Chapter IV: Part 4

The virtues of that fowl live in my memory yet. It was good. If you could meet an old lady that was a passenger in that car—not the one with the bunion on her left foot and the crockery teeth, who mistook me for a minister, but the mild old lady with glasses that sat opposite me—she would tell you the same. _She_ knows. Bless her gentle heart! If she doesn’t, I would like to know who does. She partook of the fowl. I saw her looking wistfully upon it as I dismembered it, and, though I say it myself, I am not greedy, by any means, so I offered her the juicy neck. Did she take it? Ask, rather, if a cat that had fasted a week would take a mouse if she got between him and his hole? As old Shylock said, “Are you answered?” She was no novice at picking the neck of a fowl, either. She manipulated it in a manner that proved to me clearly she had a perfect knowledge of its construction. It was not long—perhaps ten seconds—before she had it picked as bare as a corkscrew. She did it with such ease, too; and that’s what got me. She kept it revolving as rapidly as a squirrel does the cylinder in his cage. She had but one front tooth left in her upper jaw. The intelligent mind will no doubt immediately picture forth a _long_ tooth; and the intelligent mind, in so doing, portrays the incisor correctly. It was, indeed, a long tooth, but it was just the thing she needed for the business before her. It seemed to be specially made for it, as it fitted into every depression or notch in the neck as nicely as a key into a lock. It ran around between the vertebræ like a turner’s chisel, throwing the small particles of nutriment far back against the roof of her mouth. It did me good to see her play around that fowl’s neck. I grew young again while beholding the busy scene, and actually regretted that a chicken did not have two necks, as well as two legs, that I might repeat the generous donation, and see the pleasing scene enacted again. As it was, I won golden opinions from the old lady.

A stout German woman who sat near by also seemed to be looking upon the chicken as though she would like to help me make away with it. With that magnanimity which was ever my peculiar characteristic, I severed the pope’s nose from the trunk and proffered her the delicious morsel, when, to my utter astonishment and confusion, she whipped out of her pocket a big bologna sausage the size of a stuffed club, and shook it triumphantly in my face, so close that it might have greased the end of my nose. She actually scouted the idea. Independent, proud and self-sustaining, these Germans, and no mistake. She evidently felt insulted, and delivered herself of a long essay in the German tongue. She was undoubtedly giving me to understand that she was able to furnish grists for her own mill. Of course that is what she meant. I could tell that by the way she flourished the bologna, and pointed to her mouth and stomach. I expected she was about to whack me over the jaw with the singular looking weapon, and prepared to dodge on the shortest possible notice. But she didn’t. As if to madden me, she commenced eating the sausage in a hasty, excited manner, taking about two inches at a bite. What could I do? What did I do? Why, let her eat it, of course; it was none of my business. I had no objection, so long as she didn’t choke, and render it necessary for me to pat her upon the back, which I certainly thought I would have to do before she finished her meal.

You may be sure I offered no more chicken to any person after that, but picked the bones as bare as pen-holders. If she liked bologna better than a choice piece of fowl, it was her fault, not mine. I washed my hands of the whole affair.

I stopped a few hours at a mill in the mountains, and while there witnessed an amusing incident. There was a small pipe leading from the engine, and projecting through the side of the building close to the ground. Through this pipe the waste water was conveyed from the engine, and at the end of it quite a puddle or drain had been formed, about a foot in width and eight or ten feet in length. The constant dripping from the pipe kept the water warm, and from it a steam was continually rising. There were several Indian camps in the vicinity of the mill, and as wood was rather scarce, the squaws belonging to the camps were in the habit of congregating around this warm drain when the cold weather numbed their poorly protected limbs. It was not an unusual thing to see half a dozen coming down the hill to squat beside the drain, and there sit for hours discussing the current topics of the day, enjoying at the same time the luxury of a cheap steam bath.

There were a couple sitting at the drain in this innocent manner while I was at the mill. I called the engineer’s attention to the capital opportunity that lay before him to give them a surprise that would be fun to behold. This he could do by simply turning a gauge cock and allowing the steam to go out with a rush upon the squatting pair. The engineer was a sober sort of man, not at all given to humor, and not inclined to take advantage of the opportunity. But when I informed him that I represented an illustrated paper and wanted to make a stirring sketch of the scene, he consented for my benefit. As he went to comply with my suggestion, I moved to the window to see how the squaws would enjoy it. I had hardly reached my position when the steam shot along the surface of the water like smoke from the muzzle of a rifle. At the same instant the gentle savages shot at least four feet into the air, in the most extravagant positions imaginable. Until that moment I would not have believed the human form could assume such strange attitudes on such short notice. If I had not been intently gazing upon the pair as they sat chatting sociably over the drain, and had my eyes riveted upon them as they shot aloft, I could hardly have thought the two dark figures performing such grotesque evolutions in mid air were indeed human beings.

The steam was harmless, as it had to go quite a distance before escaping, but the squaws didn’t understand anything about that, you know. No person had enlightened their untutored minds upon that point, and they didn’t sit there very long in order to ascertain; for the sake of the squaws, however, let us hope that it was. One thing they evidently _did_ feel certain about, and that was that something had broken loose, and that, too, at a very inopportune moment. The thought that followed close upon the heels of the other was to change their position in the shortest possible time. If they both had been shot into the air out of one mortar they could hardly have shown greater concert of action. If there was any difference in their sensitiveness or agility, the one farthest from the pipe seemed to claim the superiority, for, as near as I could judge, she was first to spring aloft. The back of one was towards me, and the face of the other. Though quite a distance from them, I could distinguish the white eyes of the latter standing out as prominently as a pair of silver-headed nails in the end of a mahogany coffin.

It may be argued that this was a mean trick. It may even be said that it was a sinful act. I admit all this; nay, more, it may be that I will have to answer for it hereafter, when you, and they, and all of us, have ceased to be interested in things pertaining to the flesh; but in the face of this supposition, I must still adhere to the original assertion that it was indeed an amusing incident, and will go further and say that as yet I have not been brought down to that perfect state of repentance where I could sincerely say that I regretted having been the instigator of the deed.

I never learned whether the squaws returned to the drain again, but, judging from the way they hustled over the hill in the direction of their camp, I am inclined to think not.

While coming down the river there was quite an excitement on board, on account of the steamer grounding suddenly upon the “Hog’s Back.” She was running pretty fast at the time, and the sudden stop threw several passengers off their feet, and for a few moments all was confusion. I was partly disrobed at the time, and the first thought that entered my mind was that we had collided with some schooner on its way up the river. Before leaving, a gentleman placed a lady and two small children in my charge, and my first act was to run to the state-room in which they were. I found the lady preparing for rest, but the children were already in bed. Without much ceremony, I seized a child in each hand, and bidding the lady to follow, started to deposit them near the davits, that they might be handy to throw into the boats in case we were compelled to take to them.

While hastening through the cabin I was confronted by a terrified woman in her nightclothes, who jumped out of her state-room as I was passing the door. In her hands she grasped the nozzle of a large life preserver, which she had buckled around her, and which only needed to be inflated with wind to make her comparatively safe. No sooner did she see me than she commenced dancing frantically around me in the most insane manner, at the same time shouting with all the strength of her voice: “Blow me up! blow me up! for the love of heaven, Mister, blow me up!” But I had enough to do at that moment without stopping to “blow her up.” Besides, I didn’t know but I might have to swim to the shore, and would, consequently, need what little wind I could muster to bear me through the task. Before proceeding far, however, I met the mate, who told me to put the children back in bed and go soak my head, or do anything that would keep me from making an unmitigated fool of myself, with which kindly suggestion I meekly complied.

AN IMPATIENT UNDERTAKER.

Now and then we come across a scoundrel, an inhuman wretch, of such magnitude that we are inclined, like Bassanio, to waver in our faith, and hold opinion with Pythagoras, that being the only hypothesis by which we are enabled to account for their being possessed of such brutish natures. For example: An undertaker was pointed out to me to-day who follows so close in the wake of death that he quite often appears in advance of the grim leveler, and secures, if possible, the job of burying the body while yet the person is alive, much as he would bespeak a quarter of beef of his neighbor before the animal was butchered. This individual heard that a man was about to die in the County Hospital, and learning that the only friend of the sick man was about to leave the city, he hunted him up and solicited the job of performing the last sad rites for his friend when death should have gathered him in.

The request was unthinkingly granted, and sufficient money to cover the expenses of the burial was placed in the hands of a third party, who was to pay it to the undertaker when the obsequies were performed. The man of coffins departed, smiling over his success. The only thing that remained now between him and a fat profit was the man’s life; but this was only a slim barrier and likely to fall at every breath of air. He paid semi-daily visits to the hospital to learn how the disease was developing.

Each morning as he arose and looked out upon the cold fog hanging over the city, he rubbed his hands with delight, and chuckled as he thought how impossible it would be for the sick man to live through such a disagreeable day. “It’s not in the nature of the disease to allow it,” he argued. “If he is not gone already, he will be as stiff as a piston-rod before ten o’clock, or I am no judge of cause and effect.”

But somehow the last thread of life was indeed a tough one, and held out wonderfully. One, two and three days dragged by, and still the invalid’s cough waked the echoes of the corridors and halls of the hospital. This annoyed the anxious undertaker terribly.

“What if he should recover, and cheat me out of the money, after all?” thought he, as he sat in his gloomy office and gazed about upon the coffins standing on their ends around the room.

Then his small gray eyes lingered longer upon the cheap burial case in the corner—which he thought would about fit the man in the hospital. “There’s no use of this delay,” he muttered to himself. “There must be some outside influence brought to bear upon him, and that immediately, or the fellow may linger along through the whole winter, and keep the money lying idle that is now almost within my reach.” Taking a tape measure in his pocket, he repaired at once to the hospital, and gained admittance to the sick man’s room.

The poor fellow was lying apparently in the last stages of that deceptive disease, consumption. But instead of thinking he was so far gone that his obsequies had actually commenced, he was promising himself long, happy years of life and usefulness. The unfeeling scoundrel approached the bed and deliberately proceeded to measure the poor fellow for his last outfit, in the meantime keeping up a sort of rattling conversation, like the following: “Hello! old boy; so you’re going to peg out, eh? Well, it’s a road that sooner or later we’ve all got to travel; so there’s no use of a feller making any bones over it. Rather young, though, to have to stiffen out; without even having the pleasure of being married—there won’t be no such enjoyment where you’re going, the Scripture tells us. There—that’s a good fellow; stretch out full length, so that I can get a correct measure. If there is anything I do dislike it is to see a corpse stuck into a coffin that’s too short by a few inches. I would rather pinch a fellow a little in width than in length, ’cause it doesn’t cripple a corpse up so bad. There—that’s it to a dot; five feet nine and a quarter, with half an inch allowed for the stretching out of the joints just as you are going off. You know a fellow elongates a little about that time, so I always make some allowance when I measure a live man for his coffin. Now for the depth, my hearty! Jerusalem! a general caving in all along the line, eh? Why, you’re as flat as a griddle-cake. Ah! that consumption is the thing that plays hob with a fellow! it _is_, my boy, there’s no use denying it. It scoops a person out mighty quick, I can tell you. Four and three-quarters—four and a-half—pinch measurement. Why, blow me, if it doesn’t seem like a waste of material to give you the standard depth. If it wasn’t for your long feet I would be inclined to shallow a little on you, old boy! Let me think now,—why, what a numbskull I am, to be sure: I can twist your feet crosswise a little, and make a go of it like a charm; but hold on,—no, I can’t do it after all, for there’s your nose sticking up at t’other end, and it wouldn’t hardly be doing the fair thing by you to twist your head around ear up, for the sake of saving a few inches of material, no sir e-e. I wouldn’t do that sort of thing to the deadest corpse I ever screwed a lid over; I’ll do the fair thing by a man, be he dead or living, though it should keep me poor. I can give you the juvenile handles, though, for you don’t weigh any more than a Cape Ann codfish.

“You’re going off the reel at a favorable time, too, for I’ve been wishing for a chance to give my light team an airing, for some time. Old Skidamadink over on Market street, I hear, is going to take out a stiff one to-morrow afternoon also, and no doubt he will be trying to forge ahead of me the way he did yesterday when I had the spavined grays along; but he’ll find out that he has got to limber up a little differently when Moll and Kate are stuck in his flank. He wouldn’t have shook me off yesterday, if I hadn’t that soggy old sea captain aboard. He seemed to grow heavier the longer I kept him. If there is any one thing I dislike more than another it is a pussy corpse. It is bad enough to have a fat person about you while living, but when they come to peter out it’s worse,—you can’t chuck them under the ground too quick. I had the old emblem of mortality packed away in an ice chest for three weeks, waiting for his wife to come down from the Mountains to attend the funeral, but she finally sent down word that she had got married again, and if she knew the duties of a wife—and she thought she did—her place was alongside of a living husband rather than traipsing after a dead one. Oh! these women are terribly slippery sweetmeats the world over. How fast they get over anything, crying one minute and singing the next. Well, well, I often wonder whether they have the genuine feeling that we men have.

“Well, business is business. There—now let me fold your arms across until I get the width; so we go, so we go, steady, there you are, that’s it, that’s the posish; natural and easy as death itself. Whew! there it is again, never knew it to fail, follows as naturally as the fruit does the blossom; broad across the shoulders, sure sign of consumption; show me a person broader at the shoulders than at the hips and I will show you an individual that is not long for this world; never knew a person of that build that didn’t die of consumption; never, sir; bound to cave, no getting around or climbing over it; might as well be knocked in the head at birth, for they are sure to go some time.

“Well, time is crowding, I must be off, as I’ve got to rustle around in order to have things ready for you. I’ll expect to find you over your troubles in the morning, so I’ll say good-bye now, while you can appreciate it.”

Thus did the inhuman scoundrel rattle along while his poor victim lay paralyzed with fear; hope, at every word uttered by the monster, deserting his breast, and despair usurping the vacant seat. With gaping mouth and wide open eyes he watched each movement of the undertaker. His face seemed to be all eyes as he stared at the bustling trader in death.

The hope of the visitor was, that a speedy death would follow this disconsolate harangue; but happy to relate, patients sometimes recover after doctors have devoted them to the yew-tree shade; and strange as it may seem, the patient in question suddenly improved, as though frightened by the undertaker into health instead of into his coffin.

The next day he sat up in bed. On the second he sat by the window. The third day he took an airing on the veranda, and passed the time of day with the undertaker who happened to be going by. In ten days he took his carpetbag in his hand and bade good-bye to both doctors and undertaker, and started to join his friend in the country.

SERMON ON A PIN.

Give me that simple shining pin,
So worthless in your hand,
Here on my desk a place to win
And as a lesson stand.
Think you no moral may be found
In such a common thing?
That Fancy will not hover ‘round
And apt allusions bring?

The Poet, with observing eyes,
Saw sermons in a stone;
So in this pin a sermon lies,
Of philosophic tone.
We see it first, where placed in rows,
The pins lie side and side;
So children, wrapped in sweet repose,
In peaceful homes reside.

Soon from the rest it travels west,
Or east, by land or sea;
So loving households part in quest
Of pleasure, fame or fee.
Observe it well, with sober mind;
The head, you see, is flat;
Thus many heads in life you’ll find,
Beneath a stylish hat.

When new, how perfect, straight and neat,
How finished, and how sound;
So stands the upright man complete,
With virtues circled ‘round.
It has a point, and mission, too,
’Tis seldom made in vain;
So men should have a point in view
If they would glory gain.

If wrongly placed ‘twill mar your thought,
When one would fain be still;
So man, if badly bred or taught,
Will treat his neighbor ill.
Its life of constant service tends
To keep it clean and bright;
Thus men are kept, my loving friends,
By application, right.

’Tis polished, like a sword or spear,
And in the light will shine;
Thus men of learning do appear,
Where wit and sense combine.
It moves around from coat to dress,
As trouble one befalls;
Thus men should hearken to distress,
And go where duty calls.

It oft assists to hide one’s shame
Till needles can repair;
Thus should it be the Christian’s aim
To cover faults with care.

If once ’tis sprung, ‘twill bend each day,
And is no longer true;
So thus in life, one step astray
Will often lead to two.
When bent, and blunt, and black at last,
Who stoops to lift the pin?
So thus the crowds do hurry past
The crooked slave of sin.

DUDLEY’S FIGHT WITH THE TEXAN.

The poor cur, kicked and scalded during the day, at night can lie and lick his sores in peace. The scudding hare that can hold out ahead of the baying beagles, until black Hecate waves her wand between the hunters and the hunted, may hope to shake them off. The aeronaut, tiring of the clamor here below, can rise above the busy haunts of men and hold sweet communion with the gods in quiet. But I, alas, find no escape from the inexorable plague, “Jim Dudley.”

He comes upon me like a thief in the night and mars my rest. Within the holy sanctuary even, he whispers in mine ear. Through the busy marts and thoroughfares he haunts me still; and tells of fights and hair-breadth escapes, with all the glibness of an old battle-scarred veteran who has primed his firelock in three campaigns. He talks of drawing deadly weapons as a dentist would of drawing teeth. In all likelihood the fellow never drew a weapon in his life, except, perhaps, at a raffle. I had long noticed a scar on “Jim’s” forehead, but never ventured to ask him how he got it, fearing a story would follow. Last night he detected me looking inquiringly, and without any query on my part the following infliction fell upon me:—

“You see that scar that looks somethin’ like a wrinkle, over my left eyebrow, don’t ye? Wal, you can’t guess how I come by that. Cow kicked me? No, not by a long chalk, nor a hoss nuther. I got that scar the summer I was gwine through Texas. I’ll not forget how I got it nuther in a hurry, for I never did have sech a narrow dodge since the night dad’s old house burned down and I got out through the cellar drain.

“I was travelin’ towards the border of Texas, gwine away back of Waco, and arter I got as far as cars would take me I set out on hossback. One evenin,’ jest as I was gettin’ into a small village, my hoss got one of his legs into a hole in the road, and fallin’ over, broke it snap off below the knee. I felt mi’ty bad over it, because I didn’t have any too much money about me; but I had to leave him thar and go into the village on foot, carryin’ the saddle along, for I cal’lated to git another animal the next day and continue my journey. I put up for the night at a small hotel, and thar was quite a number of fellers a settin’ around the bar-room talkin’; but amongst ’em was one big, ugly-looking villain, with a glass eye that was continewally droppin’ out and rollin’ across the floor like a marble. Pupil up and pupil down, it would move along under chairs and tables, the most comical lookin’ thing you ever sot eyes on. He would walk after the truant, glarin’ around with the other eye as though watchin’ to see if anybody was laughin’ at him. Then he would pick it up and chuck it back into his head ag’in, as if it was a pipe that had dropped out of his mouth.

“He seemed to be a bully amongst ’em, for when any of the other fellows went to pass they circled around him, somethin’ like a woman around a hoss standin’ on the sidewalk. I judged by that they were skeered of him, and didn’t want to git anywhere near his corns lest they might accidentally touch ’em.

“I sat thar watchin’ of him for some time, and at last, while he was leanin’ on the counter beatin’ time with his fingers on top of it, a feller come in and called for somethin’ to drink.

“The bar-tender gin him the bottle and he poured out a drink and left the glass settin’ on the counter, while he turned around to drop his quid of terbacker. As he was doin’ it the big, bully-lookin’ customer h’isted the glass, drained it right thar, and smacked and licked his lips arter it as though wishin’ thar was more of it,—somethin’ like a young widder arter ye give her a kiss.

“The feller that ordered the drink turned back, wipin’ his mouth, gettin’ ready to swaller. When he see the empty glass he riz up sort of indignantly, and was agwine to say or do somethin’, but when he see who it was, he changed his mind pooty sudden, and settlin’ down about six inches, turned around and jest slid away easy like out of the room. As he was gwine out I could see his ears looked as though they were freezin’, for they were gettin’ whiter and whiter as he moved along down the steps. As I was thinkin’ about it, a ministerial-lookin’ man come edgin’ up to me and ses:—

“‘You’re a stranger in this quarter, I believe, and let me gin you a little advice; it may prove valuable to ye before you git away from yer.’

“‘Why, what’s the matter?’ I asked, wonderin’ what he was comin’ at, ‘have you got the smallpox in the house?’ I contin’ed.

“‘Smallpox!’ he answered. ‘Wuss nor that, stranger; for the love of peace,’ he contin’ed, ‘keep clear of that feller at the counter. Let him hev his way. You mout as well undertake to cross a crater as him in any of his bullyin’ tantrums. Now mind I’m tellin’ ye. If his eye falls out, don’t laugh at it, don’t betray yer emotions.

“‘If he steps on yer corns, take it as if old Jupiter hisself had reached down his foot and trod on ye, and you’ll come out of it better than if you _did_ object, a mi’ty sight.’

“‘Who is he?’ I inquired.

“‘Why, that’s Bill Cranebow,—Glass-eyed Bill, they call him. He’s had more fights over that glass eye of his’n than ever a dog had over a sheep’s shank.

“‘Everybody’s afeared of him. They hate him wuss than a lawyer does a peacemaker. No one who knows him wants to undertake the job of gettin’ away with him; they’d ruther let it out to strangers. Oh! he’s lightnin’ at a fight, for all he looks so clumsy. What the butcher is with the cleaver, that Glass-eyed Bill is with the bowie-knife. He knows jest where to strike to open a jint or git betwixt two ribs. You’d think to see him at it, he had practiced for twenty years with some old doctor, by the way he can disarrange the “house we live in,” as the poet ses.’

“‘Wal, that’s sort of curious,’ I ses; ‘ain’t thar no person around this section that has had any experience at the cuttin’ business? He’s only human, I reckon. If he gits a poke between wind and water he’s as likely to wilt as anybody else, isn’t he?’ I ses, jokin’ly, jest that way.

“‘Thunder and mud!’ exclaimed the ministerial-lookin’ man. ‘You’ve bin used to fightin’ with women, I reckon. Lose his strength? You mout as well try to kill the strength of a red pepper cuttin’ it up, as that feller. Why, I’ve seen that Glass-eyed Bill in some of his fights yer, when he was so cut and slashed apart that you could see his in’ards workin’ like a watch. And I’ll be called a down east noodle, if he didn’t stand up to his work like a barber until he got through with his man. He likes to fight in a dark room best, though, ’cause thar’s no chance of gittin’ on the blind side of him thar; and the landlord not long ago fixed up one on purpose to accommodate him, he had so much fightin’ to do. He’ll work a quarrel out of the least thing. Laughin’ at his eye rollin’ off is as certain a way of gettin’ into trouble as runnin’ ag’inst a wasp’s nest.

“‘Though he smokes like a coalpit himself, I knowed him to pick a quarrel with a young Georgian and kill him, because he happened to send a whiff of smoke in the direction whar he was settin’. Ever since that, whenever he comes into the room, you’ll see the fellers a-pluckin’ and a-snappin’ thar pipes out of thar mouths and crammin’ ’em into thar pockets or under thar coat-tails—anywhere to git ’em out of sight, like boys who are jest learnin’ the habit when they sight thar dad a-comin’ along.

“‘Take my advice and keep away from him, for he’s dead certain to pick a muss with strangers, as they ginnerally resent his insults. Plague on him!’ he contin’ed, ‘I wish he’d go away from the door, I want to git out; but it’s not good policy to go a-scrougin’ past him while he’s lookin’ so alfired glum.’ With that the old man went quietly over to a cheer in the corner and sat down—somethin’ the same as a monkey does when a larger one is dropped into the cage.

“I went to bed pooty early that night, as I was plaguey tired. In the mornin’ I learned thar had been a fight in the dark room betwixt Glass-eyed Bill and a Tuscaloosan. Bill, as usual, had killed his man. I began to wonder whether I’d git into some scrape or another before I’d leave, and as there was to be an auction sale of horses and mules that mornin’ right thar at the hotel, I concluded to make a purchase and git away as soon as possible.

“I bid two or three times on horses, but they run ’em up too high. At last they fetched out a big mule, and thinkin’ that would be jest the thing, I went for him pooty strong, and succeeded in gettin’ him. Glass-eyed Bill had bin settin’ on the door-step thar, and didn’t seem to be takin’ any part in the biddin’; but when I went to lead the mule off, he hollered:—

“‘Whar are ye a-gwine with that critter? Leave him standin’ thar, please; I kin attend to him myself, I reckon.’

“‘Wal,’ ses I, jest slow and easy, that way, for I wanted to keep down my rizin’ temper, knowin’ what I was when I got mad, ‘if I’m any judge of auctioneerin’, the mule is mine, and I cal’late to lead him away when and whar I please.’

“Just then the same old ministerial-lookin’ man come chuckin’ and pullin’ at my coat, and ses he, ‘I’m takin’ ruinous risks in speakin’ to ye now,’ he ses; ‘but I tell ye again, don’t cross him; let him have the mule, or you’ll expire quicker than a spark when it drops into a b’ilin’ pot. He doesn’t want the mule no more than a husband wants two mothers-in-law; but he’s jest pinin’ to git ye into a muss, and he doesn’t see any way of doin’ it without he disputes the mule with ye. Let him have it, or it’ll be wuss for ye; now mind what I’m tellin’ ye.’

“‘No, I’ll be shot if I will!’ I answered. ‘He ain’t a-gwine to wipe his hoofs on me until—arter I’m dead, anyhow.’ And with that I began to move away with the critter, when Glass-eyed Bill jumped up from whar he was settin’ and shouted pooty snappishly like, ‘Hold on thar! drop that rope, unless you want to collapse so quick that one-half of ye will be in etarnity before the other half knows thar’s anythin’ amiss.’

“‘On what groun’s do ye claim the critter?’ I asked, jest a-b’ilin’ inside, but keepin’ sort of cool outwardly.

“‘Words doesn’t amount to a woman’s sneeze in settlin’ a matter of this kind,’ answered old Glass-eye.

“‘What does, then?’ I inquired, quite innocent like, as though I didn’t know what he meant; though I did know sure enuff what he was drivin’ at.

“‘This does!’ he answered, rizin’ up and puttin’ his hand behind him, as I do now, and jerkin’ out a rippin’ great knife about as big as the colter of a plow. ‘That’s the sort of a thing to settle disputes with. No gentleman will argue a case while he’s got an arbiter like that to leave it to,’ he contin’ed, a-slappin’ it down flatways into the palm of his left hand as he spoke, and bringin’ an echo from an old barn that stood near.

“I see the bystanders began to turn pale as whitewashed chimneys, and commenced lookin’ at the ground as though huntin’ for straws or splinters to pick thar teeth with, but they only wanted some excuse to git away.

“‘Supposin’ I should pull out a knife about seventeen inches and a half long,’ I ses, jest that way, ‘what then?’

“‘It’s jest exactly the thing I want to see,’ he answered quickly. ‘A young mother was never more tickled when she discovered the fust tooth a-peepin’ out of her young un’s gums, than I am when I see a knife comin’ out of its sheath in a feller’s hand.’

“‘Wal, I reckon you must have been brought up in a fightin’ settlement,’ I ses, jest like that, for I couldn’t hardly keep from jokin’, he seemed so amazin’ eager.

“‘Come, which’ll ye do? gin up the mule or fight? You’ve got to do one or t’other,’ he ses, impatiently, as he stooped to pick up his glass eye, which jest then dropped out and was a-rollin’ under the hoss trough.

“‘Wal,’ I ses, ‘I ain’t perticularly stuck arter fightin’, but it’s bad enough for a feller to squirt his terbacker juice onto you, without wantin’ to rub it in; and if it’ll be any accommodation to ye, I’ll fight fust and then take the mule arterwards.’

“‘Enough sed,’ he answered, just short that way; and then turnin’ to the landlord who was standin’ in the door, he asked, ‘Is the dark room ready for use?’

“‘No, not quite, he answered; ‘thar’s some pieces of that long Tuscaloosan lyin’ around in thar yet, I believe, but I’ll attend to removin’ them right away,’ and he started off with a bucket and dust-pan.

“So we all went into the bar-room, and staid round thar waitin’ until the place would be prepared. While we were thar, Glass-eyed Bill pulled out his knife, and commenced to draw it backwards and forwards over his boot-leg, as though to git a fine edge on it.

“‘Wal, you can whet your great scythe blade,’ I ses to myself, kind of low that way, for I allowed he was doin’ it to skeer me. ‘It ain’t allers the longest horned cow that does the most hookin’. my old terbacker shaver has got p’int enough on it to inaugurate a new passage to the interior if it _won’t_ cut a har.’

“Arter a while he leaned over to a feller that sat by the table, and while runnin’ his thumb sort of feelin’ly along the edge of the knife, he ses: ‘The man I bought this from in Galveston assured me it was the best of steel; but he lied, I reckon, for I turned the edge of it last night on that long Tuscaloosan’s ribs. Yet that’s not to be much wondered at, arter all, for I do believe he had as many ribs as a snake. I thought I never would succeed in gettin’ the blade betwixt ’em. Arter I got him down in the corner and his knife away from him, I commenced jabbin’ at his armpit, and I prospected the hull way down to his kidney, before I could git in far enough to let his dinner loose.’

“Gewillikins! When I heered him talkin’ like that, didn’t I begin to squirm and fidget around on my cheer! I wished then I had never seen the place, more especially the long-eared mule. But I see I was in for it, as the boy said when he got his head stuck in the cream jar. Thar was no way of gittin’ out without comin’ right down to beggin’ off, and I was too consumin’ proud to do that, you know, if I was sartain of bein’ cut up into as many pieces as a boardin’-house pie.

“Jest then the landlord came back and sed the room was ready, but remarked that it was a leetle slippery yet. He sed, for a lean man he never did see a feller that had so much blood into him as that Tuscaloosan had. Beckonin’ me to the counter he ses:—

“‘You mout as well settle your bill now before you go in thar; it may be more satisfactory to you to have the settlin’ of your own affairs, and it’ll save me the trouble of huntin’ over your effects arter you’re dead.’

“‘All right,’ I ses, ‘now, if you say so; but it’s ginnerally admitted that sure things sometimes git mi’ty slippery all to wunst, and perhaps somebody’s goggles may prove blue in the mornin’ that were bought for green uns at night.’

“I didn’t want to let any of ’em think I was skeered, though, by jingo! I felt sartin of bein’ minced up, and the cold chills were jest streakin’ all over me.

“So we started for the room, which was about twelve feet square and dark as pitch.

“The landlord held the door open until we were in opposite corners with our knives out. Then he shut and locked it and left us to work out our own salvation, as the missionary did the South Sea Islanders when he overheerd ’em talkin’ about the best way of cookin’ him the next mornin’.

“Wasn’t it dark in thar though? and still? you could have heered a lizard a-breathin’ in thar, it was so quiet.

“I allowed Glass-eyed Bill was expectin’ that I would go a-shufflin’ and a-huntin’ around for him, but I had no sich foolish notion. I cal’lated if thar was any findin’ to be done he’d have to do it, for I was detarmined to stand right thar till I’d drop in my tracks before I’d go a-s’archin’ around for him.

“I commenced breathin’ about twice a minute, and not makin’ any more noise at it than a wall-bug, nuther. But for all that I heered him a-movin’ over towards me. I’ll allers think that Cranebow had a nose onto him like a setter dog, for he somehow or another got right over thar whar I was standin’. Pooty soon I felt somethin’ a-stingin’ along my forehead thar, and I suspected at once that it was the knife that was feelin’ around for me; so I reckoned it wouldn’t be long until he was a-proddin’ of it somewhere else, and like the boy with the candy bag, I cal’lated the fust poke was everythin’; so I made one sudden and detarmined plunge and a sort of upward rip, at the same time, cal’latin’ to do all the damage I could right at once while I was about it.

“He heered me start, and thought to squat down before I got the knife into him I reckon. Though his intentions were good he only spread the disaster, like the gal who tried to put the fire out with the corn broom, for as he was gwine down the knife was rizin’, and the result was truly astonishin’. I’ll be smashed if he didn’t fly open from eend to eend like a ripe pea pod. It was done so alfired quick too, that he didn’t realize how bad he was hurt I think. Ses he, ‘We’ll try that over ag’in, stranger.’ As he spoke, he started to git up, but fell away seemin’ly in two different directions.

“‘Not on this side, we won’t,’ I ses, as I went huntin’ around for the door.

“I was surprised as much as him at the way things had turned out, for when I stepped into that room I looked on it as steppin’ into another world. When the door was found I commenced knockin’, and pooty soon the landlord came and opened it. He couldn’t see me at fust, but allowed it was the bully that was thar, of course, and ses he:—

“‘You made pooty quick work of it this time; that feller won’t want to buy any more mules arter this, I take it.’

“‘No,’ ses I, steppin’ out, ‘nor claim a critter that doesn’t belong to him nuther.’

“‘What!’ he cried, jumpin’ back with a look upon his face that told me at once he was mi’ty displeased at the way things war developin’, ‘is it you? whar’s Glass-eyed Bill?’ he contin’ed, shadin’ his eyes with his hand and peerin’ into the darkness.

“‘He’s lyin’ around in thar somewhar,’ I answered careless like, jest that way. ‘The head-half of him is nigh the door here, paralyzed, I reckon, but the leg part is somewhere over in the corner thar whar ye hear the kickin’; you mout as well be gettin’ yer bucket and dust-pan ready, for you’ll have quite a job gettin’ all the pieces together ag’in, I’m thinkin’,’ I contin’ed, just that indifferent way, and walkin’ out towards the bar-room as I spoke.

“You never did see a feller so set back in your life. He looked at me as though I had as many heads onto me as the beast we read about in the Scripters. I’ll allers believe that he was in cahoot with old Glass-eye, and jist kept him thar to pick quarrels with strangers so they could have the pickin’ over of thar effects.

“Arter washin’ my hands and plasterin’ up the cut on my forehead a little, I went out and saddled the mule, and the crowd all came out to see me gwine off. I reckon if I had stopped in the village I could have had things about my own way for some time. Before I rode off I turned round to ’em and ses:—

“‘When you git so frightened of a bully ag’in that you daren’t sneeze within forty feet of him, jest send for me, and I’ll open him up ready for saltin’ while you’d be wipin’ your mouth.’

“With that I rode off, and left ’em all starin’ at each other, and then arter me, as though wonderin’ who or what I was, anyhow.”

ROLLER SKATING.

Oh! skating, roller skating now, of pastimes takes the lead;
No more we take the moonlight sail, or mount the prancing steed,
No more to fair, or carnival, no more to masquerade,
No more along the lengthy bridge, the thousands promenade,
No more we see Othello rave, and roll his jealous eyes,
Or Hamlet leaping in the grave, where loved Ophelia lies,
Or see the boasting Falstaff sheath his blade in Percy’s corse,
Or hear the baffled Richard shout, “My kingdom for a horse!”
In vain the minstrels shake the bones, and tell the funny tale,
Their blazoned bill, or blatant band, to draw the public fail;
For those, who still their millions hide, and those at ruin’s brink,
Alike throw business cares aside, and hasten to the Rink.
Talk of your bounding horseback rides, or of the grace indeed.
A maiden shows when she bestrides the frail velocipede;
I charge ye, if you’d see a maid when graceful she appears,
Go see her on the roller skates, as round the Rink she steers.

A TERRIBLE NOSE.

I was to-day brought in contact with an old gentleman named Bickerstaff, who keeps a crockery store in the village where I am visiting. This Bickerstaff is the unfortunate possessor of the queerest-looking nose I have yet encountered.

It was not the original intention of Providence that he should follow such a proboscis through life, for there was a time when he, like other men, had a forerunner ornamental as well as useful. But through an accident, the nose he now bears in all its deformity was shoved upon him.

It seems one day, while furiously pursuing a little urchin who had mischievously put a stone through a glass jar by the door, he ran his face against the end of a scantling a boy was carrying past on his shoulder, and set his nose well up on his forehead in a triangular lump.

Strange to say, no inducements that the surgeon could hold out served to coax it back to its former position. His wife, who was young, and rather prepossessing in appearance, worried terribly about it. She finally left him, and went to live with her mother, and immediately set about obtaining a divorce from him.

She would, in all probability, have obtained it, if she had not died before the case was properly laid before the commissioners; because she was capable of doing better, and when you come to see the nose with which she wished to sever her connections, you could hardly blame her. Old Bickerstaff, to tell the honest truth, did look like the very old Nick in masquerade costume.

His nose, as it reposed between his eyebrows, displayed an enormous pair of nostrils large as front-door keyholes. At a short distance a person would think he had four eyes in his head. He was the living terror of the school children who daily passed his place of business. They either scurried past on the run, or with their hands over their eyes.

Even among creeping infants—who had often shrunk back from the threshold as old Bickerstaff passed the door—he was known as the Boo; and there was no danger of them crawling into the street while he remained in the vicinity.

Nervously-inclined women also avoided him. They would cut across the road when they saw him coming toward them, or turn back, feeling their pockets as though they had forgotten something, and hurry back to go round some other way.

Dogs never barked at him. If they happened to be engaged in that pastime when he hove in sight, they would slope off the demonstration into a yelp. And as if they had suddenly recollected that they were wanted at home about that time, they tucked their tails between their legs and dusted away at a lively rate. Hitched horses even snorted lustily and pulled hard upon their halters when old Bickerstaff shuffled by.

The old gentleman had a pew in the church directly in front of the pulpit, and the first time he attended divine worship after his nose had been set up, he threw the minister out of his discourse altogether. He couldn’t keep run of what he wanted to say, no way he could fix it. He had Jonah swallowing the whale, instead of the whale doing the job for Jonah.

No matter how much he endeavored to keep his eyes in some other direction, they would invariably wander back to rest upon that terrible sight, and then he would be off the track again in a twinkling. The next day the trustees of the church waited on Bickerstaff, and in the most polite manner possible requested him to exchange his pew for one farther removed from the pulpit.

The old fellow—who, by the way, had considerable temper—flew off the handle at once, and in the most unchristian-like language denounced the church and the doctrine that would draw the line of demarkation between fair faces and plain.

He informed the trustees if the parson didn’t like the looks of his congregation, he could turn his pulpit around facing the other way. Yet, though he was rough in his speech, and given to storming considerably when his pride was touched, he was not altogether lacking in those qualities which go far to make up your real man; and when the trustees offered to give him the side pew _rent free_, his voice at once grew low, and in a becoming manner he accepted the situation. After that, things were not quite as bad. The minister occasionally got a quartering view of him, but the odd-looking disfigurement didn’t strike him with full force. Still, I was informed, the Reverend gentleman’s discourse was principally addressed to the hearers on the other side of the church, thereafter.

But—to his credit be it mentioned—he always turned in the direction of old Bickerstaff when he closed his eyes in prayer.

A MASKED BATTERY.

I learn by an evening paper that an old lady in the lower part of the city to-day, while burning some cast-off garments, threw an old vest belonging to her son-in-law into the fireplace. A Remington rifle cartridge happened to be slumbering in one of the pockets. It awakened, and therefrom hangs a piece of crape.

This draws me on to fasten upon paper an incident that happened in the mountains some years ago. I was spending a few days in the mines at the time, with a friend named Colyer, who was working a claim back of Sonora.

He had three partners in the concern. One was an old fellow named Twitchell, who at some time in his life had been a judge in a supreme court in one of the Southwestern States—I forget which. At all events, they called him “Judge,” and he bore the title with becoming dignity.

Another was a dark-looking, one-eyed Swede, who wore a large green patch over the empty socket. This seemed to add a double brilliancy and fire to the other optic, and gave to him rather a ferocious appearance. He would have passed anywhere for a buccaneer of at least fifteen years’ cruising. Yet he was quite a mild and peaceable man, for all his demoniacal aspect. The third was a Vermonter, named Theodore Arthur Willoughby Spooner, called Spoon, for short. They occupied a small log cabin near their claim, and were like miners generally, hopeful, if not happy.

One evening Theodore Arthur Willoughby Spooner was rummaging over some old articles left in the cabin by a former occupant. Among them he found an odd-looking pistol which the rust of years had rendered worthless. The weapon was an uncommon one. I never saw anything like it before or since, and it is my daily prayer that I never may. It was a ten-shooter; with nine chambers for bullets, and a tenth and larger barrel for throwing buckshot, slugs, walnuts, small onions, or potatoes. In fact it was capable of receiving almost anything not exceeding a billiard ball in size. Such an awe-inspiring shooting iron would be invaluable to a footpad or road agent. It was particularly suited for men of this stripe; for the man who would not blanch, settle down on his knees and surrender up his valuables when that battery was leveled at his head, must be brave indeed.