveland,” remarked the lawyer, “a worthy couple whom I happen to be acquainted with, also; between us, I think we will persuade you to become a fixture of society. I know not why, but I like you, and have often wished for the present meeting. Having no son of my own to assist me in my old days, and continue my business after me, I have felt a desire to find one who would fill the vacancy; your intelligence and happy disposition, on our trip, made me like you, and now I would fain ripen those feelings into a strong bond of friendship. Come, you must dine with me, and then we will talk of the future.”
John's heart was swelling with friendship already, and he could almost have hugged the kind old lawyer, but as this was his first day at his adopted parents, he was forced to excuse himself for the present, on promise of returning on the morrow, and with kindling aspirations and noble resolves, he returned to his parents. There he recounted the lawyer's words, and made known his intention of studying law with him, which met with general approval, and the little household put on quite an air of importance about its acquisition, while its mistress hurried about, chatting with her new found child with all the garrulousness of kindly old age.
On the next day, John, according to appointment, placed his legs under the mahogany of his friend, the lawyer, and while the meal progressed he amused the company by relating some episodes of his travel and observation, but every now and then, a strange quietness might be observed to pass over his demeanor, and his eyes would wander furtively to the other end of the table, where was seated the fair daughter of his host, whose dark eyes met his stolen glances, and sent the blood tingling to his brows. Look another way, John,—there's danger in those dark eyes! What, you, who have looked unmoved at scores of bright eyes, to tremble now at a single pair—out upon you—look straight into those dark orbs, and dare their power—now!—pshaw, man, you shake and stammer as if a battery of loaded cannon, with the lighted fusees behind them, were pointed at you. Ah, I see, your merriment is at an end now—busy thoughts, strange dreams, and bright hopes are coursing through your bewildered brain. And so they were—that visit had planted new feelings in his breast. He entered the old lawyer's mansion, as he thought, the possessor of all he wished on earth—a home, and an opportunity to rise—yet here was aroused a feeling which absorbed all the rest—he never felt himself poor before. Before, he was the possessor of a light heart, but now that heart had been spirited away by a felonious pair of eyes, and his mind was racked with dread, for fear he might not be able to compromise with the possessor, and be permitted to keep it company—here was a “take” in the book of human nature, which was most “fair copy,” and fain would our hero take unto himself the page. Fear not, John, all in good time—the fair daughter of your old friend is troubled, too—a merry printer has, by his gentle manners, and most winning address, made a deep impression there, and is sadly troubling the little heart of its fair possessor. She thinks, she would like to forget him, but in trying to do so she must think of what she would forget, and thus he ever comes uppermost in her mind, and his pleasing countenance and coaxing eye gains a firmer footing in her affections.
Arrangements were made before the lawyer and out hero parted, that he should forthwith commence the study of law, and accordingly he set himself down upon Coke and Littleton, with the determination of becoming a pillar of the state. A most dangerous neighborhood he chose to study in—dangerous for the hasty progress of his studies in legal lore, for long before he was fitted for a single degree, as a student at the bar, he had become a professor of love; and how soon he learned to look deep into those eyes, and read the mind within, twine himself around the tendrils of the fair girl's heart, and plead in choicest language for permission to nestle there; and how the eyes softly permitted the bold student to look, and then loved to have him look, and, then consented that he might gaze at will—aye, for life!
On a clear wintry night, while the wind of the lake whistled merrily across its congealed bosom, and the stars were looking down with clear faces into the bright icy mirror beneath—the sound of sweet music, and the tread of light feet resounded in the mansion of the old lawyer, by the broad lake side,—a “merrie companie” filled its halls, for John Earl, the no longer “wandering typo,” was about to become his son-in-law—or, son-in-love, as well as law—or both—and the bright eyes of one of Ohio's fairest daughters looked all confidingness and love, as she stood up before the assembled throng, and whispered herself into his possession. There was gay doings that night in this western mansion, and joy that age was a large partaker of; for the old pair, who sheltered the printer's orphan, years agone, and miles away, were guests within it, and their hearts swelled with pride, as they looked upon their adopted child, and his fair bride. The old shoemaker quietly remarked to his happy son, that no maid in the city stepped upon a more fairy foot, or wore so small a shoe; but he hoped to live long enough, to make a smaller size for the Earl family, and then he laughed as if the job would be a right merry one, and the purchaser of such a shoe, a favored customer.
Time has progressed since then, and we have listened to John Earl, Esq., in the capital of his adopted state, as in clear tones, and patriotic fervor, he stood advocating the great truths of republican principles, and we have listened with pride and admiration, when those words proved that the child of the people, was the people's advocate. He did not, in his hour of prosperity, forget the lonely widow of the prairie, but had her and her little ones brought to Cleveland, and having by letters found her friends, he sent her home rejoicing—the little one to whom he last bid adieu in the wilderness still remembered him, and with her little lips pouting for a kiss, was the last again to bid him farewell.
We have traced our hero to the end of his wanderings, and leave him upon the stage of public action—on the road to eminence; and though many may read as though these words and scenes were the coinage of the writer's brain, yet let him assure those who so judge, that there be such “streaks of life,” in the book of a Typo's biography.
“NOT A DROP MORE, MAJOR, UNLESS IT'S SWEETEN'D.”
In a small village, in the southern section of Missouri, resides a certain Major, who keeps a small, cosey, comfortable little inn, famous for its sweeten'd drinks, as well as jovial landlord; and few of the surrounding farmers visit the neighborhood, without giving the Major a friendly call, to taste his mixtur! The gay host, with jolly phiz, round person, bright eye, and military air, deals out the rations, spiced with jokes, which, if they are not funny, are at least laughed at, for the Major enjoys them so vastly himself, that his auditors are forced to laugh, out of pure sympathy.
A good old couple, who resided about six miles from the Major's, for a long period had been in the habit of visiting him once a month, and as regularly went home dreadfully sweeten'd with the favorite mixtur', but of late, we learn, the amicable relations existing between the Major and his old visitors have been broken off by green-eyed jealousy. On the last visit, good cause was given for an end being put to any more “sweet drinking.”
“Uncle Merril, how are you, any how,” was the Major's greeting, “and I declare if the Missus aint with you, too—just as if he expected she wouldn't come. What'll you take Missus? shall I sweeten you a little of about the best Cincinnati rectified that ever was toted into these 'ere parts?—it jest looks as bright as your eyes!” and here the Major winked and looked so sweet there was no resisting, and she did take a little sweeten'd.
The hours flew merrilly by, and evening found the old couple so overloaded with sweets, that it was with great difficulty they could be seated on the old grey mare, to return home; but, after many a kind shake from the host, and just another drop of his sweeten'd, off they jogged, see-sawing from side to side on the critter, the old lady muttering her happiness, and the old man too full to find words to express himself.
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“Sich another man as that Major,” says she, “ain't nowhere—and sich a mixture as he does make, is temptin' to temperance lecturers. He is an amazin' nice man, and, if any thing, he sweetens the last drop better than the first. Good gracious! what a pleasin' creatur' he is!”
Ever and anon these enconiums on the Major and his mixture broke from the old lady, until of a sudden, on passing a small rivulet, a jolt of the mare's silenced them, and the old man rode on a short distance in perfect quietness. At length he broke out with—“Old woman, you and that 'ere Major's conduct, to-day, war rayther unbecomin'—his formalities war too sweet to be mistook, and you ain't goin' thar agin in a hurry.”
Silence, was the only answer.
“Oh, you're huffy, are you?” continued the old man. “Well, I guess you can stay so, till you give in,” and on he jogged, in a silently jealous mood. On arriving at the farm, he called to a negro to lift the old woman off, but Sam, the nigger, stood gazing at him in silent astonishment.
“Lift her oft', you Sam, do you hear?—and do it carefully., or some of her wrath'll bile out. In spite of the Major's sweetenin' she's mad as thunder.”
“Why, de lor', massa, de ole 'oman aint dar,” replied Sam, his eyes standing out of his countenance. “Jest turn round, massa, and satisfy you'self dat de ole 'oman clar gone an missin—de lor'!”
And sure enough, on a minute examination by the old man, she was “found missing.” The Major was charged at once with abduction, instant measures were taken for pursuit, and a party despatched to scour the roads. On proceeding about two miles on the road to the Major's, the party were suddenly halted at the small rivulet, by finding the Missus with her head lying partly in the little stream, its waters laving her lips, and softly murmuring—“Not a drop more, Major, unless it's sweeten'd!”
NETTLE BOTTOM BALL; OR, BETSY JONES' TUMBLE IN THE MUSH PAN.
Well, it are a fact, boys,” said Jim Sikes, “that I promised to tell you how I cum to git out in these Platte diggins, and I speculate you mout as well have it at onst, kase its bin troublin' my conscience amazin' to keep it kiver'd up. The afarr raised jessy in Nettle Bottom, and old Tom Jones' yell, when he swar he'd 'chaw me up,' gives my meat a slight sprinklin' of ager whenever I think on it.
“You see, thar wur a small town called Equality, in Illimse, that some speckelators started near Nettle Bottom, cos thar wur a spontaneos salt lick in the diggins, and no sooner did they git it agoin' and build some stores and groceries thar, than they wragon'd from Cincinnate and other up-stream villages, a pacel of fellers to attend the shops, that looked as nice, all'ays, as if they wur goin' to meetin' or on a courtin' frolic; and 'salt their picters,' they wur etarnally pokin' up their noses at us boys of the Bottom. Well, they got up a ball in the village, jest to interduce themselves to the gals round the neighborhood, and invited a few on us to make a contrary picter to themselves, and so shine us out of site by comparison. Arter that ball thur wran't any thin' talked on among the gals but what nice fellers the clerks in Equality wur, and how nice and slick they wore their har, and their shiny boots, and the way they stirrupp'd down their trowsers. You couldn't go to see one on 'em, that she wouldn't stick one of these fellers at you, and keep a talkin' how slick they looked. It got to be parfect pizen to hear of, or see the critters, and the boys got together at last to see what was to be done—the thing had grown parfectly alarmin'. At last a meetin' was agreed on, down to old Jake Bents'.
“On next Sunday night, instead of takin' the gals to meetin', whar they could see these fellers, we left 'em at home, and met at Jake's, and I am of the opinion thur was some congregated wrath thar—whew wan't they?
“'Oil and scissors!' says Mike Jelt, 'let's go down and lick the town, rite strait!'
“'No!' hollered Dick Butts, 'let's kitch these slick badgers comin' out of meetin', and tare the hide and feathers off on 'em!'
“'Why, darn 'em, what d'ye think, boys,' busted in old Jake, 'I swar if they ain't larnt our gals to wear starn cuskins; only this mornin' I caught my darter Sally puttin' one on and tyin' it round her. She tho't I was asleep, but I seed her, and I made the jade repudiate it, and no mistake—quicker.'
“The boys took a drink on the occasion, and Equality town was slumberin', for a short spell, over a contiguous yearthquake. At last one of the boys proposed, before we attacked the town, that we should git up a ball in the Bottom, and jest out-shine the town chaps, all to death, afore we swallowed 'em. It was hard to gin in to this proposition, but the boys cum to it at last, and every feller started to put the afarr agoin'.
“I had been a long spell hankerin' arter old Tom Jones' darter, on the branch below the Bottom, and she was a critter good for weak eyes—maybe she hadn't a pair of her own—well, if they warn't a brace of movin' light-houses, I wouldn't say it—there was no calculatin' the extent or handsomeness of the family that gal could bring up around her, with a feller like me to look arter 'em. Talk about gracefulness, did you ever see a maple saplin' movin' with a south wind?—It warn't a crooked stick to compar' to her, but her old dad was awful. He could jest lick anythin' that said boo, in them diggins, out swar Satan, and was cross as a she bar, with cubs. He had a little hankerin' in favor of the fellers in town, too, fur they gin him presents of powder to hunt with, and he was precious fond of usin' his shootin' iron. I detarmin'd, anyhow, to ask his darter Betsy to be my partner at the Nettle Bottom Ball.
“Well, my sister Marth made me a bran new pair of buckskin trowsers to go in, and rile my pictur, ef she didn't put stirrups to 'em to keep 'em down. She said straps wur the fashion, and I should ware 'em. I jest felt with 'em on; as ef I had somethin' pressin' on me down—all my joints wur sot tight together, but Marth insisted, and I knew I could soon dance 'em off, so I gin in, and started off to the branch for Betsy Jones.
“When I arriv, the old fellar wur sittin' smokin' arter his supper, and the younger Jones' wur sittin' round the table, takin' theirs. A whappin' big pan of mush stood rite in the centre, and a large pan of milk beside it, with lots of corn bread and butter, and Betsy was helpin' the youngsters, while old Mrs. Jones sot by. admirin' the family collection. Old Tom took a hard star' at me, and I kind a shook, but the straps stood it, and I recovered myself, and gin him as good as he sent, but I wur near the door, and ready to break if he show'd fight.
“'What the h—ll are you doin' in disgise,' says the old man—he swore dreadfully—'are you comin' down here to steal?'
“I riled up at that. Says I, 'ef I wur comin' fur sich purpose, you'd be the last I'd hunt up to steal off on.'
“'You're right,' says he, 'I'd make a hole to light your innards, ef you did.' And the old savage chuckled. I meant because he had nothin' worth stealin', but his darter, but he tho't 'twas cos I was afear'd on him.
“Well, purty soon I gether'd up and told him what I cum down fur, and invited him to come up and take a drink, and see that all went on rite. Betsy was in an awful way fur fear he wouldn't consent. The old 'oman here spoke in favour of the move, and old Tom thought of the licker, and gin in to the measure. Off bounced Betsy up a ladder into the second story, and one of the small gals with her, to help put on the fixups. I sot down in a cheer, and fell a talkin' at the old 'oman. While we wur chattin' away as nice as relations, I could hear Betsy makin' things stand round above. The floor was only loose boards kivered over wide joice, and every step made 'em shake and rattle like a small hurricane. Old Tom smoked away and the young ones at the table would hold a spoonful of mush to thur mouths and look at my straps, and then look at each other and snigger, till at last the old man seed 'em.
“'Well, by gun flints,' says he, 'ef you ain't makin' a josey-'
“Jest at that moment, somethin' gin way above, and may I die, ef Betsy, without any thin' on yearth on her but one of these starn cushins, didn't drop rite through the floor, and sot herself, flat into the pan of mush! I jest tho't fur a second, that heaven and yearth had kissed each other, and squeezed me between 'em. Betsy squealed like a 'scape pipe,—a spot of the mush had spattered on the old man's face, and burnt him, and he swore dreadful. I snatched up the pan of milk, and dashed it over Betsy to cool her off,—the old 'oman knocked me sprawlin' fur doing it, and away went my straps. The young ones let out a scream, as if the infarnal pit had broke loose, and I'd jest gin half of my hide to have bin out of the old man's reach. He did reach fur me, but I lent him one with my half-lows, on the smeller, that spread him, and maybe I didn't leave sudden! I didn't see the branch, but as I soused through it, I heerd Tom Jones swar he'd 'chaw me up, ef an inch big of me was found in them diggins in the mornin'.
“I did'nt know fur a spell whar I was runnin', but hearing nuthin' behind me, I slacked up, and jest considered whether it was best to go home and git my traps strait, and leave, or go see the ball. Bein' as I was a manager, I tho't I'd go have a peep through the winder, to see ef it cum up to my expectations. While I was lookin' at the boys goin' it, one on 'em spied me, and they hauled me in, stood me afore the fire, to dry, and all hands got round, insistin' on knowin' what was the matter. I ups and tells all about it. I never heerd such laffin', hollerin', and screamin', in all my days.
“Jest then, my trowsers gin to feel the fire, and shrink up about an inch a minit, and the boys and gals kept it up so strong, laffin at my scrape, and the pickle I wur in, that I gin to git riley, when all at onst I seed one of these slick critters, from town, rite in among' em, hollerin' wuss than the loudest.
“'Old Jones said he'd chaw you up, did he?' says the town feller, 'well, he allways keeps his word?'
“That minit I biled over. I grabbed his slick liar, and may be I didn't gin him scissors! Jest as I was makin' him a chawed specimen, some, feller holler'd out,—'don't let old Jones in with that ar rifle!' I didn't hear any more in that Bottom,—lightnin' could'nt a got near enough to singe my coat tail. I jumped through that winder as easy as a bar 'ud go through a cane brake; and cuss me if I could'nt hear the grit of old Jones' teeth, and smell his glazed powder, until I crossed old Massissippi.”
A “CAT” STORY, WHICH MUST NOT BE CUR-TAILED.
Ben Snaggletree seated himself in our society the other day, overburdened with a Mississippi yarn, which embraced one of his hair breadth 'scapes, and which he had resolved on relieving his memory of, by having it chronicled.
Ben was an old Mississip' roarer—none of your half and half, but just as native to the element, as if he had been born in a broad horn. He said he had been fotched up on the river's brink, and “knew a snappin' turtle from a snag, without larnin'.”
“One night,” says Ben, “about as dark as the face of Cain, and as unruly as if the elements had been untied, and let loose from their great Captain's command, I was on the old Mississippi; it was, in short, a night ugly enough to make any natural born Christian think of his prayers, and a few converted saints tremble—I walked out upon the steam boat 'guard' to cool off from the effects of considerable liquor doin's, participated in during the day, but had scacely reached the side of the boat, when she struck a snag, and made a lurch, throwing me about six feet into the drink. I was sufficiently cool, stranger, when I came to the surface, but I had nigh, in a short time, set the Mississippi a bilin', my carcase grew so hot with wrath at observing the old boat wending her way up stream, unhurt, while I, solitary, unobserved, and alone, was floating on the old father of waters. I swam to the head of a small island, some distance below where we struck, and no sooner touched ground than I made an effort to stand erect. You may judge of my horror on discovering my landing place to be a Mississippi mud-bar, and about as firm as quicksand, into which I sunk about three feet in a moment.
“All was dark as a stack of black cats—no object visible save the lights of the receding boat—no sound smote upon the ear but the lessening blow of the 'scape pipe, and the plashing of the surrounding waters;—the first sounded like the farewell voice of hope, while the latter, in its plashing and purling, was like to the jabbering of evil spirits, exulting over an entrapped victim.
“I attempted to struggle, but that sunk me faster. I cried out, but fancied that, too, forced me deeper into my yielding grave; ere daylight dawned I felt sure of being out of sight, and the horrid thought of thus sinking into eternity through a mud-gate, made every hair stand 'on its own hook,' and forced my heart to patter against my ribs like a trio-hammer. I had been in many a scrape, but I considered this the nastiest, and made up my mind that the ball of yarn allotted to me was about being spun out—my cake was all mud! I promised old Mississippi, if permitted to escape this time, I would lick anythin' human that said a word agin her; but it was no use—she was sure of me now, and, like old 'bare bones' to an expiring African, she held on, and deeper, and deeper I sunk. In a short time I was forced to elevate my chin to keep out of my mouth an over-supply of the temperance liquid, which was flowing so coaxingly about my lips. My eyebrows were starting, my teeth set, and hope had wasted to a misty shadow, when something touched me like a floating solid; I instantly grasped it—it slid through my hands—all but the tail—which I clung to with a grip of iron.
“I soon discovered I had made captive a mammoth catty, huge enough to be the patriarch of his tribe, and a set of resolutions were quickly adopted in my mind, that he couldn't travel further without company. A desperate start and vigorous wiggle to escape was made by my friend, the catty, but there was six feet in length of desperation attached to his extremity, that could neither be coaxed or shook off. Soon succeeded another start, and out I came like a cork from a bottle. Off started the fish, like a comet, and after him I went, a muddy spark at the end of his tail. By a dexterous twist of his rudder, I succeeded in keeping him on the surface, and steered him to a solid landing, where I let him loose, and we shook ourselves, mutually pleased at parting company.”
“That will do, Ben,” said we, “all but the tail.”
“Tail and all, or none!” said Ben, so here you have it. Ben swears he'll father it himself.
A SPIRITUAL SISTER, HER ENCOUNTER WITH A DOUBTFUL SMITH.
There goes Smith, the Attorney,” said a man to his friend; as a tall figure, slightly stooped, hurried by them.
“I beg your pardon,” answered the friend, “that is the Rev. Mr. Smith, a preacher, I have heard him in Tennessee.”
“Well that's curious,” replied the first, “for I'd swear I have heard him plead at the bar.”
“Good morning Sol., how are you?” salutes another, as he hurries by a group of citizens.
“What did you call him?” inquired one of the party.
“Why, Sol. Smith, was the answer—old Sol., the manager of the theatre, to-be-sure; who did you suppose it was?—I thought you knew him—every body knows old Sol!”
“Well that is funny,” answered the second, “for I'll swear he officiated as a physician on board our boat.”
“Well who the d————l is he?”
This question was asked so frequently on board of a boat, recently, that those who didn't know became quite feverish, and those who did, kept dark to watch for a joke. Sol. had purchased a new hat—venerably broad in brim, of saintly and unostentatious height in crown, and it was easy to see that this new beaver was brewing him trouble. We feel almost inclined here to go into a disquisition upon hats, and the evils they have entailed, for who has not suffered, and been thrust out of the pale of good living, or cut in the street—or taken for a loafer, and asked by some dandy to hold his horse, or by some matron to carry home her market basket, and all because of a “shocking bad hat.” An “old hat” is, in fact, dangerous—so is a new one of a peculiar shape—so was Sol.'s broad brimmer.
On board the steamer was a Mormon sister, on her way from down east to the holy city of Nauvoo, and many and anxious were her inquiries if any brother of the church was on board? None were able to inform her. At length the captain, at table, inquired:
“Shall I help you to a little of this roast beef, Mr. Smith?”
“Thank you, a small piece,” was the reply.
“Smith,” said the sister, “Smith, that's a member, jest as shure as shutin'; I'll get interduced tu him arter a spell, and I reckon he'll turn eout tu be a shure enough brother.”
“Arter a spell” she did, through the kindness of the captain, get an introduction to him, and was previously informed by the commander, that Sol. was not only a shure enough Mormon, but an elder—in fact a Smith! Sol., as usual, was courteous and affable as when introduced to little Vic., at the court of St. James, and the sister was “tickled all tu death” at the idea of falling in with so pleasant an elder. She was a little ancient, but buxom, and Sol. felt flattered by her singling him out for an acquaintance.
“I'd a know'd in a minit that you was a member of the church by your countenance and your hat, Brother Smith, you do look so saintly.”
“Yes, Ma'm,” answered he, “most people take me for a member.”
“I was a thinkin' if you hadn't chosen a—he-he-he—a sister, why—“—Puge 69.
“There's ony one thing, Brother Smith, which appears rayther queer about our church,” said she, looking modestly at Sol., and biting the corner of her handkerchief, “and that's the 'new system' they have interduced.”
“Why, yes,—y-e-s,” said Sol., at fault, “'new systems' do trouble the church a good deal.”
“Law, Brother Smith, do you think the 'speritual system' a trouble?”
“Well, no, not exactly, if it's a good spiritual teaching,” answered he, “it's only the false doctrines that are evil.”
“Well, that's jest what Elder Adams sed down in eour parts, and he ses that it was speritually revealed tu the Prophet Joseph, your brother, and I was jest a thinkin',” and here she spread her handkerchief over her face, and twisted her head to one side—“I was a thinkin' if you hadn't chosen a—he-he-he!—a sister, why,”——-
Original
“We're at a landing, Ma'm, excuse me for a moment,” and off shot Sol. to his state room, where he seized a pair of well worn saddle-bags, and his old hat, which he had thus far carried with him, intending to have it brushed up, and started for the gang-way plank. The captain met him in his haste, and inquired where he was going?
“Why, captain,” says Sol., “I like your boat vastly, and you know I like you, but there might be a 'blow up' if I stayed on board much longer.”
“Explain,” says the captain.
“Why, the fact is,” said Sol., “that lady you introduced me to has taken me for the Mormon Smith; now, I'm a good many Smith's when my family and titles are all collected, but I aint that Smith! Just tell her so for me, and give her my 'old hat'—it's the best I can do for her.” We needn't add that Brother Smith was straightway among the missing!
HOSS ALLEN'S APOLOGY; OR, THE CANDIDATE'S NIGHT IN A MUSQUITO SWAMP!
Well, old fellow, you're a hoss!” is a western expression, which has grown into a truism as regards Judge Allen, and a finer specimen of a western judge, to use his constituents' language, “aint no whar,” for, besides being a sound jurist, he is a great wag, and the best practical joker within the circuit of six states. Among the wolf-scalp hunters of the western border of Missouri, Judge, or, as they more familiarly style him, Hoss Allen is all powerful popular, and the “bar” hunters of the southern section equally admire his free and easy manners—they consider him one of the people—none of your stuck-up imported chaps from the dandy states, but a real genuine westerner—in short, a hoss! Some of the Judge's admirers prevailed upon him, recently, to stand a canvass for the gubernatorial chair, in which he had Judge Edwards for an antagonist, and many are the rich jokes told of their political encounters. A marked difference characterizes the two men, and more striking opposites in disposition and demeanor would be hard to find, Edwards being slow, dignified, and methodical, while Hoss tosses dignity to the winds, and comes right down to a free and easy familiarity with the “boys.” Hoss Allen counted strong on the border counties, while his antagonist built his hopes on the centre.
Allen and Edwards had travelled together for a number of days, explaining their separate views upon state government, at each regular place of appointment, and were now nearing the southern part of the state, a section where Hoss had filled the judgeship with great unction. Here he resolved to spring a joke upon his antagonist, which would set the south laughing at him, and most effectually insure his defeat among the bar hunters. He had been maturing a plan, as they journeyed together, and now having stopped for the night about one day's journey from the town of Benton, one of their places of appointment, and the head quarters of the most influential men of the bar section, Hoss proceeded to put his trick in progress of execution. He held a secret conference, at the stable, with the boy who took his horse, and offered him a dollar to take a message that night to Tom Walters, at the forks leading to Benton. The boy agreed, and Hoss penciled a note describing his antagonist, who was unknown in the south of the state, coupled with an earnest request, that he “would keep a look out for Judge Eddards, and by all means be careful not to let him get into that cussed cedar swamp!” His express was faithful, and in due time Tom received the missive. In the meantime, the victim, Edwards, in a sweet state of confidence, was unbending his dignity at hearing Hoss relate to their host his amusing yarns about the early settlers. Having talked all the household into a merry mood, he proposed turning in for the night, but first offered his service to unlace the girls' corsets, and in an underbreath asked the old woman to elope with him in the morning—Edwards blushed at this, the girls' tittered, and the host and his wife said, he was a “raal hoss!”—Allen acknowledged he was a leetle inclined that way, and as he had had his feed, he now wanted his straw.
In the morning Hoss Allen became “dreadful poorly,” and it was with great difficulty he could be prevailed upon to get up. All were sympathising with his affliction, and the matron of the house boiled him some hot “sass-tea,” which, the old man said, relieved him mightily. Judge Edwards assured Hoss, that it would be necessary for him to lay up for a day or two, and the afflicted candidate signified the same, himself. Before they parted Hoss requested Edwards, as he had the whole field to himself, not to be too hard upon him. His antagonist promised to spare him, but chuckled all the while at having a clear field in Allen's most popular district. Shaking the old Hoss by the hand, as they were about to separate, he remarked—“we will meet at Benton, I hope, in different trim, Friend Allen.” They did meet in different trim, but Edwards little dreamed the particular kind of trim he would appear in. As soon as Judge Edwards was fairly started, it was surprising the rapid change which took place in his antagonist—Hoss' eye lit up, a broad grin spread over his features, and pulling off the handkerchief, which was tied around his head, he twirled it above him like a flag, then stuffed it in his pocket, remarking coolly, at the same time,—“well, that thar swamp, jest at this season, is awful!” His express reported himself after his night ride, assured Allen that all was O. K., and received his dollar for delivering the message, upon receiving which intelligence, Allen seated himself quietly and comfortably at his coffee, and imbibed it with a relish that drove the idea of sickness into a hopeless decline.
Judge Edwards rapidly progressed on his way, highly gratified at having his opponent off in this part of the field, and as he, in this happy mood, journeyed onwards he set his brain to work conning a most powerful speech, one that would knock the sand from under Hoss, and leave him in a state of sprawling defeat. He resolved to sweep the south, from that point, like a prairie fire. About noon, or perhaps an hour after, he arrived at Tom Walters' for dinner, and while it was preparing, inquired how far he was from Benton?
“I've an idea,” said Tom, “you're well onto nine miles frum thar—jest an easy arternoon ride.”
This was highly satisfactory to the Judge, and perceiving that the provender preparing was of alike pleasing character, he spread himself back upon a hickory bottomed chair with a kind of easy dignity, at once comfortable to himself, and edifying to his host.
“Stranger,” inquired Tom, “did you scare up anythin' like the two candidates, Jedge Eddards and old Hoss Allen, on your way down yeur?”
“I did see something of them, my friend,” answered the Judge, and then, as if making up his mind to surprise Tom, and give him a striking example of democratic condescension, he inquired, “would you know either of the gentlemen, if they stood before you?”
“Why, as to old Hoss,” said Tom, “I don't know anybody else, but this new Jedge I ain't never seed, and ef he is the slicked up finefied sort on a character they pictur' him, I don't want to see him—Its my opinion, these squirtish kind a fellars ain't perticular hard baked, and they allers goes in fur aristocracy notions.” The Judge had no idea that Tom was smoking him, and he congratulated himself that an opportunity here presented itself, where he could remove a wrong impression personally; so, loftily viewing this southern constituent, he remarked:—
“You have heard a calumny, my friend, for Judge Edwards now sits before you, and you can see whether his appearance denotes such a person as you describe.”
“No!” shouted Tom, with mock surprise, “you aint comin' a hoax over a fellar?—you raally are the sure enough Jedge?”
“I am really the Judge, my friend,” responded his honor, highly elevated with Tom's astonishment.
“Then gin us your paw,” shouted Tom, “you're jest the lookin' fellar kin sweep these yeur diggins like a catamount! What in the yearth did you do with old Hoss on the road? I heerd he was a comin' along with you. He aint gin out, has he?”
The Judge replied, with a smile which expressed disparagement of Hoss Allen's powers of endurance, that he was forced to lie up on the route, from fatigue. Dinner being announced as ready the Judge and Tom seated themselves, and the latter highly expanded his guest's prospects in the district, assuring him that he could lick Hoss “powerful easy, ef he wasn't broken winded.” The meal being ended, the Judge demanded his horse, and inquired of his host the direct road to Benton, which Tom thus mapped out:—
“Arter you pass the big walnut, about two miles from yeur, keep it a mile on your left, and take the right trail fur about six hundred yards, when you'll cum to the 'saplin acre,' thar you keep to the right agin, and when that trail fotches you up, why right over from thar lies Benton.”
This was a very clear direction to one who had never before travelled the road, but the Judge, trusting to luck, said, “he thought he would be able to get there without much difficulty,” and started off, leaving his late entertainer gazing after him.
“Well, I allow you will, Jedge,” chuckled Tom,—“You'll git inter that swamp, jest as sure as shootin', and you'll hev the biggest and hungryest audience of mosquitors, ever a candidate preached law or larnin' to!” To secure his finding the swamp road, he had stationed his boy Jim near the turn off, to make the matter sure.
In the course of a couple of hours along came Hoss Allen, who, as soon as Tom took hold of his bridle, winked his eye at him while he inquired:—
“Did Jedge Eddards come along, Tom?”
“Well, he did, Hoss, oncommon extensive in his political feelins'.”
“And you didn't let the Jedge stray away from the swamp road?” inquired Hoss.
“Well, I predicate I didn't, fur by this time he's travellin' into the diggins most amazin' innocently,” and then the pair enjoyed a regular guffaw!
“He's safe as a skin'd bar, then, Tom, and I'll spread his hide afore the Benton boys to-morrow—jest let them into the joke, and I allow, after that, his dandified aristocracy speeches won't have much effect in this section.
“Go it, Jedge,” shouted Tom, “ef I ain't thar to hear it, it'll be 'cause the breath'll leave me afore then—gin him goss without sweeten'—rumple his har, but don't spile the varmint!”
After Hoss had stayed his stomach with a cold bite, he bade Tom good-day, and started for Benton, highly tickled with the success of his trick. As he neared the “saplnracre,” he met Jim, who exhibited a full spread of his ivories, when Hoss. inquired which road he had directed the gentleman before him?
“He gone into de swamp road, massa, but what de debil he want dar, 'cept he arter coon skins, dis niggah doesn't hab no idear, whatsomedeber.”
Allen passed on, assured that all was right, and as his horse leisurely ambled forward, he broke into singing a verse of a western ditty, which says:—
“Thar aint throughout this western nation,
Another like old Hickory
He was bom jest fur his siteation—
A bold leader of the free.”
As night spread her curtain over this wild district, Hoss neared Benton, and as his nag jogged up the principal street, he broke out into a louder strain, repeating the above verse, on hearing which, the “boys,” who were expecting him and Edwards, turned out, and old Hoss was received with a cheer.
“Hello, Jedge!—How are you, Old Hoss?—Give us your paw, Governor!—Here at last, Squire!”—and sundry such expressions of familiar welcome was showered on Allen, by the crowd. “Come in, and git a drink, old fellar,” shouted one of the crowd, and forthwith all hands pushed for the hotel bar room, where sweetened corn juice was pushed about with vast liberality—at the candidate's expense, of course.
“Whar did you leave the new fellar, Jedge Eddards?” was the general inquiry.
“Why, boys, I stopped to rest on the road, and he slid off to git ahead of me—I heered on him at the forks, and expected he was here. It's my opinion, boys, he's seen a bar on the road, and bein' too delicate to make the varmint clar the path, he's taken a long circuit round him!”
This raised a laugh among the crowd, and it was followed up by general inquiries as to what Edwards looked like, but to these Hoss shook his head, remarking, as he raised his hands expressive of how they would be astonished—“jest wait tell you see him yourselves, boys, and then you'll be satisfied.”
Let us return to Judge Edwards, who had easily found his way past the “sapling acre,” and by the aid of Jim's direction progressed into the swamp road, as easy as if it were his destination. Having travelled, as he thought, about ten miles, he began to look out for Benton, and every now and then uttered an expression of surprise, that they had located the town in such a swampy country—every rod he progressed became more and more obscure, the brush more thick and wild in growth, and the ground more moist and yielding. Night, too, that season for the rendezvous of underbrush and tangle-wood horrors, was fast gathering its forces in the depths of the forest, and beneath the shadows of the thick bushes, shrouding, as with a dark mist, each object on the earth's surface, creeping up the trunks of the old trees, and noiselessly stealing away the light in which they had proudly spread their green foliage, while in lieu of their showy garb he clad them in a temporary mourning. The song of the birds became hushed, while the cry of the startled wolf was borne upon the breeze to the ear of the affrighted traveller, interrupted occasionally by the sharp m-e-o-w! of the wild-cat, making together a vocal concert most unharmonious to the ear of the bewildered candidate. To sum up these horrors a myriad of mosquitoes, as musical as hunger and vigorous constitutions could make them, hummed and fi-z-z-zed around him, darting in their stings and darting away from his annoyed blows, with a pertinacity and perseverance only known to the Missouri tribe of insects.
Poor Edwards!—he was fairly in for it—into a swamp at that!—Night was fast making all roads alike obscure, and with amazing rapidity covering our traveller in a mantle of uncertainty. The possibility of his escape that night first became improbable, and then impossible. He hallooed at the highest pitch of his voice, but the wolf was the only live varmint that answered his cry, and a strange fear began to creep over his heart. He remembered well reading accounts of where hungry droves of these animals had eaten the horse from under the saddle, the rider upon it, bones, hide, har and all, leaving scarce a vestige of the victims to mark the deed, and his hair grew uneasy on his cranium at the bare thought of such an unpolitical termination to his canvass. At this particular moment a yell, as of a thousand devils in his immediate neighbourhood, set his heart knocking against his ribs in a fearful manner. When he partially recovered from the shock he tied his horse to one tree and quickly mounted another—whispering the hope to his heart, at the same time, that a meal on his horse would satisfy the gathering crowd of varmints, who were shouting their death song below him. Having seated himself astride a limb, the mosquitoes had a fair chance at him, and they put the Judge through as active an exercise as ever was inflicted on a recruit—there was this difference, however, between him and a recruit, they are generally raw at the commencement of a drill, but poor Edwards was most raw at the end of his lesson. Every new yell of the swamp pre-emptioners, made him climb a limb higher, and each progression upwards appeared to introduce him to a fresh and hungrier company of mosquitoes—the trees in the swamp were like the dwellings in Paris, their highest tenants were the most needy. Day at length broke, and our harassed candidate, almost exhausted, clambered from his exalted position. His frightened but unscathed steed uttered a neigh of welcome as he bestrode him, and giving loose to the rein he committed his escape to the animal's sagacity, while he aided his efforts by a devout supplication. Accident favored the horse's footsteps, for striking the trail leading to the road he started off into a trot, and soon broke his rider's spell of terror, by turning into the main avenue leading to Benton. Edwards slowly passed his pimpled hand over his worse pimpled face, sadly remarking:—
“Last night's 'bills' all passed, for I bear their stinging signatures all over my countenance.”
When ten o'clock came, on the day following Judge Allen's arrival at Benton, the town swarmed with the southern constituency of Missouri, and as soon as the tavern bell, which had been put in requisition to announce the candidate's readiness, had ceased its clamor, Hoss mounted the balcony of the hotel, and rolling up his sleeves “spread himself” for an unusually brilliant effort.
“Boys!” shouted he, “I want your attention to matters of vital import—of oncommon moment, and replete with a nation's welfar.” Here looking down into the crowd at Sam Wilson, who was talking as loud as he could bellow, about an imported heifer he had just bought, Hoss called his attention: “Sam,” said he, “you'd better bring that heifer of your'n up here to address the meetin', and I'll wait till the animal gits through!” This raised a laugh on Sam, and Hoss proceeded. After dilating at some length on the imported candidate who was his antagonist, he “let himself out,” on some of the measures he advocated, and particularly dwelt on the fact that he went in for creating a license law on hunting varmints!
“Would you have the least mite of an idea, boys,” said Hoss, “that this creatur' of a faction wants to have every man's rifle stamped with the state arms, and then made pay a license to the state before he can git a bonus for wolf scalps.” [At this moment a shrill voice interrupted him again—a girl belonging to the hotel was shouting to a couple of youngsters, who had been despatched to the barn for eggs, to “quit suckin' them thar eggs or the candidates would stand a mighty small chance furthur dinner.”] “Jest tell that gall,” said Hoss, “to suck my share and stop her screamin.” He again continued: “I want to know what in yearth this Massissippi country's comin' too, when sich fellars finds favor with the people—what do you think of him boys?”
“Why, cuss his pictur!” was the general response from the bar hunters.
While Hoss was thus arousing public indignation against his antagonist, a stranger entered the crowd, and after listening a moment to the speaker's imaginary flights he interrupted him by shouting:—
“I deny your assertions, Judge Allen!”
This was a bomb shell, and the crowd cleared a space round the stranger, in expectation of a fight; but Allen after surveying the stranger, in whom he recognised his antagonist Edwards, coolly inquired why he disputed it?
“What, me!” shouted Edwards, “who can better declare your assertions false than the man you are misrepresenting—you know very well that I am that Judge Edwards!”
Hoss Allen turned calmly round to the crowd and said:—“Boys, you know I never git angry at a man insane or in liquor, and as I don't know this fellar, and never seed him afore in my life, its the best proof that he aint Jedge Eddards, so you'll oblige me by taking him off the ground and keeping him from disturbing the meeting.”
Expostulation was useless—without any ceremony he was carried into the hotel, boiling with indignation. There, however, he had to stay, at a convenient distance to hear that Allen was giving him “particular jesse.”
After the meeting adjourned three cheers were given for Hoss Allen, and all parties gathered into the bar to take a little fluid, and discuss the speech. Edwards having now been relieved from durance, started for Hoss;—burning inside with choler and smarting exteriorly from mosquito-bites,—he looked bitter.
“Do you say you don't know me, Judge Allen?” inquired he.
Hoss looked steadily at him, then coolly taking out his spectacles, he wiped the glasses, adjusted them upon his nose, and surveyed the questioner from head to foot, he then remarked:
“Thar is somethin' about your voice, and the clothes you ware, that I ought to know—Jedge Eddards wore a coat and kerseys exactly like your'n, but I'll swar he had a better lookin' face than you carry when we parted yesterday mornin'. If you are him you're been the wust used candidate I've seed in an age.”
“Yes,” responded Edwards, “thanks to that d—n nigger that sent me into the swamp. I tell you sir that I have passed a night to which the infernal regions are a scant pattern, and between mosquitoes, wolves, and wild-cats I should not be surprised if my hair had turned grey.”
“I begin to re-cognise you, now, Jedge,” said Hoss, in a sympathetic tone, “and no wonder I didn't know you at first sight—your head is swelled as big as a pumkin! I'll do the clean thing, Jedge,” said Hoss, starting for the balcony, “I'll apologise afore the boys, publicly, for not knowin' you.”
“No, no!” shouted Edwards, who knew his apology would only place his night's adventure in a more ridiculous light, “I don't demand any apology.” But he was too late, Hoss had already called the attention of the crowd.
“Boys,” said he, “as an honourable man who finds himself in the wrong, I am bound to apologise, publicly, to my friend Jedge Eddards,—the Jedge is a leetle changed in appearance since we wur last together, and I did not re-cognise him; I, tharfore, ask his pardon fur orderin' him off the ground.”
“I grant it!” shouted Edwards, glad here to wind up the apology, then turning round he added, “come boys, let us drink good friends.”
“Wait a minit, boys,” said Hoss, “the Jedge and I havin' smoothed that little marter over, I jest want to tell you why I didn't know him at fust sight. You all know that the mosquitoes in cedar swamp are an oreful hungry breed, and when they git a passenger they present him with numerous 'relief bills;' well I had gained considerable popularity in that swamp, by presentin' their condition before the legislatur' and askin' for reliet for the distressed inhabitants,—the Jedge, to head me down thar, passed all last night on a limb of one of the trees makin' stump speeches to the varmints, and you can see by his countenance that expectin' to be elected he has accepted all their mosquito bills!”
One tremendous shout rent the air, followed by bursts of laughter, from which Edwards retreated into the hotel. We have but to add that Hoss carried the Bar counties “as easy as rolling off a log!” His antagonist in vain tried to stem the tide of fun,—when he essayed to speak a m-e-o-w of a wild-cat or the hum of a mosquito imitated by some of his audience would be sure to set the rest sniggering, and spoil his effort.