The Chung Collection

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The Chung Collection

Wit, humor and pathos Landon, Melville D. (Melville De Lancey), 1839-1910 1883

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The University of British Columbia Library
COLLECTION  Uncle Consider's Advice.
" Don't you never blow a man's branes out to git his money, Eli;
but you jes* sly aroun1 an1 blow Iris money out, an* so git his branes" —
Eli Perkins
With Multiform Illustrations
After models by those designing young men, Nasi, Darley, Fredericks^
Eytnge, White, Stephens and others.
Printed and Bound by Donohue & Henneberry, Chicago. PREFACE.
"I have the honor," said General Butler, at the
Medical-Lego dinner at Delmonico's — "I have the
honor of knowing three of the greatest liars — the
greatest living liars in America."
" Who are they ? § asked the venerable Sam Ward,
as he dropped a chicken partridge to listen to the
| Well, sir," said the General, as he scratched his
head thoughtfully, j Mark Twain is one, and Eliar
Perkins is-the other two!"
Arise and sing!  CONTENTS.
New York Religion       --.---- 3
Eli's Baby Story        -                                     - 3
Senator Blaine Tells Eli Perkins a Story    -      - 4
Mrs. Perkins Finds a Gentle Horse      - 5
Eli Perkins on American Bulls         -      -      -      - 7
Eli in Richmond, Va.         ------ 8
Uncle Consider, on Temperance,       - 9
Solitaire Diamonds, - 13
Eli Perkins in hot water, - 16
Eli on fire-proof houses,         ----- 20
Dreadful Profanity,     -  23
Eli Perkins's Pen Pictures,     ----- 24
A Fifth Avenue Episode,  28
A Lonesome Man,        -.             -      -      -      -      - 30
About Children,  34
Servantgalism,            ------- 38
Uppertendom,   -      -      -      -  40
Letter from Aunt Charity,  45
The Literary Girl,  51
Uncle Consider as a Crusader,      - 55
Eli in Love,  58
Brown's Boys,      ----*--- 60
A Brown's Boy in Love,  66
Brown's Boys in New York,            - 68
Rich Brown's Boys,  74
Brown's Girls,  78
Advice to Young Men,  84
The Funny Side of Fisk,   ------ 87
Rev. Eli Perkins,  98
A Sad Man,             102
A Queer Man,  104 Page
Eli's Happy Thoughts,  1°6
The Legal-Minded Man,  1°9
A Grateful Man,        ------- 111
A Consistent Man, -      -      -      -      -      -      -114
The Dancing Mania,   -               H5
The Military Man,  117
The Horse Man,  119
The Pious Man,       -  120
A Frontiersman,   -------- 121
The Hackman, -      -      -  124
Sewers and sowers,   ------- 125
Hard on Lawyers,  1§?
E. Perkins—Attorney at Law,       - 129
How Donn Pirate Thrashed Eli Perkins,       -      - 131
A Day at Saratoga, '      - 135
The ~\/ells at Saratoga,    ------ 140
Minnie in Saratoga,   -              -      -      -      -      - 143
Married Brown's Boys at Saratoga,       -      -      - 150
Eli's Belle of Saratoga, -      -      -              -      - 155
Brown's Boys at Saratoga,  157
Up to Snuff, -      -      - 160
A Flirting Dodge, -      -      -      -      -      -      -      - 162
Fall of Another Clergyman,  164
The Swell Dress Parade,  166
The Good Man,  169
Owed to Franklin Statue,            172
A Parrot Story,        ------- 172
The Rat Story, ,-173
Travers and Clews,  ------- 173
Travers on Fisk and Gould,      -      -      -      - 174
Pawn-Shop Clothes,   ------- 175
Where Ducks Live,      ------- 175
Five Hundred Dollars Saved,        - 176
Tip of the Fashion,       ------- 177
Shirking from Work,        ------ 177
Trunk Smashers,    -------- 178
Eli on Dominie Ford,        ------ 179
A Hard Name,        -------- 179 CONTENTS. ix
Eli on the F. F. C's.,  180
The Meanest Man Yet,        ------ 181
Newspaper Goke,        ------- 182
Eli on Ana,  182
Animate Nature,        -_---»- 183
Original Poetry, -- 183
Complimentary,   -------- 184
Babies,      ----  184
Tight Lacing,      -------- 185
Som-et-i-mes,    ---------185
Grammar,      ---.----- 186
Eli Perkins's Blunders,      -      -      .      -      -      - 186
Nice Arable Land,     ------- 188
Money Close,  188
Indifference,       -------- 189
The Whiskey War,       -      -      -      -      .       -      - 189
Fun in Washington, Ohio,        ----- 190
Terribly Indignant.      -      -      -      -      -      -      - 191
The Unsuspecting Man,     ------ 191
Very Dangerous,          -      -      -      -      -      -      - 192
Wood,     -      -;    -      -      -      -      -      -      -      - 193
Saratgoa Betting,  193
Wicked and Profane,        ------ 194
Mr. Marvin's Blunder  -      -      -      -      | j      - 194
Poor but Honest,       ----,.- 195
Precise Statements,  195
Early to Bed,               196
Personal Matters,  196
Small Feet,  --------- 197
Little Perkinsisms,         -      -      -      -      .      -      - 199
Eli Perkins's New Year's Calls,    -      -      -      - 203
How Eli Perkins Lectured in Pottsville,      -      . 211
Scaring a Connecticut Farmer,      ...      - 222
Eli Perkins as a Baloonatic,  225
The Shrewd Man,  233
Lost Children in New York,     ----- 237
The Absent Minded Man, ------ 246
Crime in Saratoga,        ------- 249 X
I Lofe an Honest Poy,  252
"Get There Eli"—Its Origin,  254
Lecture Experience,  258
Time is Money,  258
The New Silver Dollar  259
A Sermon            259
Eli and the Detroit Barberess,     -      -      -      - 260
A Kind Word for Eli   -  262
Eli on Proposing  263
Eli on John Chinaman  265
A Death Sentence Revoked     -      -      -      -      - 265
Three-Card Monte Men  270
Why Eli Became a Lecturer   ----- 273
Eli Perkins on Thad Stevens  274
Newspaper Witticisms        -      -      -'             -      - 274
Eli Perkins Strikes a Rich Man         - 276
Eli Perkins on Children  277 WIT, HUIOB, SATIRE AND PATHOS.
"John," said a rich New York grocer to  his man,
have you mixed the glocuse with the sugar ?"
"Yes, sir."
I And sanded it, too ? |
"Yes, sir." I
| Dampened the tobacco ? "
| Yes, sir." .
" And watered the whisky ? "
"Yes, sir." ^
" Then you may come in to prayers."
| Lillie, did you say your prayers last night? 1 asked a
fashionable New York mother of her sweet little girl
who remained home while the mother went to the
Chanty Ball. |f
I Yes, mamma, I said 'em all alone."
"But who did you say them to, Lillie, when your
nurse was out with me ? |
I Well, mamma, when I went to bed, I looked around
the house for somebody to say my prayers to, and there
was'nt nobody in the house to say 'em to, and so I said
'em to God."
| There was a young man from Bangor," said Senator
Blaine to me this morning, " who came to Saratoga. He
was a very smart young man at home—this young man
from Bangor. He could win large bets at the baseball
games when his brother was pitcher, and he could even
earn money, like General Schenck and Henry Waterson,
playing poker.
I The other day," continued Mr. Blaine, some of my
Maine friends told me that this young man went down to
Reed's Saratoga Club House. He bet high and lost.
Then he hauled out a roll of bills and bet more—only to
lose. Finally he bet his last cent. He lost that. Then
knowledge struck him. A light broke in upon him, and
he seized his hat and said:
" What ? Mr. Blaine—what did he say ?" I asked,
" I will tell you what he said Eli. He said: " Gentlemen, I don't think I know enough to play this Saratoga
game—but, by gosh! I know enough not to! | MRS. PERKINS FINDS A GENTLE HORSE.
My wife having been run away with once is always
afraid the horse is going to run away with her again.
Yesterday, when Harrington, who runs the Maple wood
Hall stables, at Pittsfield, Mass., brought up a span, he
had to stand the usual questioning:
" Now, are they very gentle ?"
" Oh, certainly—kind as kittens."
I Did they ever run away ?"
I Never."
" Do you think they could run away ?"
Harrington looked at the horses sadly and said: " Madame, to be frank with you, I don't think they could."
I Well, have they ever been frightened ? "
1 No, never. Nothin' could frighten 'em," said Harrington.
" Has anything ever happened to them that would
have frightened them if they had been skittish ?" continued my wife earnestly.
"Well, yes, ma'am; suthin' did happen thuther day
that would have skeered 'em ef they'd been skittish.
" What, Harrington—what ? "
I Why, I was drivin' along down the Woolsey hill,
when a storm came up, an' six streaks of lightnen' struck
them horses right on the head and "    tj§
" Did they run ?"
I No, ma'am; they didn't move; they jest stood still and
pawed the ground for more lightnen'.    They liked it.
5 6
" An' the next day," continued Harrington, i( a city
feller was drivin' this team, an' he let a railroad train go
right through 'em."
"Did it kill them?"
" No, but the city feller was all used up. But you
oughter a seen them horses; they acted so human like#
Why, when they picked that city fellow out of the trees
they walked straight up to him, took him by the seat of
the pantaloons—
"Oh, my!"
" Lifted him right back into the wagon again, and—
" My gracious me ! "
"And then' they hitched themselves back into the
wagon and drove themselves home — didn't they Mr.
Kettelle ?"—N. T. Commercial Advertiser. ELI PERKINS ON AMERICAN BULLS.
Punctuation makes a great many bulls in this coun-
try. The other day I picked up a newspaper in Wisconsin, full of curious things.    I enclose a few specimens:
"The procession at Judge Orton's funeral was very
fine and nearly two miles in length as was the beautiful
prayer of the Rev. Dr. Swing from Chicago."
" A cow was struck by lightning on Saturday belonging to Dr. Hammond who had a beautiful spotted calf
only four days old."
A distressing accident is thus chronicled:
'" A sad accident happened to the family of John
Elderkin on Main street, yesterday. One of his children
was run over by a market wagon three years old with
sore eyes and pantalets on that never spoke afterwards.
The next morning after lecturing at Janesville, I saw
this paragraph:
" George Peck an intemperate editor from Milwaukee
fell over the gallery last night while Eli Perkins was
lecturing in a beastly state of intoxication."
" The coroner's jury brought in a verdict that Mr.
Peck  came  to his  death by remaining too long  in a
cramped position while listening to Mr. Perkins' lecture*
which produced apoplexy on the minds of the jury.
Richmond, writes Eli Perkins, in the JV. T. Star,
consists of 500 good houses, 17,000 negro huts, and 400
tobacco factories. A Richmond man showed me the
town. I didn't get tired of looking at the 500 good
houses, but the 400 tobacco factories wore me all out. At
last, when I came to a large building, I would say:
" Another tobacco factory, sir."
" Yes, this is a plug factory."
" Never mind," I said, " drive on; let the plug go."
Further on we came to a very large building, and a
very ancient one.
" Is that a tobacco factory, too," I asked a darkey.
"No, sah: dat's a meetin' hous', sah; dat's whar Patrick Henry delivered his great speech."
" When," I asked, " when did Patrick speak ? "
" Years and years ago, sah."
" What did he say ?"
" Why, he's de man what said \ Give me liberty or give
me death.'"
" Well, which did he get ? "
" He got 'em bof, sah."
Last evening, writes Eli Perkins, as Mr. Stub was
playing his sweet music in the States ball room, an old
maid from Boston was promenading out on the flirting
balcony with Mr. Jack Astor, one of our swell young
gentlemen from New York.
As the landers stopped, Miss Warren looked languidly
over irito the park, sighed four times, and then pathetically remarked:
"Nobody loves me, my dear Mr. Astor; nobody 1
"Yes,  Miss Warren,  God loves you, and your
mother loves you."
" Mr. Astor, let's go in ? "
And five minutes afterwards, Miss Warren was trying the drawing-out dodge on another innocent, unsuspecting fellow.
"Yes, Uncle."
" Let me read you suthin' from the Christian Union"
and my Uncle Consider wiped his German-silver glasses
with his red bandana handkerchief, adjusted them on his
nose, and read:
A man in Jamaica, Long Island, after drinking too much cider
insisted, against his wife's wishes, on smoking on a load of hay. He
came home that night without any whiskers or eyebrows, and the
iron work of his wagon in a potato sack."
mmm 10
" This little incident, Eli," said my Uncle, looking
over his glasses, | preaches a sermon on temperance.
It teaches us all, in these times, of public corruption,
tempered by private assassinations, to keep our heads
'spiritoally level.' |
"How can this be done, Uncle?" I asked.
" Jes lis'en to me, Eli, and I'll tell you. I'll open
the flood-gates of wisdom to you, so to speak." Then
my uncle put one hand on my shoulder, looked me
straight in the face, and said :
'" Ef you drink wine, Eli, you will walk in winding
ways; ef you carry too much beer the bier soon will
carry you. Ef you drink brandy punches you will get
handy punches; and ef you allers get the best of
whiskey, Eli, whiskey '11 allers get the best of you."
" But brandy, Uncle—brandy has saved the lives of
thousands of people—hasn't it?" I asked.
" Yes, Eli, brandy has saved thousands of lives, and
do you want to know how—do you? By their not
drinking it, my boy; that's the way it saved their lives.
No, my boy, if you want to keep your spirits up you
mus'n't put your spirits down."
" Did you ever know brandy and whiskey to do as
much damage as water has, Uncle ?" I inquired, modestly.
Yes, my boy, I have. What has brandy done in
our fam'ly? Didn't I see your Uncle Nathaniel come
home from the lodge one night, after he had taken
too much whiskey in his water, an' didn't he stagger
into the kitchen, get up on a chair, and wash the face
of the clock, and then deliberately get down and wind 11
up the baby and try to set it for'ard fifteen minutes ?
Didn't he!" '
I But when we read in the Bible, Uncle, how much
damage water has done—how it drowned Pharaoh, demoralized Jonah, and engulfed the whole human family
in the deluge, don't it really make you afraid to drink
any more water in your'n ? Don't it?" I said, raising
my voice. 11 know water don't cause the destruction
of two-dollar clocks," I continued, " nor wind up innocent babies, but it wound up Pharaoh's whole army and
washed down the whole human race and—
1 Shut up, Eli! Don't talk to me. You make me
sick," shouted my Uncle, gesticulating wildly with one
hand and wiping his eyes with the other. But a moment afterward he became tranquil, and, looking, over
his German-silver glasses thoughtfully, he continued:
1 No, no, Eli, my boy, that fust glass of wine has
ruined many a yung man. The other nite," he continued, wiping his eyes, 11 drempt I saw my fav'rite
sun adrinken from the floin'bole. My hart yarned for
'im an' I strode to'rds 'im. As he razed the wineglass in the air I was seezed tragick-like and sez I,
* O Rufus, the serpent lurks in that floin' wine. Giv'
—O giv' it to your father!' and when he past it
to'rds me I quaffed it, serpent an' all, to keep it from
my tender sun. He was saved from the tempter, Eli,
and turnin' with tears in my eyes I remarkt, ' O, my
hopeful boy, do anything—skoop burds' nests, stun
French glass wanders, match sents, play with powder,
take snuf, take benzine, take photographs,—anything,
but don't take that first glass of wine.'
■mtmm 12
" I Fear not, father,' answered my noble boy. ' That
first glass o' wine be blowed.    Us boys is all a-slingin*
in ol' crow whisky and a-punishin' gin
slings and brandy smashers — if we
ain't yeu kan hire a hall for me—yeu
kan !'
" Mi noble  boi! "  and then Uncle
Consider lighted a 40-cent Partaga and
proceeded to ask James what he had
purchased for the week's supply from
the market.
" I  bought   two   gallons   of sherry, sir, four  dozen
Burgundy, some of the old rum we had before, some
cheese, two boxes of cigars, and two loaves of bread,
an' it's all here in the larder."
"All right, James," said my Uncle, lookin' over his
glasses, "but was there any need of spendin' so much
money for bread ? "
And then Uncle Consider went on cutting off his
coupons. X*
Since   they have   discovered
diamonds   in   Africa,   they  are
getting   too   common   on   Fifth
Avenue   to    be   even   noticed.
One   young   lady,   reported   to
be young and handsome, wears
finger-ring diamonds in her hair.
A Chicago lady, staying at the
Fifth  Avenue,  alleged   to  have
lived with her present husband
two   weeks   without   getting   a
divorce,  wears   diamond   dress-
buttons;  and  even  one  of the
colored   waiters — an   African,   too,
right from the mines—showed me a
diamond in his carpet-bag weighing
thirty-seven pounds, which he offered
to sell to me in the rough for $4—
a clear indication that even the Africans
don't appreciate the treasures they have
This morning a lady from Oil City
went into Tiffany's great jewelry store and said she
desired to purchase a diamond.
13 14
11 understand solitaire diamonds are the best,
Mr. Tiffany," she said, "please show me some of
| Here is a nice solitaire" answered the silver-haired
diamond prince.    "How do you like it?"
I Putty well," said the lady, revolving it in her fingers. I It shines well, but are you sure it is a solitaire,
Mr. Tiffany?"
"Why, of course, madame."
I Wall now, if you will warrant it to be a real genuine solitaire, Mr. Tiffany, I don't mind buying it for
my daughter Julia—and—come to think," she continued, as she buttoned her six-button kid-gloves and
took her parasol to leave, " if you've got five or six
more real genuine solitaires just like this one, I don't
-mind takin' 'em all so's. to make a big solitaire cluster
for myself."
" Yes, madame, we'll guarantee it t6 be a real soli*
taire" smilingly replied Mr. Tiffany, and then the head
of the house went up to his private office and in the
presence of four hundred clerks sat down and wrote
his official guarantee that the diamond named was a
genuine solitaire. As the lady bore the certificate from
the big jewelry palace she observed to herself, | There's
nothing like knowing you've got the genuine thing.
It's really so satisfy-in' to feel sure!"
But that evening her fiendish husband refused to
buy the diamonds—" and then this beautiful woman,"
said Mr. Tiffany—" all dressed up in silks and laces
and garnet ear-rings cut on a bias, sat down in the
hotel parlor and had to refuse to go to a party at Mrs, 15
Witherington's because her jewels did not match her
"O dear!" said the great jeweller, and in the fullness of his grief he poured a coal scuttle into a case
full of diamonds and watches and silver spoons, and
a basketful of diamonds and pearls and garnets into
the coal stove. ELI PERKINS IN HOT WATER.
The other day I sent this paragraph to The Herald:
" Mrs. Johnson is said to be the most beautiful woman in the
I didn't know what I was doing. I'm sorry I did
it. Now the ladies are all down on me, and poor
Mrs. Johnson  is being persecuted on all sides.     The
ladies are telling all sorts of
stories about her—how she poisoned her first husband, threw
a baby or two down the well,
and all that.
A few moments ago a tall,
muscular gentleman entered my
room, holding a long cane in
his hand. He looked mad. I
wasn't afraid. O! no ; but I was
writing, and hadn't time to talk.
"Are you Mr. Perkins?" he
" No, sir; my name is La "
"Did you write this article
about Mrs. Johnson being the
most beautiful woman?" he interrupted.
"Why?" I asked modestly.
16 17
"Because my wife is here, sir—Mrs. Thompson—a
very handsome woman, sir, and—"
I Ah ! Thompson—yes; only the fact is I sent it
down I Thompson,' and those rascally type-setters they
made \ Johnson I of it. Why, yesterday, Mr. Thompson,
I wrote about President Porter, the well-deserving
President of Yale College, and those remorseless typesetters set it up | hell-deserving,' and President Porter
has been cutting me ever since."
"All right, then, Mr. Perkins, if you really sent it
down, 'Mrs. Thompson,' I'll put up my pistol and
we'll be friends; but if I ever hear of your writing of
any lady's being more beautiful than my wife I'll send
you to New York in a metallic case—I will, sure !"
and Mr. Thompson strode out of the room.
A few moments afterward I met
Julia, my fiancee—the one I truly
"You look lovely to-day, Julia!"
I commenced as usual.
"You're a bore, Eli—you're a dreadful person—a false, bad man.   You—"
"What is it, Julia? what has displeased you now?"
I interrupted, sweetly.
"Why, you base deceiver! haven't you been calling
me beautiful all the time ? Haven't you made sonnets
to my eyes, compared my cheeks to the lily, my arms
to alabaster; and now here you go and call Mrs.
Johnson the most beautiful woman in the hotel. You
mean, false, two-sided man, you !" and Julia's eyes
snapped like sparks of electricity.
" But, Julia, dear Julia, let me explain," I pleaded.
a It was all ruse, Julia. Don't you know, newspapers
tell a good many lies—they must, you know; the
people will have them; and there is a rivalry between
them to see which shall tell the biggest and longest
ones, you know, and tell them the oftenest ?"
"Yes," she murmured sweetly.
| Well, I've been telling so much truth lately in
The Herald, folks told me to change my course a
little—to throw in a few lies, and—|
| And you did ?" -   ■ .
"Why, yes, and this was one of them. Of course
you are the most beautiful woman in Saratoga. Of
course you are."
This seemed to make Julia happy again, and I
thought I was all right. I went back to my room
thinking so, but I was all wrong.
In a moment, Rat! tat!! tat!!! sounded on the
I Come in," I said, as I stood with my pantaloons off,
thinking it was the boy to take this letter to the post.
" Is  it  you  who   is   making fun  of
my wife—you miserable—"
" I beg pardon, sir; if you and your
wife will just step back a moment, I'll
draw  on my pantaloons   and  try and
tell you," I said, trembling from head
"is it you, sir?"    t0 f00t
"No, sir, we won't step back a moment, but say,
sir, did you say my wife, Mrs. Johnson, was the handsomest woman in Saratoga; she who has been known 19
as  the  plainest woman and I the plainest Methodist
minister in this here circuit—say, did you?"
The woman was a fright. I could
see it from behind the sofa where I
scootched down. She wore a mob*
cap, had freckles, crooked teeth and
peaked chin.
I No, sir!" I said, vehemently. " No,
sir-r-r! I never said your wife was
the most beautiful woman in Saratoga,
for she evidently is not. I meant somebody else—another Mrs. Johnson. I
could not tell a lie about it, and she is
positively ugly—that is, she is not handsome; she is not beautiful^
"Far different." |jf
" Far different! My wife not
good-looking, sir? My wife far | ^
different? I'll teach you to attack my wife in that way," and
then his cane flew up and I
flew down. I don't know how
long I staid there, but I do know
that the next hour I found myself in a strange room, and my
clothes smelt of chloroform and
camphor. The doctors say I met with an accident. 1
don't know what it was, but I do know that* I shall
never say anything about that handsomest woman
again.    Never!
no, sir!"
mm ragm    !
It pains me to hear of so many people being burned
out on account of combustible elevators and defective
flues. It's dreadful how much damage fire is doing of
late years when it can just as well be managed if only
taken in hand.
This morning the superintendent of the New York
Fire Department came to my room and wanted me to
explain my theory of preventing fire.
"All right, Gen. Shaler, be seated," I said. Then I
showed him the machine invented by Prof. Tyndall and
myself for abstracting heat from fire.
" Heat from fire, did you say, Mr. Perkins?"
" Yes, sir," I said, turning a crank. " This is the way
we do it. Put your eye on the spout. Now," do you see
the cold flames coming out there while the boys are
wheeling off the heat in flour barrels to cook with?"
"Splendid!" exclaimed Gen. Shaler. "What other
inventions have you ?"
"Dozens of them, sir," I said, leading the General
into my laboratory.
Then I showed the General my famous machine for
concentrating water to be used by the engines in case
of drought. I showed the General my process of concentration, which is to  place  the water in  its  dilute
state in large kettles and then boil it down till it is
30 thick. The experiment proved eminently successful.
Twelve barrels of- water were evaporated down to a
gill, and this was sealed in a small phial, to be diluted
and used to put out fires in cases of extreme drouth.
"But, Mr. Perkins, how "
"Never mind 'how' General," said I. "You see, in
some cases the water is to be evaporated and concentrated till it becomes a fine, dry powder, and this can
be carried around in the vest pockets of the firemen,
and blown upon the fire through tin horns—that is, it
is to extinguish the fire, in a horn."
" But, Mr. Perkins, " ,.
I Never mind your buts, General—just you look at
the powdered water," I said.
Then he examined the powdered water with great
interest, took a horn—a horn of powdered water—in
his hands and blew out four tallow candles without
the use of water at all, while I proceeded to elucidate
my plan for constructing fire-proof flues. I told him
how the holes of the flues should be constructed of
solid cast iron or some other non-combustible material,
and then cold corrugated iron should be poured around
"Wonderful!" exclaimed the superintendent. "Perfectly wonderful! But where will you place the flues,
Mr. Perkins?"
" My idea," I replied, drawing a diagram on the
wall-paper with a piece of charcoal, "is to have these
flues in every instance located in the adjoining house."
"Magnificent! but how about the elevators?"
"Why, after   putting  'em   in   the  next   house too,
BB 22 |r
I'd seal 'em up water-tight and fill 'em with Croton,
and then let 'em freeze. Then I'd turn 'em bottom-
side up, and if they caught fire, the flames would only
draw down into the cellar." DREADFUL  PROFANITY.
A young lady who attends Vassar College came
home to her mother on Madison avenue yesterday,
and said that she didn't like to go to school there
any more, for—for "
"For what, Jenny?" asked her mother.
"Why, because some of the Vassar girls swear, Ma."
"Swear, Jane!    Good Lord, what do you mean?"
" I mean they use bad words, Ma.    I "
" Great Heavens, child! run and tell your grandmother to come here."
\Enter Grandmother^
"What is it, Marion?" asked grandmother, looking
over her glasses.
| Why, goodness gracious, Mother, what do you think ?
Why, Jenny says the girls swear, they "
I Lord o' mercy, Marion ! Heaven knows what we'll
come to next. Lord knows we've been too precious
careful of our children to have 'em ruined by any
such infernal dev'lishness."
"I wish to Heaven — but here, Jenny" (catching
hold of the young lady), "tell me now—what do those
Vassar girls say?"
"Why, Lizzie Mason talks about Mad-dam de Stael,
and Lizzie Smith says when she goes to New York
she'd rather ride up to see McComb's dam bridge
than to have a front seat at the For-dam races."
"Good Lord, Jenny, how you startled me!"
{Around town.)
Let me show you some little every-day New York
pictures this evening.    There are only four of them:
" Hundreds of little Italian boys are kept by old hags
on Cherry and Baxter streets, just to steal and beg.
If they come home at night without having stolen or
begged certain sums, the poor little fellows are whipped
and made to go to bed on the floor without any
supper. Most of these boys turn out pick-pockets,
and eventually go to the Island or to Sing Sing as
burglars and housebreakers. One little fellow who has
lived on Cherry street for seven years didn't know
what the Bible was, and he told us he had never
heard of Christ."—N. Y. Times.
" the Rev. Mr. Van Meter, who established the second
Five Points Mission House, has raised funds enough
to establish a Protestant mission church in Rome. He
writes that three more Italian subjects have been rescued from Popery and converted to the Protestant
faith, and that he is deeply solicitous for further con- 25
tributions from brothers and sisters in the cause to
help on the glorious work and enable them to build
a snug little marble parsonage for the residence of
the American missionaries."—Five Points Mission Re-
"Mrs. Mary Thomas testified this morning that Mrs.
Hurley turned her out of the Girls' Lodging House
on a stormy night to die in the Fifth Street Station
House, and Sergeant Snyder swore that on the morning of the 18th of March he found Mary lying sick
on the floor in the station house. She was in distress, and said:
11 For God's sake, have some one do something for
me!' and in the midst of her crying and mourning
she gave birth to a child."—N. Y. Herald.
" the private stables of Mr. Belmont, Bonner, and
many other gentlemen are made of black walnut,
beautifully furnished, and nicely warmed. The horses
are clothed in soft, white blankets, and fed and cleaned
with the regularity of clockwork. I am endeavoring
to have all other animals well cared for, too, and to
accomplish this I caused the arrest of a private coachman to-day, and detained the carriage in front of
A. T. Stewart's, because the driver had driven tacks in
the side of the bridle, which pricked and chafed the
horse, compelling him to keep his head straight. If
cars are overloaded the horses will be stopped, and the
B *^Jip^p
people will  have   to walk."—Mr. Humane (?) Bergh's
" A woman, who up to the time
of our going to press had not
been identified, was found dead
yesterday morning on a doorstep in Thirty -. fourth street.
The deceased evidently wandered
from some of the poorer wards
in search of employment, and
from her emaciated  condition it
is probable she had not tasted food for several days.
It is thought that poverty and starvation caused her
death. The body, scantily clothed in a few rags,
lies unclaimed in the Morgue."—JV. Y. Sun.
"Mrs. Livingstone's elegant and
fashionable reception and german,
at her palatial Fifth avenue mansion on Monday evening, was too
gorgeous for description. Many
of the ladies' toilets came from
Worth's, and cost fabulous sums,
and the flowers which draped the
rooms—all rare exotics—must have
cost a small fortune. Among the guests sparkling
with jewels was Mrs. Lawrence, whose bridal trousseau,
when she was married last week, is said to have cost
f m
7,000. The rare and expensive wines which cheered
the occasion, some of them costing as high as $20
per bottle, astonished even the connoisseurs."—Home
I Bellevue Hospital is often crowded to excess with
sick, so much so that patients suffer through bad air
and inattention. .*****
U/It is impossible to warm the Tombs, or to keep it
from being damp, unwholesome, and sickly; and until
an appropriation of at least $50,000 is made by the
city, prisoners must continue to be crowded together
and continue to suffer, especially in cold weather,
beneath damp bed-clothes."—Report Commissioners of
Charities and Co7^rection.
But Wm:
"the Park Commissioner is of opinion that it will
cost $5,000,000 to complete the new Natural History
buildings in Central Park, to give ample room for the
minerals, fossils, and live animals. The wild animals
of the zoological collection take up a large amount
of room in the Park buildings, and it costs the city
a great deal of money to feed them and keep them
properly warmed, but they are a source of great
amusement to the nurses and children."—Park Commissioner's Report. '«WItiH
Miss Livingstone was calling on the Fifth Avenue
Woffingtons yesterday afternoon. As she stepped out
of her bottle-green laudaulet to walk up the Woffington
brown-stone portico, a swarm of sparrows from Union
Square chirped and twittered over her head and up
along the eaves. The sparrows were dodging about
after flies and worms — something substantial—while
Miss Livingstone's mind never got beyond her lace
overskirt and* the artificials on her Paris hat.
"It's perfectly drefful, Edward!" she observed to
the bell-boy as she shook out her skirts in the hall—
"howible!" Then flopping herself into a blue satin
chair she exclaimed : " I do hate those noisy spaw'ows,
Mrs. Woffington.    They'r beastly—perfectly atwocious!"
\ But you know they destroy the worms, Miss Livingstone ; they kill millions of 'em—just live on 'em.
Now, wouldn't you rather have the sparrows than the
worms, Miss  Livingstone ?    Wouldn't you ?"
" No, I wouldn't, Mrs. Woffington. Just look at my
new brown silk—the nasty, noisy things!    I "
" But worms eat trees and foliage and fruit, Miss
Livingstone.    They destroy "
"They don't eat silk dresses, Mrs. Woffington, and
they don't  roost   on  nine  dollar ostrich  feathers  and
28 29
thirty dollar hats, do they? I'm for the worms, I tell
you, and I don't care who knows it!    I hate spaw'ows!"
" Well, I hate worms, I do.    I hate "
Just then Miss Livingstone's brother—a swell member of the Knickerbocker club — Eugene Augustus
Livingstone, entered, interrupting the sentence, when
both ladies turned on him and exclaimed:
I Oh, Mr. Livingstone, we were discussing sparrows
and worms, and we refer the question to you. Now
answer, which had you rather have — sparrows or
worms ?"
"Well, weally I kont say, ladies. Weally, 'pon m'
honor   I   kont,   yeu   kneuw—yeu   kneuw.      I    never
had "   '  i      - -tflRI IK'
I But which do you think you'd rather have, Mr.
Livingstone ?    Which—j—"
"I weally kont say, ladies, for I never had the
spawows—at least, not since I can remember; but the
worms H
"Oh, Mr. Livingstone!" and then poor Eugene Augustus had to open the window and sprinkle ice-water
all over two fainting Worth dresses, which looked ast
if some careless milliner had let them drop—a woman
sinker in each holding it to the carpet. A LONESOME   MAN.
In Denver, years ago — when
Denver was made up of a population of robbers and gamblers
and adventurers—there used to
be a miners' bank—a bank where
miners deposited bags of gold
dust, or sold it for currency. In
the bank, before the teller's window, there sat, one day,
a forlorn, dejected^ woe-begone looking old miner—a
seedy old forty-niner. He wore an old faded slouch
hat, about the color of his tangled, sun-browned beard.
He never spoke as the other miners came in and exchanged their dust for coin, and no one spolfe to him.
He was a personified funeral—a sad, broken-hearted
man. As this sad miner- sat there, one day, smoking
his pipe, and seemingly oblivious to anything, a young
man entered and jauntily handed in his bag of dust.
" It weighs six hundred and eighty dollars, Mr. Johnson," said the teller, taking it from the scales.
"All right; give me credit on the books," said the
young man, moving towards the door. But, turning
on his heel in the doorway, he paused a moment, put
his hand thoughtfully across his brow, and said:
" I beg your pardon, sir;  but it seems to me you
30 31
made a little mistake in paying me last week, didn't
you?"      _ |§||j      j ^ }     ..   .
" No, sir, we never err, sir; and if we did, sir, it's
too late to correct it now. You should have spoken
about it at the time," replied the teller, coolly.
"But, sir, I'm positive that you paid me ninety dollars too much. Suppose you weigh the last week's
bag again," urged the young man.
"Oh, if the mistake was that way, perhaps we did,';
replied the teller, putting the bag of gold dust on the
scales again. 1 Godness! I did make a mistake. Just
ninety dollars and "
| Here's your money," interrupted the young man,
throwing down the amount in coin.
"I'm very much obliged," said the teller; "for the
mistake would have come out of my wages when we
came to balance.    I cannot thank you too much."
The only man watching the transaction was the old
slouch-hatted miner. He arose, fastened his eyes on
the young man, then came and watched
him pay the money back. Surprise filled
his countenance. His eyes opened wide,
and his lips fell apart with astonishment.
Then, looking the honest young man
'straight  in  the  face, he  exclaimed:
" Stranger, don't you  feel  mighty lone-
u don't you feel
some  round here ? lonesome ?" Slag
bWiVfli|i^WF-i*"""*fflHS I ~     "5SS??
For the. benefit of many young ladies who remain
away from Saratoga, that beautiful spot where
" The weary cease from troubling and the wicked are at rest,"
I send the following account of the latest watering
place fashions:
" Shoes are worn high in the neck, flounced with
point aquille lace, cut on the bias. High heels are
common in Saratoga, especially in the hop room. Cotton hose, open at the top, are very much worn, some
of them having as many as three holes in them. Cotton plows are not seen.
" Children—Are made very forward this year, but
they are very often dispensed with entirely for quiet
toilets. They are too loud. A neat thing in babies
can be made of drab pongee, gored and puckered to
match the panier. Little boys ruffled, fluted, and cut
on the bias to match the underskirt are very much
worn. Many are worn all down to living skeletons by
such fashionable ladies as Miss Management, Miss
Usage, Miss Behavior, Miss Doing, and Miss Guidance.
"Bonnets—Are   worn   high—none   less   than   $35.
They are made high in the instep and cut decollete in
front, trimmed with the  devilknowswhat.    Low nec&
33 33
bonnets with  paniers are no longer worn.    The front
of the bonnet is now invariably worn behind.
" Lovers—Are once more in the fashion. They are
worn on the left side for afternoon toilets, and directly
in front for evening ball-room costume. A nice thing
in lovers can be made of hair (parted in the middle),
a sickly moustache, bosom pin, cane and sleeve buttons, dressed in checked cloth. Giant intellects are not
fashionable in Saratoga this season. The broad, massive, thick skull is generally preferred. The old lover
trimmed with brains, character, and intelligence is no
longer worn.
3 Dresses—Are not worn long—none over two days.
They are trimmed with Wooster Street sauce, looped up
with Westchester County lace, with monogram on 'em!
Shake .well and drink while hot. Inclose twenty-five
cents for circular.
" Eli de Perkins, Modist.
| Hotel des Etats Unis, Saratoga, August, 1875.'' ABOUT CHILDREN.
Miss Miller said
her friend, Mrs.
Thompson, was
wrapped up in a
beautiful camel's
hair shawl which
she said she paid
$2,000 f o r at
"That's nothing at all," said
my Uncle Consider. "I know
a lady up   in
Litchfield who is wrapped up in a beautiful home-made
baby that she won't take $200,000 for!"
Uncle Consider is crazy on home-made things.
Little Nellie, whom we all see every day dancing
around the parlors, won her mother's permission to
sit up in the ball-room every night for a week, by proving that she had four fathers.
How did she do it?    This was the way:
34 35
" Nowr, ma, I have one more father than no little
girl, haven't I?
"Yes, pet."
I Well, no little girl has three fathers; and if I have
one more father than no little girl, then I must have
four fathers."
Alas! we've all got forefathers, but little Nellie went
a step farther than us all in her logic.
Another little girl toddled
up to a venerable " mother in
Israel" yesterdaywho was leaning over engaged in reading,
and, smoothing her little hand
cautiously over the old lady's
beautiful silver hair, she said:
"Why, ou has dot such funny hair—ou has." Then, pausing a moment, she looked up
and inquired, "What made it
so white?"
I Oh, the frosts of many winters turned it white, my little
girl," replied the old lady.
I Didn't it hurt ou ?" asked the little thing, in childish amazement. It was the first time she had ever
seen gray hair.
One  day I took a crowd of children  in  Saratoga if!
down to see Ben the educated pig. Among them was
little Johnny Wall, who has always been troubled because he had no little sister to
play with. When he asked his
mother to get him a little sister,
she always put him off with:
" Yes, Johnny, when children
get cheap I'll buy you a little
sister.    You must wait."
So   to-day   when    Mr.   Jarvis
uoh, untle eli!" read  these  letters on  Educated
Ben's tent—
Children half price—15 cents.
little Johnny jumped  straight  up  and down, clapped
his hands, and exclaimed:
" Oh, Untie Eli! now mamma can buy a itty sister
for me, for itty children ain't only half price now—
only 15 cents."
When Johnny came back, his mother showed him a
picture of a jackass with long ears in a picture-book,
when this colloquy occurred :
" Does ou see itty dackass, mamma, stan'in' all loney
in ze picsur?" asked the little three-year old.
"Yes, dear.". %
I Oh, mamma, Nursey been telluV Doimey aJA ajbout;
X 37
ittt'y dackass.     He ha-n't any mamma to make him
dood, an' no kind nursey 't all.    Poor
itty dackass hasn't dot no  Bidzet to
dess him c'ean an' nice, an' he hasn't
any overtoat yike Donney's 'tall.    Oo
solly, mamma,?"
I Yes, dear, I am very sorry. Poor
itty dackass! Dot nobody 't all to
turl his hair pritty, has he, Donney?
an' he hasn't dot no soos or tockies
on his foots.    Dot to yun an' tick all
day in 'e dirt.    Tan't ever be put to seepy in his itty
beddy 't all, 'an—|
"O mamma!" interrupted Johnny.
"What, baby?" J|
II wiss I was a itty dackass."
donney. I
A lady writes that she has great
trouble with her servant girls. She
says she has only herself, husband, and
little girl, but that it takes just as many
servants to keep house as if she had a
dozen in the family—that is, she must
keep a cook, nurse, chambermaid, and
a girl to dust around and attend the door-bell. " Now,
Mr. Perkins," she asks, 1 how can I get two good, old-
fashioned girls, who will work together and run my
little house?"
I don't know, my good lady, unless you advertise.
Suppose you put this advertisement in the Herald tomorrow, and see the result:
A woman in respectable circumstances, living on Lexington avenue, and who can give good references from the last lady who
worked for her, wishes a situation as mistress over two young
ladies. The advertiser has a husband and one child, but if the
child is an objection, it will be sent out to board. The ladies
who consent to enter into the alliance will have full management
of the house. They will be allowed to employ an inferior person
to assist them in doing their own washing and ironing, provided
they will allow the advertiser to put in a few small pieces, such
as collars, cuffs, and baby clothes. The advertiser will assist in
the heavy work, such as wiping down the stairs, building fires, and
such other labor as may be considered unbecoming in a lady.    A
38 3d
gentleman of color will be in attendance to wash doer-steps, scrub
stairs, clean knives and dishes, carry water and run on errands.
The young ladies will have Sundays and Saturday afternoons to
themselves, and can use the back parlor for evening company during
the week, provided the advertiser can use it in the morning. In
case the young ladies desire to give a party, the advertiser, .after
giving up the keys of the wine-cellar and larder, will spend the
night at the hotel. If the young ladies have relatives, they can
supply them with flour, chickens, and vegetables from the common
larder. Presents will be exchanged on Christmas, and the young
ladies can have a set of jewelry or a point lace underskirt on Easter
Candidates will please send address to No. — Lexington avenue,
when the advertiser will call on them with her recommendations
and certificates of good character. UPPERTENDOM.
Last night I made a fashionable call
on a fashionable young lady—not one of
your intellectual young ladies, who takes
pride in brains and literature and travel
and music, but one of our real "swell'
girls, who dotes on good clothes and diamonds and laces, and who bathes daily in a
bath tub of Caswell and Hazard's cologne;
who keeps a Spanish poodle, dyes her
hair yellow, wears a four-inch Elizabethan
ruffle, and has her face powdered with
real pearl powder, specked with black court-plaster.
My dear Julia sat under the mild light of an opal
shade, fanned herself with a twenty-inch Japanese fan,
and discoursed—oh, so sweetly ! By her side sat Eugene
Augustus Livingstone, of the Jockey Club. She told
me everything—how the Browns had sailed for Paris;
how the lace on Mrs. Fuller's dress cost $3,000; how
Mrs. Jones had a new Brewster landaulet; how Miss
Fielding was  flirting with- Mr.  Munson;  how  all  the
girls were going up to Thomas's concerts, and "
"Is Thomas going to give the Ninth Symphony?" I
"Oh, yes; he's going to give them all—the ninth
and tenth; and won't they be jolly?"
40 41
"Is he going to give the Symphony in D minor?"
" Oh, nao! not in Deminer, Mr. Perkins, but in Central Park Garden; too lovely, ain't it?"
"I understand," I said, "that they are going to have
the 'Dead March in Saul.'"
"Why, I didn't know that the dead ever marched
anywhere, Mr. Perkins ! How can they ? Well, I don't
care how much the dead march in Saul if they don't
get  up  and  march   around  in  Central  Park  Garden.
I 1    ' .     .§:' |-      '   'I        I
"How did you like the Church Musicals, Mr. Livingstone ?" I asked.
IO, they're beastly—perfectly beastly—haw-
a-ble. They make one so confounded sleepy
that yeou kon't keep awake, yeou kneuw—
"What book are you reading now, Miss
Julia?" I asked, delighted to be able to converse with
a literary young lady.
"O, I'm running over one of Dumas's—awful bores
though, ain't they?    Dre'ful stupid!"
"Shall you read Never Again, Miss Julia?"
1 Never again ?    I  should  hope  so—a good   many
times  again.    How  sarcastic  you  are—perfectly atrocious!"
"Do you read Once a Week?"
" Once a week!    Why, I hope I do, Mr. Perkins.    I
hope " ft
"Perhaps you read Every Saturday, Miss Julia?"
" No, I read Sundays—read novels and society papers
—all about balls and parties—ain't they nice ?"
" But, speaking of intellectual feasts, Miss Julia, how
do you like the genial Lamb ?"
" O, lamb—the tender lamb—lamb and green peas!
They're too lovely^- and sweetbread and asparagus
and "
And the philosophical Bacon, on which the hungry
souls of England have fed for almost a century?"
"Yes, that lovely English bacon! don't mention it,
Mr. Perkins! A rasher of that English bacon, with
English breakfast tea, and "
And so Julia rattled on. I was delighted. I wanted
to stay and talk with Augustus and Julia forever. I
loved to sit at the feet of wisdom and discourse upon
the deep philosophy of hair dyes and pearl powder,
and to roam with Julia through classic shades of pan-
nierdom, and belt and buckledom.
Eugene Augustus now invited Julia to treat us with
music—" some lovely gem culled from—from what the
Dickens is the opera by—by the fairy-fingered what's-
his-name, you know."
"Do, Miss Julia, do sing us that divine song about
the moon—do!" pleaded Augustus.
Then Julia flirted up her panniers behind, coquettishly
wiggle-waggled to a Chickering Grand, and sang:
When ther moo-hoon is mi-hild-ly be-heam-ing
O'er ther ca-halm and si-hi-lent se-e-e-a,
Its ra-dyunce so so-hoft-ly stree-heam-ing,
Oh ther-hen, oh ther-hen
I thee-hink
Hof thee-hee
I thee-hink
I thee-hink
I thee-he-he-hehehehe-hink hof theeeeeeee J! 43
"Beautiful, Miss Julia! Beautiful!!" and we all clapped our hands.
"Do please sing another verse—it's perfectly divine,
Miss Julia," said Eugene Augustus.
Then Julia raised her golden (dyed) head, touched
the white ivory with her jeweled fingers, and warbled:
When the sur-hun is brigh-hi-hight-ly glowing
O'er the se-hene so dear-hear to meee,
And swee-heet the wee-hind is blo-ho-hoing,
Oh ther-hen, oh ther-hen
I thee-hink
Hof thee-hee,
I thee-hink
I thee-hink
I thee-he-he hehehehehehe-hink hohohohohohoho
hoho h-o-f theeeeeeeeeeeeee !!!'!!
"Beautiful!    Just too lovely!!"
As Julia finished the last " theeeeeeee"
her father, who grew up from an office
boy to be a great dry goods merchant,
entered.    He'd been out to an auction,   0:
buying some genuine copies of works of   |§
art by the old masters. "themraffblls!"
" I tell ye'r what, says he, " them Raf-
fells is good, an' Mikel Angelo he could paint too—
he " g|| I
"Did you buy an Achenbach, Mr. Thompson ?" asked
" • Buy an akin' back ?'    I guess not.    I don't want
no akin' backs, nor rheumatism, nor "
"And was there a Verboeckoven ?" I inquired.
" No, sir; there waVt no Verboecks hove in—they 44
ain't a hovin' in Verboecks now. Money is tight ah*
paintin's is riz."
" Ah, did you buy any Church's or Worms?"
1 Buy churches and worms! What the devil do I
want to buy churches and worms for? I'm buyin'
works of art, sir.    I'm buying "
" Ah! perhaps you bought some Coles, and may be
an English Whistler?"
"Me buy coals and an English whistler! No, sir;
I'm not a coal dealer. I'm a dry goods man—A. B.
Thompson & Co., dry goods, sir, and I can do my own
whistling, and	
And so Mr. Thompson went on!
But alas! how could I, a poor author, commune
farther with this learned encyclopedia of beautiful calico
and grand old cheese, and pure and immaculate salera-
tus, and sharp and pointed needles ?—I, who cannot
dance the German or buy a " spiked" team!
Alas! I sigh as the tears roll down my furrowed
cheeks, what profit is it to know the old masters—to
commune with Phidias—to chant the grand old hexameter of the Iliad, when you cannot buy and own
them? I am a poor, ruined man. I cannot buy—I
cannot build—I cannot decorate! I can only sit and
weep in sackcloth and ashes, at the shrine of the
beautiful and the true. Eli Doloroso. ^vss
Aunt Charity's letter from the Perkins' Farm in
Litchfield county!
I give it just as written, for I love my maiden aunt,
who stays.on the old farm, runs the Episcopal church,
boards all the school-marms, and keeps splendid preserves and sweetmeats for all her nephews when they
visit the old homestead. E. P.
Perkins' Farm, Litchfield Co., Ct., May 25.
Eli Perkins:
My dear Nevy—Yours received.    While your Uncle
Consider was in Afriky your maden Aunt Ruth and I
thot wed get up an expedishun
to New York to do sum Spring
We spent 4 weeks at the 5 th
We are  glad  to get back to
Litchfield  County  whare   there
is not  so much commerce and
good   clothes,  but   whare  intel-
leck is highly prized, and whare
virtue and piety  shines  on the
forehead of society—so to speak.    We are glad to p^et
\  .V
back whare it don't take 100 yards to make a dress,
whare fair women don't paint their faces, and whare
dark women don't ware golden hair.
While many are ambishus to worship at the shrine
of the godess of Fashion, I am willin' to stay away
from the old girl forever. I don't want to ware white
lips in the mornin' and cherry-colored lips in the afternoon. I don't think it is" right to ware strate dresses
with no busts in the mornin' and stun the innocent
men with full busts like the Venus Medechy in the
evenin'. I don't think it is Christian for young fellers to
hold your hands, and put their arms around your waste,
and hug you tite in the evenin' round dances, when it is
konsidered hily onproper for a young lady even to smile
at a feller out of a third-story winder in the mornin'.
No! no! ! Eli, such fashuns is not founded onto
the gospel. Search the good book thru an' you can't
find a passage which justifies heels over two inches hi'.
Examine the pen-ta-took from Generations to Revolutions an' you won't find enny excuse for young ladies
bucklm' on automatic umbrellas in place of swords,
or wearin' $6o bonnets made out of two straws, a daisy,
an' a suspender buckle.
You ask me how we succeeded in buyin' things.
We can't say much for New York as a tradin' port.
New London is far cheaper.
First we went to Messur De Go-Bare's, the man
dressmaker, for we wanted to sho' our Litchfield nabers
the highflyingist stiles of the Empire City.
I Vot veel I show ze madame ?" asked M. Go-Bare,
a-smilin' sweetly. 47
" Dresses," sez I, in a firm tone—" I want you to
make me four dresses."
" Dresses for ze morning or for ze evening, madame ?"
"Why, good dresses, sir—dresses for all day—dresses
to wear from six o'clock in the mornin' till nine at
night," I replied wTith a patrishun air.
" Ough ! zen ze madame will have ze polonaise, ze
watteau wiz ze grande panier,  and ze sleef a la Marie
Antoinette and "
" Yes, everything," sez I, carelessly; " and now, my
good man, how many yards wTill it take?"
" We, madame, it will take for ze grande dress 176
(what you  dam call him ?) yards.    Oh! I veel  make
ze madame one habit magnifique, one "
"What, 176 yards for one dress!" I exclaimed,
holdin' my breath. 1
"We   we," explained the   man-tailor,   rubbing   his
hands.    "Zat is wiz ze polonaise, ze
watteau, ze panier, ze flounce, cut in
ze Vandykes "
Good heavens, man ! must I have
all these things ?—and what will they
all cost?" I exclaimed, tryin' to conceal my emoshun.
" Ough ! a veere little, Madame—
only seventeen-fifty wiz  all ze  rare
lace on ze flounces, and "
I Gracious, Charity, that is cheap,"
sez Ant Ruth, takin' off her glasses and a-lookin' at
the  patterns.    " Seventeen-f-i-f-t-y !    Why,  Charity,
I shud a thot that $65 was a small figer for all these
"Can't you put on somethin' more, my good man?"
sez I. " The Perkinses is able, and we are willin' to
go to thirty or forty."
"Yees, madame, I can put ze Jabot of ve-ree fine
lace in  ze neck—un, trois, dix plaits."
"All right; what else?" sez I, whirlin' my pocket-
book carelessly.
"We can catch up ze skirt and ze flounces with
bows "
"S—sh! man, do you think I'll have beaux catchin'
up my flounces? Shame! insultin, base man!" I exclaimed, as I felt the skarlet tinge of madenhood play
upon my alabaster cheek.
" No, sir, we want no beaux catchin' up our flounces,"
sez Ant Ruth; "we "
" Pardon, madame; I mean ze bows will hold up ze
flounces, ze bows "
" No, tha won't, insultin' Frenchman ! Do you know
you address a Perkins ?" and Ant Ruth and I turned
a witherin' look at the monster and walked, Ulushin',
to the door.
"Nine—nine!" exclaimed a young German woman
from Europe, wildly ketchin' hold of our clothes.
" You nix fustand putty goot Mister Go-Bare. He no
means vot you dinks. You coomes pack again and
de shintlemans explains vot you no understand.
We re-entered the abode of fashun again.
" What else can you put on to add to the expense ,   .y
of this dress ?" sez I, in a soothing tone. " Seventeen-
fifty is too cheap for me. I'm willing to go to twenty-
five."    |-     :
" Oh, we, madame, ze round point on ze flounces—
|P comes very high-—zat will make ze dress twent-
"Nothing else? But do stop talkin' about high
bounces!" sez aunt Ruth, the color returning to her
rfc.eeks again.
I We, Madame. You can have ze side plaits, ze
kelting, ze gores, ze grande court train, ze petite gos-
set on ze elbow, ze bias seam up ze back, and—"
I Heavens, man, have mercy on us! Still more you
say?" exclaimed Aunt Ruth.
1 We, veree much more. You can have ze rar-ee
flowers a la Nilsson, an' ze point aguille vill make ze
dress of one grande high price—grande enough for ze
Grande Duchesse."
"Wall, how high will the price be then, my good
man?" sez Aunt Ruth.
" Vingt-six—tweenty-sex, madame. Ce n'est pas tres
cher, madame ?"
I O! no, my good man, twenty-six is cheap enough.
It beats New London tradin' to death. Now give us
the change," sez Aunt Ruth, handin' him a $50 bill
on the New London First National.
I Mon dieu, madame! Zis is not change enuff. Zis
is nothing. Zis grande dress cost ten—fifty times
"Gracious!   man,  didn't   you   say   twenty-six?" inquired Aunt Ruth.
c Hi
"Oh, we—we—~we—madame, but he cost twenty-six
Eli, I've got thru tradin' in New York. Why, our
whole crop of hay, corn, and maple sugar wudent bi
over two such dresses. Don't talk to me any more
about sity fashuns! Litchfield County will do for me,
and my old bombazine, with a new polonaise, will do
for our church for many years to come. It's good
Yours affeckshunate,
Charity  Perkins. THE LITERARY GIRL.
• The Boston young lady has arrived
in New York. I mean the real literary
young lady—the Siege of Troy girl.
She grew up in Boston and graduated
at Vassar College last year. She weais
eye glasses, and is full of wisdom.
She scans Homer, rattles the verb
"lipo" like the multiplication tables,
sings Anacreon to the old Greek melodies, and puts up
her hair after the Venus of Milo. There is no end to
her knowledge of the classical dictionary, and when it
comes to Charles Lamb or Sidney Smith—who never
wrote much, but got the credit of every good joke in
England—she can say their jokes as a Catholic says
his beads. If you ask her how she likes babies, she
I j How ?' Well, as Charles Lamb remarked, 11 like
'em b—b—boiled.'"
Ask her anything, and she will always lug in a
quotation from some pedantic old fool like Dr. Johnson or Swift or Jack Bunsby, just to show you that
she is up in literature, and that you are—green.
Not a single original idea, but one constant " as
Socrates said,0 or "as Pluto remarked," or "as Diogenes observed."
Yesterday  one  of  our   absurd   and   ignorant   New
51 52
York young ladies got hold of the pedantic business,
and suggests this wretched paraphrase on Miss Boston's
" Do you love music, Miss Julia ?" asked Jack Astor.
| Well, j yes,' as the poet observed."
I How many times have you been engaged since Christmas m
|' Six,' as Mr. Daball pathetically remarked in his arithmetic."
"Do you dance the round dances?" continued Mr. Astor.
1' No,' 1 said Julia, and then she remarked, " as the Lord Mayor
of London quietly observed as John Ruskin asked him for the loan
of four dollars."
The Boston girl is so well posted that she wins
triumphs over you by a sort of literary " bluff" game.
She attributes sharp quotations to distinguished men,
and, conscious that you dare not question their authenticity, of course she " bluffs" you right down.
When you go to your home and read up, and find
she has really " bluffed" you, of course you are too
genteel to mention it, and so this Boston girl goes on
pluming herself at the expense of New York gallantry.
Yesterday the Boston girl was at it again. Somebody asked her who was the oldest, Methuselah or
Deuteronomy ?
"Why, Barnes, the commentator, says 'Deuteronomy
came before Numbers '—and of course he's too old
to be computed."
Now, I knewT she lied, but still I had a doubt
about it. I didn't want to break out and say Deuteronomy came after Numbers, and then have those
miserable Boston fellows say, with that terrible upward inflection, "How are you, Eli Perkins?" O!
no. But when I got home I sent over to a gentleman  on   Fifth Avenue,  who   I understood   had  a 53
Bible to lend, and got the Pentateuch—and, sure
enough, just my luck, that miserable, pedantic, spectacled Boston girl was right. The fact is, they are always
right, and that is what produces so much profanity in
New York. Then how they can show off their Biblical knowledge and bug-and-spiderology!
The other night Miss Boston took off her eye-glasses
and asked me three square catechism questions which
displayed a Biblical knowledge that made my head
"Who is the shortest man mentioned in the Bible,
Mr. Perkins?" she commenced.
"The shortest man?" said I. "Why, I know. It
was Nehemiah or Mr. What's-his-name, the Shuhite. It
was "
"No, sir, it was Peter," interrupted the Boston girl.
"He carried neither gold nor silver in his purse.
"Who was the straightest man?"
"Was it Joseph," I asked, "when he didn't fool
with Mrs. Potiphar?"
"No, it was Joseph, afterwards, when they made a
ruler of him.
| But, now, tell me, Eli, what man in the Bible felt
the worst?"
"Was it Job, Miss  Boston?" 'jf
"No, sir; it was Jonah. He was down in the
mouth for days."
It was this same Boston girl who years ago said
Cain never could sit down on a chair," and when
they asked her "Why?" she said: "Why, because he
wasn't Abel." 54
Then one of our wicked New York fellows got
mad, and asked Miss Adams, "Why is it impossible
to stop the Connecticut River?"
"Is it owing to the extreme heat and density of
the  atmosphere?" asked  Miss Adams.
" No, but because—why, b-e-c-a-u-s-e—dam it you
?• And speaking of rivers, Miss Adams, do you know
why there will never be any chance for the wicked
to skate in the next world ?"
"Because the water will be too warm and thin?"
" No; but because how in H—H—Harlem can
If you sit down by this Boston girl and don't
behave like a minister, she don't get mad and pout.
O! no. She says, " Mr. Perkins, shall I repeat you a
few lines from Saxe?" and then she goes on—
Why carit you be sensible, Eli!
I don't like men's arms on my chair.
Be still! if you don't stop this nonsense,
I'll get up and leave you— so there !
And when you take out a solitaire ring, or try "to
seal the vow," or something of that sort, as New
York fellows always try to do with almost every
Boston girl who comes here, she looks up blushingly,
and, in the lauguage of Swinburne, poetically remarks:
There! somebody's coming—don't look so-—
Get up on your own chair again—
Cant you seem as if nothing had happened?
I ne'er  saw such geese as you men! UNCLE CONSIDER AS A CRUSADER.
how he joined the ladies.
This morning  Uncle
Consider   returned   from
the temperance crusade in
M    the West.
I What   have   you been
doing, Uncle ?" I asked as
the old mail sat polishing
his  German   silver  glasses
with his red bandana handkerchief.
" I've    been   crusadin'   with   the
temp'ranee wimmen, Eli—been 'stab-
llishingf temp'ranee   bar-rooms    for
religious people, and—"
" Where — a—bouts,   Uncle ?"   I
"Why, over in Springfield, where
Abe Linkum's monument is.    Thar
these  wimmen   war   a   processin'
around in a great crowd.    As they
kum by the depo' I ask^~ one of the pretty gals whar
the soin' society waz.    ' Whear you all crusadin' to ?'
sez I.
" \ Crusadin' to !' sez she, i Why, we ain't a crusadin
anywhere;   we  are  a visitin' saloons — licker-saloons.
u i'm jes ready to
We are  organized  to put  down whiskey.    Won't you
jine in, old man ?'
11 told 'er I wud.    Sez I, ' Young woman, that's me
zackly.    I'm  jes   reddy  to   cruise  'round with  pretty,
gallus-lookin' gals any time, and, as fur visitin' saloons,
s ...
I'm jes t'ome thar,  too     I ve visited a dog-on many
saloons in my day, and, when it comes to puttin' down
whiskey, young woman,' sez I, j I s'pose I kin put down
more   whiskey,    an'    hard    cider,    an'    Jamaky    rum
than '
a i
No, no,  old  man!   we want  you to pray in the
saloons—pray for the rumsellers and '
a i
All right,' sez I, ' that's me agin. I've preyed
'round all the rumsellers and into all the saloons in
New York, from Harry Hill's to Jerry Thomas's, for
years, and it's jes nothin' but boy's play to prey 'round
these little country saloons.'
"'But who's to furnish the money, young woman?'
"Money, old man? Why, this is a labor of love,'
sez she, a col'ring up—'a priceless priv'lege—"without
money and without price," an' '
u t
All  right,' sez  I.    f I'm jes suited now.    Preyin'
'round   saloons   and   puttin'  down  whiskey  " without
money and without price"  jes suits me.    Z-a-c-k-1-y
*so!    Put me down a life-member.'
"'And you say it's all free and don't cost a cent,
young woman ?" sez I, hesitatin' like.
" ? No, sir, old man. Virtue is its only reward. Go
and crusade, and humanity will thank you for doin' it
—posterity will heap benedictions upon you—the great 57
reformers for centuries to come will rize up and call
you blessed and '
a i
Nuf sed, young woman,' sez I, and then I jes
handed my perlice to the" stage-man and jined in. I
preyed 'round 96 rumsellers and into 180 saloons—
puttin' down, whiskey and beer and rum an' merlasses
in ev'ry one, till I lost all 'count of myself or anybody
else until the station-house keeper told me about it
the next mornin'.
I An' now, Eli," said Uncle Consider, looking over
his glasses very mournfully, " if them thar crusadin'
wimmen kum 'round you to get you to help them prey
'round saloons and 'stablish temp'ranee bar-rooms, you
jes don't go. Now, you mind me. Don't you go
'round singin'
11 On Jordan's stormy bank I stand,'
but you  jes stay at home and sing 11 want to be an
angel,' with Ginral Butler an' Zack Chanler an' me." ELI  IN  LOVE.
(In Four Chapters?)
" Eli !!
I Yes, Julia," I said
as I helped my sweetheart dress the room
for her Christmas par-
ty.     §    §
"Well, Eli, I was
going to say that I
could live in a garret
with the man I loved
if "
"If what,   Julia?"   I   said,   handing
her up another sprig of cedar.
"Why, if it had a nice Otis elevator and     ^0J$k
I could  have  my meals  sent  in  from  Del-
monico's and	
"Julia!" I said, interrupting her two weeks
after the conversation narrated in the previous
chapter, " I have something confidential to tell
you." ' §:-■
"What is it, Eli?" she asked in a low sil-
58 59
very voice—a kind of German-silvery voice—throwing
her beautiful eyes upon me.
I Well, Julia," I sighed, j I think—I think, dearest,
that I  love you.    Now do you love me?    Do you?"
"Yes, Eli, I do love you—you know I do," and then
she got down off the chair and flung her alabaster
arms around my neck.
1 I'm very glad, Julia," I said, 1 for I 1-i-k-e to be
"Well, Eli!"
But I never said another word.
Time passed on.
Six weeks afterwards my beloved grasped my hand
convulsively, looked in my face, and said:
I Eli, such devoted, warm-hearted men as you often
make me feel very happy."
"How, darling?" I asked, too happy to live.
"Why, by keeping away from me, Eli!"
"Why, O why is this, my beloved?" I sobbed, one
bright spring morning five years afterwards.
I Because, my darling,—father and mother told me
that when you called they wanted me to propose "
1 O Julia, darling, I am thine. Take, O take, your
Eli!    Never mind father—never "
" But no, Eli, they wanted me to see you and propose—p-r-o-p-6-s-e that you don't come here any more !"
Base flirt—I left her—O I left her!!
The Brown's Boy is peculiar to New York, though
every large city is infested
with Brown's Boys in a greater or less degree. They were
named after Sexton Brown of
Grace Church. They are his
boys. He keeps them—this
dilettante Grace Church sexton does—to run swell parties
with. He furnishes them with
invitations to weddings and
parties and receptions. In fact, Brown contracts to
furnish Brown's Boys to dance and flirt, and amuse
young ladies at parties, just as he contracts to furnish
flowers and ushers and pall-bearers at a funeral. How
can Mrs. Witherington's party go off well without a
Brown's Boy to lead the German? They don't have
anything in particular to do, Brown's Boys don't, and
it takes them all the time to do it. They don't have
much money, but they make believe they have immense
incomes. They are looking out for rich wives. They
live in cheap rooms, on side-streets, and swell in Fifth
Avenue parlors.    Ask them what they do for a living,
and they will say,—.
60 iM 61
"O, aw—I opewate a little in stawks now and then
on Wall street, yeu know."
If you go down to Wall street you will never see or
hear of them.
In New York they live on the Egyptian plan—that
is, they rent a hall bedroom and eat when they are
invited; but in Saratoga they swell around in amber
kids and white neckties, and spend their time in
dancing the German and in noble endeavors to win
the affections of some rich young lady. Their whole
theory of a noble life is to marry a rich girl and board
with her mother—and not be bored by her mother.
These Brown's Boys are always very religious—from
12 to i on Sundays. At that hour you will see them
always religiously—returning from church. You will
always see them just coming from or going to church;
but I have consulted the " oldest inhabitant," who
says that up to this time, they have never been visible
to the naked eye while engaged in an active state of
Brown's Boys are good managers. They all have
nice dress suits, and wear immaculate kids. They
dance all the round dances, and, at supper, "corner'
enough champagne behind ladies' dresses to last all
the evening—even after the champagne is all out, and
other people are reduced to lemonade and punch.
They never take any one to a party. They come late
and alone, but they go for the prettiest girl immediately on their arrival, and run her regular escort out.
They don't call that "cheek"—they society
diplomacy. 62
The • theater and opera are the favorite resort of
Brown's Boys. They go alone, in swell Ulster overcoats, crush Dunlop hats, and elaborate opera glasses.
Here they stand around the doors and aisles, and
during the acts visit rich young ladies in their twenty-
six-dollar boxes.
Brown's Boys are the dancing men at fashionable
parties. They do not talk—they have no ideas—but
they do dance the German tlivinely.
They generally accompany some member of the
hereditary train of uncertain-aged dancing young ladies,
who attend five parties a week, from December to Lent.
These dancing girls are generally prettily and often
richly dressed, and are the daughters of rich parents,
while the dancing fellows are generally poor. They
are pensioners on the young ladies, for, when the young
ladies forget to send a carriage for them, they invariably excuse themselves on the ground of a previous
engagement, or smuggle themselves in alone. Still, they
are good-looking, generally contrive to wear nice-fitting
dress suits, faultless kids, and crush hats. They depend upon "the governor," generally, for cigars. They
look upon the party as a place to flatter the girls, get
a free lunch, smoke good cigars, and "corner" champagne.
A Brown's Boy's strong point, as with Achilles, lies
in his heels.    Though, without any apparent brain, they 6?
chatter cleverly and seem exceedingly smart in commonplaces. They know, from force of habit, just what
to say, and just what to do. If they step on a lady's
dress, they say instantly,
"Beg pardon, Miss Smith. I thought the train had
"Ha! ha! Charley, you must learn to wait for the
train," Miss Smith remarks as Charley peeps over the
banisters to smell the incipient breath of—supper.
brown's boys at supper.
The dancing men—the professional champagne "cor-
nerers "—are never late to supper. Here their discriminating genius makes a prodigious display.
They never go for cheap refreshments, but have a
weakness for fried oysters, salads, and expensive woodcock. They take to expensive game wonderfully, and
they manage to have it while the non-professional
party-goer is picking away at plain sandwiches, cold
tongue, mottoes, and cream. A knowledge of Greek
and Latin don't help a man in the giand raffle for
woodcock at a New York party, for Brown's Boys are
sure to win by tact and society diplomacy.
When the wine comes on, then the professional man
of heels is in his element. He turns a sweet patronizing smile upon the. caterer, and says, .
"John, no cider champagne for us, yeu kneuw."
John smiles and hands him the first bottle of fine
old Roederer.    This he generally drinks with the fellows, while the ladies are eating in the corner. 64
Now he approaches the caterer and says with a patronizing wink:
"John, some more of our kind, yeu kneuw," and
John hands out two bottles more—one to be drunk
with the ladies, and the other Charley " corners \ with
a laugh, behind their dresses. The girls think this is
very funny, and they laugh at Charley's coup in high
This is a nice provision on the part of the champagne
"cornerer," for soon "the governor's" best champagne
gives out. Then while the unprofessional, having exhausted everything from cider champagne, through
sparkling Catawba, to Set Sherry, are all sipping away
at rum punch, Charley is reveling in Widow Clicquot's
best. All the girls are laughing, too, and Charley is
voted "a deuced smart fellow."
Now he is up to the prettiest tricks, even to taking
a young lady's hand, or even her mother's. They all
say, " It's all right—Charley has been \ cornering' a little
too much champagne—that's all.    Ha! ha!"
Let's see what Charley has cost Nellie Smith's governor to-night.
Carriage (which Nellie Smith sent)  $5 oo
Two woodcock (totally eaten up)  1 50
Salad and oysters (destroyed)  1 00
Cigars (smoked and pocketed)  1 00
Champagne  12 00
Total for Charley $20 50
Cr.    By face and heels lent to Nellie for occasion   $20 50
Balance 000 00 65
A kind old father-in-law on Madison avenue, who
is supporting four or five of Brown's Boys as sons-in-
law, went down to see Barnum's Feejee Cannibals.
"Why are they called Cannibals?" he asked of Mr.
"Because they live off of other people," replied the*
great showman.
IO, I see," replied the unhappy father-in-law. "Alas!
my four Brown's Boys sons-in-law are Cannibals, too-—
they live off of me!" A BROWN'S BOY IN LOVE.
I know a Brown's Boy—Charley
Munson—whose pet theory has always
been to marry a rich orphan girl with
a hard cough—with the consumption.
One  day  he   came  into  my room
almost heartbroken.
charlsy munson.        | My pet   theory is  exploded," he
said. "I am discouraged. I want to die." Then the
tears rolled down his cheek.
"What is it, Charley? O, what has happened?" I
" Ohoooo, Eli!" he sobbed, and then he broke down.
"But what is it, Charley? Confide in me," I said,
my heart almost breaking in sympathy at his bereavement.
"Well, my friend, my dear friend, I will tell you all
about it."
Then he leaned forward, took my hand tremblingly
in his, and told me his sad, sad story.
"The other day, Eli," he said, "I met a very rich
young lady—the rich Miss Astor from Fifth avenue.
She was very wealthy—wore laces and diamonds—but,
alas! she didn't have any cough to go with them.
She had piles of money, but no sign of a cough—no
quick consumption—just my luck!!
»» 67
Then he buried  his  face  in  his hands.    He wept
long and loud.
5jS ^ *£ Jfr ^
* * * *
"What else, Charley?" I asked, after he had returned to consciousness.
"Well, yesterday, Eli, I met a beautiful young lady
from Chicago. She was frail and delicate—had just the
cough I wanted—a low, hacking, musical cough. It
was just sweet music to listen to that cough. I took
her jeweled hand in mine and asked her to be my
bride; but alas! in a fatal moment I learned that she
hadn't any money to go with her cough, and 1 had to
give her up.    I lost her.    O, I lost her!"
And then the hot scalding tears trickled through his
fingers and rolled down on his patent leather boots. BROWN'S BOYS IN NEW YORK.
the tiring-out dodge.
They don't have any money themselves, Brown's
Boys don't, and consequently they are looking for rich
wives. They are handsome fellows, and always manage to keep all the pretty girls "on a string," but they
never propose. They never come right out like us
honest fellows, and ask a young lady plump to marry
them.    They are dog-in-the-manger lovers.
Of late, when I call on Julia, I am always sure to
find a Brown's Boy at the house. He sits in dangerous proximity to the girl I love, talks very sweetly,
and, I think, tries to run me out.
Of course, when you make an evening call on a
young lady, the first visitor is entitled to the floor, and
after saying a few pretty things, you are expected to
place caller number one under everlasting obligations
to you by putting on your overcoat and leaving. Now,
Brown's Boy, unlike Mr. Lamb, always comes early and
goes late, and I've put him under obligations to me
so many times that I'm getting sick of it. He can
never live long enough to pay this debt of gratitude.
Oh, how I hate that Brown's Boy!
Last night I had my sweet revenge.
I had been telling my sad tale of sorrow and disappointment to Sallie Smith.    I told her I " meant busi-
«%*.# 69
ness " all the time with Julia, and that I knew Brown's
Boy was flirting.
" Now, Miss Sallie, confidentially, what shall I do ?"
I asked.
"Well, cousin Eli, I'll tell you just what to do," said
Sallie, her eyes sparkling with interest.
"What, Sallie?"
"Why, the next time you call on Julia you must
come the jj tiring-out dodge,' " she replied, looking me
earnestly in the face, and quietly picking a tea-rose
out of my Prince Albert lappel.
"What dodge is that, Sallie?"
" It's just like this, Eli. You must call on Julia as
usual "
fl "Yes." ' ■£■ :.     ^  mm,
"And if a Brown's Boy is there, you musn't be the
least bit jealous "
"No." .
"And you must talk just as entertaining as you
can "
"And you musn't look at your watch nor feel uneasy,
but quietly remove your amber kids, then lay your
London overcoat on the sofa, and sit down as if you
had called by special invitation to spend the entire
evening;" and then Sallie's great liquid eyes looked
down on her fan.
'Well, what then?" I asked, deeply interested.
"Why, a Brown's Boy is a spoony fellow, you know.
His strength lies in cornering a girl, and coming the
sentimental dodge.    He won't be able to stand such a 70
siege as this, and I'll bet a dozen 'six buttons' that
he'll get up and leave the field to you."
"All right, my dear Sallie; I'll try it." V     >■
Then  I took her  dainty little hand, and pondered
on her stupendous strategy which was  to   demoralize
this  Brown's  Boy, and  perhaps  capture  the  loveliest
blonde girl on Madison avenue.
Last night I mounted the brown-stone steps which
led to Julia's palatial residence, with a heart big with
resolution. I resolved to see Julia and talk with her
alone, at all hazards. At the touch of the bell, the
big walnut and bronze door swung back. In a second
I saw that miserable silver-tongued Charley Brown—
that flirting Brown's Boy—on the sofa with Julia.
As I entered, Charley started, and Julia's diamond
rings flashed a straight streak of light from Charley
Brown's hands.    Oh dear! those flirting Brown's Boys !
"Ah, Julia, I'm delighted to have an opportunity of
spending an evening with you," I commenced, as I
slipped off my gloves.
" Our happiness is mutual, I assure you, Mr. Perkins,"
replied Miss Julia. "Won't you remove your overcoat?"
"Thank you, Miss Julia; it would be unpleasant to
sit a whole evening with one's overcoat on, and "
"Then you are liable to take cold when you go out,"
suggested Julia, interrupting me.
" Especially when one expects to sit and talk for
several  hours,"  I  continued;  " and  when   I  have  so 71
much to say as I have to-night, I don't know when I
shall get through."
Charley Brown began to be a little uneasy now, and
looking at his watch, ventured to ask:
'Is Nilsson to sing Mignon to-night, Mr. Perkins?"
Of course I didn't hear Charley, but kept blazing
right straight away at Julia about ritualism and parties
and Lent, and all such society trash.
"Oh, Miss Julia, did you hear about Jay Gould getting shot?" I asked, remembering how cousin Sallie
said I must entertain her, and talk Charley Brown out
of his boots.
I Jay Gould got shot! How ? Where ?" exclaimed
Julia. Be
I Why, in a Seventh avenue hardware store. I mean
he got pigeon shot for the Jerome Park pigeon match."
"Oh, Mr. Perkins!    Ha!  ha! how could you?"
Then Charley looked at his watch.
"By the way, Miss Julia, do you know which is the
strongest day in the week?" I asked modestly, taking
her beautiful gold fan.
"No.    Which is the strongest day, Mr. Perkins?"
"Why, Sunday, Julia; don't you
know all the other days are weak
days!"    '        J    §
" Oh, Mr. Perkins! Ha! ha! you'll
kill us," exclaimed Julia (while Charley looked at his watch). Then he
remarked that " Samson's weakest
day was the day he let Delilah cut
off his hair:" but nobody heard him.
Charley now began to be uneasy. He whirled in
his chair, then looked at his watch again, and, standing
up, remarked that he had some letters to write, and that
duty called him home early.
" Don't be in a hurry, Mr. Brown," said Julia, still
talking with me.
"Good bye, Mr. Brown, good bye!" I said, grasping
his hand. " Next time, I hope, I sha'n't have so much
to say to Miss Julia."
As Charley passed into the hall I asked Julia which
were worth the most — young gentlemen or young
ladies ?
"Why, young ladies, of course—don't you always
call us dear creatures ?"
" Yes, «but, my dear Julia"—I talked fondly now,
for Charley was gone—"you know, my dear, that at
the last end you are given away, while the gentleman
is often sold!"
" Oh, Eli, you are very wicked to make suab. a remark, when you know every young lady who marries
one of Brown's Boys is sold in the worst way. I don't
think Brown's Boys are ever sold. They are soulless
fellows. But then they are so nice, they dance divinely,
and they are so spoony—when a girl happens to have
a rich father. They do dance the German so nicely;
and then they bow so nice on the avenue on Sunday,
and come and see us in our papa's boxes at the opera,
and "
"And run out us solid fellows who mean business,
who don't know how to flirt, and who really love you,"
I interrupted. What! you mean business, Mr. Perkins?" and Julia
gave me a searching look.
"Yes, my dear Julia;" and then I took her hand
convulsively. Neither of us said a word; but, oh!
how you could have heard the heart-beating!
Julia never took it away at all, and now I'm a
happy man—all because cousin Sallie Smith told me
how to do it! RICH  BROWN'S  BOYS.
Fifth Avenue Hotel, )
August I. )
The rich Brown's Boys!
Not the poor Brown's
Boys who live on side streets,
and buy $i tickets, and
swell in amber kids in rich
young ladies' $20 boxes at
the opera—smart fellows,
who really can't do any
better, but the good-for-
nothing rich Brown's Boys.
Who are they ?
Why, the city is full of them.
They have rich fathers; they drive
their father's horses; their fathers are
stockholders in the Academy, and the
boys occupy the seats. Their mission
is to spend their father's money and
live like barnacles on his reputation.
rich brown's Bov. They don't know how to do anything
useful, and they don't have anything useful to do.
They come into the world to be supported. They are
social and financial parasites. A poor Brown's Boy
does the best he can, but these fellows do the worst
they can.
74 75
Rich girls " go for" them on account of their ricii
fathers. They marry them, have a swell wedding, and
then spend a lifetime mourning that they did not marry
a brave, strong, working fellow, who would have felt
rich in their affections, and who, with a little help from
father-in-law, would have hewn his way to wealth and
Below I give the ten cardinal rules which, if followed,
will make a rich Brown's Boy out of any brainless son
of a rich father. Any young New Jersey Stockton,
Kentucky Ward, or Massachusetts Lawrence—yes, any
Darnphool Republican Prince of Wales can carry out
these simple rules, and thus attain to the glorious position of a rich Brown's Boy. If carried out they will
produce the same result nine times out of ten. I have
seen them tried a thousand times:
First.—If your father is rich or holds a high position
socially—and you are a good-for-nothing, dissipated,
darnphool of a swell, without sense or character enough
to make a living, pay your addresses to some rich girl
—and marry her if you can.
Second.—Go home and live with her father, and magnanimously spend her money. Keep up your flirtations
around town just the same. Gamble a little, and always
dine at the Clubs.
Third.—After your wife has nursed you through a
spell of sickness, and she looks languid and worn with 76.
anxiety, tell her, like a high-toned gentleman, that she
has grown plain-looking—then scold her a little and
make love to her maid!
Fourth.—If your weary wife objects, I'd insult her—
tell her you won't be tyrannized over. Then come
home drunk once or twice a week, and empty the coalscuttle into the piano and pour the kerosene lamps
over her Saratoga trunks and into the baby's cradle.
When she cries, I'd twit her about the high (hie) social
position of my own (hie) family.
Fifth.—If, weary and sick and heartbroken, she
finally asks for a separation, I'd blacken her character
—deny the paternity of my own children—get a divorce
myself. Then by wise American law you can keep all
her money, and, while she goes back in sorrow to her
father, you can magnanimously peddle out to her a
small dowry from her own estate.
Sixth.—If she asks you—audaciously asks you—for
any of her own money, tell her to go to the Dev—
Devil (the very one she has come to).
Seventh.—Now I 'd keep a mistress and a poodle dog,
and ride up to the Park with them in a gilded landaulet
every afternoon. While this miserable, misguided
woman will be trodden in the dust by society you can
attain to the heights of modern chivalry by leading at
charity balls in public, and breeding bull-pups and
coach-dogs at home.
Eighth.—After you have used up your wife's last
money in dissipation, and brought your father's gray
hairs down in sorrow to the grave, I'd get the delirium
tremens and shoot myself.    This will create a sensation . 77
in the newspapers and cause every other rich Brown's
Boy to call you high-toned and chivalrous.
Ninth.—Then that poor angel wife, crushed in spirit,
tried in the crucible of adversity, and purified by the
beautiful " Do-unto-others " of the Christ-child, will
go into mourning, and build with her last money a
monument to the memory of the man who crushed
her bleeding heart.
Died  May 12, 1876.
He was a kind father and
an indulgent husband. He
always indulged himself.
" The pure in  spirit shall
see God."
He owned a 2.40 Hoss.
Brown's Girls !
Yes, we have Brown's Girls, too.
They are a set of husband-hunting young ladies—
sf&art, accomplished, and pretty, but with no hearts.
They only marry for money. They are thus taught by
their mothers, and failing to catch fortunes, many of
them become blase old maids.
Below I give the diary of two days in the life of a
New York young lady. At nineteen she is honest,
loveable, and innocent. Seven years after she becomes
a blase, Brown's Girl.
HER   DIARY—1875.
May 1, 1875.—Nineteen to-day—
and I'm too  happy to live!     How
lovely the Park looked this morning.
How gracefully the swans swam on
the lake, and how the  yellow dandelions lifted  up their yellow faces
—all smiles!
Albert—dear Albert—passed mamma and me, and bowed so gracefully! Mamma frowned
at him.    O, dear!    I am not quite happy.
Last  night my first  ball,  and   Albert  was   th§r$»
!" 79
Four times he came, and I let him put his name on
my card—then mamma frowned savagely. She said I
ought to be ashamed to waste my time with a poor
fellow like Albert Sinclair. Then she brought up old
Thompson, that horrid rich old widower, and I had
to scratch Albert's name off. When Albert saw me
dancing with Thompson the color came to his cheeks,
and he only just touched the ends of my fingers in
the grand chain.
O, dear, one of Albert's little fingers
is worth more than old Thompson's
right arm. How stupidly old Thompson
talked, but mamma smiled all the time.
Once she tipped me on the shoulder,
and said in a low, harsh voice, jj Be
agreeable, Lizzie, for Mr. Thompson is
a great catch." Then Thompson, the stupid old fool,
tried to talk like the young fellows. He told me I
looked " stunning," said the ball was a " swell " affair,
and then asked me to ride up to the Park in his four-
horse drag. Bah! Mother says I must go, but, O,
dear, I'd rather walk two blocks with Albert than ride
ten miles in a chariot with the old dyed whiskers.
After supper such an event took place. Albert
joined me, and after a lovely waltz we wandered into
the conservatory and had a nice confidential chat together. It is wonderful how we both like the same
things. He admires the beautiful moon—so do I. I
love the stars, and so does he! We both like to look
out of the open window, and we both like to be near
§ach other—that is* I know I do*   Albert dotes on ■   ffr 80 -
Longfellow, and, O, don't I! I like Poe, and so does
Albert, and the little tears fairly started (but Albert
didn't see them) when he repeated softly in my
" For the moon never beams, without bringing me dreams,
Of my beautiful Annabel Lee ;
And the stars never rise, but I feel the bright eyes
Of my beautiful Annabel Lee,"
—and- a good deal more besides, about love and the
sounding sea. Then Fannie Carter, who is in my class
at Mrs. Hoffman's, came by with Will Mason, and sat
right down in the next window. I do believe she
loves him !
What a nice, sensible talk Albert and I had! First,
we began talking about the soul—how destiny sometimes bound two souls together by an invisible chain.
Then we considered the mission of man and woman
upon the earth—how they ought to comfort and support each other in sickness and in health. And then
Albert quite startled me by asking me if I had ever
cared for any one. And when I said " Yes, papa and
mamma," he laughed, and said he did not mean'them,
and then I felt quite hurt, and the tears would come,
into my eyes, for I do love mamma, even if she does
make me dance with that horrid old Thompson, with
his dyed whiskers.
Then Albert leaned his face  towards mine.    I  felt
his mustache almost touch me as he whispered  such
nice words in my ear.    He told me how he had longed
for an  opportunity to  speak to  me  alone, how—and
then I was so happy, for I knew he was going to say 81
something very nice indeed—when ma, with that dreadful old widower, came along and interrupted us.
"Come, Lizzie, you go with Mr. Thompson, for I
want to present Mr. Sinclair to Miss Brown," and then
ma—O, dear! she took Albert and presented him to
the girl that I hate worst of anybody in school. I
didn't see Albert again, for when he came around, ma
said, 1 Lizzie, it looks horrible to be seen dancing with
Albert Sinclair all the evening. You ought to be
ashamed of yourself."
O, dear, I look like a fright—I know I do, but I
do hope I shall look better when I see Albert on the
avenue to-morrow. Let's see—I wonder if he won't
write to me ? But I'll see him when he walks up from
business to-night—maybe.
HER  DIARY,   1882.
May 1, 1882.—Out again last
night. What a horrible bore parties are! I hate society. New'
York women are so prudish, with
their atrocious high-neck dresses,
and the fellows are so wretchedly
slow. O, dear! Everything goes
wrong. If I hadn't met Bob Mun-
roe, who took us to the Mabille and
the Alhambra, on the other side
last summer, I'd 'a' died. Bob's double entendre rather
startled the poky New York girls, though. Gracious,
they ought to hear the French beaux talk J They do
make   such  a   fuss   about  our  Paris  decollete dresses.
Why, Bessie Brown wore a dress at a Queen's Drawing Room with hardly any body on at all—and she
had that same dress on last night. Of course I
could not stand any chance with her, for decollete
dresses do take the fellows so. But I'll be on hand
next time.
Young Sinclair, with whom I used to "spoon " years
ago, was there—and married to Fannie Carter, my
old classmate. Pshaw! she is a poky, old, high-
necked, married woman now, and Sinclair—well, they
say that he was almost broken-hearted at my conduct—that he drank, and then reformed and joined
the church, and is now a leading clergyman. Well,
I'm glad Sinclair became a preacher. I always knew
black would become his complexion.
What if I should go and hear him
preach, flirt with him a little, and get
his poky old wife jealous! Goodness ! but don't he look serious,,
though! There's a glass—gracious!
I'm as pale as a ghost! There's no
use of my trying to dress without
rouge. I do wish they would learn
how to put on pearl white here—why, every wrinkle
shows through. Then I do wish New York fellows
would learn how to dance! — that atrocious galop
upset my pads, and I had to leave in the middle of
the dance to arrange things. Old Thompson is dead,
died single—but his brother, the rich whiskey man,
was  there,  and  gracious!   it  was fun  to   dance  with
him after he had taken, in his usual two bottles of
REV. ALBERT SINCLAIR. champagne. He turned everything—the lanciers, polka,
and all—into the Virginia reel. That's Bob Monroe's
pun. But after we got through dancing, didn't I
have a flirtation with Old Thompson No. 2 while
Albert Sinclair was helping mother to some refreshments! Dear old thing, she don't bother me in my
conservatory flirtation any more. Well, Old Thompson
No. 2 got quite affectionate—wanted to kiss my hand,
and when I let him he wanted to kiss me! The
old wretch—when he's got a wife and three daughters.
But I had my fun—I made him propose conditionally—that is, if Mrs. Thompson dies; and I tell ma
then I'm going to be one of our gay and dashing
young wives with an old fool of a husband—and
plenty of lovers. O, dear! I'm tired and sleepy, and
I do believe my head aches awfully, and it's that
abominable champagne. What goosies Fannie Carter
and Albert Sinclair have made of themselves ! What
fun can she have   with the men ?    O, dear! ADVICE  TO  YOUNG  MEN.
" Eli !"
"Yes, sir."
"Are you list'ning?"
continued my Uncle Consider, as he took his pipe
out of his mouth, laid
down his glasses, and
poked the fire with the
"With both ears, Un-
"Well, let me tell you suthin*. If you want to be
wize, Eli, you must allers listen. If you want to be
wize you must let other people do all the talkin'—
then you'll soon know all they know, Eli, and have-
your own nolledge besides.    D'you see?"
"Yes, Uncle." |
"And never you blow a man's
brains out to get his money, Eli,
but just sly around and blow his.
money out and get his brains—
"And be temp'rate and economical, Eli, and "
" Yes, Uncle, I always try to be
careful. I always owe enough to
pay all my debts, and I'd rather
owe a man forever than cheat him
84 OK
out of it. I'd pay every debt I owe if I had to go
out and borrow money to do it; I would. The. fact
is, Uncle," I said, getting excited, 11 always advise
the boys to be steady and saving. I advise 'em to
stick, stick to their places and be temperate, no matter
how hard they have to work, and it'll make men of
'em.    But the rascals "
"What, Eli?"
"Why, they all pay more 'tention to my example
than they do to my precepts, and they're all turnin'
out loafers."
| That's dre'fful sad, Eli," said my Uncle, wiping his
eyes sorrowfully, "when I've allers talkt to you so
much about the dignity of labor—when I've allers
taught you to obey the script'ral injunction to live by
the sweat of your brow."
"But I always do that;   don't I, Uncle?"
1 Yes; but how can you live by the sweat of your
brow, Eli, when you spend all your time trav'lin'
'round and lecturin' and foolin' about? How can
you?"    "        ■ §■ .
"Why, Uncle, that's just what I travel for. I go
down South winters, where it is hot, so I can live by
the sweat of my brow without working so hard."
"And about this drinkin' business, Eli—this drinkin'
wine and cider and beer? Don't you know the"Bible
is agin it?    Don't you?"
"Yes, Uncle, I know it; but haven't you read the
parable in the Bible about turnin' water into wine?"
"Yes, my nevvy."
| Well, that's all I do, Uncle; I just turn water into my  wine,   and  I   don't   turn   much   water  in   either,
and—"   I    -mm- 'If/-ft-   ~
" What's that, Eli!    Do  you  mean  to say that you
ever drink at all?    Do you -"
" No, Uncle, never. The tempter came to me the
other day. But when they pressed me to take whiskey
I took umbrage "
I Took umbrage, did you! O, my nevvy, that must
be an awful drink! Umbrage ? O, did I think it
would ever come to this?—u-m-b-r-a-g-e," and Uncle
Consider wiped his eyes with his red bandana.
" But, Uncle," I said, trying to cheer the old man
up, "I'm opposed to whiskey. I do not drink with
impunity.    I "
" Don't drink with Impunity, Eli! Well, I thought
you allers drank with everybody who invited you.
Mebby Impunity didn't invite you, Eli? Well, well,
well, well, I am glad to find one man that you refused
to drink with, I am." And Uncle Consider knocked
the ashes out of his pipe and fell asleep in his chair,
repeating, " Didn't drink with Impunity." THE  FUNNY  SIDE  OF FISK.
Yes, Colonel Fisk was a funny man, and a man
always full of humor could not have been a very bad
man at heart.
Once I had occasion to spend an hour with the
Colonel in his palatial Erie office, and a record of
that hour I then wrote out. Fisk was being shaved as
I entered, and his face was half-covered with foaming
lather. Just then some one came in and told him that
the gentlemen in the office had made up a purse of
$34 to be presented to little Peter, Fisk's favorite little
office boy.
"All right," said the Colonel, smiling and wiping the
lather from his face.   " Call in Peter."
In  a  moment  little   Peter   entered
with  a  shy  look  and   seemingly half
| Well, Peter," said the Colonel, as
he held the envelope with the money
in one hand and the towel, in the
other, "what did you mean, sir, by
absenting yourself from the Erie Office, the other day,
when both Mr. Gould and I were away, and had left
the whole mass of business on your shoulders?"
PETER. Then he frowned fearfully, while Peter trembled from
head to foot.
" But, my boy," continued Fisk, " I will not blame
you; there may be extenuating circumstances. Evil
associates may have tempted you away. Here, Peter,
take this (handing him the $34), and henceforth let your
life be one of rectitude—quiet rectitude, Peter. Behold me, Peter, and remember that evil communications
are not always the best policy, but that honesty is worth
two in the bush."
As Peter went back to his place beside the outside
door everybody laughed, and Fisk sat down again to
have the other side of his face shaved.
Pretty quick in came a little dried-up
old gentleman, with keen gray eyes surmounted by an overpowering Panama hat.
The Erie Railway office was then the
& old gentleman's almost daily rendezvous.
Here he would sit for hours at a time,
and peer out fiom under his broadbrim at the wonderful movements of Colonel Fisk. Cautious, because he
could move but slowly, this venerable gentleman, who
has made Wall Street tremble, hitched up to the gold
indicator, all the time keeping one eye on the quotations
and the other on the Colonel. As a feeler, he ventured to ask:
" How is Lake Shore this morning, Colonel ?"
u Peter," said Fisk, with awful gravity, I communicate with the Great American Speculator and show
him how they are dealing on the street!"
The old  man  chuckled,  Gould hid  a  smile while
DREW. smoothing his jetty whiskers, and little Peter took hold
of the running wire with Daniel Drew. It was the
beginning 'and the ending—youth and experience —
simplicity and shrewdness—Peter and Daniel!
Little Peter was about ten years old, and small at
that. Frequently large men would come into the Erie
office and " bore " the Colonel.    Then he would say :
I Here, Peter, take this man into custody, and hold
him under arrest until we send for him!"
"You seem very busy to-day?" I remarked, handing
the Colonel a cigar.
"Yes, Eli," said Fisk, smiling. "I'm trying to find
out from all these papers where Gould gets money
enough to pay his income tax. He never has any
money—fact, sir! He even wranted to borrow of me
to pay his income tax last summer, and I lent him four
hundred dollars, and that's gone, too! This income
business will be the ruination of Gould." Here the
venerable Daniel Drew concealed a laugh, and Gould
turned clear around, so that Fisk could only see the
back of his head, while his eyes twinkled in enjoyment
of the Colonel's fun.
"What will be the end of putting down the railroad
fares, Colonel?" I asked, referring to the jealous opposition in fares then existing between the Erie and
New York Central.
"End! why we haven't begun yet. We intend to
carry passengers through to Chicago, before we get
through, two for a cent and feed them on the way;
and when old Van does the same the public will go
on his road just to spite him!" 90
Of course, the Erie is the best road," continued
Fisk, in his Munchausen way. "It runs faster and
smoother. When Judge Porter went up with me in
the Directors*' car, last winter, we passed 200 canal
boats, about a mile apart, on the Delaware and Hudson canal. The train went so fast that the Judge
came back and reported that he saw one gigantic
canal boat fen miles long! Fact, sir! We went so
fast the Judge couldn't see the  gaps!"
I Are the other railroads going to help you in this
fight?" I asked.
"Why, yes, they say they will; but they are all
afraid to do anything till we get Vanderbilt tied fast.
Do you want me to tell you who these other, .half-
scared railroad fellows, Garrett and Tom Scott, remind me of?" asked the Colonel, leaning himself forward, with his elbows on his knees.
"Yes; who, Colonel?"
I Well, Scott and Garrett remind me of the old
Texas ranchman, whose neighbors had' caught a noted
cattle-thief. After catching him, they tied him to a
tree, hands and feet, and each one gave him a terrible
cowhiding. When tired of walloping him, they left
the poor thief tied to the tree, head and foot. He
remained tied up there a good while in great agony,
till by and T)y he saw with delight a strange man
coming along.
" \ Who are you ?' said the kindly-looking stranger, a
"'I'm Bill Smith, and I've been whipped almost
to death,' said the man in a pitiful tone. 91
ii C
ii I
ii I
it i
Ah, Bill Smith, how could they whip you—a poor
lone man ?' asked the sympathizing stranger.
Why, don't you see?    Fm tied'
What, did they tie you up?'
Yes, tied  me  tight.     Don't  you  see  the  strings
now ?'
"'Poor man! How could they be so cruel?' sighed
the stranger.
I \ But I'm tied now,' groaned the man.
I j What! tied now—tied so you can't move this
very moment, Bill?' asked the stranger, eagerly examining the ropes.
| \ Yes, tied tight, hands and feet, and I can't move
a muscle,' said the thief, pitifully.
II Well, William, as you are tied tight, / don't mind
if I give you a few licks myself for that horse you
stole from me,' said the stranger, cutting a tremendous
whip from a bunch of thorn bushes.' Then," said Fisk,
"he flogged him awhile, just as all these small railroad
fellows would like to flog Vanderbilt if he was well
tied." I     . M §•     ■ |§
But, alas, they never get Vanderbilt tied.
When Montaland got on from Paris, last year, Fisk
had just said farewell to "Josie," and so he took
extra pains to make a good impression on his beautiful prima donna.
On the first sunshiny afternoon after Montaland
had seen the Wonderful Opera House, Fisk took her
out  to  the  Park behind  his magnificent  six-in-hand. Passing up Fifth avenue, Montaland's  eyes  rested   on
A. T. Stewart's marble house.
"Vat ees zat?" she asked, in broken French.
"Why, that is my city residence," said Fisk, with an
air of profound composure.
" C'est magnifique—c'est grande!" repeated Montaland, in admiration.
Soon they came to Central Park.
(   "Vat ees *zees place?" asked Montaland.
I O, this is my country seat; these are my grounds—
my cattle and buffaloes, and those sheep over there
compose my pet sheepfold," said Fisk, twirling the
end of his mustache  a la Napoleon.
I C'est tres magnifique !" exclaimedTfkMontaland in
bewilderment.    "Mr. Feesk is one grand Americain !"
By-and-by they rode back and down Broadway,
by the  Domestic Sewing Machine building.
'And is zees your grand maison, too ?" asked  Montaland, as she pointed up to the iron palace.
" No, Miss Montaland; to be frank with you, that
building does not belong to me," said Fisk, as he
settled back with his hand in his bosom—" that belongs
to Mr. Gould!"
One day I called at the Erie office. Col. Fisk's
old chair was vacant, and his desk was draped in
mourning. Fisk's remains lay cold and stiff, just as
he fell at the Grand Central, pierced by the fatal bullet
from Stokes's pistol. His old associates were silent,
or gathered in groups to tell over reminiscences of the 93
dead Colonel, whose memory was beloved and revered
by his companions.
Mr. Gould never tired in telling about Fisk's good
qualities. Even while he was telling the quaintest
anecdotes about his dead partner, his eyes would glisten
with tears.
| One day," said Mr. Gould, " Fisk came to me and
told me confidentially about his first mistake in life."
"What was it?" I asked.
"Well," said Gould, as he laughed and wiped his
eyes alternately, " Fisk said that when he was an innocent little boy* living on his father's farm up at
Brattleboro, Vermont, his father took him into the
stable one day, where a row of cows stood in their
uncleaned stalls.
"Said he, 'James, the stable window is pretty high
for a boy, but do you think you could take this shovel
and clean out the stable?'
"' I don't know, Pop,' says I; 'I never have done
it.'     . | |  *
"'Well, my boy, if you will do it this morning, I'll
give you this bright silver dollar,' said my father, patting me on my head, while he held the silver dollar
before my eyes.
"'Good,' says I; 'I'll try,' and then I went to work.
I tugged and pulled and lifted and puffed, and finally
it was done, and father gave me the bright silver dollar, saying:
"'That's right, James; you did it splendidly, and
now I find you can do it so nicely, I^shall have you
do it every morning all winter'" ■"-       *■
One day a poor, plain, blunt man stumbled into
Fisk's room.    Said he:
"Colonel, I've heard you are a generous man, and
I've come to ask a great favor."
"Well, what is it, my good man?" asked Fisk.
11 want to go to Lowell, sir, to my wife, and I
haven't a cent of money in the world," said the man,
in a firm, manly voice.
"Where have you been?" asked the Colonel, dropping his pen.
"I don't want to tell you," replied the man, dropping his head.
"Out with it, my man, where have you been?" said
"Well, sir, I've been to Sing Sing State Prison."
"What for?"
" Grand larceny, sir. I was put in for five years,
but was pardoned out yesterday, after staying four
years and one-half. I am here, hungry and without
"All right, my man," said Fisk, kindly, "you shall
have a pass, and here—here is $5. Go and get a meal
of victuals, and then ride down to the boat in an Erie
coach, like a gentleman. Commence life again, and if
you are honest and want a lift come to me."
Perfectly bewildered, the poor convict took the
money, and six months afterward Fisk got a letter
from him. He was doing a thriving mercantile business, and said Fisk's kindness and cheering words gave 95
him the first hope—his first strong resolve to become
a man.
Ten minutes after the poor convict left, a poor
young negro preacher called.
" What do you want ? Are you from Sing Sing,
too?" asked Fisk.
" No, sir; I'm a Baptist preacher from Hoboken. I
want to go to the Howard Seminary in Washington,"
said the negro.
I All right, Brother Johnson," said Fisk. " Here,
Comer," he said, addressing his secretary, 1 give Brother Johnson $20, and charge it to Charity," and the
Colonel went on writing, without listening to the stream
of thanks from the delighted negro.
One day the Colonel was walking up Twenty-third
street to dine with one of the Erie directors, when a
poor beggar came along. The beggar followed after
them, saying, in a plaintive tone, " Please give me a
dime, gentlemen ?"
The gentleman accompanying Fisk took out a roll of
bills and commenced to unroll them, thinking to find
a half or a quarter.
"Here, man!" said Fisk, seizing the whole roll and
throwing it on the sidewalk, "take the pile."
Then looking into the blank face of his friend, he
said, " Thunderation, Sam, you never count charity,
do you I" Wzn^
"But, great guns, Colonel, there was $20 in that
roll," exclaimed the astonished gentleman.
"Never mind," said Fisk, "then I'll stand the supper to-night."
Somebody in Brattleboro came down to New York
to ask Fisk for a donation to help them build a new
fence around the graveyard where he is now buried.
"What in thunder do you want a new fence for?"
exclaimed the Colonel. "Why, that old fence will
keep the dead people in, and live people will keep out
as long as they can, any way !"
The day before Fisk was shot he came into the
office, and after looking over some interest account, he
shouted, "Gould!  Gould!"
"Well, what?" says Gould, stroking his jetty
" I want to know how you go to work to figure
this interest so that it amounts to more than the
principal ?" said the Colonel.
What a miserable reprobate the preachers all make
Fisk out to be! And they are right. Why, the
scoundrel actually stopped his coup/ one cold, dreary
night on Seventh avenue, and got out, inquired where
she, lived, and gave a poor old beggar woman, a dollar! 97
He seemed to have no shame about him, for the
next day the debauched wretch sent her around a
barrel of flour and a load of coal. One day the
black-hearted scoundrel sent ten dollars and a bag of
flour around to a widow woman with three starving
children; and, not content with this, the remorseless
wretch told the police captain to look after all the
poor widows and orphans in his ward and send them
to him when they deserved charity. What a shameless
performance it was to give that poor negro preacher
$20 and send him on to Howard University! And
how the black-hearted villain practiced his meanness
on the poor, penniless old woman who wanted to go
to Boston, by paying her passage and actually escorting her to a free state-room, while the old woman's
tears of gratitude were streamiug down her cheeks!
Oh! insatiate monster! thus to give money to penniless negro preachers and starving women and children!
The other evening, at the
Fifth Avenue Hotel, after being
sworn in to preach the gospel
of Fifth Avenue as I understood it, I arose, took off
my brown linen duster, and
My dear sisters :
The stanza—
" I want to be an angel,"
which you have just
sung will not help
you much unless you
change your course of
life. You must commence dressing more like angels
here in this world if you want to be a real live angel
in the next. You'd make healthy lookin' angels,
wouldn't you ? Now, wouldn't you ? Angels don't
wear pearl powder, do they ? and angels don't wear
false braids. They don't enamel their faces and smell
of Caswell and Hazard's cologne, nor bore holes in
their ears like Injuns and put Tiffany's ear-rings in
them! Angels don't dye their hair, nor wear big diamonds, and have liveries and footmen, like many of
our " shoddy " people*   They
"angels don't wear pearl powder" 99
1 But how can we tell ' shoddy' people, Uncle Eli ?"
interrupted  several young  ladies  in the  congregation,
This way, my friends, I said: When a strange family
arrives at our hotel, you must watch them closely.
Divinity puts up certain infallible signs to distinguish
the ignorant and vulgar from the children of culture
and virtue.
i. If a lady comes into the parlor with a diamond
ring on the outside of her glove, it is safe to ask her
how much she gets a week. [" Hear, hear!" and several ladies put their hands under their paniers.]
2. If Providence erects a dyed mustache over the
mouth of a man, it is to show that he is a gambler
or a vulgarian. [Cheers, when two Americus Club
men, a gambler, and four plug-uglies from Baltimore,
put their hands over their mustaches.]
3. If, when that new family enter or leave the dining-
room or parlor, the gentlemen rush ahead, leaving the
ladies to follow, there is something " shoddy" somewhere.
4. If the man presents the ladies to the gentlemen,
instead of vice versa, and they all shake hands on first
presentation, then you may know they hail from Oil City.
5. If, when they go in to dinner, they do nothing but
loudly order the waiters around, and talk about the
wine, you can make up your mind they are the first
waiters they ever had and that is the only wTine they
ever drank. If they pick their teeth at the table, or
take out their false teeth and rinse them in the tumbler
\A voice—I Shoot them on the spot!"]—-yes, my friends,
X say that xto their te§£fcu 100
6. If, when a gentleman sits in the parlor talking to
a lady, he doesn't sit Up straight, but sprawls all over
the sofa, puts the soles of his boots on the lady's dress,
on the furniture, or wipes, his shoes on his own white
linen pantaloons, you'd better refuse an introduction
to him. [Applause, when eight young fellows, who sat
with their legs radiating like the wings of a windmill,
or sprawling one foot cross-legged in the empty air,
whirled themselves right side up.]
7. If the ladies in that party whitewash their faces,
redden their lips, blacken their eyebrows, or bronze or
yellow their hair, just you think this is another sign
which Providence puts up so you can shun them.
Enamel and hair-dye are social beacon-lights, to enable
you to keep off the rocks of Cypria. Just you keep
away from such people, for they are wolves in sheep's
Voice from a young lady—" But we .want to look
beautiful, Mr. Perkins."
But this will not make you beautiful, my children.
Any sweetheart who is so shallow as to take whitewash
for the human skin, or rouge for the rose-cheeks of
nature, is too much of a sap-head to make a good
husband; and if he is smart enough to see through
your deception—why, he will surely leave you in disgust. [Applause by the gentlemen, while several ladies
wiped their faces with their pocket-handkerchiefs.]
8. If, when this family get into their carriage to ride
around the Park, the young ladies appear in gaudy
colors, throw over their laps a bright yellow and red
or blue afghan, and the coachman wears, a gold hat- 101
band, and a sprawl-tailed yellow livery, with velvet
collar, and holds brass-bespangled horses with white
reins, you may know that the owner keeps a livery
stable and that this is his first carriage.
9. It is considered the height of impoliteness to
criticise persons to their faces, and still many vulgarians try to make polite reputations by picking up other
people, when the correction is ten times a more flagrant
breach of etiquette than the original mistake. I have
seen plebeians who, if a man by design chose to eat
the fine ends of his asparagus with a knife, would call
his attention to the error—thus straining at a doubtful
gnat of custom and swallowing a camel of impoliteness. Politeness is to do as you would be done by,
and anything you do, if you wish to be polite, must
be tried by this golden rule.
In conclusion, my dear brothers and sisters, I will
say that politeness does not depend upon eating peas
with a fork, but it rests on the grander and broader
basis of love for your fellow-man.
How is your mother, Johnny?
"Oh, she's dead, I thank you!" is a silly drop of
Mrs. Potiphar politeness, which looks sick beside the
big ocean of manly generosity which comes out of the
Pike's Peak, "Come up, old boy, and liquor, or fight!"
There being several Members of Congress present,
Dr. Chapin now lined the hymn—
" I love to steal a while,"
and the congregation, like a man with a poor hand at
euchre, passed out. A sad man.
Coming up from Broad Street in
the cars yesterday I met a poor disconsolate Wall Street broker. His
heart seemed broken and his face
was the picture of despair. I had
been usher at his wedding a few
months before, when he seemed the
picture of happiness; so, smiling, I
I Why, Charles, what has happened; what makes you
look so sad?"
" Oh, Eli!" he sighed, " I am all broken up.    I have
met with a dreadful misfortune."
"What is it, Charley?" I asked sympathetically.
I Ohoooo, dear Eli, I cannot—cannot tell you," and
then he sobbed again, "Ohhooooo!"
" But what is it, Charley ?     Perhaps I can comfort
you."       W    ff H
I No, Eli.    I am so discouraged I want to die."
" Are you ruined, Charley? is your money all gone?"
| Oh, no, Eli, not so bad as that; but Nellie, my dear
wife, is dead," and then he broke down again.
" Cheer up, Charley, there may be some happiness
left yet. . Do not die now," I said.
" No, Eli, I am all broken up—ruined !    I don't take
103 103
any interest in anything now. My mind is constantly
with my poor, angel wife. I dream of her all the time
—in the morning and at night, and—by the way, Eli,
how did you say Erie closed to-night?"
I Erie is down and they are | all off,' Charley."
"Well, that's cheering," he sobbed, " for when I got
' short' of Nellie, I went ' short' of the whole market,
and it's very consoling in my grief to find things looking so cheerful on the street. And what did you say
about Pacific Mail, Eli ?"
| Flat as a flounder. The bears have got the whole
market, Charley."
I Well, that's cheering, too, Eli. That is indeed
cheering, to think my losses are compensated — that
when the angels had a ' call I on Nellie I should have
a'put' on Uncle Daniel Drew. It is so consoling to
be able to * cover' your losses, you know. Oh, Nellie
was such a comfort to me! but we can't have everything in this world, Eli. We can't always have the
whole market our own way. If we take our profits, we
must bear our losses. Now let us have a little of Jules
Mumm's extra dry, to drink to the memory of my
poor dead—goodness! Eli, I'll make $5,000 on that
Erie 'put' as easy 's drinkin  a sherry cobbler!" A QUEER  MAN.
One day, as the Kansas Pacific train neared Topeka,
I sat down by an old farmer from Lawrence. Corn
bins lined the road, and millions of bushels of corn
greeted us from the car windows. Sometimes the bins
full of golden grain followed the track like a huge
yellow serpent.
Looking up at the old granger, I asked him where
all this corn came from. "Do you ship it from New
York, sir?" :|. '
"From what?" he said.
"From New York, sir."
"What, corn from New York!"
"Yes, sir," I said. "Did you import it from New
York, or did you ship it from England?"
He looked at me from head to foot, examined my
coat, looked at my ears, and then exclaimed,
"Great God!"
I never heard those two words sound so like " darned
fool" before.
A moment afterwards the old farmer turned his eyes
pityingly upon me and asked me where I lived.
"I live in New York, sir."
-  "Whar?" .ft
"In New York, sir.    I came West to lecture."
104 105
"What, you lecture?"
"Yes, sir."      §jg| *  _
"I do."
ft"You lecture! you do?    Well, I'd
give ten dollars to hear you lecture."
I never knew whether this was a
great compliment, or—well, or what it
I saw a man pulling his
arms off trying to get on a
new pair of boots, so I
.Happy Thought — They
are too small, my man, and
you will never be able to
get them on till you have
worn them a spell!
I heard an officer in the
Seventh Regiment scolding
a private for coming too
late to drill, so I said:
Happy Thought—Somebody must always come last;
this fellow ought to be praised, Captain, for, if he had
come earlier, he would have shirked this scolding off
upon somebody else!
I saw an old maid at the Fifth Avenue, with her
face covered with wrinkles, turning sadly away from
the mirror, as she said:
Happy Thought—Mirrors nowadays are very faulty,
Uncle Eli. . They don't make such nice mirrors as
they used to when I was young!
106 107
I heard a young lady from Brooklyn praising the
sun, so I said:
Happy Thought—The sun may be very good, Miss
Mead, but the moon is a good deal better; for she
gives us light in the night when we need it, while the
sun only shines in the day time, when it is light
enough without it!
I "saw a man shoot an eagle, and as he dropped on
the ground I said:
Happy Thought—You might have saved your powder, my man, for the fall alone would have killed him.
An old man in Philadelphia brought a blooming girl
to church, to be married to her. The minister stepped
behind the baptismal font and said, as he sprinkled
water over her head—
Happy Thought—I am glad you brought the dear
child to be baptized!
A young man was disappointed in love at Niagara
Falls, so he went out on a terrible precipice, took off
his clothes, cast one long look into the fearful whirlpool, and then—
Happy Thought—Went home and went to bed!
Two Mississippi River darkies saw, for the first time,
a train of cars. They were in.a quandary to know what
kind of a monster it was, so one said:
Happy Thought—Oh, Sambo! it is a dried up steamboat getting back into the river! 108
A poor sick man, with a mustard plaster on him,
Happy Thought—If I should eat a loaf of bread I'd
be a live sandwich!
As a man was burying his wife he said to his friend,
in the graveyard: Alas ! you feel happier than I. Yesj
neighbor, said the friend:
Happy Thought—I ought to feel happier, I have two
wives buried here!
A man out west turned State's evidence and swore
he was a member of a gang of thieves. By and by
they found the roll of actual members, and accused
the man of swearing falsely. I was a member, said the
man; I	
Happy Thought—I was an honorary member! THE  LEGAL-MINDED   MAN.
The other night, I met a young Columbia College
law student at a party. He was dancing with Miss
" I have an engagement to dance the f Railroad
Galop ' with Miss Johnson," I remarked—" number
ten."       • *  ':§     j§§   . jj
" You have an engagement ? You mean you have
retained her for a dance ?"
" She has contracted to dance with me," I said.
" But contracts where no earnest money is paid are
null and void.    You must vacate the premises."
I But will you please give me half of a dance ? I
ask the courtesy."
"Why, yes, Mr. Perkins," he said; "take her;" but,
recollecting his law knowledge, he caught hold of my
coat-sleeve and added this casual remark:
II give and bequeath to you, Mr. Eli Perkins, to
have and to hold in trust, one half of my right, title
and claim and my advantage, in a dance known as the
\ Railroad Galop' with Amelia Johnson, with all her
hair, paniers, Grecian bend, rings, fans, belts, hair-pins,
smelling-bottles and straps, with all the right and advantage therein ; with full power to have, hold, encircle,
whirl, toss, wiggle, push, jam, squeeze, or otherwise use
—except  to  smash, break or otherwise  damage—and
109 110
with right to temporarily convey the said Amelia Johnson, her hair, rings, paniers, straps, and other objects
heretofore or hereinafter mentioned, after such whirl,
squeeze, wiggle, jam, etc., to her natural parents, now
living, and without regard to any deed or deeds or instruments, of whatever kind or nature soever, to the
contrary in anywise notwithstanding."
The next evening, the young lawyer called on Miss
Johnson, with whom he was in love, and proposed.
"I have an attachment for you, Miss Johnson," he
" Very well, sir; levy on the furniture," said Miss
Johnson, indignantly.
" I mean, Miss Johnson, there is a bond—a mutual
bond "
" Never mind the bond: take the furniture, I say.
Take "       |- It    /
"You \io not understand me, madam. I came here
to court "
" But this is no court, sir.    There is no officer."
" Yes, Miss Johnson, your father said this morning:
'Mr. Mason, I look upon your offer, sir, with favor.'"
/*• "Your officer?"
" My offer, madame—my offer of marriage. I love
you.    I adore "
"Goodness gracious!" and Miss Johnson fell fainting to the floor. One day one
of   the   James
Brothers,  the
famous   bandits,
who  have  filled
Missouri    with
terror for years,
rode into Kansas
City  during the
State    Fair.
Though  a price  was  set  upon
his head by the Governor, and a half
dozen of Pinkerton's men had "bit the
dust"  hunting him down,  this brave
bandit passed on through the town in
open daylight to the place where they
were  holding  the   State   Fair.    Then,
quietly   riding   through   twenty   thousand   people,   he
walked his  horse  straight up to  the  treasurer's stand
seized   the   cash-box   with   three   thousand  dollars  in
it, and   rode quietly away.     It was  a  Claude   Duval
adventure—a wild, devil-dare deed.    All Kansas  City
was  filled with amazement.     The newspapers  foamed
and fretted  about it,   the  Governor  proclamated, and
the  mayor  offered rewards, but  all to no avail.    The
money   nor  the man ever  came back  again.    Among
ill 112
the newspapers which were abusing the James Brothers,
was the Kansas City Times, but one day the Times
| It may have been robbery, but it was a plucky, brave act—-
an act which we can but admire for its splendid daring and cool,
calculating bravado."
A week after this article praising the James Boy's
pluck and daring appeared in the Times, two horsemen
rode up to the Times office at eleven o'clock at night.
Calling a watchman, they asked him to tell the editor
to please come out.
| Tell him somebody wants to thank him," they
When the editor came out on the sidewalk one of
the horsemen beckoned him up close to his horse,
and said, in an undertone:
I My friend, you said a good thing about me the
other day. You said I was brave, even if I was a
robber. You spoke kindly of me. It was the first
kind word I ever had said about me, and it touched
my heart, and I've^come to thank you."
"But who are you, gentlemen? I am not aware to
whom  I am talking," said the astonished editor.
"Well, sir, our name is James. We are the James
Brothers "
"For God's sake, don't kill me!" gasped the frightened editor, almost sinking in his shoes. " I haven't
harmed you.    I "
"No, you haven't harmed us. You spoke kindly
about us, and we came to thank you. Not only that,
but we have come to present you this watch as a token 113
of our gratitude," and the robber handed out a
beautiful gold  hunting case chronometer.
" But I can't take the watch," remonstrated the
" You must," replied the robber. " We bought it
for you in St. Louis. We didn't steal this watch.
Your name is engraved in it. See!" and he held it
up before the street lamp.
'No, I cannot take it, I cannot," replied the man,
newspaper-man-like, unable under any circumstances to
take a seeming bribe.
"But  you  must.    We   insist."
"You will have to excuse me, gentlemen," pleaded
the honest editor, " for I tell you, gentlemen, I cannot !"      H   ' . I
"And you  will take nothing from us?"
tt Nothing at all."
" Then, if you can't take anything from us—not
even this watch," said the bandit, sorrowfully returning it to his pocket—"if you won't take anything for
our gratitude, perhaps you can name some man around
here you want killed!" A CONSISTENT  MAN.
I met a Californian to-day who says he don't believe Chinamen have ordinary common sense.
I They haven't ordinary sagacity, Uncle Eli," he said.
, "Why?" I asked.
"Because," said he, growing excited about it, "because—b-e-c-a-u-s-e  they haven't."
"But why?" I asked. " I want to know an instance
where a Chinaman has ever shown himself to be a
darned fool."
"Why, Eli, I've known a Chinaman to secrete two
aces in his sleeves, and when I've played the three
aces I had secreted in my sleeves, why, there'd be
five aces out!    How absurd!"
"Yes, that was very foolish for the Chinaman, but
what other cases of foolishness have you seen among
the Chinamen T' I asked.
"Why, it was only the day before I left 'Frisco, Mr.
Perkins, that we put some tar and feathers on one of
them Johnnys, just to have a little fun, and then set
fire to it to amuse the children, and the darned fool
ran into a clothes-press and spoiled a dozen of my
wife's dresses putting out the fire, though I told him
better all the time. Dog-on-it, it is enough to make
a man lose faith in the whole race!"
And then that good Californian threw a colored
waiter out of a fourth story window and went on cutting off his coupons.
1H &
If you see a two-hundred pound
man and woman perspiring around
with their pompous bodies tossing
lightly and springily in the air, arms
swaying — keeping good time, and
making grand Persian salaams for a
bow in the Lancers, you can- set
them down as belonging to the old
Tweed-Fisk-Leland-Americus Club
If you see two ^heated young people tripping fast
away ahead of the music, taking short steps, and jerking through a square dance as if the house was on
fire and the set must be completed before any could
take to the fire-escapes, you can set them down as from
the plantation districts of the South, or the rural districts of Pennsylvania and the West. It is the Mississippi River steamboat quickstep.
If you see a black-eyed youth with long hair and a
young lady with liquid black eyes, and she has her two
hands on the young man's shoulders at full length, and
stands directly in front of him, and they both go hopping around like Siamese twins with wire springs under
them, you can wager they are from Louisville, Memphis,
115 116
or Little Rock. They have the square-hold wrestling
If you see a young fellow grasp a young lady firmly
around the waist, seize her wrists, stick her hand out
like the bowsprit of a Sound yacht, and both hump up
their backs like a pair of mad cats on a door-yard fence,
and then go sliding slam bang against people, over
people, through people, up and down the room, sideways, backwards, and up and down like a saw-mill gate,
you can be sure they are directly from Chicago, or from
the region of Milwaukee or Detroit.
If you see a couple gliding gently, slowly, and lazily
through the Lancers—just half as fast as the time, but
keeping step with the music—quietly sauntering through
the "Grand Chain," too languid to whirl partners, talking sweetly all the time, as if they were strolling in a
graveyard, you can rest assured that they are from New
York, and from the most fashionable section between
Madison Square and the Park. This is the churchyard-
saunter step.
If you see a fellow clasp a girl meltingly in his arms,
squeeze her hand warmly, hold her swelling breast to
his, and they both go floating down the room locked in
each other's embrace, looking like one person, his feet
only now and then protruding from a profusion of illusion and lace and so on, rely upon it you can set the
two down as belonging to the intense Boston school.
It is the melting Harvard College embrace.
Massachusetts, take our hat! THE   MILITARY   MAN.
The other day, I took a couple of " swrell" young
ladies up to the West Point Military Ball. Miss Grace
Vanderbilt and Miss Mary Astor, Jack Astor's sister,
were their names, and their dresses cost $500 apiece—
awfully " swell " girls.
I had a hard time chaperoning these two pretty girls.
The cadets would get them away from me at every
corner. I couldn't keep my eyes on them any more
than I could have kept them on a dozen velocipedes in
a circus tent. Finally I lost sight of Grace and Mary
altogether. They disappeared in the mazes of the
dance like small boats in a fog. Now and then I would
see them waltzing toward me, and then before I could
speak to them their long trains would hop around and
wriggle out of sight. In vain — loaded down with
camel's hairs and opera-cloaks—I searched for them
through the reception-rooms and along the flag-draped
corridors. At length I found Grace dancing the German three blocks from the main ball-room, while Mary
was flirting desperately with a cadet graduate in the
rooms of the Spoonological Museum. That is what
they call the Natural History rooms, into which steal
flirting cadets and sentimental young ladies, where they
can listen to the oft-repeated tales of love and hope.
Here in the half-light the cadet, with one hand on a
117 118
cannon and the other on a bunch of Indian arrows or
the jawbone of a whale, will tell the unsuspecting
young lady how he loves her better than war or gunpowder or geometry. And all the time Mary's unsuspecting mamma imagines her beautiful daughter to be
innocently walking backwards and forwards in the
" What was Cadet Mason saying to you in the
Spoonological Museum by the Rodman gun, Mary?"
I asked, as we came back from the Point on the
Chauncey Vibbard.
"Well, he talked very interesting—he — proposed,"
replied Miss Mary, blushing.
"How proposed.?" I asked.
"Why, he said he loved me and wanted me to be
engaged to him."
"And you ?" »
"Why, I told him to ask father, and "
"And he ?"
"Why, he said he wasn't really in earnest. He
ahemed, and said he didn't really mean anything serious. Then he took my hand and said, ' Why, really,
Miss Astor, I don't want to ask your papa.'
What do you mean then, Mr. Mason ?' I asked.
Why, Miss Astor,' he said, ' I only meant to extend to you the  regular and   customary courtesies  of
the Point!'
" The miserable, flirting cadet !" And Miss Mary's
eyes flashed as she said it.
a <
One morning the Rev. Dr. Corey, my uncle Consider, and another good old Baptist minister, were
sitting on the balcony in Saratoga, talking theology.
Dr. Corey, who always has an eye for a nice horse,
was watching a couple of spans of trotting horses while
his brother minister was moralizing over the sins of
this gay and fashionable world.
"Alas, these are degenerate days, Dr. Corey! very
fast days!" sighed Dr. Deems as he bowed his head
and looked at a tract which he held in his hand.
"Yes, pretty fast, Dr. Deems—fast for such young
horses and such a heavy road," replied Dr. Corey,
whose worldly eyes were on the horses.
Just as two spans danced by with light Brewster
buggies, followed by the swellest dog-cart tandem in
Saratoga, Dr. Deems heaved a sigh and remarked
"Yes, brother Corey, alas! we live in a very fast
age." M
"Very fast, brother Deems," replied Dr. Corey, taking
off his eye-glasses, "very f-a-s-t, but I'll bet ten dollars
that I've got a span of fast mares in New York that
can 'dust' anything you see here, except the Commodore's!" wk '• /If'
Brother Deems merely dropped his head upon his
hands, and drew a sigh which could come only from
a crushed and broken heart.
A pious old Kentucky deacon—Deacon Shelby—
was famous as a shiewd horse dealer. One day farmer
Jones went over to Bourbon County, taking his black
boy Jim with him, to trade horses with brother Shelby.
After a good deal of dickering, they finally made the
trade, and Jim rode the new horse home.
"Whose horse is that, Jim?" asked some of the
horse-trading deacon's neighbors as Jim rode past.
"Massa Jones's, sah."
" What! did Jones trade horses with Deacon Shelby?" «   §       Sl| • ;|-  H
"Yes, massa dun traded wid de deakin."
"Goodness, Jim! wasn't your master afraid the deacon would get the best of him in the trade?"
"Oh no!" replied Jim, as his eyes glistened with a
new intelligence, " Massa knowed how Deakin Shelby
has dun got kinder pious lately, and he was on his
guard! "
Westward, westward,
westward we have been
riding all day over the
Kansas Pacific. From
Kansas City the road runs
straight up the Kansas
River bottom and along
Smoky Hill and the buffalo
country to Denver. On the train are grangers from
Carson and Hugo, and killers and stabbers from Wild
Horse and Eagle Tail.
As   we   near   Salina,   Kansas,   Conductor   Cheeney
comes  along  to   collect  the  fare.    Touching a longhaired miner on the back, he looks down and says,
•   "Tickets!"   ■ ;§     | fjjj
"Hain't got none," says the frontiersman, holding
his gun with one hand and scowling out from under
his black slouch hat.
"But you must pay your fare, sir!" expostulated
the conductor.
"Now jes look a-here, stranger; mebbe you're a
doin'  your duty,  but  I  hain't  never paid   yet   goin'
through this country, and "
Just then a slouchy old frontiersman, who had been
compelled to pay his fare in a rear car, stepped up in
front of the mulish passenger, and pointing a six-
shooter at him, said:
F 121 IWf8?*
I See here, Long Bill, you jes pay yer fare! I've
paid mine, and they don't anybody ride on this train
free if I don't—if they do, damme!"
"All right, you've got the drop on me, pardner, so
put up your shooter an' I'll settle," said the miner,
going into his pocket for the money.
" Do these incidents often happen ?" I asked the
conductor a little while afterward.
"Well, yes, but not so often as they used to in 1868
and 1870, Mr. Perkins. The other day," continued
the conductor, "some three-card-monte men came on
the train and swindled a drover out of $150. The
poor man seemed to take it to heart. He said his
cattle got so cheap during the grasshopper raid that
he had to just 'peel 'em' and sell their hides in Kansas
City—and this was all the money he had. A half-
dozen miners from Denver overheard the talk, and,
coming up, they ' drew a bead' on the monte men and
told 'em to pay that money back.
"'Just you count that money back, conductor,'they
said, and after I had done it," continued the conductor, " one of the  head miners said:
I' Now, pardner, you jes stop this train, an' we'll
hang these three-card fellows to the telegraph pole.'"
"Did they do it?" I asked.
"Well, they hung one of 'em; but the other two,
dog on it, got lost in the grass."
"But wa'n't there h—1 to pay on that train when
we got to Muncie, though," said Cheney.
"How?" I asked.
I Why, six masked men stopped the train and robbed the express car. One man uncoupled the engine and
ran it forward—two men went through the express
safe and three men went through the passengers. But
O! didn't they play hell, though. Wa'n't it a glorious
day!"   . ' | I
"Did they rob anybody? did "
" No, they didn't zackly rob 'em, but they frightened
'em almost to death and then laughed at 'em. They'd
stick their blunderbusses in the car windows and shout
'Throw up your hands!' to the passengers, and their
hands would go up like pump handles.
The Rev. Winfield Scott, a devilish good old minister from Denver, was takin' a quiet game of poker
with another passenger at the time. He had just got
four queens and was raisin' the ante to fifteen dollars
when one of the robbers pointed his pistol at him and
sang out:
"'Hold up your
hands! or I'll blow your
head off!'
" ' No, you wont,' says
Parson Scott, standing
up in his seat—'not by
a danged sight! I've been a
preacher of the gospel goin' on
twenty years, and I'm ready to die
in the harness, and I will die, and
any man can shoot me and be danged before I'll throw
up such a hand as that—two trays and four queens!
General Grant has been sending a good many
Philadelphia Quakers to the Indian Nations as agents.
Recently a party of Quaker commissioners returned to
Philadelphia on a visit.
The "Broad Brims" landed; carpet-bag in hand, at
West Philadelphia, when an Irish hack-driver, who
chanced to have a broad-brim also, stepped up, and
to ingratiate himself into their good graces, passed
himself off as a brother Quaker.
" Is thee going towards the Continental Hotel ?"
asked the hack-driver.
I Yea, our residences are near there," replied the
"Will thee take my carriage?"
As they seated themselves, the hack-driver asked
very seriously—
"Where is thou's baggage?"
The other day, Uncle Consider and Aunt Patience
came down to Nc w York to trade. Uncle said he'd go
and buy some jewelry—a black emanuel buzzum-pin
and some antic ear-rings—for the girls, and an onion
seed-sower for the farm; while Aunt Patience went
looking about for a   sewing-machine.
After a while Uncle Consider, in his meandering
down Broadway, stumbled into Wilcox & Gibbs's
sewing-machine show-rooms. He saw so many little
machines, and pamphlets, and nice cases around, that
he took it for an agricultural warehouse.
As the old man entered the store, the polite Mr.
Hankey, who always shakes hands with all new customers, advanced to meet him, saying:
I Good-morning, sir.    Can I show you a sew "
1 Good-mornin'," interrupted Uncle Consider, grasping Mr. Hankey's hand. I How d' do ? I kum into
buy—this is a machine store, ain't it?"
| Yes, sir, this is Wilcox & Gibbs's; we sell the best
machines j
I Well, Mr. Gilcox & Wibbs, I want to buy a sower—
one that will sow all kinds of little truck—a machine
that will  sow cotton, will sow "
I Yes, sir; our machines will sew anything in the
world, and  gather, and tuck, and ruffle, and fell, and
125 126
hem, and puff; and we send a binder and a feller with
it—fifty-six dollars, sir, for the plain machine, and "
"You say it will bind as well as sow?"
" Certainly, sir; bind anything in the world."
"And gather, too ?"
"Anything, sir."
"And sow anything we may have to sow on the
farm?" asked Uncle Consider in amazement.
" Sew anything and everything, as straight as a
clothes-line," replied Mr. Hankey.
" And you sell 'em for fifty-six dollars ?"
"Yes, sir."
"Well, Mr. Gibcox & Wills, then you jes send me up
one of them thar machines that will sow onions, bind
buckwheat, and gather apples," said the old man, unrolling his leather wallet and laying six ten-dollar bills
on the counter. HARD  ON  LAWYERS.
In Akron, Ohio, where they have the personal damage temperance law, I heard of a funny temperance
case. A rumseller, whom I will call Hi Church, because he was "high 1 most of the time, had been sued
several times for damage done by his rum on citizens
of the town. One man came out drunk and smashed
in a big glass window. He was too poor to pay for it,
and the owner came against Church. A boy about sixteen got drunk and let a horse run away with him,
breaking his arm. His father made Church pay the
damage. A mechanic got drunk and was killed on the
railroad track, and his wife sued Church for $2,000
and got it. A farmer got drunk and was burned in
his barn on the hay. His son sued Church and recovered $1800. Church got sick of paying out so much
money for personal and property damages. It ate up
all the rumseller's profits.
Still, he acknowledged the law to be a statute, and
that it held him responsible for all the damage done
by his rum. He used to argue, also, that sometimes his
rum did people good, and then he said he ought to receive something back.
One day lawyer Thompson got to drinking. Thompson was mean, like most all lawyers, and when he died
of the delirium tremens there wasn't much mourning in
127 128
Akron. There wasn't anybody who cared enough for
Thompson to sue Church for damage done. So, one
day, Church went before the Court himself.
I What does Mr. Church want ?" asked the justice.
" I tell yer what, Jedge," commenced the rumseller,
" when my rum killed that thar mechanic Johnson and
farmer Mason, I cum down like a man. I paid the damage and squared up like a Christian—now, didn't I,
Jedge?" §
"Yes, you paid the damage, Mr. Church; but what
then ?" 1
" Well, Jedge, my rum did a good deal to'ards killin'
lawyer Thompson, now, and it 'pears ter me when I kill
a lawyer I kinder oughter get a rebate I" E. PERKINS—ATTORNEY AT LAW.
Attorney at Law.
I am now ready to commence
the practice of law in New York.
I've been reading New York law
for twro weeks—night and day.
I find all law is based on precedents. Whenever a client comes
to me and tells me he has
committed a great crime, I take
down the precedent and tell him
what will become of him if he
don't run away.
In cases where clients contemplate great crimes, I tell them beforehand what will be
the penalty if they don't buy a juryman.
Yesterday a man came to me and said he wanted
to knock Mayor Hall's teeth down his throat. "What
will be the penalty, Mr. Perkins?" he asked.
"Are they false teeth   or real teeth?" I inquired.
" False, I think, sir."
" Then don't do it, sir. False teeth are personal
property; but if they are real, knock away. These
are the precedents:"
A fellow on Third avenue
borrowed a set of false teeth
from the show case of a dentist,
and he was sent to Sing Sing for
four years.
Another fellow knocked a
man's real teeth down his throat,
and Judge Barnard let him off
with a reprimand ! 130
The next day Controller Green came to me and
wanted to knock out Mr. Chas. A. Dana's eye, because
Mr. Dana wrote such long editorials.
"Are they real eyes or glass eyes, Mr. Green?" I
"One looks like glass, the other is undoubtedly real,"
said Mr. Green.
"Then read this precedent and go for the real
Making off with a man's glass
eye—two years in Sing Sing.
In cases of legs I find these precedents :
Tearing out a man's real eye—
a fine of $K.
Stealing a man's crutch—two
years in the Penitentiary.
Breaking a man's leg—a fine
of $10.
So I advise clients to go for real eyes and real legs.
I conclude—
Damage to or destruction of a
man's life—acquittal or a recommendation to mercy.
I conclude—
Damage to a man's property—
the Penitentiary and severest penalty which the law admits.
Now I am ready to practice. I prefer murder or
manslaughter cases, as they are the simplest. If you
want to shoot a man come and see me, and I'll
make a bargain with the judge and jury, and get you
bail beforehand. HOW DONN  PIRATE  THRASHED  "ELI
OF consider's NEPHEW.
I shall never forget how Donn Pirate, a District
of Columbia brigand, and I fell out and had a big
fight. I shall also long remember the terrible thrashing he gave me. I knew I had been whipped by Donn
because I saw the marks on Donn's face and also
talked with the doctor who sponged him off and put
liniment on him. But oh, it was a fearful castigation!
I never want to be whipped again. If ever any man
wants to continue to serve humanity—wants to make
a martyr of himself—wants to reduce himself to a
lump of jelly like the boneless man in the circus, by
whipping me, I hope he will read this and reflect.
This is the way Donn came to thrash me. I tell it
to our sorrow. You see, Donn had been saying how
I had stolen some literary thunder out of his Capitol.
I informed him politely how he had lied, and insinuated that he was a d  f , such as they have a
good many of in the District of Columbia.
This roused Donn's patriotism, and yesterday he
called at my rooms to thrash me. I was never so affected in my life as when  I  saw him coming up the
131 132
long dark stairs. And when I smelled his breath I
was thrown into hysterics. I was so badly frightened
that I didn't know what to do. I seized my cane and
commenced dancing wildly around the room. Every
now and then I would let it drop on somebody.
| Please be quiet, Mr. Perkins—calm yourself," said
Mr. Pirate, who seemed to sympathize with me in my
extreme agitation.
But, like John Phoenix when . he thrashed Judge
Ames, I couldn't keep quiet. My cane continued to
fly around in such a wild manner that Donn really
pitied me. He didn't feel like going on with the
thrashing at all. But all at once he made a lurch
with both legs towards the stairs, frightening me terribly. Then he dragged me down the steps by the
hair of his head, which stuck to my trembling hands.
I was so frightened that I fell down on top of him.
Then he shook me up and down in the most savage
manner by my poor hands, which were fastened tightly
to his coat-collar. All the time I was so scared that
my cane trembled violently in the air, and it would
have been smashed to pieces a dozen times had not
Mr. Pirate's head softened the blows on the pavement.
Thus this infuriated man continued to thrash me until
he became unconscious. Then the police came and
took his hair out of my hands, released me, and carried him home on a stretcher.
I shall never recover from that terrible fright. Even
this morning I began to be nervously affected again
when I saw this bloodthirsty man. My cane began
trembling in the air.   But Donn seemed to feel sorry 183
for me—"so sorry," he said, "that he didn't have the
heart to thrash me any more."
To show how this whipping occurred, I append a
map drawn by the new Heliotype process after William
E   E E                         D
E     E     E DDDDD
E       E E D    D     D
E          E D      D        D
ED D         D
E D          D           D
E D   D              D
E   E D             D D
E       E D       D
2           E D           D
E D            D
E DDDD            D
E D          DDDD
D represents Donn.
E  represents Eli.
C represents Cane.
Yours truly,
" Eli Perkins
P. S.—I  send  you  my  original  poem  by Artemus
Ward and John Phcenix on my truthful and high-toned 134
friend Donnel Pirate, the only licensed court-jester now
chap. 3 ST.
Once on a time it came to pass,
As Donn Pirate was lying
Asleep in bed, he had a dream
And cried, | I'm dying—dying !"
But when they woke the lying Donn,
He said, " I'm only cheating
The grave of my poor sinful soul
And th' Devil of a happy meeting."
So when they found in Washington,
Alas ! that Donn was stealing
A march on Satan and his imps,
Their grief 'twas hard concealing.
What do the " swells " do in Saratoga ?
Well, at eight A. M. they appear
on the hotel balcony. He is dressed
in soft hat, with feather, and English
cut-away coat; she in Leghorn hat,
cocked up with plume. She carries
a pongee parasol, bound with black
lace, and wears a pongee redingote,
with black lace sleeves to match her parasol. In the
old time of Mrs. Harrison Gray Otis and Mrs. Dr.
Rush, young ladies and poodles in hot weather both
needed muslin; but times have changed.
"Aw, Miss Astor," Augustus remarks, "thwal I
ethkort you to the Congwes spwing?"
| Thanks, . Mister de Courtney, thanks !" replies
Miss Astor, taking his arm.
Then they saunter to the spring, drink two glasses,
and walk around the park. She hangs lovingly on his
arm as she watches the squirrels and fawns, or looks
up sweetly as she gossips confidentially about the "horrid dresses the Scroggs girls wear." Returning to the
spring, they drink the third glass and return to the
"States."    Now they walk three  times up and down
135 136
the balcony to show their morning costumes; then
Sweep in to breakfast, where they read the Saratogian,
eat Spanish mackerel, woodcock, and spring chicken,
give the waiter a dollar, and gossip about the Jones
girls, whose mother used to keep a boarding-house.
"Bah! some people dp put on such airs!" remarks
Miss Astor.
After breakfast and cigars all sit on the back balcony of the I States " to talk and 1 spoon " and hear
the music.
Time, half-past ten. Sentimental young ladies now
"spoon' under mammoth umbrellas, with newspapers
in front.
" Oh, Augustus!    I am afraid somebody is watching
"No, they kon't, yeu kneuw, Miss Mollie; but it's
hawid to sit in such a cwowd—perfectly atwocious;
let's walk up to the gwaveyard."
"To see the Indians, Augustus?"
"Oh, yes; they're jolly nice — perfectly lovely—
splen 1
And off they go to the Indian encampment on the
hill. |     I
At two P. M. dinner—sweetbreads, salad, Philadelphia squabs, and champagne.
"O gracious!    Augustus, aren't my cheeks red'!"
Augustus's father, after eating squabs and drinking
champagne, sherry, and claret, remarks:
" Did it ever occur to you, Mr. Perkins, that a plain
liver like me could have the gout?"
Dinner over, and all retire to balcony to smoke and 137
read the papers. Sentimental young people retire to
corners and flirt under umbrellas and twenty-inch fans,
and Augustus reads sentimental poetry:
You kissed me !    My soul, in a bliss so divine,
Reeled and swooned like a foolish man drunken with wine.
And I thought 'twere delicious to die then, if Death
Would but come while my lips were yet moist with your breath!
And these are the questions I ask day and night:
Must my life taste but one such exquisite delight?
Would you care if your breast were my shelter as then ?
And—if you were here—would you kiss me again ?
Miss Astor reads:
Why can't you be sensible, dearie ?
I don't like men's arms on my chair.
Be still ! if you don't stop this nonsense,
I'll get up and leave you—so there !
Then the § spooniest" young people saunter over to
the ten-spring woods or down to the double seats in
Congress Spring Park.
After tea the grand balcony tramp commences.
Ladies in full dress—gros grain silks, tight to hip, long
train, with white lace sleeves. Hair braided in short
stem behind.    Gentlemen in "swallow tails."
"O, Augustus! isn't this dress too sweet for anything?"
"Just too lovely, Miss Astor. And ain't the mewsic
awful jolly to-night?"
Admiring mothers now look on and hold extra chairs.
Rich old bachelors who own dog-carts bow, present
bouquets, and retire. Engaged couples seclude themselves in unlighted corners.
"Yes, Augustus, we'll go to Washington on our
bridal trip." 138
At nine, children are led off to bed, mothers occupy
long lines of chairs around the hop room, and dancing
commences. Small talk usurps the time between the
Young Gentleman—Charmin' evening, Miss Astor.
Young Lady—Yes, awful charmin'—perfectly lovely—
Young Gentleman—Donee a squar donee to-night?
Young Lady—Oh, Augustus! I kon't, yeu kneuw.
The squar donees are beastly—perfectly atwocious—
hawible — perfectly dre'ful. Let's donee a galop.
They're  awful  jolly—perfectly  divine.
Twelve P. M.—Hop over and lights out. Girls drink
lemonade in reception room, talk about ruined dress
skirts, and handsome fellows rush down to Morrissey's.
" I'll make or break to-night."
Table loaded with white and red checks, champagne
flows, and cigar smoke fills the air, like a cherubim.
"Gus, lend me $10?"
"The white loses and the red wins," slowly repeats
the dealer.
"My God, I'm ruined!"
After midnight—streets silent; hotel dark. The click
of the gamblers' checks sounds out from the gilded
haunt of the revelers. Lizzie dreams of dresses, of
love, of heaven—and of her dear, dear, innocent
"Who smashed that champagne bottle into the mirror?"
Then they carry Augustus home—hair over his face
and his blue eyes bleared and blinded. 139
"Oh, please keep it from father!"
Why do I reflect ? Why do I look upon all this
sinning and sorrowing—this verity and vanity—this
gladness and giddiness, and see no good ? Sorrowfully I bow my head and say:
We are born ; we dance ; we weep ;
We love, we laugh—we die .'
Ah, wherefore do we laugh or weep ?
Why do we love—and die ?
Who knows that secret deep ?
Alas, not I !
We toil through pain and wrong ;
We fight—and fly ;
We love ; we lose, and then, ere long,
Stone dead we lie !
O life, is all thy song,
" Endure and die I ?
Conversations as varied as
the crowd greet you on every
hand at Saratoga. Last night
Mr. Winthrop, a young author
from Boston, was talking to Miss
Johnson from Oil City. Miss
Johnson is a beautiful girl—very
fashionable. No material expense
is spared to make her attractive.
She is gored and puckered to
match her pannier, and ruffled
and fluted and cut on the bias to MISS Johnson.
correspond with  her overskirt, but, alas!  her literary
knowledge is limited.
As Mr. Winthrop was promenading up and down
the balcony last night, he remarked to Miss Johnson
as he opened Mr. Jenkins's  English book:
"Have you seen Ginx's Baby, Miss Johnson?"
" Oh, Mr. Winthrop! I think all babies are dreadful—awful—perfectly atrocious ! Mrs. Ginx don't bring
her baby into the parlor, does she?"
1 But how do you like Dame Europa's School, Miss
Johnson?" continued Mr. Winthrop.
140 141
"I don't like any school at all, Mr. Winthrop, except
dancing school—they're dreadful—perfectly atrocious !
O. the divine round dances, the "
"Have you seen the Woman in White, by Wilkie
Collins, Miss Johnson?"
" No, but I saw the wouran in dark blue by Commodore Vanderbilt—and such a dancer—such a "
"Did you see Napoleon's Julius Ccesar?" interrupted
Mr. Winthrop.
I Napoleon's Julius seize her! you don't say so, Mr.
Winthrop! Well, I don't wonder. I wanted to seize
her myself—any one who would wear such an atrocious
polonaise !"
And so, aristocratic Miss Johnson went on. In every
word she uttered I saw the superiority of the material
over the mental—the preponderance of \milliner over
the schoolmaster. I was glad to sit with the poor
Boston author at the fountain of Miss Johnson's wisdom
—to drink in a perpetual flow of soul, and to feast on
jj§ But when a moment afterwards I saw Miss Johnson
and empty-headed Mr. Witherington of Fifth avenue
floating down the ball-room in the redowa, I felt that
my early education had been neglected.
"Alas, I cannot dance!" I sighed. "I cannot dance
the German!"
"O," I sighed in the anguish of my heart, "would
that I had directed my education in other channels;
would that I had cultivated my brain less and my heels
more, and that books and art and architecture had
not drawn me aside from the festive dance.   Would
Eft 143
that the palace of the Caesars, the Milan Cathedral,
and the great dome of St. Paul's were in chaos! Would
that Dickens and John Ruskin and old Hugh Miller
had never lived, and that the sublime coloring of Rembrandt and Raphael had faded like the colors of a
"After death comes the judgment; and what will it
profit a man to gain the whole world and fail with
Miss Johnson to dance the round dances?" In the
anguish of my heart I cry aloud, "May.the Lord have
mercy on my soul and not utterly cut me off because
I have foolishly cultivated my brain while my heels
have rested idly in my boots. /
Minnie is a type of the watering
place belle. She is as beautiful
as her picture, and so fascinating!
Below is Minnie's diary for one
week, just as she wrote it at Sar
Monday.—-Horribly cold. Arrived from Lake George to-day.
Looked like a fright—know I did,
when I got out of the omnibus.
Wonder if the Vaughans are here. Phew! had to walk
through fifty men smoking on the balcony. Eight
dresses—eight days. Know Virginia is dying to see
them; such lace ! Saw Bob Munson. Had same clubhouse smell as Fred. Walking wine-cellar. She kissed
me in the hall twice. Pumped her about Dick. Didn't
show in the parlor to-night. Will make a sensation at
breakfast.    Who is this Dick?    Looks  like a poke.
Tuesday.—Bob Munson's card before breakfast—the
bore! Drank four glasses. Spooned with Bob on park
seat; afraid it won't agree with me. I do believe he
loves me. Said so. Squeezed my hand twice. The
idiot!    I'm   too   happy  to   live.    Chops   and   codfish,
H 143 1AA
Quaker style, for breakfast. Virginia called with Dick.
Such a dress—gored and puffed and fluted, and the
dear knows what! Just saw an old flame, Albert, dear
Albert. Bowed gracefully. Mamma frowned. Oh,
dear! Asked him to call. Squeezed my hand a little
What did he mean? Virginia's- mother very sick.
Water was too much for me.
Wednesday.—Such an event has nappe: e | Dick called. Glad Virginia
left him with me. Such a lovely waltz
with Bob. Why don't he cut his nails ?
Horrible! I bite mine. After waltz,
spooned with Dick. Dick says I'm too
sweet to live. Perfectly atrocious.
Dick and I think alike. He likes the moon, and I'm
another. He's spooney and so—well, I make him believe I am. If that mean, jealous Fanny Mason goes
peering around again when Dick is holding my hand,
I'll scalp her.    No, I'm to be her bridesmaid.
Thursday.—Walked to graveyard with Dick. Such
a nice, sensible talk as we had. First, we talked about
the soul—how destiny often binds two souls together
by an invisible chain. Pshaw, what an old Muggins
Bob Munson is! Then we considered the mission of
man and woman upon earth—how they ought to comfort each other in sickness and in health. If I looked
like that fright who wore the blue dress, I'd wear corsets. And then Dick quite startled me by asking me
if I ever cared for any one. Wore blue grenadine cut
on the bias to-night. Told him yes, for papa and
mamma.    Always did look lovely in grenadine.    Dick Mo
is a darling. "I mean, Minnie, could you love me?"
The fraud.    Cut the Masons flat.
Friday.—O dear! Rode to the lake. Bob said,
"I'm going to have a lemonade; what will you have?"
Just as if I could say champagne after that. Albert,
dear Albert! Wore white muslin. Dick spooned again.
"You look sweet enough to kiss." Mustache touched
my face. Said he longed for a chance to talk with me
alone. Knew the precious time had come, and Dick
was just a-going to say it, when ma came up, with that
dreadful old widower Thompson. O dear! Water
disagrees with me again.    Must stop it.
"Come, Minnie, you go with Mr. Thompson. I
want to introduce your young friend Dick to the
Masons." I look like a fright. Don't pay to buy six-
buttoned gloves to spoon in.
Dick flirted with Fanny Mason — the scarecrow!
Wore Elizabeth ruffle four inches high. Did it to
spite Fanny Mason.    Where is Virginia ?
Saturday.—Dick proposed. Swell clothes did the
business. I do love lavender gloves. Virginia is cut
out, sure. Sang " Rock me to Sleep." Fanny Mason
said I had a cold. The meddling old wudgock ! Lavender is my color. Engaged to Dick. Gracious, I'm
half afraid I love that fellow ! He does kiss too sweet
for anything. Must stop drinking the water. Saw the
educated pig. He's a boor. Mother caught Dick kissing me. Told father. Stormed. Let out that we
were engaged. " Then you'll go home to-morrow." O,
dear, my fun is all over.    Must stop at the Point and
take in the cadets once more.    They can't flirt.    Such
G 146
goslings!    Dick goes with us, and Virginia—she's jilted !    Ha!    Ha!! '  §•" <        %: ||
P. S.—Wrote a letter to Julia Mason.
My Darling Julia: First let me tell you all about
myself. I'm just lovely, and having such a time!
Flirting in Saratoga ain't like flirting in New York—
in the horrid box at the opera, or on the atrocious stairs
at a party. We have just the whole back balcony all
to ourselves—and then we walk over to the graveyard,
and pretend to go down to bowl, and stray off into
Congress Spring Park. Then the drives ! My lovely
phaeton—and Prancer, she's just too sweet for anything!
Now, the idea of calling a horse sweet!
"How do I look?" | 1
Well, the best way to tell you that is to send you a
sketch which Dick made for me. Now, you don't know
who Dick is, I suppose. Well, Julia—now don't you
mention it—he's—Dick is—well, I'm engaged to him!
Dick is a brunette, you know, and I'm a blonde. He's
poetical and I'm prosy. He's lean and I'm stout. He's
serious and I'm giddy. He's smart and I'm—but you
should just see his eyes once.    Such eyes !
And such a divine mustache, Julia!
I know he loves me. He's told me so fifty times;
and when I tell him I love him, he draws a long, sad
sigh, and says:
"I am very happy, darling;   I like to be loved."
That's all he says, but I know he loves me.
I know you want to know how I got Dick " on the 147
string," now don't you?    Well, I'll tell you.    There is
a Miss Virginia Vaughan stopping at
the Clarendon. She's an old thing,
and awfully cross and prudish, as all
those Clarendon girls are.
Ha, ha!    You know, Dick, he says
the   Clarendon   must   be   an   awful
healthy place.
"Why?" I asked.
I Because most all the young ladies live to such nice
old ages there."
Oh, the wretch!
If it weren't so healthy up there, O dear! a good
many of them would have been dead years ago, wouldn't
they? M
Well, this Virginia Vaughan knew Dick. She, the
mean thing, was engaged to him when they came here.
How he could have ever fancied that cross thing, I don't
know. My ! wouldn't she eat me up if she could—
wouldn't she !
Mother says Vaughan and my Dick look just alike.
Bah! |j / s   -
Well, to tell you how I first met Dick. Virginia, you
know, was engaged to him. About a week ago she got
a telegraph from the Masons over at Newport, saying
her mother was sick—almost dying. Virginia had to
go, of course. So she came to me and said she loved
Dick, and she hated to leave him—the simpleton—and
that as they were engaged, Dick would be quite lonesome without her. The little goose! Then she asked
me to sort of entertain Dick till she came back.    Sit on 148
the balcony, you know, and promenade, etc. Well, I
did it: you may be assured I did. I played awful
sweet on poor Richard. (" Poor Richard " is good—
ain't it ? I mean for me.) I asked him to promenade
in the park. We sat on that flirting seat. I said I was
lonely. I told him it was not meet for any one to live
all alone. Then I sighed, and let my hand fall gently
on the book. Of course he took it—any fellow will do
that. You know the rest. In three days he proposed
to me—and—I—well, of course I accepted him. Of
course I had to.
But whaf a fuss we had, though! One day I was
sitting on that seat alone, reading and waiting for Dick.
I knew he was coming—of course I did. Pretty soon
I heard some one stealing up behind me. I was sure
it was Dick, but I pretended not to notice him. Pretty
soon he came close up, and gave me a kiss, smack on
my neck.
"Oh, Dick] how could you, darling?" I cried, when,
looking up—good gracious ! what do you think ? Why,
it wa'n't Dick at all. It was that mean, old, poky,
cross Virginia Vaughan!
Of course she made a fuss about it, and broke off
the engagement, and all that; but I don't care. Dick
is mine now; and they say the silly thing has actually
put on mourning!
Did you ever ?
Well, Vaughan (we girls don't call her Virginia any
more) has got some other beaux now. She's got old
gray-headed Munson, of the Jockey Club.
Old Munson drives a Brewster dog-cart, with a tiger 149
behind; and such swell English clothes! Then there
isx a real nice club-house smell about him all the time,
like dried champagne and cigar-smoke. Dick says all
these club men smell like a dried bar.
There, pa is coming.
The dear, good old pa! I'm going right straight to
him and tell him about Dick, get him to say "yes,"
and then tease him out of such a trousseau! Diamonds, laces, silver, six bridesmaids, honeymoon, and—
goodness!—I wonder if Dick will want to do like those
Union Club fellows—go off and spend the entire
honeymoon with the fellows, and leave me at home1
Such things are dreadful.    Oh, dear!
But, darling, I must close. Let's see, what have I
written about? Next time I'll tell you about myself.
By-by!    You old darling! Minnie.
Saratoga, July 18.
Yes, married Brown'3 Boys. You will see them in
every large city and at every watering-place—men married to suffering, neglected wives, but flirting with
scores of young ladies.
Yesterday   a   young   lady, Miss   Ida  ,  at   the
United States Hotel, received a letter from one of these
married Browns' Boy flirts at the Clarendon. Miss Ida
carried the letter all day, and accidentally dropped it
in the ball-room last night. The writer is a handsome
man, the husband of a devoted wife, and the father
of beautiful children, and this, alas! is the heartless
letter which he writes to one of our young ladies today :
Clarendon, July to.
My own darling :
I will try and see you to-night in the piano corner
of the big parlor—at eight.    Manage to be there with
Lizzie and Charley, for they are
spooney and we can " shake " them,
and they will take it as a kindness.
I send you my photograph. How
do you like it? Do send me yours.
You are in my mind constantly—
day and night. You say you "don't
think   I  can  be  true  to   you   and
160 have a wife at the Clarendon." Have 1 not told
you, dearest, that I have no wife? To be sure, we
are married, but she is not my wife. I do not love
her as I love you. She belonged to a very rich
family, and had a good deal of property—Boulevard
lots. She laid no claim to being aristocratic. My
family were aristocratic. There is no better blood in
the Knickerbocker Club than he has who has so
often confessed his love to you. She married me for
my aristocratic connections, and I married her, alas!
I am ashamed to confess it, for her great wealth. We
are married, but not mated. Then, after she nursed
me through a long spell of sickness, she looked haggard and worn. Then I told her I could not love
her unless she looked fresh and beautiful. She looked
sad at this, and turned her head away. Foolish woman.
Then I resolved to get a divorce. This was before
I saw you, my dear, sweet girl—before Miss S. presented us at the last ball. Didn't we have a sweet
time? Then, when we rode over to the lake, and
sauntered out along the willow banks, Mrs. C. thought
I was at the races. That night I loved you so wildly
that I had a fearful headache. I knew it was that.
I threw myself on my bed at the Clarendon. Mrs. C.
insisted on bathing my head with camphor. She said
the races were too much for me. I tossed and rolled in
a delirium for hours, and then finally went to sleep. In
my sleep I dreamed of you, my deaj: Ida. I called your
name aloud several times—then I awoke. It was three
o'clock, but Mrs. C, haggard and worn, was still sitting
over me.   When I cried your name, dear Ida, she said: 152
Why, darling, have you forgotten my name ?    My
name is not Ida."
How stupid! In the morning I gave her a scolding
for making a fool of herself. She looked so forloni
after this that I told her to stay in her room, and I
came down and spent that happy evening with you.
In one of your notes, dear Ida, you say your papa
asked you if I was not married, and that you blushed
and said " Of course not." That's right. I never take
out Mrs. C, and no one knows that we are married
but our intimate friends.
I shall soon have a divorce,
when I will let her go with a
dowry. It is quite funny to
think that the very money
which I propose to pay her
dowry with, she herself gave me
when we were married. But if
I give her a small dowry, then
we will have enough to keep
our carriage and live handsomely. Won't we, pet? You
say, darling, that you could
never be happy without a carriage. Well, you shall
have one, if I have to sell Minnie's diamonds to buy
it. Minnie won't want diamonds when she is living
on a dowry.
You ask me how I became acquainted with Minnie?
Well, it's a funny story.    We first met at Newport.
Her father came up with the Vintons—coach and four.
Minnie was beautiful then.   She had golden hair and
great brown eyes, like you, pet, and an arm as plump
and white as Lizzie's; but she has worried 'herself so
about me when I've had neuralgia and headache after
big dinners at the Club, that she's only a shadow
Well, as I was saying, we were at Newport together.
One day we were out rowing—clear out by the lighthouse. I stood up in the boat to light a cigar—a gust
came and over I went into the surf. I thought I was
done for, and I did sink twice, but the third time
Minnie rowed the boat up to me, caught hold of my
clothes, and held me till some men put out from the
shore. I ought to be very grateful to Minnie—and I
am. I'm going to allow her a large dowry—for her—
$1,500 a year, and we'll take care of Freddy ourselves,
won't we? I suppose she will want Freddy—all mothers are foolish about their children; but he's a boy,
and of course I can take him. Then he won't bore us
much, as we can trudge him off to boarding-school.
Now, my darling Ida, you see how much I love you.
So keep this evening for me and all the round dances
on your card. Those United States fellows wouldn't
make such a sacrifice for you as I would—would
they? Tell your father that I'm a vestryman in Dr.
Morgan's church. I'm not, you know, but they did
speak to me about it once, and it's the same thing.
With kisses and love, dear Ida, I am all thine till I
see you.
J. C. F.
P. S.—Of course this note is all entre nous.
j—• 154
To-night I watched for J. C. F. Sure enough, Miss
Ida sat waiting for him in the piano corner. In a
moment they " shook" Lizzie and Charley, and went
off on the back balcony, where the lights are few and
dim. There they are now—now as I write. I can
see their shadows "drawn out on the floor, but, alas!
they are not two shadows, but one. They must be
sitting very close together.
This, alas, is love — Saratoga love. This is new-
dispensation love. This is round dance, dog cart,
tandem, panier love. This is not the old-fashioned
love of Ruth and Boaz nor the foolish sentiment of
Dante and Beatrice. This is the pure and sublime
passion engendered by the new civilization—the civilization of divorce trials, faro banks, horse races, and
round dances. The old love of our fathers was old-
fashioned and primitive. The new love must come
through wives divorced, through six-carat solitaires and
in a gilded tandem drag with coachmen in gold-
spangled liveries. Honor, bravery, learning! Bah !
Take away your Socrates and give me the new Philosopher with his coachmen in top-boots. Why serve
seven years for a woman's love, like miserable Jacob,
caught in the snares of Rachel, when you can marry
a fortune, divorce your wife with a $1,500 dowry, and
carry off your new sweetheart in two weeks at Newport and Saratoga ? We all take to the new panier-
dog-cart love. We all throw away the plain gold ring
for the sparkling solitaire. Did not Martin Luther go
back on Rome and St. Peter—his first love—for the
pretty girl of Nuremburg? ELI'S BELLE OF SARATOGA.
There she goes—the old belle—and thus we sum
her up: Nine gallons of inflated pannier, 176 yards
of muslin in trailing underskirts, $48 worth of wig, $36
worth of dangling smelling-bottles, fans, card-cases,
and straps; 196 yards of gros grain silk, some cotton,
one box of pearl powder; $72 worth of teeth on gutta
percha; six-button gloves, mammoth umbrella, copy of
Edmund Yates's book—and all hanging on the arm of
something intended to represent a man—a sort of amateur gentleman.
Saxe says: ^
Hark to the music of her borrowed tone ;
Observe the blush that purchase makes her own ;
See the sweet smile that sheds its beaming rays,
False as the bosom where her diamonds blaze.
And sorrowfully my cousin Peleg wails this verse:
See how the changes of her walk reveal
The patent instep and the patent heel;
Her patent pannier rounds her form divine,
Its patent arch supports her patent spine,
Lends matchless symmetry and stylish gait,
And bears the label, "Patent—'68."
A patent corset holds her flimsy form,
And patent dress-pads keep her bosom warm.
Behold the plaintive glance of patent eyes,
As she lifts her patent eyebrows in surprise.
She shakes her head—four pecks of patent hair
Fly like a hopryard in the August air,
U55 156
And twenty grim ghosts whisper her aside,
I Dear Sylph ! we wore that wig before we died."
To whom respondeth, unabashed, the beauty,
Git out, you spooks ! I guess I know my fute-y."
How gnash her patent teeth with gutta percha ire,
And flash her patent eyes with belladonna fire I
As drops her patent chignon in a chair,
She jumps to pick it up	
Saratoga, July %th.
Yesterday    a   remarkable
case of misplaced confidence
came out up at the aristocratic
United States.
A kind old millionaire father was staying there with two
daughters. He was said to
be very wealthy. He himself
talks of putting $5005000 into
a national bank. Under the
circumstances, of course the
Brown's Boys have been very sweet on the eldest young
lady. They (and one especially) have been always on
hand with bouquets and bon-bons. Absolute devotion
are no words to express this young man's polite attention. Thus the thing has been going on for a week.
All at once yesterday the most devoted young man fell
off.. He looked pale and excited. Then he gave up
his aristocratic room at the States, and took cheap
rooms at Congress Hall. Here he looked the picture
of discouragement.
Meeting him this morning I asked him what was the
Why, Eli," said he, as he heaved a great sigh, "I've for a whole week; we've
been over to eat black bass at Meyers's; we've bowled
and breakfasted at Moon's, and I don't know what
we haven't done."
"Well, Gus, what of that?" I asked.
"Nothing, only I've been fooled—deceived. You
know Miss K 's father is rich?"
"Yes—a millionaire.1
"And I've been devoted to her for a week?"
"Yes, I've noticed it."
" Spent lots of money on her for bouquets and drives,
"And what, Gus, w-h-a-t?"
"Why, Will Clark knows the family. He was groomsman at the old fellow's first daughter's wedding."
"Was it a big one?" I asked.
"Yes, a swell affair on Madison avenue. But when
the poor young husband went to get into the carriage
to start on his bridal tour, the old tight-fisted dromedary of a father-in-law gave his bride-daughter—how
much do you think?1
"Why, I suppose a check for $20,000, Gus."
" A check for $20,000 ! Thunderation! The tight-
fisted old fool handed her a $10 bill, and Will Clark
says he'll be blessed if he has ever given her a penny
since; and here I've been wasting bouquets and a
whole week's time on the second daughter, and "
And then Gus chewed the end of his cigar violently,
and wiped the cold drops of perspiration from his
forehead. He was a broken-hearted victim of misplaced confidence, 159
I told him to cheer up. I told him that he was like
all of us—that it goes against the reason of a young
man nowadays to take an old man's extravagant daughter for nothing. I told him that once we had visions
of supporting our fathers-in-law—of giving them large
sums of money; but now, alas! things have changed,
and fathers who deceive us, as you have just been
deceived, ought not to be allowed to run at large.
They should be instantly arrested. They are confidence men—stumbling blocks and snares in the pathway
of innocent, confiding young men.
"Alas, Eli!" he sighed, as the big tears rolled down
his cheeks, "when will we poor innocent young men
cease to be deceived by our sweethearts' fathers?
There ain't any more honest love. It is all planning
and plotting, lying and conspiracy, Eli. The old
women lie, and say the girls have large fortunes. Old
men talk to unsuspecting young men about establishing $500,000 banks. Brothers lie and say their sisters
have large expectations, and the girls—even the girls,
Eli—why, they lie their heads on some sweet Albert's
shoulder down in New York and then come up here
and make believe they are not engaged. They take
our bouquets and bon-bons, and then, alas! they let
us slide down the pathway of life alone.
Somebody should be arrested! UP  TO  SNUFF.
Colonel Alexander, the venerable President of the
Equitable Insurance Company, while in Saratoga always
keeps his pockets full of silver pieces. He keeps a
pocketful of dimes and quarters for the waiters. He
has found that the darky boys are ten times as delighted at the sight of a silver quarter as they are at a
piece of soiled fractional currency, and that they will
run just ten times as far for it, and bring just ten times
as good a dinner. As the Colonel hands the pieces
out, he always whispers slyly:
" There^ that is for * snuff,' my boy;" and all the
boys have had Colonel Alexander's "snuff" said to
them so many times that they are all ready to grin and
drop the quarter in their pockets as the silver piece
falls and "snuff" is uttered.
Well, last night, the Colonel rang his bell about
twelve o'clock for some ice-water. In- a moment, the
darky was on hand with a pitcher. As he set it down,
the Colonel tipped forward very ominously in his robe
de nuit, and handed the boy a couple of bright silver
"There, my boy, that's for snuff, you know," said
he, as he dropped the shiny pieces into the somber
palm. Then the door closed* and Colonel A. went to
J6& 161
About one o'clock he was awakened by a loud knock
at his door, and then another.
Rat! tat! tat!       :ff
"Who"s there?" shouted the Colonel from his bed.
It was the waited, who, not understanding Col. Alexander's snuff dodge, was pounding at the door with a
bladder of maccaboy in his hand.
"Good gracious!" said the Colonel, as he rubbed
his eyes and opened the door. " What in thunder do
you want?"
"It's me, sah," said the faithful darky.
"And what do you want, 'round knocking at doors
two o'clock in the morning ? What in goodness'
name- ?"
"But, sah, I is come wid de snuff!"
"The wrhat, man?" asked the astonished Colonel.
1 De snuff, sah; and dis is de bfcst I could do, foh
de peoples is all done gone to bed, and de 'backer
shop is all done shut up. Sarten, sah, dis is all de
snuff to be had, fer I'se perpendickler to inquiah evy
wha, sah."
"O dear, this is the worst!" sighed the Colonel, and
then the ladies, who were listening to the dialogue over
the transept, say they heard the disconsolate man drop
heavily on his pillow and sigh as if his great, good old
heart were broken. A FLIRTING DODGE.
One day I saw a pretty young lady from Brooklyn
flirting in a Saratoga parlor. She was reported to be
an heiress, and of course had hosts of admirers. There
seemed to be a good deal of strife among the young
gentlemen as to who should absorb this pretty heiress.
That day a handsome New York fellow got hold of
her early in the morning, and it seemed as if he would
keep her away from all the rest of her admirers for the
rest of the day. H& must have f| buzzed " her for an
hour steady—at least until a young Chicago fellow
thought he never would go. He despaired of getting a
word in edgeways—this Chicago man did. If he had
known the New York fellow he would have been
tempted to join in the conversation and sat him out,
but the young lady seemed to like the New York
fellow and was bound to let him have his way clear
to the end. This made it all the worse for the Chicago gentleman.
Well, how did the Chicago fellow manage it ?
Why, he simply walked around behind the New York
fellow, and remarked to a friend, just loud enough for
the enraptured lover to hear it:
" John, that feller wouldn't sit there talking so sweet
if he knew what a fearful rent there was in the back of
his coat, would he ?" 163
The New York fellow overheard the remark. His look
of interest cooled in a moment. Then he worked his
back around towards the wall, as if he was trying to
conceal something. He imagined ten thousand people
were looking at him. -He didn't lean forward and look
sweetly into the young lady's eyes any more. He put
his hand convulsively around towards his back, ahemed I
a few times in a business-like way, looked red in the
face, and then said:
I Excuse me, Miss Mollie, but I have an engagement
with a friend. You'll excuse me a moment, won't you ?"
and then he shied off towards the elevator with his
face to the young lady. He didn't walk straight, but
worked himself along sideways, keeping his back
towards the wall, and then disappeared up the Otis
elevator, just as the young fellow from Chicago sat
down by the young lady and commenced his version of
the oft-repeated tale of love and hope.
Are such things right ? FALL  OF ANOTHER CLERGYMAN.
It is with sorrow that I am compelled to chronicle
the fall of another clergyman, and that, too, in Saratoga.
The unfortunate man is the Rev. Dr. Corey, who has
been, with Dr. Deems, for many years the spiritualistic
co-adviser of Commodore Vanderbilt We all know that
for many years Dr. Corey has driven fast horses with
the Commodore, but his friends were not prepared to
hear of his fall like a good many other clergymen,
through the influence of woman.
The scandalous story being told by Dr. Corey's
brother clergymen at the " States " to-day, is as follows:
For several weeks Dr. Corey has been noticed at intervals to be engaged in talking with a beautiful young
lady on the balcony. No other strange conduct was
noticed, and nothing serious has been thought of the
matter till to-day, when the full particulars of the clergyman's fall became known. It seems that last evening
about dusk the doctor was seen talking still more
earnestly with the same young lady, when another
young lady, a friend of the first, hurriedly joined the
two. Both young ladies are highly connected, but
their names are withheld from the public for the present. As the second lady appeared, words ensued, and
Dr. Corey seemed to be surprised about something.
Stepping back a moment toward the edge of the bal-
164 165
cony, his foot slipped, and the unfortunate clergyman
fell over the edge and down into a water-sprinkler,
totally ruining the sprinkler, and tearing a fearful rent
in his Gersh Lock wood pantaloons. Before the doctor's fall became publicly known, he fled to New York,
where he is now keeping his room while his family
tailor is trying to patch up the difficulty and mend the
unfortunate affair. THE SWELL DRESS-PARADE.
The   Seventh   Regiment   went
to  Boston  on the 18th  of June
to attend the Bunker  Hill  Centennial with the swell 5 th Maryland.     The Regiment  encamped
on the Common—right in front
of the aristocratic Beacon street
brown  stone  residences.    All
the pretty girls in  Boston
came down to Beacon
street to board that
week, and then such
dancing and talking
and flirting as went
Of course,
everythin g
was done in a
polite and circumspect ~Tnanner. Our fellows all wore neat white
pantaloons and sported white kids in place of gigantic
cotton gloves. No gruff orders were given by the
officers, but every direction was made in the shape of
a polite request. An officer was not permitted to say
"Right shoulder shift—harms!"
But he was instructed to say,
"Ah, gentlemen [smiling and bowing gracefully, with
hat in hand), will you do me the favor to shift your
weapons to the other shoulder?" and immediately
after making this request he did not shout in a loud
voice, Harms ! but as soon as the request was complied with the officer was instructed to remove his hat,
and say, " Thank you, gentlemen," or " Much obliged to
you," or something of that sort, yeu kneuw.
NEW manual of arms.
This is the way Col. Clarke drilled the regiment
after it was drawn up along the Beacon street residences, with the beautiful Boston young ladies in front,
kept back by a guard of white satin ribbon.
First the polite drill-master appeared before them,
smiling in his most placid manner—then politely
tipping his hat he saluted the line, and proceeded to
shake hands with the entire regiment. When this
was done the regular drilling commenced and continued as follows:
Attention, if you please, gentlemen ! Ah {takes off hat
and bows sweetly), thank you!
Will you be kind enough to shoulder arms ? Thanks
{smiling and bowing with hat in hand), gentlemen,
Will you now favor me by ordering arms? Ah, thanks,
If it is not asking too much, will you be kind enough to
order arms again ? Ah—thanks—{bowing very low and
taking off hat), you are very kind. 168
I hope if not too fatiguing,*that you will now be kind
enough to present arms ! Ah—very good {smiles sweetly),
I'm too obliged  to you !
If agreeable to you, will you shoulder arms, please?
You are—ah, very kind—{bowing)—I'm so much obliged
to vou!
If not too much fatigued, gentlemen, might I ask you
to order arms? Thanks, gentlemen. Ah, you're very
kind!    {Bows very low and salutes regiment?)
You are now dismissed, gentlemen! {Bows profoundly?) I'm, ah—awfully obliged to you. If agreeable to you, ah—I should be happy to, ah—meet you
again to-morrow evening! Good day, gentlemen!
{Bows and shakes hands all round, while the soldiers
return to flirt with the young ladies on the balconies?) THE   GOOD  MAN.
Do not think because I write
about the follies and foibles of
Saratoga   that   good   and   true
men do not sometimes go there.
The  good   man  will   be   good
everywhere.     He will   be   just
till  he  has  no  bread,  just  tiH
he   has   no   drink,  just
chained to the stake, till
he sees the faggots piled
about  him   and  curling
flames   gnawing   at   his
quivering   flesh — clinging to the throne of God.
In the mazes of the dance you
will see brave men with hearts to
love and pray; Christian mothers
with faces all aglow with the smiles
of Heaven; children' with beautiful angel faces, and babes in arms,
sweet    blossoms    born    from   the
bosom of Divinity.
Last summer you might have seen enacted daily, at one of the most fashionable
hotels   in   Saratoga,   one  of the   sweetest
incidents  in  the  Christian  life.     As  the
169 170
thoughtless watering-place throng swayed in and out
of the great dining-room, and the endless clatter of
tongues and cutlery seemed to drown every holy
thought, a silver-haired old man entered quietly at the
head of his Christian family and took his seat at the
head of the table.
Instantly the laughing faces of a tableful of diners
assumed a reverential look. Their knives and forks
rested silently on the table while this silver-frosted
Christian, with clasped hands, modestly murmured a
prayer of thanks—a sweet benediction to God. The
scene lasted but a moment; but all day long the hallowed prayer of this good man seemed to float through
the air, guiding, protecting and consecrating the thoughtless army of wayward souls.
It was a long time before I could find out who this
grand old Christian was; but one night it came to us
all at once.
That night a lovely Christian mother arose early
from the hop-room, with her two little girls, to return
to her room.
"Why do you go so early, Mrs. Clarke? The hop
in not half over," remarked a lady friend.
| You will laugh at me if I tell you. Now, really,
won't you, my dear?"
" No, not unless you make me," replied her friend.
" Well, then," said this Christian mother, as she
leaned forward with a child's hand in each of hers.
"You know I room next to that dear, good old white-
haired man, and every night at ten he does pray so
beautifully that I like to go with the children and sit 171
in the next room and hear him pray; for I know.when
we are near his voice nothing can happen to. the children."
With tears in her eyes, her friend said, " Let me go
with you if and right there, in the middle of the landers, these two big-hearted Christian women went out
with their children to go and kneel down by the door
in the next room to listen to the family prayer of good
old Richard Suydam OWED  TO  FRANKLIN  STATUE.
Read at the Franklin Statue Dinner at Delmonicds.
Grate statur !    Immense, gigantic Franklyn,
Made of brass !   We reverential bow,
And skrape, and in thy presents stand
With heds uncuvered.    We give thee glory—praze,
And smash our Dunlap hats and kry
Thy glory to yon shining Star!
Grate, noble sire ! and yet, of liberty a Sun
Who cam'st to Herald freedom and a press unchained—
Who took'st thy Post with patriots round
The Standard of thy- kuntry's struggling braves,
And wrote thyself a Tribune to the startled World.
Thou noble ded !—and yet knot ded, but quick
In lasting brass—the Express image of thy anshunt self,
A tranquil Witness to the wond'ring Globe,
That honist werth shall not eskape reward I
Mr. Travers, who stammers enough to make a story
interesting, went into a bird-fancier's in Center street,
to buy a parrot.
"H—h—have you got a—a—all kinds of b—b—
birds?" asked Mr. T. ' :I
I Yes, sir, all kinds," said the bird-fancier politely.
II w—w—want to b—buy a p—p—parrot," hesitated Mr. T.
173 173
" Well, here is a beauty.    See what glittering plumage !
"I—1—is he a g—g—good t—talker?" stammered
"If he can't" talk better than you can I'll give him
to you," exclaimed the shopkeeper.
William bought the parrot.
" Mr. Travers," says Jay Gould, " once went down
to a dog-fancier's in Water street, to buy a rat-terrier.
"'Is she a g—g—good ratter?'asked Travers as he
poked a little, shivering pup with his cane.
"'Yes, sir; splendid! I'll show you how he'll go
for a rat,' said the dog-fancier—and then he put him
in a box with a big -rat."
" How did it turn out ?" I asked Mr. Gould.
"Why, the rat made one dive and laid out the
frightened terrier in a second, but Travers turned,
around, and sez he—i I say, Johnny, w—w—what'11 ye
t—t—take for the r—r—rat?' "
If any one tells a good story in New York, they
always lay it to Mr. Travers, just as they always used
to lay all the good stories in Washington to President
Henry Clews, the well-known bald-headed banker,
who always prides himself on being a self-made man,
during a  recent  talk  with Mr. Travers had  occasion 174
to remark that he was the architect of his own destiny
that he was a self-made man.
"W—w—what d—did you s—ay, Mr. Clews?" asked
Mr. Travers.
" I say with pride, Mr. Travers, that I am a self-
made man—that I made myself—"
I Hold, H—henry," interrupted Mr. Travers, as he
dropped his cigar, "w—while you were m—m—
making yourself, why the devil d—did—didn't you
p—put some more hair on the top of y—your h—
Mr. Clews has since invested 75 cents in a wig.
One day last summer, Colonel Fisk was showing Mr.
Travers over the Plymouth Rock, the famous Long
Branch boat. After showing the rest of the vessel,
he pointed to two large portraits of himself and Mr.
Gould, hanging, a little distance apart, at the head of
the stairway.
" There," says the Colonel, " what do you think of
them ?
" They're good, Colonel—you hanging on one side
and Gould on the other ; f—i—r—s—t rate. But,
Colonel," continued the wicked Mr. Travers, buried
in thought, " w—w—where's our Saviour ?"
Mr. Travers, who is a vestryman in Grace Church,
says he knows it was wicked, but he couldn't have
helped it if he'd been on his dying bed. 175
One of our swell Fifth Avenue fellows was walking
in the hall of the hotel last night, displaying a nobby
London suit of clothes, and smoking a 40-cent " Henry
Clay." I        '||§:-
"Hallo, Gus!" said a friend, taking hold of his coat
lappel, "why, I thought that coat was new; but—ah—
I see now! it was bought out of a-pawn-shop."
I Out of a pawn-shop ? I guess not! " says Gus,
highly insulted.
1 Yes, Gus, you bought that coat out of a pawn shop
—now own up—didn't you?"
I Look here, Charley Gibson (frowning terribly), I
don't allow any one to insult me, and I won't stand
any more of your devilish insin —"
I But, Gus, what's the use of being so airy about
it?" interrupted Charley. "I'll bet you a basket of
champagne that you did buy this coat out of a pawnshop anyway."
"All right, it's a bet. Now come down to Brooks
Brothers and I will show you the man who cut it."
I Well then, of course you bought it out of a pawn
shop; you didn't buy it in a pawn-shop, did you, Gus?"
On Saturday a Dutch 'longshoreman strode up by
the Stock Exchange, with a half-dozen ducks strung
across his shoulders for sale. John Martine and Vice-
President   Wheelock  were   admiring  the  gamey birds, Iff '
and thinking how they would taste served up at Del-
monico's, when Martine observed :
" A-ha! Johnny, nice ones, ain't they ? Where did
you shoot them—on the wing?"
I Mine Gott, no! I shoots him on de tail, on de
back—anywhere he dam shtrike !"
"What do the ducks live on, Johnny?"
I O, they lives un corn, und peans, und bread, und
saurkrout, und —"
| But they can't get those things to live on in the
winter, man!"
I O, den dey lives un de schore!"
This morning an old fellow's horses ran away near
the Fifth Avenue Hotel, and went smashing along
down Twenty-fourth Street to Bull's Head. People
thought the whole fire department was coming. Timid
men dodged with their horses to get away from the
shower of wheels and axle-trees, and old ladies screamed,
tipped over their Domestic sewing machines, and
pressed their frightened children to their bosoms. One
old man found himself directly before the frightened
horses, but it did not do him any good, as he did not
remain right side up long enough to reap any desirable
benefit from the discovery. It did not kill him, but
he looked very much discouraged.
As the old gentleman who owned the team vainly
tried after a few minutes to separate the dead horses ,§; • ' ' 177 . . '        a
from the running gear, he lifted up his hands and
" O dear! my wagon is broke! I wouldn't a-had
this happen for five hundred dollars.    I §
I But don't grieve, old man," put in a sympathizing
Bull's Head man; "it didn't cost you a cent; you had
it done for nothing, so put up your money!"
And now the old fellow really thinks he has saved
five hundred dollars.
Miss Mollie Bacon, of Madison Avenue, observed,
as ' she spread her paniers over four seats in the
1 I'm too delighted, dear Eli, to have something, at
last, in the tip of the fashion."
"How so, Mollie?" I asked.
1 Why, ' Jennie June' says, I High-heeled shoes are
very much worn this winter,' and I've got a pair with
six holes in 'em !"
They've got a new sensation at the Fifth Avenue
Hotel—the fashionable ladies have. It's a male hairdresser. He's a handsome fellow, too, and is bound to
be quite a favorite. The fellows around the hotel are
all jealous of him, and try to quiz him on the back
steps after he has spent an hour or two putting up a
young lady's hair. 178
Yesterday he worked three hours on a sentimental
young lady's chignon, and she didn't have very much
hair either.
"O dear," exclaimed my Uncle Consider, "when
work is to be done how some men will shirk!"
Dave Marks, the famous Troy baggage-master and
trunk smasher—the man who slides trunks from morning
till night down a plank, and bangs and slams them from
the New York Central trains into the Hudson River
boats—recently experienced religion over at the Round
Lake Camp Meeting. Last night he went to a prayer-
meeting in Troy, and before a large congregation of
worshipers he Confessed that he had smashed thirteen
million dollars' worth of trunks in twelve years, and
had been too sick a good deal of the time to attend to
business personally, too.
" But, my dear brothers and sisters," he said, " since
I experienced the ' wrath to come,' I tell Brother Perkins that any old paper bandbox of a trunk is as safe
in my hands as a Herring's safe.
Commodore Vanderbilt tqld Superintendent Tousey
this morning that he was going to compel every baggage-man on the Central Railroad to either experience
religion or go to breaking stones for ballasting the road
He says he's not going to hire men and pay them to
spend all their time and strength working for the New
York trunk makers. 179
On Colfax Mountain, N. J., lives good old Dominie
Ford. The Dominie is a good old hardshell Baptist,
who distills apple-toddy during the week and makes
special prayers and preaches doctrinal sermons on
Sunday. His forte is praying for specific things, and,
like the chaplain in the Massachusetts Legislature, he
always tells the Lord more than he asks for. Sometimes
the Dominie commences his prayer j O Lord! thou
knowest," and goes on narrating what the Lord knows
for fifteen minutes.
One day Uncle Consider, Major Colfax and I called
on the good old Dominie, when he prayed as follows: j
" O Lord, thou knowest the wickedness and depravity of the human heart—even the hearts, O Lord,
of our visitors. Thou knowest the wickedness of thy
servant's nephew, John Ford. Thou knowest, O Lord,
how he has departed fiom thy ways and done many
wicked things, such as swearing and fishing on Sunday; and thou knowest, O Lord, how he returned, no
longer ago than last night, in a state of beastly intoxication, and whistling, O   Lord, the  following popular
|4 Shoo fly, don't bodder me |
And the Dominie screwed up his lips and whistled
the air in his prayer.
A New Yorker was introduced to a Cleveland gentleman to-day, and not hearing his name distinctly,
remarked: 180
11 beg pardon, sir, but I  didn't catch your name."
"But my name is a very hard one to catch," replied
the gentleman; "perhaps it is the hardest name you
ever heard."
I Hardest name I ever heard ? I'll bet a bottle of
wine that my name is harder," replied the New Yorker.
"All right," said the Cleveland man. "My name is
Stone—Amasa J. Stone. Stone is hard enough, isn't it,
to take this bottle of wine?"
"Pretty hard name," exclaimed the New Yorker,
I but my name is Harder—Norman B. Harder. I bet
my name was Harder and it is!"
The joke cost Mr. Stone just $27.87.
ELI  ON  THE  F. F. C's.
This morning a well-known Boston man sat down
by Senator Robertson, an old and proud resident of
South Carolina, on the balcony of the .United States
Hotel and commenced ingratiating himself into the
Southerner's feelings.
" I tell you, sir, South Carolina is a great State, sir,"
remarked Senator Robertson enthusiastically.
Yes," said the stranger from Boston, " she is. I
knew a good many people down there myself, and
splendid people they were too; as brave and high-
toned as the Huguenots."
"You did, sir ?" exclaimed the Senator.
Oh, yes, sir. I knew some of the greatest men your
State  ever  saw,  sir.    Knew  'em intimately, sir," 'con- 181
tinued the Boston man, confidentially drawing his chair
closer and lighting his cigar.
I Who did you know down there, sir, in the old
Palmetto State?"  asked the  Southerner.
"Well, sir, I knew General Sherman, and General
Kilpatrick, and "
"Great guns!" interrupted the South Carolinian, and
he kept on talking in the same strain for two hours.
Some gentlemen were talking about meanness yesterday, wrhen one said he knew a man on Lexington
avenue who was the meanest man in New York.
"How mean is that?" I asked.
"Why, Eli," he said, "he is so mean that he keeps
a five-cent piece with a string tied to it to give to
beggars; and when their backs are turned he jerks it
out of their pockets!
"Why, this man is so confounded mean," continued
the gentleman, " that he gave his children ten cents a
piece every night for going to bed without their supper,
but during the night, when they were asleep, he went
up stairs, took the money out of their clothes, and
then whipped them in the morning for losing it."
| Does he do anything else ?"
" Yes, the other day I dined with him, and I noticed
the poor little servant girl whistled all the way upstairs with the dessert; and when I asked the mean
old scamp what made her whistle so happily, he said: 11
a t
Why, I  keep  her whistling  so  she can't  eat the
raisins out of the cake.'"
One day, while riding over the Kansas Pacific Railroad toward Carson, the train boy came into a car full
of miners, with Eastern newspapers.
I Her's yer Times 'n Inter-Ocean. Harper's Weekly"
he shouted.
An old miner, who caught the last sentence, jerked
up his head and said :
"Harper's weakly, schu say, boy. Why, I (hie)
didn't know he was (hie) sick!"
There was   a   young woman  named  D-
—, whose
bustle was bigger than she; she said, " I do find the
times I 'm behind, so I '11 just put the Times behind
The above was parodied from this poem by Sir
Winfield Scott:
" There was a young man in Glen Cove
Who sat down on a very hot stove :
When they asked, ' Did it burn ?'
He said ' Yes,' in the sternest
Of voices—this youth from the Cove."
The above is not quoted as one of the finest things
Mr. Scott ever wrote. Oh, no. In fact, we have native poets who have written grander things. For example,   the    inspired    poet   of   Saginaw,   (Michigan) 183
speaking of the early settlement of that country tunes
his liar, and sings: ||j
Once here the poor Indians took their delights—
Fished, fit and bled ;
Now most of the inhabitants is whites—
With nary red.
Last year I saw a watch spring, a rope walk,
a horse fly, and even the big trees leave. I even
saw a plank walk and a Third Avenue Bank run,
but the other day I saw a tree box, a cat fish and
a stone fence. I am now prepared to see the
Atlantic coast and the Pacific slope. My Uncle
Consider says he saw a tree bark and saw it holler.
The tree held on to its trunk, which they were trying to seize for board.
"Eli" says the first composition he ever wrote ran
about thus:
A eel is a fish with its tail all
the way up to his ears never fool with
powder eli Perkins
P. S. They live most any where they can git
And he says this was the only original poetry he ever
wrote, and it was composed by another fellow : ii
The editor of the Cleveland Leader brought his wife
and eleven children—all boys and girls—to " Eli Perkins's " lecture on free tickets, and then went home
and deliberately wrote and punctuated the following:
" A poor man fell over the gallery last night while ' Eli Perkins
was lecturing in a beastly state of intoxication.''
In the cabin of the steamer St. John, coming up the
Hudson the other evening, sat a sad, serious-looking
man, who looked as if he might have been a clerk or
bookkeeper. The man seemed to be caring for a crying
baby, and was doing everything he could to still its
sobs. As the child became restless in the berth, the
gentleman took it in his arms and carried it to and fro
in the cabin. The sobs of the child irritated a rich
man, who was trying to read, until he blurted out loud
enough for the father to hear,
" What does he want to disturb the whole cabin with
that d—-baby for?" H
"Hush, baby, hush!" and then the man only nestled
the baby closer in his arms without saying a word.
Then the baby sobbed again.
" Where is the confounded mother that she don't
stop its noise ?" continued the profane grumbler.
At this, the grief-stricken father came up to the man,
and with tears in his eyes, said: "I am sorry to disturb  you, sir, but  my dear baby's  mother  is  in  her 185
coffin down in the baggage room. I'm taking her back
to her. father in Albany, where we used to live."
The hard-hearted man buried his face in shame, but
in a moment, wilted by the terrible rebuke, he was by
the side of the grief-stricken father. They were both
tending the baby.
Mr. Gough is very fond of telling this story, and Eli
is glad of it, for it is a good story and a true one.
Why will young ladies lace so tight ?
My Uncle Consider says our New York young ladies
lace tight so as to show economical young fellows how
frugal they are—how little waste they can get along
with. They don't lace so as to show their beaux
how much squeezing they can stand, and not hurt
'em.    O, no !
The other day, at a dinner, Jack Hammond appealed
to several well-known lexicographers as to the mean-*
ing of the word som-et-i—mes.
"How is it spelled?" asked Mr. Coe. "Perhaps it
is a musical term."
"Why, s—o—m som, e—t et, som-et, i som-et-i, m-e-s
mes, som-et-i-mes," replied Jack, holding up the word
on a piece of paper.
Nobody could guess it. \ Three or four Harvard and tt
Yale men went searching after the Latin root, and the
young ladies said, "We give it up."
"It is very simple," said Jack; "it means occasionally. Webster says, * sometimes, adverb j occasionally—
now and then !' "
There was a scattering among his guests, and Jack
finished his dinner alone.
The grammarian of the Evening Telegram came into
our room yesterday, and said:
" Do you know, Perkins, that table is in the subjunctive mood?"
" Why ?"  we asked, meekly.
" Because it's wood, or should be." And then he
" slid."
Riding up to the village hotel in
Courtland, where I was to lecture during
the Greeley campaign, I saw the big,
smart landlord smoking a short pipe on
the balcony, while his wife was sweeping
around his  chair.
"Hallo!    Do you keep this hotel?" I
1 No, sir, I reckon not; this tavern keeps me."
"1 mean, are you master here ?"
Waal, sometimes  I  am (looking at the old lady's
"no, sir!"
a \: broom), but I guess the boys an' I run the stable—j
take your hoss?"
"Do you support Grant?" I asked.
"No." - . ,|
"What! support Greeley?"
No, s-i-r.
| Thunder, man ! You don't support George Francis
Train or Mrs. Woodhull, do you ?"
" No, sir-r-r-ee! Look he-er, stranger, I don't support nobody but my wife Abby an' the chil'n. It's
hard 'nough to git suthin for the chil'n to eat, without supportin' Greeley an' Grant an' such other darn
fool women as Mrs. Woodhull, when taters ain't worth
only twenty cents a bushel an' we have to give away
our apples."
After the delivery of this, I kept still a few moments
but soon ventured to continue:
"Got anything to drink 'round here, my friend?"
"Yes, everything drinks around  here."
"Any ales?" I mean.
I Touch of the rheumatiz myself—folks generally
healthy, though."
II mean, have you got any porter?"
"Yes, John's our porter.    Hold his horse, John."
11 mean, any porter to drink ?"
"Porter to drink? Why, John can drink, an* ef he
can't drink enough, I kin whip a right smart o' licker
1 Pshaw—stupid! Have I got to come down and
see myself?"
1 Yeu kin come down, Shaw Stupid, and see yourself 188
ef yeu want to—thar's a good looking-glass in the bar
Awhile ago, the late Mr. Samuel N. Pike sold an
amphibious Jersey building lot to a Dutchman. There
are large tracts of land in New Jersey which overflow at high tide. The Dutchman in turn sold the
amphibious building lot to a brother speculating Dutchman as "nice arable land." Dutchman No. 2 went
to look at it at high tide and found it covered with
salt water, eels, and leaping frogs. He came back in
a great fury, and sued Dutchman No. 1 for swindling
" Did you sell this land for dry land ?" asked the
judge of the sharp Dutchman.
"Yah! It vasch good try lant," replied the Dutchman.
But, sir, the plaintiff says he went to see it and it
was wet land—covered with water. It was not • dry
arable land," said the judge.
"Yah—Yah! It vasch good try lant. Ven I sold
it to my friend it vasch low tide!"
How is money this morning, Uncle Daniel?" asked
Uncle Consider, as he shook hands with that good old
Methodist operator on the street this morning.
"Money's close and Erie's  down, Brother Perkins;
down—down—down I" 189
" Is money very close, Uncle Daniel ?"
"Orful, Brother Perkins—orful I"
"Wall, Brother Drew, ef money gets very close
to-day," said Uncle Consider, drawing himself up
close to Uncle Daniel; j ef she gets very close—close
enough so you can reach out and scoop in a few
dollars for me, I wish you would do it."
Uncle Daniel said he would.
"Did you ever do anything in a state of perfect
indifference, Miss Julia?" I asked an old sweetheart
of mine last night.
"Why, yes, certainly, Mr. Perkins—a good many
"What, did it with absolute, total indifference?"
" Yes, perfect, complete indifference, Eli."
"Well, Julia, my beloved," I said, taking her hand,
"what is one thing you can do now with perfect
indifference ?"
" Why, listen to you, Eli."
I postponed proposing.
During the whiskey war in Hillsboro', Ohio, the
ladies all crowded around Charley Crothers's saloon, one
day, and commenced praying and singing. Charley
welcomed them, offered them chairs* and seemed delighted to see them.    He even joined in the singing. 190
The praying and singing were kept up for several days,
Charley never once losing his temper. The more they
prayed and sang the happier Charley looked. One day
a gentleman came to Charley and broke out:
" I say, Charley, ain't you getting 'most tired of this
praying and singing business?"
"What! me gettin' tired? No, sir!" said Charley.
"If I got tired of the little singing and praying they
do in my saloon here, what the devil will I do when
I go to heaven among the angels, where they pray and
sing all the time ?"
Then Charley winked and took a chew of cavendish.
In Washington they tell a story about Ralph Johnson, who became alarmed when the ladies came and
prayed in his saloon. The next day Ralph went to the
ladies almost broken-hearted, and said if he could only
get rid of five barrels of whiskey which he then had
on hand he would join the temperance cause himself.
"We will buy your poisonous whiskey, and pay you
for it," said the ladies.
"All right," said Ralph, and he took $300 and rolled
the whiskey out. The ladies emptied the whiskey into
the street. Ralph joined the cause for one day, and
then went to Lynchburg, where they have 11,000 barrels
of proof whiskey in store, and bought a new lot.
"What do you mean by doing this, Mr. Johnson?"
asked a deacon of the church.
"Well," replied Ralph, "my customers war a kinder 191
partic'lar like, and that thar old whiskey was so dog-on
weak that I could not sell it to 'em no how; but it
didn't hurt the ladies, for it was just as good as the
best proof whiskey to wash down the gutters with."
A New York rough stepped into a Dutch candy
and beer shop this morning, when this conversation
took place :
" I say, Johnny, you son of a gun, give us a mug of
bee-a.    D'y' hear?"
" Yah, yah—here it ish," answered the Dutchman,
briskly handing up a foaming glassful.
"Waal, naow, giv' us 'nother mug, old Switzercase!"
The Cherry Street boy drank off the second glass
and started to go out, when the Dutchman shouted :
" Here, you pays me de monish ! What for you run
away ?"
" 'You pays de monish!' What do you take me for?
I doan't pay for anything. I'm a peeler—that's the
kind of man I am !" growled the rough.
" You ish von tarn sneaking, lowT-lived scoundrel of a
thief—that's the kind of man I am!" shrieked the
Dutchman between his teeth as the Cherry Street boy
shuffled off towards another beer shop.
The other evening, at a fashionable reception, Miss
Warren, a well known old maid from Boston, was prom- 192
enading in the conservatory with Mr. Jack Astor, one
of our well known New York young gentlemen. As
the music stopped, the two seated themselves under a
greenhouse palm-tree, and the following dialogue occurred 1
" Nobody loves me, my dear Mr. Astor; nobody—-" . IS  .      ■
" Yes, Miss Warren, God loves you, and your mother
loves you."
"Mr. Astor, let's go in!"
And five minutes afterwards Miss Warren was trying the drawing-out dodge on another unsuspecting
When Colonel Clark and Adjutant Fitzgerald of the
Seventh Regiment came to the Grand Union to see
Jim Breslin and borrow some nut-crackers for the
regiment, John Cecil and Abiel Haywood said it
wouldn't do to let 'em have 'em.
"Why?" asked the Adjutant, indignantly.
" Because it's dangerous," said Mr. John Cecil.
"How, dangerous?"
"Why, Colonel," said Mr. Cecil, as he wiped his
head with a red bandana handkerchief, "don't you
know that when the boys crack the nuts they'll be
liable to burst the shells against the kernel?"
Mr. Cecil told Colonel Boody that he didn't go to
Saratoga to dance and such frivolous enjoyment, " Oh,
no!" 193
"What for, then, John?" asked Charley Wall.
" Why, I came especially to drink the healing waters
as prepared by—by—by— "
" By Jerry, the handsome Grand Union bartender,"
put in Major Selover.
A suit for libel is pending.
An agricultural paper, discussing the fuel question,
says that dry wood will go further than green. My
Uncle Consider says that depends on where you keep
it. He says that some of his green wood went three
or four blocks in one night.
Some of the ladies here who go to the races are opposed to betting. But to keep up the interest they
sometimes make mock bets of $10,000 and $20,000.
Yesterday one of our most charming young ladies made
a real bet of three cents on Longfellow with a well-
known beau noted for his gallantry. Longfellow got a
good start and won the race, and then the lady insisted
on her three cents, but it looked so trivial that the gentleman didn't think it necessary to go to the office and
get the picayune three cents to pay it. This morning
the lady said before a laughing crowd :
' Mr. B., ain't you ashamed not to pay me those
three cents?   Now I want them.   I always pay my bets."
"All right," replied the handsome gallant, and in a 194
few moments he returned with three exquisitely cut
bottles of Caswell & Hazard's cologne. Placing them
in a chair beside her, he remarked with a graceful
bow :
c My dear Miss B., I am only too happy to pay my
last bet—please accept, with my compliments, these
three scents.'
An old bachelor, who hates women, said to-day that
he didn't want to go to heaven.
"Why?" asked   one of our round-dance Christians.
I Because it will be full of women—not a d—d man
there," replied the wucked man.
He was like the old lady who was afraid to ride on
the mail train because there were no females there.
Ex-Congressman Marvin, who is the " Warwick
behind the throne" in the new United States Hotel,
called on a carpenter yesterday and said :
| Mr. Thompson, we have a nice bar-room, and we
want a handsome bar made. Who can make the best
Well, I-I-d-d-don't 'zackly know who could
m-m-make a handsome b-baxmaid," stammered Mr.
No, no.    I want a nice, handsome bar made  "
W-w-well, dang it!   if you want a handsome bar- 195
maid, why don't you go over to T-T-Troy and get
one?" •
I No, no, no, man ! I mean who made these I see all
around town ?"
1 Great guns, Marvin ! h-h-how the d-d-devil do I
know who made all the b-b-barmaids around town ?
I d-d-don't know—and damn* care who did," shrieked
Mr. Thompson.
When I lectured in Cooperstown, they told me about
an English joker who dined with Fennimore Cooper
before he died in 1851. Cooper was then the most
conspicuous man in the little town which nestles at the
feet of a high mountain and reposes on the shores of
Seneca Lake. One day, while Mr. Cooper was dining
the Englishman, he poured out some native wine—wine
from grapes raised in his own garden. Taking up a
glass and looking through it with pride, Cooper remarked :
"Now, Mr. Stebbins, I call this good, honest wine."
I Yes, Mr. Cooper, I agree with you; it is honest
wine—* poor but honest.' "
Mr. Cooper went on telling his Injun stories.
Mr. Carter, of the American Literary Bureau,
which furnishes most of the lecturers in the United
States, has been sued for saying that a certain lecturer
"appeared on  the platform half sober." ill
"What do you mean, sir?" asked the indignant
"Why, I meant precisely what I said, sir," replied
Mr. Carter. "I said you were half sober. I'm an exact man, sir. I only saw half of you—the side towards
me. I only spoke of that. I don't mean to insinuate
that the other half wan't sober, too. Oh, no! But,
sir, it would have been preposterous for me to say anything about the half which was out of sight. Wouldn't
it, sir—me, a precise man ?"
When a kind old father on Fifth avenue sailed for
Europe, six weeks ago, he gave his engaged daughter
permission to "sit up " with her beau, a young stockbroker, till a quarter of twelve every night. I guess
when that fond father comes home and finds out that
this young man has been " sitting up " and holding
that fond daughter's hand till three o'clock every
morning, under the impression that three is quarter
of twelve—well, I guess that young fellow will think
he is engaged to the daughter of a thrashing-machine.
General Le Fevre, of Ohio, who was m twenty-six
engagements and nineteen battles during the late war,
has at last become engaged again. This is the first
Saratoga engagement this season. The enemy's name
is  Miss  Snow, and  the  General has been for several 19?      J
days on the point of doing as General Burgoyne did
eighty years ago—surrendering. At last he did it this
morning. I knew there was something up, because this
morning when I asked the young ladies why Miss
Snow was like ice water, they all answered :
"Why, because she is good to lay fever."
The General said this morning, " I don't dance the
lancers, but I should like to lance the dancers—especially the venerable Mr. Jarvis, of Boston, who keeps all
the young ladies dancing the round dances, just because
some Boston physician said dancing would cure his
Mr. Scattergood is the name of the minister who
addressed the Round Lake camp-meeting people yesterday. The name is very appropriate for a minister,
but there would be no end to its value in* a shotgun. '11 ■ IShE'
The Misses Money, of Cincinnati, are quite belles at
Saratoga. They are named Miss Julia and Miss Sara.
This is not the first time they've had ceremony at
Among a delegation of Chinamen at Saratoga are
Ah Sin, Flir Ting, Drin King, Sle Ping, Che Ting, Ste
Ling, Smo King, Dane Ing, Gamb Ling, and Dress Ing.
There is an Englishman in Saratoga whose feet
are so large that he rests easier standing up than
lying down. 198
Mrs. Thompson says he objected to taking a walk
yesterday on the ground that it was so damp.
" What difference does that make ?" I asked.
" Oh, his feet are so large that so much of him is
exposed to  the damp earth that he takes cold."
"But suppose he is compelled to go out very rainy
weather—what does he do?" I asked.
" Why, if he has to stay any great length of time,
he generally sits down on the grass and holds his
LEVITY    IS    THE    SOUL     OF    WIT.
One day Mr. Galbraith asked old Mr. Hathaway, of
Canandaigua, if his habits were regular and uniform.
| Yes," said Mr. Hathaway, | they are very regular
and very uniform, and a d d many of 'em, too!"
• "We consume annually whiskey and tobacco enough
to pay for all the bread eaten in the United States."—
George Bayard in Brooklyn Argus.
Well, who says you don't ?
Last Saturday night was a drencher—a regular
north-easter of a storm—and the theaters were empty.
Dan Bryant had a large audience, but—they staid at
home. Dan said they were like horses—checked by
the rein.
Lloyd Aspinwall is like  bell-metal—he's a Lloyd
with tin.
Now the negroes in Kentucky village have got a
school-house ghost. Should it be called the village
Blacks'-myth ?
199 It
'Muzzlin', Eli," said my Uncle Consider, "makes a
dog safe, while muslin makes a young lady very dangerous; still, in hot weather, they both want muzzlin'! "
The stylish young lady, with hair a la Pompadour,
won't allow anybody to up braid her but her hairdresser.
Sic Transit.—The sickest transit I know of is the
Greenwich Elevated Railroad.
Capital Offense.—They are going to make it a
capital offense for one man to elope with another
man's wife in California. It always was a capital
offense here, if the man's wife was pretty !
Self-Possession.—Donn Piatt owns a jackass.
" Well," said Speaker Blaine, " Col. Sanford of
Brooklyn and I were traveling down South. The feed
had been bad for a day or two, when one day at a
railroad station we had a big plate of hash. Col.
Sanford stuck his knife into it and looked at it kinder
curiously, when the landlord remarked:
You needn't be afraid of that thar dish, stranger,
's longs bull pups is worth more'n hogs.' '*
The Saratoga jail is so insecure, so totally unsafe^
that the inmates are afraid to keep any jewelry about
them for fear thieves at large will bfeak through and \
steal it. When a man is taken up there now, he sends
his valuables to John Morrissey for safe-keeping. So
many diamonds and laces have been stolen out of the
jail that President Mitchell says they have determined
to paint and whitewash it, or do something to make it
General Bachelor's Geyser Spring in Saratoga is
still spouting. The water bursts from the bowels of
the earth through solid rock eighty feet from the surface, and then flies about twenty feet in the air. A
Frenchman—Baron St. Albe, from the Clarendon—
went over to see the spring spout yesterday. As the
volume of water burst into the air, he dropped his umbrella on the arm of a young lady, and raising both
hands in the air, is said to have exclaimed:
"Eh! dis is ze grand spectakle! Suparbe-! Magnifique !    By gar, he bust up first-rate!"
A bore is a man who spends so much time talking
about himself that you can't talk about yourself.
A young married lady says Poe's raven was drunk
all the time it was croaking " never more, never more,"
on that bust of Pallas.
"How's that?" I asked.
"Why, Eli, it was a raven 'on a bust.'"
The same young lady insists that her husband is a
living, personified poem—not epigram or riddle, but a
cross-stick. 202
Mr. Jack Astor left Saratoga yesterday just because
he wrote his name with a diamond on one of the French
glass windows at the United States Hotel and Mr.
Marvin came along and wrote under it:
I Whene'er I see a fellow's name
Written on the glass,
I know he owns a diamond,
And his father owns an ass."
They say "love is blind," but I know a lover in
Jersey City who can see a good deal more beauty in
his sweetheart than I can.
Chicago is the center of American civilization for
liquor-saloons and bad sidewalks.
* '.*•■ f
4   j       i- }. -•» ELI  PERKINS'S  NEW YEAR'S CALLS.
Fifth Heavenue Hotel, i A. M., Jan. ith.
I don't feel like writing to-day; my head aches. I
made New Year's calls yesterday — made 125 calls.
I finished thei'i about twelve o'clock—an hour ago.
I had my call-list written off, and commenced at
Sixteenth Street, and came down. My idea was to
make 125  calls of five minutes each.    This would take
These illustrations were drawn by Tom Nast, and cut from his
Comic Almanac published by Harpers.
625 minutes, or ten hours.    I think I did it.    I worked
hard.    I was an intermittent perpetual motion.    I did
all any body could do. If
any fellow says he made
126 calls, he—well, he is
guilty of li-bel. I tried it
I made my 125th call with
my eyes closed, and at my
126th I swooned on the
hall stairs. Nature was ex.
hausted. Oh ! but wasn't
it fun! It is nothing to
make calls after you have
been at it a spell. The last twenty calls were made
with one eye closed. I was actually taking a mental
nap all the time. My tongue talked right straight
ahead, from force of habit. Talking came as easy as
ordinary respiration. All I had to do was to open my
my mouth, and the same
words tumbled out:
I Hap—new year Mis-
"Ah! Mr. Perkins, I'm
" May you have man'-
hap're turns—by—by!"
" But arn't you going
to drink to—".
"Than k—s p 1 e a s u r
(drank) ; may you live (hie) thousand years.
By—by" (sliding into the hall and down front steps).
"first call." 205
I started at noon.    Made first call on young lady.
She said, " You have many calls to make. Won't
you fortify yourself with a little sherry ?"
I said I (hie) would, and drank small glass.
Called next on married lady on Fifth Heavenue.
She said, | Let's drink to William—you know Will is
off making calls on the girls."
"All right, Mrs. Mason;" then we drank some nice
old Port to absent William.    .
On Forty-ninth Street met a sainted Virginia mother,
who had some real old Virginia egg-nog.
Very nice Southern egg-nog. Abused the Yankees,
and drank two glasses with Virginia mother.
On Forty-sixth Street met a lady who had some nice
California wine. Tried it. Then went across the street
with Demociatic friend to say New Year's and get
some of old Skinner's 1836 brandy. Got it. Mrs.
Skinner  wanted  us  to
drink   to   Skinner.        g|5 ||H     I       llj | I J'
Drank to Skinner, and
ate lobster salad.
Met a friend, who
" Let's run in and
(hie) see Coe, the temperance man."
Coe said,
" Ah, happy time!
Let's drink to my wife."
Drank bottle of champagne to Mrs. Coe — then
drank to children*
Drove round to Miss Thompson's on Fifth Heavenue.
Thompson's famous for rum punch. Tried two glasses
with Miss Thompson. Very happy. House looked
lovely. Ate brandy peaches. Good many lights.
Pretty girls quite num'rous. Drank their health
Drank claret. Then drank Roman punch. Went out,
leaving a Dunlap hat for a Knox, and a twelve-dollar
umbrella in the hat rack.
Happy thought!    Took Charley Brown in the carriage with driver, and got on outside with myself.
Charley said, " Let's drop in on the Madison Heavenue Masons."    "All right."    Dropped in.
Miss Mason says, | Have some nice old Madeira ?"
Said, "Yes, Miss Mas'n, will have some, my dearie."
Drank to Mrs. Mason, and ate boned turkey to young
ladies. Young ladies dressed beau'fully—hair, court
train, and shoes a la Pompadour. Left overcoat and
umbrella^ and changed high hat for fur cap.     Saw a 207
span of horses in a
here, and ate
more pony
brandy. Young
ladies beau'ful
— high - heeled
dress and shoes
cut decollete'.
Great many of
them. Nice Roman punch with
monogram on it.
Had fried sandwich with brandy on it. Pre-
sented large
bouquet in cor-
ner to Mrs.
Lamb.     Ex-
carriage drawn by Charley King.
Charley was tightually
slight. Said he'd been
in to Lee's, eating boned
sherry and drinking pale
Now all called on the
Lambs on Thirty-fourth
Heavenue. Old Lamb
was round. "Lam's
Champ's very good,"
says Charley. Also
drank   brandy peaches
hat on bell-knob. Used Van's cards to make other
calls with. Kept calling. Called steady. Called between calls. Drank more. Drank every where. Young
ladies more beau'ful. Wanted us to come back to
party in the evening. Came back. Grand party.
Gilmore furnished by music. Drank more lobster
salad. Drank half a glass of silk dress, and poured
rest on skirt of Miss Smith's champagne in corner.
Slumped plate gas-light green silk down on to nice
ice-cream. Dresses wore white tarletan young ladies
cut swallow tail. Sat on young lady's hand and held
stairs. Very (hie) happy. Fellows had been drinkin'.
ii P. M.    Left party.    Carriage outside wanted me 209
to get into Fred Young and prom'nade over to the
Stewarts. Roman punch had been drinking Fred. He
invited 8 other horses to get into the fellows and ride
around „to Stewarts. Stewart tight and house closed
up. Left pocket-book in card-basket outside, and hung
watch and chain on bell-knob.
All up.     Had old Bur-
Took sherry.     Beau'ful
Called on the Fergisons.
gundy. Fergison's a brick,
young lady dressed in blue Roman punch. Opened
bottle of white gros grain trimmed with Westchester
county lace. Drank it up. Fellows getting more
tete-uly slight. Drank Pompadour rum with young
lady dressed a la Jamaica. Hadn't strength to refuse.
Drank hap' New Year fifteen times—then got into
Fifth Heavenue Hotel, and told the driver to drive
round to the carriage. Came up to letter, and wrote
this room for the Daily Com{hic)vertisers.    Pulled coat no
off with the boot-jack, and stood self up by the register to dry.    Then wrote (hie) wrote more (hie),
{From an Article written by Mark Twain for Harper's Magazine?)
The Pottsvillians resolved to have a course of lectures last winter.    Every town—that is, every town that
pretends to be any town at all
nowadays—must branch out in a
course of lectures in the winter.
So the chief citizens of Pottsville
got together last Fall and decided
that they would have a course of
six lectures. They also voted that
they would have a course of lectures
that would, to use a Pottsville expression, knock the spots off of any course of lectures
ever delivered in Pottsville. Then they wrote to the
American Literary Bureau at the Cooper Institute to
send them six lecturers, at $100 each. One man for
theology, one for brass-band rhetoric, one for oratory,
one poet, one reader, and one^ humorist. The Bureau
finally made selections as follows:
.    Eli Perkins,
.    $100
Daniel  O'Connel,
Rhetorician, .
,    Josh Billings,
Wendell Phillips,
Poet,    .
Edgar A. Poe,   .
Cardinal McCloskey.
,         IOO
m 919
As soon as it was known in Pottsville that Mr. Perkins was selected to open the course, the committee
addressed him a note telling him that he was engaged
in Pottsville, and asked a speedy reply.
Mr. Perkins replied as follows :
"At large in Illinois, Dec. i.
" Milo Hunt,
" Chairman Lecture Committee,
" Pottsville,
Dear Sir:
" Yours informing me that I am engaged in Pottsville is received. Very well ; if she is young and
wealthy I will keep the engagement. In fact, young
or old I'll keep the engagement at all hazards—or
rather at Pottsville. Have no fears about my being
detained by accidents. I have never yet failed to be
present when I lectured. Everything seems to impel
me to keep this engagement. Everywhere here in
Illinois the people follow me around in great crowds
and enthusiastically invite me to go away. Illinois
railroad presidents say they will cheerfully supply
me with free passage on the trains rather than have
me remain in the State another night; and almost
every railroad president in Ohio and Pennsylvania,
including Mr. Tom Scott, has supplied me with
perpetual free passes—hoping I may be killed on the
"So I'll be with you dead or alive. If I am dead,
please have it fixed so that holders of reserved seats ■  213 .    ~§
will be entitled to a front seat at the funeral, where
they can sit and enjoy themselves the same as at the
"You ask me about my fee. It is usually $99.50
per night. If your Association feels poor, I don't
mind throwing in the ninety-nine dollars, but I have a
little professional pride about sticking to the fifty
" The lecture will commence at eight o'clock sharp,
and continue an hour or more, or until somebody
requests the distinguished orator to stop.
1 You ask me to inclose some of my opinions of
the press to be used In advertising my lecture. I am
sorry to say that my opinions of the press are not very
flattering. In fact, I have the worst opinions of the
press of any one I know of. I cannot help it. I
know them well, and they are a bad, wicked set, those
press fellows are. I belong to the press myself, and
you must excuse me for not sending you my opinions
of them.    They wouldn't like it.
"Mrs. Perkins sends her regards, wit] the hope
that Heaven will continue to protect you as it has
" From your friend,
"Eli Perkins."
This letter was read before the Lecture Committee,
causing much enthusiasm. Pottsville was immediately
placarded with large  posters   announcing   the  coming - 214
of   the    distinguished    lecturer.      One   placard   read
Whereas, that notorious humorist,
Eli Perkins,
has been infesting the Western States and
depopulating her large cities, and now
threatens to
our unfortunate citizens at the
Pottsville Baptist Church, Jan. ^d,
unless he is paid a large sum of money
to desist; therefore, all patriotic citizens
are called upon to
at the Baptist Church that same evening,
Jan. 3d, and hold an indignation
to protest against this impending calamity.
By ordef of
Lecture Committee.
Tickets to indignation meeting, 50 cts.
These handbills caused great excitement in Pottsville.
Everybody was on tip-toe to see and hear the distinguished   lecturer.     On   the   day   of   his   expected M5
arrival great crowds of people thronged the depot,
hoping to catch a glimpse of the distinguished visitor.
At length he came, but in such a quiet, modest
manner that no one saw him. While great crowds of
Pottsvillians were watching the train with strained
eyes Mr. Perkins quietly slipped out of the emigrant car,
with his umbrella in one hand and carpet bag in the
other, walked up to the Pottsville House, and sat
down in the billiard room.
The arrival of the distinguished stranger was thus
annbunced by Col. Ramsey in the Miner s Journal,
next morning:
Distinguished Arrival.—A remarkable old gentleman with German silver spectacles, long drab overcoat,
and aa Greeley looking carpet-bag, arrived at the
Pottsville House yesterday from the Pittsburgh train.
The old man wabbled up to the counter, took off his
old slouch hat, solemnly shook hands with Mr. Jerry
Griffith, wiped his bald head with an old red bandana
handkerchief, looked over his glasses, and wrote,
Consider  Perkins (at large).
Eli  Perkins, his nevvy, do.
| Have a room, Mr. Perkins ?" asked Mr. Griffith, as
he pressed the blotter over the old man's name.
"O no, thank ye, Ian'lord."
I Have supper, sir ?"
" No, I guess not.    Eli, my nevvy, and I, speak "
I But let me take your carpet bag, Mr. Perkins,"
interrupted Mr. Griffith.
"No, I'm obleegedter you, Ian'lord—Eli and I " . .
" Well, goodness gracious, old man ! what can I do
for  you ?   What " J|
1 O, nothin' 'tall, Ian'lord. We jes thought we'd like
to A-R-R-I-V-E here ; that's all. We've been knockin'
'round through Pennsylvania right smart, an' it's a
good while since we've 'rived at a hotel, an' I thought
I'd like to 'rive here with my Eli to-night. You see,
lan'lord, my nevvy is an edicated young man, an' he's
goin' to lectur the edicated classes here in Pottsville
to-night, an we want to jes sit 'round the halls here
an' wait till the time comes ; that's  all."
Our reporter called on Mr. Perkins early this morning and found him engaged in writing his great lecture
on a backgammon board in the billiard-room.
| Have you any press notices of your coming lecture,
Mr. Perkins—something to republish in the Journal?"
asked our reporter.
"Press notices, young man!" said Mr. Perkins,
I Why, yes, bushels of 'em. I've done nothing but
write press notices for the last month.    I "
1 What! you don't write your own press notices, do
you, Mr. Perkins?"
| Sartainly, young man, sartainly," replied Uncle
Consider, as he fished files of the Congressional Globe,
Chicago Times, and other newspapers out of his overcoat pocket. " Look a here ! See what the Chicago
Times says!" and the old man put on his glasses and
read as follows:
When | Eli Perkins | delivered his great lecture in the Illinois
House of Reprehensibles, there was a great rush—hundreds of people left the building, and they said if he had repeated it the next
night they would have—left the City.—Chicago Times. 217
I That's complimentary, Mr. Perkins," replied our
reporter.    1 Have you got any more?"
| Bushels of 'em, sir—b-u-s-h-e-1-s. Let me read you
this from the Yale College Currant," and the old man
continued to read:
It is proper to say that Mr. Perkins delivered his great lecture
before the faculties of Yale, Vassar, and Harvard Colleges—ever
heard anything about him.— Yale College Courant.
" Very complimentary, Mr. Perkins," observed our
reporter enthusiastically. § Have you other criticisms ?"
" Bushels of 'em, young man, wagon loads. Want to
hear what the Christian Union says about Eli's great
lectur?" ,
"You don't say the Christian Union compliments him
do you ?"
| Sartenly. Let me show you," and Uncle Consider
put his finger on this paragraph and handed it to our
We never, but once, experienced more real, genuine pleasure
than when this eloquent man, Mr. Perkins, closed his remarks.
That occasion was when we won the affections of a beautiful
young lady, and gained a mother-in-law—and then saw that
mother-in-law SWEETLY AND serenely PASS AWAY.
"Beautiful criticisms! beautiful," exclaimed our reporter, grasping the old man by the hand.
a If you call that beautiful, young man, just hear
what Henry Ward Beecher says about Eli."
"Does Henry indorse him, too?" asked our reporter.
I Indorse him ! I guess he does. Just listen now and
hear what Henry wrote to Wilkes' Spirit of the Times:
K ■m
"Words cannot describe the impressive sight." (That's the way
Henry commences. Then he goes on.) How sublime to see Mr.
Perkins standing there perfectly erect, with one hand on his
broad, massive, thick skull, talking to the educated classes—to see
the great orator declaiming, perfectly unmoved, while streams of
people got up and went out! How grand a spectacle, as joke after
joke fell from the eloquent lips of this Cicero of orators, to watch
the enthusiastic crowds arising majestically like one man, and
waving their hands as they clamorously demanded their money back
at the box-office.
"And Henry wrote that, Mr. Perkins ?"
"Sartinly; and just listen to what De Witt C. Tal-
mage says !    Listen—
"No; I hear enough! Let me go!" exclaimed our
reporter, and he fled back to the Journal office.
The reserved seat tickets to the great lecture read
as follows:
P Mr. Perkins " distributes a $17.00 Chromo to all who remain
to the end of the Lecture.
Parties of six who sit  the Lecture out ivill be given
Tickets admitting a Man and Wife (his own Wife) to Reserved
Seats, $1.00.   Single Men admitted for 75 Cents.
Pottsville Opera House, yan. 3d.
["please don't
l turn over.
It was noticeable at the lecture in the evening that
many people came especially to get the chromos. One
party of six slept entirely through the lecture, awaking 219
just in time to claim the house and  lot.    The house
and lot was a smoke house and a lot of ashes.
At eight o'clock the great orator
stepped upon the platform accompanied by Elder Cleveland, who
officiated on the Sabbath from the
same desk. The church was crowded. After the applause had some-
,what subsided, Brother Cleveland
arose and said:
I Brothers and Sisters—I have the pleasure of introducing to you to-night Brother Perkins, from New York.
I am told that he is to deliver a humorous lecture, but
I wish you all to bear in mind that this is the house
of God." -§|-       -     M    1
As Elder Cleveland
finished, Mr. Perkins
stepped forward, pulled
off his audience, and,
bowing to his overcoat,
I used to object to
being introduced to
strangers; and for hundreds and hundreds of
years, I never permitted mvself to be intro-
duced to anybody—till
I got well acquainted
with them. {Laughter?)
I    suppose,   my
Melville D. Landon. ! 220
friends, that I ought to tell you how I came to deliver
this lecture. Well, it was this way : I was riding in
the cars the other day with an old Granger who lives
just over the Pennsylvania line in Ohio. As we rode
along, I looked out of the car window and whistled
one of my favorite tunes like this:
L>*ggrow.   Press toe.       CJDodgio.   Laf cry mere set
flow cum U sow.
" Did you make up that tune ?" inquired the
" Yes, sir," I replied. I do that kind of thing all
the time.    My name is Perkins.    I'm "
"What! Eli Perkins?" §
"Yes, sir."    #' -f
1 The man who lectures ?"
"Yes, sir; I'm going to Marietta now.*
" Going to marry who-?"
"I mean I'm going to Mari—etta."
| Yes, I heard you say so. Nice girl—rich, I 'spect,
too, ain't she?"
" No, sir; you don't understand me. I'm going to
lecture at Marietta.    I'm "
I Then you really do lecture, do you ?" continued
the Granger.
" Why, of course I do."
" Been lecturing much in Ohio ?"
" Yes—a good many nights."
"Well, now, Mr. Perkins," said the Granger, as he
dropped   his   voice   to  a  confidential   whisper,  | why
S-UaiaJM 221
don't   you  lecture   over  in   Pennsylvania ?     We  just
hate Pennsylvania, we do!"
The whole audience were now in tears, one above
the other, and continued so while Mr. Perkins spoke
for an hour as follows :
*                   *
Glorious          *
*       Bunker Hill
Gen. Washington
Beautiful woman-
Stars and Stripes
liberty forever
ii  r
The great orator concluded his lecture by saying:
The wealthy young ladies in this audience will now
have an opportunity of taking the lecturer by the
hand." No one in the vast audience moved toward
the speaker. But when he remarked, " The lecturer
will now be pleased to shake hands with all young
ladies under twenty years of age," there was a great
rush for the speaker's platform. For over an hour Mr.
Perkins shook hands with long rows of young ladies—
all under twenty years of age. Then putting his
hundred dollars in his pocket the great orator took
the train for Philadelphia. SCARING A CONNECTICUT   FARMER.
The Hon. Charles Backus, of the San Francisco
minstrels, was once censured by the Speaker of the
California Legislature for making fun of his brother
members. This broke poor Charley's heart, and he
joined a minstrel company, so's to be where no one
would grumble when he indulged in a little pleasantry.
The other day, Mr. Backus rode up through Stamford, Conn., with Mr. Lem Read, the bosom friend of
the lamented minstrel, Dan Bryant. As the train
stopped before the Stamford station for water, Mr.
Backus saw a good old red-faced Connecticut farmer
sitting in the station  reading the Brooklyn scandal.
"Do yotf want to see me get a good joke on that
old duffer, Lem?" asked Mr. Backus, pointing to the
old farmer.
"Yes," said  Lem; "le's see you."
"Well, you wait till jes' before the train starts, Lem,
and I'll show you fun—fun till you can't rest. Jes'
you wait," said Charley, laughing and pounding the
palm of his left hand with his ponderous  right.
"All right, I'll wait," said Lem.
When the train came to a full stop, Mr. Backus
jumped off, telling his friend Lem to save his seat,
" for," said he, " as soon as the bell rings I want to
bound back on the train."
Then Mr, Backus rushed up to the innocent farmer,
4& 223
snatched the paper from his hands, stamped on it with
a tragic stamp, and shaking his clenched fist in the
poor man's face, exclaimed,
"O, you old rascal! I've found you 't last, you miserable old scapegrace—now I'm goin' to lick the life
out of you—you contemptible old scoundrel, you—
you "
Ding-a-ding! ding-a-dong! ding-a-ding! went the
bell, drowning Charley's voice, and the train began
moving out.
"Yes, /'// lick you," said Charley. "I'll get an ox
whip and "
And then he jumped back from the astonished farmer
and got on the last car of the train moving out.
The old farmer was astonished. He stood up bewildered. His knees quaked and his German silver
glasses fell on the floor. Then gathering himself together, he picked up his newspaper and glasses and
started for the train.
"Whar's the man who wanted to lick me?" he shouted. I Whar's the man who called me a scoundrel ?
Whar's " ' M .     %
"Here he is," said Charley from the rear platform,
as he held his thumb derisively to his nose amid the
laughter of the passengers. "Here I am, sir—I'm your
Roman—take me "
Just then the bell went ding-a-ding again, and what
do you think ? Why, the train backed back! It
backed poor Charley right into the hands of the infuriated farmer, who took off his coat and went for that
poor fun-loving minstrel.    Expressed by the  types, if PRPMIPSHPSI
I am compelled to write it, he went for that poor minstrel about thus:
§ St.  box8DVcccKCL!
"You want to lick me, do you?" said the farmer,
jumping onto the platform, while Charley ran through
the car.    " You miserable dandy!    You want to 1
And then he chased that poor minstrel through the
cars with his cane in the air, while his big fist came
down on his back like a triphammer. | You've found
me, have you? Yes, I guess
you have!" said the old
farmer, as Charley left his
hat and one coat-sleeve in
his infuriated grasp. "Evidently you have."
Mr. Backus said, as he
washed off the blood with Enoch Morgan's Sapolio,
and went in to interview a tailor in New Haven two
hours afterwards,
"I guess the next time I want to make Lem Read
laugh I won't try to scare a Connecticut farmer. Oh
no! I'll get some pugilist to fan me with an Indian
club, or go and sleep under a pile driver. You hear
Mr. Perkins, having been invited while at Saratoga
to return to New York and take passage in the great
transatlantic balloon with the other journalists, replied
as follows to the proprietor of the newspaper, who also
owned the balloon :
Saratoga, July 4.
Gentlemen; I received your note this morning, inviting me to go up in the balloon. You say you desire
me to go as the representative of the Daily Bugle—to
be the official historian of the first great aerial voyage
across the Atlantic.    You also say:
" While your going, Mr. Perkins, might not contribute any great
principle to science, and while we have nothing against you personally, still, your departure would gratify the American people, and
you would be enabled to carry out that beautiful theory of moral
philosophy—' the greatest good to the greatest number.'"
I thank you, gentlemen, for your flattering invitation,
which I herein accept. I don't know what I have
done, or why you single me out and invite me to go
away, unless it is your desire to lift me up and improve
my condition. However, I will make positive arrangements to go in your balloon any time after the 20th
of August. I have consulted with many of my friends
here, and they all advise me to go. Of course it makes
them feel sad, but they are glad. tQ make the sacrifice 226
—glad to contribute the life of one they love so well
to the cause of science. My uncle Consider says the
sadness of my fixed departure would be somewhat alleviated if he could only be assured that I would never
" Sunset" Cox says I have the proper specific levity
—that I am light-hearted and light-headed, and am
just the person to go—just the one to give earliest
news of sunsets, falling stars, and aurora-borealicusses
and other astronomical phenomena.
You ask me what I desire to take as luggage, offering me any space which I may desire. First of all, I
should like to take several Saratoga young ladies.
They like to take up a good deal of room, but I assure
you they are very light. They are anything but solid
young ladies. Then, as we drift into new celestial
worlds, it is well to display the judgment of Noah in
looking out for the species. I don't think Noah would
have taken Mr. Sumner or A. T. Stewart. Mr. Vanderbilt or Mr. Saxe or General Nye would do far better.
I do object to Mr. Sam Cox, who has proved himself
of no particular value in establishing a new population.
In case the balloon is too heavy, the young ladies are
willing to be thrown out as ballast. It is thought that
they would float away very gracefully—as Virgil says:
ii c
Sic itur ad astra.''
Twelve young ladies here to-day, with Worth dresses,
Colgate's perfumery, and pearl powder, only weigh 98
I should likq also. tQ take my horse and Brewster 227
dog-cart. We may land miles from any street cars
and out of the sight of any omnibus; besides, it will
be nicer to drive into  town in  style any way.
Here is a list of other luggage which I desire to take
either as baggage, ballast, or company, or to make into
To be used for. Weight.
.    for pure wind,  190 lbs.
G. F. Train, . . .
Schuyler Colfax, . .
4 Congressional Globes^
200 doz. champagne, .
12 cows,	
8 barrels water,    .    .
Hair, paint, cotton,    .
19 carrier pigeons,   .
12 lbs. butter.  .    .    .
for hydrogen gas,
for dead weight,
for water,   .    .    .    ,
for curiosity, .    .    .
for company,  .    .    .
for scrubbing floor,
for young ladies,
for pigeon pie, .    .
for greasing dogcart,
10 lbs.
479,628 tons.
41 lbs.
76 lbs.
3,983 lbs.
310 lbs.
. 988,231 lbs.
41 lbs.
9 lbs.
I should also like to take up a watch dog and double-
barreled shot-gun, to be used in case Mr. Wise and I
disagree about the meals served at table, or to prevent
my being called too early in the morning. My theory
to ascend about two miles, *and then go straight across
to Buckingham Palace, and put up with Mr. Buckingham one night, and then go on to Canton. In case I
consider it dangerous or disagreeable to ride in the air,
I shall instruct Mr. Wise and the boys to strap the
balloon to the deck of a steamer, or lace it tight, if the
ladies did not object, to a train of cars. Borne along
at the rate of twenty miles an hour on a freight car, Mr,
Wise could have ample opportunity to make his experiments  with  air  currents and toll-gates and things.    I 228
really believe that the safest way to do is to all get
in the balloon, put it on a clipper ship, and let the wind
blow us anywhere except over large islands or continents.
If everything is satisfactory, and you will send me a
few thousand dollars to buy champagne and cigars and
breastpins and a loaf or two of bread—an absolute necessity, you know, when you are going to travel—if you
will do all this, why, I'll take your money now, and saying, " May heaven bless your great enterprise," put it in
my pocket, where you will always know where it is.
Yours warmly, Eli Perkins.
the trip.
Notwithstanding the famous balloon burst, and
Wise and Donaldson got into a bitter personal quarrel,
the former withdrawing from the expedition, " Eli Perkins" continued to make the trip, sending back the
following carrier pigeon dispatches:
\_To the Editor of the Daily Bugle.]
I send you this by the carrier-pigeon Ariel. The balloon is sailing well. The collapse was a ruse. We
"busted" her last night to get the people out of the
yard. Then Mr. Donaldson and myself inflated her
again with gas which we had with us, and sailed away
at eight p.m. According to the barometer we are now
suspended in mid-heavens at 968 east latitude and 8
degrees ante-meridian. We passed San Domingo thirty-
seven miles east of the planet Vesuvius, at eleven Q/cjQck 229
m.d. this forenoon. I am navigating the balloon alone,
and Donaldson and Lunt are feasting on the pigeons
and shooting at each other with pistols. Wise sits in
the stern of the boat with a navy revolver, and Donaldson sits in the bow with a shot-gun loaded to the muzzle with peas and billiard-balls. It is very amusing and
instructive. If I hadn't gone along to act as mediator
and navigator, I think science would have suffered.
This morning at three o'clock and ninety-four minutes n.b., while we were sailing along over Cape Cod,
Mr. Wise came up to my room, rang the bell, and
wanted to know whose side I was on.
I On the side of science," sez I, I of course."
| No, no ! Mr. Perkins," he said in great agitation,
"I mean on which side are you in the great fight?"
Then he cocked his gun.
I told him I wasn't on any side. I also stated to him
that I was a peace man—that I came in the balloon
purely for science.
"Then, Mr. Perkins," he said, looking at his gun,
11 propose to kill you. You and Donaldson are mutineers.    I will give you four minutes to join my side."
Then I joined his side, just to please him, and he
gave me two navy revolvers to defend ourselves against
Mr. Donaldson, who was turning hand-springs and
cart-wheels on the deck in the most threatening manner.
A little later, and Mr. Donaldson pointed his shotgun at me and whispered in my ear. He said, " Mr.
Perkins, I will give you $11 if you will join my side."
I took the money and joined.    Then we pointed our 280
shot-guns and revolvers directly at Mr. Wise's legs,
and told him to keep quiet.
A little iater—about nine s.c.—Mr. Wise offered me
$27 to abandon Mr. Donaldson and come over to
him. I took the money, and saying, "It is all for
science," I came over to him. Then we aimed our
revolvers at Donaldson.
So I've been going back and forth all night. I
have made large sums of money, and put it in the
rear end of my dog-cart, where I can drive off with
it as -soon as we land. I suppose I have made $19,-
000 within the last hour in breaking up the balance
of power between the balloonatics.
It is very cold here. There is great coldness between Mr. Wise and Donaldson, and there is where I
am—between them. The theory that Mr. Wise ever
had a warm heart is completely exploded when you
see the icicles hanging on the end of his nose and on
his cold shoulder, which he keeps towards us.
We have now gone up to a great altitude, say 230
miles. We can easily 'see people on the moon. We
have discovered that the specks on the sun are made
of German silver. The milky way is only a dense
fog, writh droves of mosquitoes that have got lost
from New Jersey. The light young ladies from Saratoga, whom we took in for ballast, have all been
thrown out. They astonished us by going on up
higher than the balloon. Several have sailed off
towards Mars—latitude east of New Jersey and longitude 90 deg. Fahrenheit.    I computed it.
At four o'clock m.d. we passed General Butler.    He If ' m
found the easterly currant, and stole it and ate it up
before we arrived. He is now looking for prunes and
dates. About this time we met with an accident.
Our silverware disappeared. We are now roasting the
pigeons over a kerosene lamp and eating them with
our fingers. We .have passed Australia and Harlem
and Peoria (111.). We may make a landing at Newgate to see friends.    Don't look for our return to-day.
10 o'clock d.d.—She moves lovely. A heavy swell
just struck the balloon. We immediately threw him
overboard. Our chaplain has just struck for higher
wages. His wages are four miles high now, and still
he is not satisfied. He struck with his left hand.
He wants to organize a base-ball club. He is not a
proper man for a scientific expedition. We shall throw
him out.
ii o'clock, f.r.s.—Have thrown the chaplain and
Wise out. They have done nothing but eat the
pigeons and drink the water which we brought up to
scrub the floor with. Our carriage horses are doing
well, and the twelve cows we brought up for company
are improving rapidly. Hay and oats are cheap, but
going up. This morning I called the police and had
Mr. Donaldson arrested for standing on his head on
the top of the balloon. He is now in irons. I'm
sorry for it, for he appears to take quite an interest
in our great  scheme.     I don't think Mr. Wise does. h    ^n
He spends all his time wiping out his gun and hunting around for Mr. Donaldson.
12 o'clock post-mortem.—England in sight. We
can tell it by the fog. We shall return in about a
week. Mr. Donaldson says he shall take this same gas
back to America and exchange it for Congressional
gas from the House of Reprehensibles, which he proposes to put in a solid cast-iron balloon to be propelled by a canal-boat. This is one of Mr. Wise's
theories. It is growing very cold here. My hands are
frozen. Send me some money ($) by the pigeon.
Also, borrow a Testament from some of the daily
newspapers in New York, if they have one, and send
it along. We shall stop with Mr. Windsor, of Windsor's
Palace, to-morrow night—latitude west 128 Troy weight,
and longitude north from Pittsburgh, 4, 11, 44. The
Daily Bugle comes regularly.    Adieu!
Warmly yours, Eli Perkins, Airiant. THE  SHREWD  MAN.
Mr. Andrew V. Stout, the President of the Shoe and Leather Bank,
is a shrewd man—not, as Joey Bag-
stock would say, " a dev'lish sly
man," but a keen, shrewd financier
and business man.
A few mornings since, when Mr.
Stout was coming down in the
Broadway cars, he sat in such confidential proximity to a sympathizing pickpocket that the latter was
tempted into the acceptance of Mr. Stout's pocket-
book, containing valuable papers and $150 in greenbacks. Then the pickpocket said good morning to
Mr. Stout, and left. On arriving at the bank, Mr.
Stout discovered his loss. He was astonished that he,
a shrewd old New Yorker, should have his pocket
"Pshaw!" he said to his secretary, "no man could
ever pick my pocket, I am too smart for that. No, sir.
I should just like to see any one pick my pocket, I
should!" I
Then Mr. Stout's lip curled in contemptuous scorn
at the bare idea of such a silly improbability.
833 Hb^b
But the pocket-book, with the money and valuable
papers, was gone, and the next day Mr. Stout advertised in the Herald. He said if the person who took
his pocket-book would return the papers, he would give
him the money and $25 besides.
The next morning he got a confidential note from a
party who said a friend of his had the pocket-book
all safe, and that he would call at the bank the next
day to arrange the matter.
11 wonder if this man really will call ?" mused
the banker as he wiped his eye-glasses and cut off
a basketful of coupons. 11 wonder if he will be
such a darned fool as that? But then you can't expect common men to be as shrewd as bank presidents."
But sure enough the next day the man was at his
I Well, what about the pocket-book ?" asked Mr.
" Oh, it's all safe, Mr. Stout, and if you'll just go
with me a few bl&cks I'll show you the party who has
your pocket-book, with all the memoranda too. It's all
safe, Mr. Stout.    Come!"
The stranger had such an honest look that the
banker, who always prides himself on his knowledge of
men, " took stock in him" at once.
"All right, my good man, let me get some money
to pay you for your trouble, and I'll be with you,"
said Mr. Stout, looking at his four-hundred-dollar
In  a few moments  they  started   off together—Mr. 235
Stout and his honest friend, for a Centre Street restaurant, where the thief or finder was supposed to be.
" Now, you just wait outside
in the front room a moment,
Mr. Stout, and I'll go into the
back room and see the man
who has the money and valuable papers," said the good
man as he went into the back
In   a   moment   Mr.   Stout's
friend  returned with the message  that  his friend wouldn't
give   up   the   valuable   papers
in the pocket-book for $25.       He wants $50 now, sir."
" But I only advertised to give $25 for the papers,"
said Mr. Stout, with an eye to business.    § This is an
"Well," said the kindly-looking
stranger, 1 I'll go back and reason
with the gentleman, and try and get
the papers for $25." And he disappeared in the back room again.
In a moment he returned, smiling.
" Well, Mr. Stout," he said, " my
friend will take $25, but he wants
the money before he gives up the pocket-book."
"All right," said Mr. Stout, blandly, "here is $25.
Take it to him, my good man, take it to him, and bring
back the papers—quick!"
"One word, Mr. Stout," said the man, confidentially,
" this things you know, is to be strictly between ourselves."
"Yes, yes; I've said it."
"And you will never ask any questions, tell anything,
or seek further knowledge, will you?"
" No, never, I give you my word, as President of the
Shoe and Leather Bank, my good man, not to say anything about it, not a single syllable—not even to my
wife." ■§  • I.  -J    ,."'■
" All right, then—mum is the word," said Mr. Stout's
friend, as he put his finger to his lips and passed into
the back room with the money.
Mr. Stout waited patiently for his return—waited five,
ten, fifteen minutes, but alas! his friend never came
back, and the shrewd President returned t6 the bank,
a sad and a ruined man. He says his friend is welcome to the $25, but he told Daniel Drew that he
wouldn't have the story get into print or around among
his friends for $10,000.
"No, sir, it wouldn't be fair, Daniel, would it?" said
Mr. • Stout, " when I promised—solemnly promised the
man when I gave him the $25 never to mention the
matter—not even to my wife." LOST CHILDREN IN NEW YORK.
"Lost child!"
That used to be
the  cry   along  the
street,     but    now,
though there are a
dozen children lost
every day in  New
York, the thing is so
systematized that it
is impossible for a
child to be lost for
any length of time.
The only  thing  is
to know what to do
to find it, and if you
read three minutes
longer,    you    will
know  all about it.
"How can we find a lost child?"
The first thing you must do after  the--child  is lost
is   to   go   to  the   Police   Headquarters   on   Mulberry
street, near  Houston.    Away up in  the fifth story of
that marble-front building are three rooms labeled
"lost children's department."
This Lost Child's Department was established in 1864.
337 238
Here you will see a dozen cozy cribs, cradles, and
beds for the little lost children and foundlings of the
city. Yes, and sometimes for old men and women, too,
lost in their second childhood.
At the head of this department you will see the
middle-aged matron, Mrs. Ewing—a bright, systematic
American woman.
"How do the lost children get here?"
First they are picked up by kind-hearted policemen
and taken to their respective station-houses. There
they are kept until seven p.m. Then the Sergeant of
Police sends them with a ticket to Mrs. Ewing, at
Police Headquarters.
"What does Mrs. Ewing do with them?"
She first enters the child's name on the book, gives
it a number, then  writes its sex, age, color, by whom
found,, where found, precinct  sent from,  and time received.    Then, after the child is gone, she writes after
its name how long it stayed, and what became of it.
"What becomes of the children sent here?"
Every  effort is made  to find  out where  the  child
lives, who its parents are, the father's profession, etc.;
and if, at the end of three days, nothing is heard from
its parents  or friends,  it is sent  to  George  Kellock,
No. 66 Third  avenue,   Superintendent   of   the   " Out-
Door Poor" for  the  Department of Public   Charities
and Correction.
"What then?" .      *$\
Here, in the Charity and Correction building, are
some nice rooms kept by a good woman by the name
of Tumey, and the children are cared for till the old 239
nurse named " Charity " takes them in a carriage to the
foot of Twenty-sixth street and the East River, and
accompanies them on the boat to the Foundling
Hospital on Randall's Island, where they stay at school
till they are claimed, bound out, or become old enough
to support themselves.
We have now followed the lost child from the time
when first lost, through the local station-house, police
headquarters, Mr. Kellock's office, and to Randall's
Now we will return to the Police Headquarters and
hear what Mrs. Ewing says about the babies.
"How many children are lost per month?" I asked
of the matron.
11 had eight yesterday. From 400 to 500 pass
through our hands every month in summer, but in
winter not so many. Then, sometimes, we have old
people too."
I Do you have many old people ?"
"No, only a few. Yesterday the police brought in
a nice old lady with white hair, who seemed to be all
in confusion. The sight of the police had frightened
her," continued the matron, "but as soon as I got her
in here, I gave her a nice cup^ of tea, and commenced
to find out where she lived.
I 'Who do you live with, grandma?' I asked, for she
was eighty years old.
1 She said she lived No. 700, but she didn't know
the street.    Then pretty soon she seemed to gam coii- 240
fidence  in me, and  she  took  out a big roll  of bank
bills and a Third Avenue Savings Bank book.
"'See,' said the old lady, confidentially, 'I went to
get this and I got confused when I came out. I live
on the same street with the bank.'
" And sure enough," said the matron, " when we
looked in the directory there we found her daughter's
residence, No. 700 Third avenue. When the police
took the old lady home the daughter was half crazy
for fear her mother had been robbed."
1 Do you have a good deal of trouble in finding
out the residences of children?"
I Not very often. But sometimes the children stray
across the ferries from Jersey City and Brooklyn; and
then there are so many streets in Brooklyn and Jersey
named after our streets that we are sorely puzzled.
" The other day, to illustrate, a pretty little German
girl was picked up down towards Fulton street. The
only thing she knew was that she lived corner of
Warren and Broadway, so the police brought her up
here. I sent her the next day to the corner of Warren and Broadway, but there were nothing but warehouses there, so we were very much puzzled. When
the little girl came back I thought her heart would
break. The tears rolled down her cheeks, and her
face was hot with fever. O, it was roasting hot! I
was afraid she would be sick.    So I said:
"k Sissy, don't cry any more—lie down, and when
you wake up your papa will be here.'
Oh, will he come, sure, will he?' sobbed the little
a i
© 241
"'Yes, my child,' I said, and then I put her in the
crib. She had a paper of peanuts and seventy cents
in her pocket, which she said her mother gave her.
These I put before her on a chair, and the little thing
soon fell asleep.
"About two o'clock in the
morning," continued the matron, " somebody knocked at
the door. I got up and struck
a light, and as I opened it a
man asked—
" | Have you got a little lost
girl here?'
"'Yes, we've got three little
girls here to-night,' I said.
11 But have you got a little
with long golden hair, dressed
in a little red hood and a plaid
shawl ?'
I j Yes, just such a one. Come
in and see her.'
" Then,"   continued   the   matron,   11  called all  the
children up. and he came in.    The light shone on the
little girl's face, as she stood there waiting.    In a second the father had her in his arms.
How did you get over here, baby?' he cried, as
he  held  his   rough  beard   against her face.    But  the
little child only sobbed and clung to him all the more."
"What was the child's mistake about the street?" I
I Well, she  lived  corner of Broadway  and  Walton
**a light shon^ on the little
girl's face." J
street, Brooklyn, and  she  spoke Walton as if it wen
A while ago a little boy, three and a half years old,
living in Passaic Village, New Jersey, strayed away
from home. He wandered to the railroad, and when
he saw a car stop he thought it would be a nice thing
to take a-ride. So he climbed up the steps, got into
the car, and rode to Jersey City.' When the car stopped
he wandered on to the ferry-boat with the surging
crowd of passengers, and was soon at the foot of
Courtlandt street, in the great City of New York.
Here he played around a little while in high glee. By
and by, as night came on, he began to be hungry and
to cry for his father and mother. So a kind-hearted
policeman picked him up, took him to the station-house,
and the sergeant sent him to Mrs. Ewing's, at Police
As soon as little Johnny was missed at home in
Passaic, the search commenced. Dinner came, and no
Johnny—then supper passed, and the father and mother
began to be frantic. They searched everywhere for
two days and two nights. The big foundry at Passaic
was stopped, and one hundred workmen scoured the
country. Then, as a last resort, his heart-broken farther came to New York. After putting an advertisement in the Herald, he thought he would go to Police
Johnny was such a bright little boy that the matron
had taken him  out with her shopping • on Broadway 243
when the father came, so he sat down till her return,
to question her about lost children.
Judge of his astonishment and joy, after fifteen minutes' waiting, when Johnny came flat upon him with the
"Why, my little boy!" cried the father, "how did
you get here ?" But Johnny was too full of joy to
reply, and when his father went off to the telegraph
office to tell the glad news to his, mother, he cried
till his father took him along too, and he wouldn't let
go his father's hand till he got clear back to Passaic,
for fear he would be lost again.
rich children.
Do you ever have any rich people's children here?"
I asked the matron.
I Yes, frequently. They get lost, shopping with their
mothers on Broadway, and the Broadway Police have
orders not to take the lost children whom they find
to the station house, but to bring them directly here.
And here their fathers and mothers frequently come
after them."
"What other children get cared for here?*' I asked.
"Well, the little Italian harp boys frequently come
here with the police to stay over night, but after they
get a nice warm breakfast, they suddenly remember
where they live, and we let them go. They are very
cute, they are!"
Yesterday  I  met in  the  great,   seething   Broadway 244
crowd three little lost children. They were struggling
in the ceaseless ebb and flow of* humanity on the corner
of Fourteenth street, just by the statue of Lincoln.
The youngest was a baby in arms, the next was a little
girl prattler of three years, and the eldest, a boy, was,
I should say, five. The little boy held the little baby
tightly, and sobbed as if his swelling heart would break,
while the little girl only looked very sad, without crying; She wasn't old enough to know that she was
lost. I was so much interested that I watched them
for some minutes to see what they would do, but the
more they walked the more they got lost. Pretty soon
they sat down on the curbstone, and the little girl laid
her head in the little boy's lap, while he continued to
sob. Now quite a crowd collected around them, asking them all sorts of questions, which they could not
answer. They could not even tell where they lived—
not even the street. In a few moments a policeman
came along and tried to find out where the little things
lived, but the more he questioned them the more
frightened they got.
"Shall I take you to your mother, Johnny?" asked
the policeman, patting the little boy on the cheek; but
johnny kept on saying as he had said for the last half
nour, " O, I want my ma !"
"Well, Johnny," said the policeman, " come with
me and we will find ma.    We'll go  and see her."
So Johnny took hold of one of the policeman's hands
and his little sister the other, while he carried the
baby in his arms and they all went off down Broadway to the lost child department to find their mother. 245
But alas! they did not find her.
After the theater, being down
town, I thought I would run in
and see Mrs. Ewing and the
children. The kind matron had
five lost children asleep in her
cradles and cribs.
"What has become of the
little boy and girl?" I asked.
" Here they are," she said,
"by the fire waiting patiently.'1
And there they were. Johnny
had the little baby asleep in his
arms, and his little sister was
looking on and trying to advise
him what to do. They were
tending the baby like a little
father and mother.
I suppose their parents have
been to get them before this
time, but it is a queer thing that
there are so many people who
have never, heard of the " Lost Children's Department,"
and when they lose their children they do not know
where to go to find them. Remember this, parents :
Whenever your child is lost, go straight to your own
police station, and if the child is not there, go to Mrs.
Ewing's rooms at Police Headquarters, on Mulberry
George Harding, Esq., the distinguished Philadelphia patent lawyer, and a brother of William Harding,
the accomplished editor of the Philadelphia Lnquirer,
is remarkable for a retentive memory.
On Saturday, Mr. Harding rode down to Wall street
in a Broadway omnibus. At the Domestic Sewing-
Machine building a beautiful young lady got in and
handed fifty cents to the distinguished attorney, requesting him to please hand it to the driver.
"With pleasure," said Mr. Harding, at the same time
passing the fifty cents up through the hole to the
The driver made the change, and handed forty cents
back to Mr. Harding, who quietly put it away into his
vest pocket, and went on reading a mowing-machine
Then all was silence.
The young lady began to look nervously at Mr.
Harding for her change. " Can it be possible that this
is one of those polite confidence men we read of in
books ?" she thought to herself.
Then she looked up timidly and asked Mr. Harding
something about the Brooklyn Ferry.
" Oh, the boats run very regular—every three minutes," replied the interrupted  lawyer, trying to smile.
Then he went on reading his brief.
m 247
"Do the boats run from Wall street to Astoria?"
continued the young lady.
" I don't know, madame," replied Mr. H., petulantly ; " I'm not a resident of New York : I'm a
"Ah ! yes "—(then a silence).
Mr. Harding again buried himself in his brief, while
the young lady ahemzd and asked him what the fare
was in the New York stages.
"Why, ten cents, madame—ten cents." -
" But I gave you fifty cents to give to the driver,"
interrupted the young lady, "and "
"Didn't he return your change? Is it possible?
Here, driver !" the lawyer continued, dropping the brief
and pulling the strap violently, "why the dickens don't
you give the lady her—forty cents, sir, forty cents?"
" I did give her the change. I gave forty cents to
you, and you put it in your own pocket," shouted
back the driver.
" To me || said Mr. Harding, feeling in his vest
pocket, from which his fingers brought out four ten-
cent notes.    " Gracious goodness, madame! I beg ten
thousand pardons ; but—but 1
" Oh, never mind," said the lady, eyeing him suspiciously; " you know a lady
in a wicked city like New York has to
look out for herself. It's no matter—
it wasn't the forty cents; but before I
left home mother cautioned me against
-OH, NEVER MIND!"    ^^        confidence       m^      ^O      lOOk      SO
>good outside, but " 248
"Goodness gracious! rny dear woman!" exclaimed
Mr. Harding, while all the passengers eyed him with
suspicion.    " I assure you "
But the stage stopped then, and the young lady,
holding fast to her port-money, got out and fled into
the Custom House, while Mr. Harding went on filling
up in this form :
"Goodness gracious! Did you ever? O Lord!
what shall I do?" etc.
The distinguished lawyer got so excited about the
affair that he went back to Philadelphia next morning
—a ruined man. He even forgot to take a $10,000
fee which Ketchum was to pay him in a mowing-machine case. He says he'd rather pay $10,000 than to
let the Philadelphia fellows get hold of the story, for
fear they would be asking him what he wanted to do
with that poor woman's forty cents.
\ - * *     1 CRIME IN SARATOGA.
Saratoga was greatly excited yesterday on the
discovery of an appalling and unnatural crime. We
give the particulars hastily" as they came to us:
As the guests of the United States Hotel were
departing for the races Eli Perkins walked briskly up
to the desk and informed Mr. Gage one of the proprietors of the States, that Governor Jewell, of Connecticut,
had just thrown his son out of the window, and to
" What window—where ||| interrupted a dozen voices
at once.
" Out of the fourth story back," said Mr. Perkins,
" onto the picket fence 1
"What! threw his own son out of the window?"
broke in Mr. Vanderbilt.
" Yes I suppose it was his own son," said Mr. Perkins quietly, " and a weakly son too. You see I
wanted to see "
" By heavens! What are we coming to ? " exclaimed
Robert Cutting and John Kelly 5 wringing their hand—
I and what was the provocation ? What had the son
done ip     Qjf
I Nothing at all," said Mr. Perkins. | You see, I
asked Governor Jewell if his son was there. He said
4 yes on the lounge here,' and threw —	
349 250
11 know," interrupted Mr. Travers, " the u—rt natural f—f—ather m—m made a g— grab and th—th—
threw his own son down on the picket fence b—b—
below.    O, th—th—the f— f—fiend!"
"Just so," said Mr. Perkins, lighting a cigar.
By this time there was great excitement throughout
the hotel. Ladies, headed by John Hay, white with
excitement, came rushing over from the cottages,
wringing their hands, and the stronger men, like Senator Frelinghusen and Governor Cornell were ready to
lynch the author of this fiendish act. As the local
reporter of the Saratogian arrived on the spot; Mr.
Gage and Mr. Tompkins, accompanied by Mr. Leonard
Jerome and Colonel Kane, ran round the hotel to see
the victim of this dreadful crime. Senator Warner
Miller and Mayor Smith Ely accompanied them to take
the dying boy from the sharp pickets and to take his
post mortem statements.
Eli Perkins was the only unexcited man about. He
sat quietly reading his newspaper.
" Why dont you get excited about this fiendish act,
Eli?" exclaimed Mr. Marvin.
" What fiendish act?" asked Mr. Perkins.
" Why a man throwing his son—his only son out of a
fourth story window."
" I don't see anything fiendish about it," said Eli, " it
was an old son and of no use to the Governor, and "
" No use to the Governor! and do you think, because
Governor Jewell had no use for his son he had a right
to throw such a son out of the window ?" interrupted
Isaac N. Phelps.
" Why, of course he had a right to do as he chose
with his own son," said Mr. Perkins. 251
I As I was saying I told the Governor to just toss it
down to me, and he gave it a throw5 and— 1
I It? what do you mean by calling a boy an it? " interrupted a dozen voices.
I Why who said it was a boy? §j asked Mr. Perkins,
greatly surprised, " I said Governor Jewell threw his
Sun, a weekly Sun, out of the window to me. It was
an old Sun: he had read it and I wanted to read it
myself, and— "
In just two minutes by Judge Fitch's old yellow
watch, the office was cleared and no one heard how
Eli Perkins finished the sentence. Somebody told our
reporter that Eli was trying to illustrate the proverb
that | truth, absolute truth was sometimes stranger than
fiction."—Daily Saratogian, "I LOFE AN HONEST POY."
9 .-jf'-ifr.w-.
The other day, our little boy went over to Jacob
Abraham's clothing store to get a two-dollar bill
changed. By some mistake, Abraham made a mistake
in  the  change—paid  him.twenty-five cents too much.
We sent little Frank back to return the extra quarter,
which by the way looked a little ragged. Entering the
store and holding out the ragged money, the boy said:
1 You changed a two-dollar bill for me, here's a
I Shanged nodinks! I shanged no pills mit you!" exclaimed Jacob, thinking Frank wanted him to take a
ragged quarterback.
" Yes you did and here's a quarter— "
" Mein Gott, I vas a liars! never in my life did I see
sich a poys. I dells you you never shanged me mit any
pills." ' |||
I Why I was here not half an hour ago, and you
gave me a quarter— "
| Gif you some quarters, gif you some quarters! Got
in hamil, young feller, do yon dink I pin gone grazy
mit my prains? I don't gif you some quarters. Now,
make yourself seldom, ride away, pefore I but shoulders
on your head," and he commenced to move out from
behind the counter.
" O, you didn't give me the quarter! All right; all
right, squire. I'm just a quarter ahead." and he started
to go out.
363 253
I Now," said the German, putting himself in an attitude of admiration, "dot is vat I likes to see petter as
nothings else. I lofe an honest poy, and I shoost been
trying you, sonny. Yaw it was me what makes
shange mit ter pill, and I knows it all der same, but I
vas drying you, and I gifs you a nice pig apples for
your honesty," and (pocketing the quarter) he led the
boy back to the rear end of the store, and selecting an
apple about the size of a marble, he presented it to the
boy, and patting hi^n on the head, said: 1 Now, run
along home, sonny, and tell your volks vat a nice
p-e-a-u-t-i-f-u-1 old shentleman it vas who gif you dot nice
~\ i
% ■'*■
I ;: ■
The expression, 1 Get there Eli," originated in this
Eli Perkins took  a  special  train from Mason City,
Iowa,  through  Iowa  to  meet  a  lecture engagement.
The train went 80 miles an hour.    Everywhere along
the track the people shouted
K" Get there Eli!"   f ' ' Jf .
"Get there Eli!!"
Mr. Perkins describes this trip in the following letter
to the Chicago Tribune:—
On the cars up in Iowa, Dec, 1881.
Editor Chicago Tribune:—
I can now see why Geo. W. Curtis, Wendell Phillips,
Dr. Chapin, Anna Dickinson and a host of veteran lecturers have also practically retired from the platform.
They could not stand the wear and tear of railroads,
sleeping-cars, night changes and irregular meals. Riding every day, and talking every night, wears them
out, and we see them shattered and broken down.
Anna Dickinson's constitution is ruined; Saxe was
smashed up on a train; Gough is on his last legs and
has to be nursed like a child, and Wendell Phillips is so
feeble that he refuses to lecture where he cannot return
to Boston the same night,   Sot as the veterans become
/ 255
old and spavined, the call upon the younger orators,
humorists and readers increases. The insatiable public
demands more victims!
How far does the average lecturer travel during the
Well, last Winter I lectured 127 times and traveled
over thirty-nine thousand miles  (the exact number was
One night I rode all night long over the prairie from
Osage, Iowa, to catch the morning train at North wood
for Des Moines, only to find it taken off. I shall never
forget that morning! Benumbed with cold, we rode up
to the depot, and I shouted:
1 Has the five o'clock train left for Mason City?"
I The what train left for Mason City ? I asked the
agent, rubbing his eyes.
" The five o'clock train!" ff
I Why, goodness gracious, man, she left last Fall!
She's a Summer train; she won't run again until next
April, but you can sit around the depot here and wait
for her; it's only four months, and—"
" Thunderation—!" and then I sat down and almost
cried. A thousand people waiting for me in Des
Moines, and I a thousand miles away waiting for a
Summer train? Oh, it was too horrible—this riding all
night over a dreary prairie to arrive at a frozen-up station to wait for a Spring train!
What did I do? |J
Why, I took another carraige, rode thirty-five miles
further over the prairie to Mason City, saw the Superintendent of the Central Iowa, and with tears in my eyes
told him my story. liif
"Why, good Lord, Eli you needn't feel so bad; we
can get you there yet," said Mr. Parker, as he slung his
right fist down on to the telegraph table.
" How ? " I asked pleadingly.
" Why, telegraph President Grinnell. He's a Garfield man and so are you. Why, he would send you to
the devil for that Garfield interview of yours! he'd a—"
I Click, click, click," went the telegraph, and then
this reply came from President Grinnell:
"Yes. Can have an engine for $50. Get Eli through
to Des Moines if you have to kill him to do it!"
"In ten minutes I was on the engine, and away we
went flying through Iowa.    Oh how we did fly!"
The village of Hampton looked like one long house.
More coal, and the stations began to hitch together.
Whistled for Ackley* but the locomotive ran clear
ahead of the sound and beat the whistle into town forty
seconds. In fact we were off five miles towards Mar-
shalltown before the whistle came loafing into Ackley.
We went through Marshalltown like a streak of chain
lightning. The town looked like a few splotches of
maroon paint on a side hill.    The people all shouted:
"Get there Eli!"   fjjf
"Get there Eli!!"
Whistled for Grinnell, turned the corner, and ran into
Des Moines at 9 o'clock and five minutes, tired, black
and miserable, but went to the Opera House and talked
as though I had just come over in a carriage from the
bridal chamber of the City Hotel. The audience
screamed and laughed when I told them about freezing
my ears, and, when I told them what mental agony I
had suffered during the last twenty-four hours, they
screamed again \  they actually thought  I was tying* 257
Oh its glorious Mr. Editor! glorious to deliver a humorous lecture with frozen ears and on an empty stomach!
But I am not selfish Mr. Editor; oh no! so the Bureau can let Mark Twain and Beecher, and a lot of
those old fellows who haven't long to live, take the rest
of the glory. I think I will stay and suffer in my sweet
little cosy brown-stone house this winter, unless the
Bureau has some deep-seated grudge against some
wicked town and must have me to cancel it. In the
meantime, may a kind Providence protect you.
From your friend,
P. S. My address henceforth will be in the bosom of
my family:   44 East 76th St., New York City. LECTURE EXPERIENCES.
They told me the following religious anecdote about
Josh Billings one night when I lectured up in Pough-
It seems that Josh used to be an auctioner, and they
say that in times of great mental strain, has been known
to swear. Many people do the same. Horace Greeley
did, so does ex-Senator Chandler. Well, on one of
these occasions, old Deacon Crosby came to Mr. Billings
and expostulated with him.    Said he—
"Joshua, you should not swear. It is wrong, Joshua,
—all wrong."
" I know it, said Josh," almost shedding tears in his
excessive humility—" but, the fact is, Deacon, I don't
mean anything by it. Why, Deacon, I don't mean any
more by my swearing than you do by your praying."
I lectured in a good old Quaker town up in Pennsylvania a few weeks ago, writes Eli Perkins, and after
the lecture the Lecture Committee came to me with my
fee in his hand, and said as  he counted the roll of bills:
" Eli, my friend does thee believe in the maxims of
Benjamin Franklin?"
"Yea," I said. f
35$ 259
" Well, friend Eli, Benjamin Franklin, in his Poor
Richard maxims, says that' Time is money.' "
1 Yea, verily, I have read it," I said.
" Well, Eli, if c time is money,' as thy friend, Poor
Richard says, and thee believe so, then verily I will
keep the money and let thee take it out in time."
My Uncle Consider stood looking at one of the new
silver dollars, and, seeing " Ln God we trust" on one
side, and the I United States of America" on the other,
sadly remarked:
1 Well, Eli, I knew we were becoming a very
wicked and worldly people, but I never expected to live
to see the day when God ^nd the United States would
be on opposite sides."    " Arise and sing!"
Whoever plants a leaf beneath the sod,
And waits to see it push away the clod,
He trusts in God.
Whoever says, when clouds are in the sky,
| Be patient, heart; light breaketh by-and-by."
He trusts in God.
Whoever sees, 'neath Winter's field of snow,
The silent harvests of the future grow,
God's power must know.
Whoever lies down on his couch to sleep,
Content to lock each sense in slumber deep,
Knows God will keep. Ii l!
Whoever says '"to-morrow," "The unknown,"
"The future," trusts unto that power alone
He dares disown.
The heart that looks on when the eyelids close,
And dares to live when life has only woes,
God's comforts knows.
Three times I walked by, and finally I formed a
courageous resolution, and, hanging my head as a member of the Young Men's Christian Association does
when he goes into the Mabille or Harry Hill's, I
plunged in. I trembled from head to foot as soon as I
entered the door. I couldn't look the pretty barberess
in the face. I couldn't summon up courage enough to
speak to her. In fact, I had nothing to say. So I
stood and looked very sheepish.
"Have a shave sir?" said the pretty barberess, advancing with a razor in one hand, and with the other
pointing to the chair.
I Yes, shave! " I gasped, and flung myself into a
" Why, you've just been shaved! j she said, drawing
her silky palm across my face.
" Have I?" I said, and then recollecting, I stammered,
" Ah, yes, shaved this morning early. I always shave
twice a day."
| Shave close? "asked the pretty girl; 261
" Yes, the closer the better."
"Hair cut, too?" 1||
" Yes, everything!"
And then she commenced. With a little camel's hair
brush she painted my face with white soapsuds. Then
she put her little fingers plump against my face and
rubbed it all over. She stood behind me and put her
arms around my neck. I saw her in the glass in front.
I never felt so in my life. " What would my wife say
to this ?" I thought. " Still everybody in Detroit does it,
and why not I ?" So I shut my eyes and let her go on.
After rubbing her velvet fingers over my cheeks and
chin until the beard was softened, she took out a razor
honed it, and placing one arm clear around my head,
and her hand against my face to steady it, commenced
the downward movement of the blade. Once or twice
I tried to look the pretty barberess in the face, but I
couldn't. So I sat and took it with my eyes .shut. I
don't think I enjoyed it. And still I let her go on. She
shaved me, drew her silky hand all over my face to see
if it was closely shaven, and then combed my hair.
I Shall I wax your mustache, sir?"
" Yes, wax away!"
Then she leaned over me until I could hear her
breathe and feel her heart beat, placed her little fingers
under my mustache, and waxed the ends. Now, I never
wear my mustache waxed, but I couldn't ask her to
I There! does it suit? " she said as she dusted off my
neck and removed the apron.
"Yes, its just right—lovely! I I said, " too sweet for
anything!" and then strode down to the depot to find 262
the train just gone, and that this Detroit barberess had
caused me to miss a lecture engagement and a hundred-
dollar fee.—JV. T Sun.
No man, says a well known book renewer, has been
a more patient or a harder working journalist than Eli
Perkins. He has been faithful and deserving, working
up from the bottom round, until now through his works
he is known wherever the English language is spoken.
For years he contributed his column daily to the New
York Commercial Graphic and Sun. His daily articles
in the Commercial in 1872 ran the circulation of that
Journal from 3,000 to 21,000 in six weeks.
Why was this?
Because his articles are always fresh, vigorous and
original. He has a moral point to make in every paragraph. It may be hidden to the casual reader, but the
thoughtful can see his aim. For example, here are two
cf his simple paragraphs. See what a scathing satire it
is on the Californians who treat the poor Chinamen like
dogs—who, while complaining of the Chinaman's dishonesty, are ten times as dishonest and reckless themselves!
These are the little satirical paragraphs:
I met a Californian to-day who says he don't believe
Chinamen have ordinary common sense.
" They haven't ordinary sagacity, Uncle Eli," he said.
« Why," I asked. 263
" Because," said he, growing excited about it, " because, b-e-c-a-u-s-e they haven't."
" But why!" I asked. " I want to know an instance
where a Chinaman has ever shown himself to be a
darn fool."
I Why, Eli, I've known a Chinaman to secrete two
aces in his sleeves, and when I've played the three aces
I had secreted in my sleeves, why there'd be five aces
out!   How absurd!"
I Yes, that was very foolish for the Chinaman; but
what other cases of foolishness have you seen among the
Chinamen ? " I asked.
| Why, it was only the day before I left 'Frisco, Mr.
Perkins, that we put some tar and feathers on one of
them Johnnys, just to have a little fun, and then set fire
to it to amuse the children, ^nd the darn foolran into a
clothes-press and spoiled a dozen of my wife's dresses
putting out the fire, though I told him better all the time.
Dog-on-it, it is enough to make a man loose faith in the
whole race!"
And then that good Californian threw a colored
waiter out of a fourth story window, and went on cutting
off his coupons.
Day after day Mr. Perkins used to write these paragraphs till he found them floating all over the world.
I May I call you Paula?" he asked modestly.
| Yes," she said faintly. ft   -  264
1 Dear Paula!—may I call you that ?"
" I suppose so."
" Do you know I love you? I
1 And shall I love you ^always ? 1
I If you wish to."
I And will you love me;—will you," he repeated.
" You may love me," she said again.
I But don't you love me in return ? "
" I love you to love me."
I Won't you say something more explicit ? "
II would rather not."
They were married and happy within three months.
Her eyes shone a beautiful, joyous light when he leaned forward and said:
" Well, Julia, to be frank with you, I think that under
some circumstances I might love you. Now do you
love me ?"
Yes, Augustus, I do love you, you know I do," and
then she flung her alabaster arms around his neck.
11 am very glad, Julia," he said," for I like to be loved."
" Well, Augustus I"
But Augustus never said another word. Fashionable
fellows never say more than that nowadays.
They were never married.
Moral.—Girls, never tell a fellow that you love him
till he has asked you to be his wife.
-is 265
Mrs. Van Auken, of Fifth Avenue, recently employed a Chinese cook—Ah Sin Foo. When the smiling Chinaman came to take his place, Mrs. Van Auken
asked him his name.
"What is your name, John? " commenced the lady.
"Oh! my namee Ah Sin Foo."
1 But I can't remember all that lingo, my man. I'll
call you Jimmy."
" Velly wellee. Now wha chee namee i callee you ?"
asked Ah Sin, looking up in sweet simplicity.
"Well, my name is Mrs.  Van Auken; call me that.
"Oh!" me can no'member Missee Vanne Auken.
Too big piecee namee. I callee you Tommy—Missee
Tommy." ||j
" Captain Mason used to be a drinker and a fighter
himself like the other Hickory Bayou boys," said Col.
Baker, the chairman of the Cairo (111.) Lecture Association. " He's joined the church now, but he always takes
care of every drunken man he sees. See, he's putting
Whiskey Bill into his wagon now."
"But why does he interest himself so for Whiskey
Bill? "I asked.       i     ff 1-
" Well, as I was saying, the Captain used to be a
drinker and a fighter himself. He was sentenced to be
shot once in the army for fighting. He struck an officer,
—got on a drunken frolic, and ——" 266
" How did the Captain escape?" I asked.
"Well," said the Colonel, "Mason, with a dozen
fellows from the Hickory Bayou enlisted in my regiment.
He was a splendid soldier,—^always ready for battle,—T
one of the best men in the regiment, but he would have
his sprees. One day, about three weeks before the battle
of Mission Ridge, Mason brought a canteen of whiskey
into camp, and, always generous, went to giving it to the
boys. This was against orders; so I ordered my Major
to arrest him and put him in the guard-house. Mason
found out that the Major was after him with a squad of
men, and, full of deviltry, he commenced dodging around
behind the tents to keep from being arrested. But pretty
quick in trying to keep away from the men, he ran
square against the Major."
"Here, you rascal!" said the Major, seizing him by
the coat-collar, without giving him a chance to explain,
" Now you walk to the guard-house! I'll fix you, you
1 But; in the excitement of the moment, Mason
knocked the Major flat, and then he went and gave himself up."
" What was done about it?" I asked.
"Well, Mason was tried before a court-martial for
striking a superior officer, sentenced to be shot, and the
sentence was sent to Gen. Jeff C. Davis to be approved.
Then poor Mason was imprisoned on bread and water,
with a ball and chain to each foot."
" Did Gen. Davis approve the sentence ?"
" Yes, he approved it."
" But how did Mason escape being shot ?"
" Well, the next day, before the approved sentence arrived, came the battle of Mission Ridge, and our regi- 267
ment was ordered forward. Mason, of course, was in the
rear, under guard, with a ball chained to his ankles.
We heard the Rebel canon in front all the forenoon.
We knew there was a big battle on,.and we needed all
our men. So I rode over to the guard-house and told
M_ason that we would have to leave him behind alone
with his ball and chain on till the battle was over."
" Let me go with the boys, Colonel!" pleaded Mason,
11 don't want to see the boys in a fight without me."
" But you might escape, Mason. You know there is
a sentence hanging over you."
" By heavens, Colonel! you ain't going into this fight
without me!" and the tears came to his eyes.
" Got to, Mason," I said " I can't trust you."
| Then," continued the narator, " the order came from
Gen. Davis for our regiment to move up and charge a
Rebel redoubt, and the boys dashed forward. It was an
awful fight. Twice they enfiladed us, and the Rebel
bullets mowed down our men by dozens, while the Rebel
flag still waved on the redoubt."
" Colonel, you must capture that redoubt!" was the
order that came from Gen. Davis.
"Our men were now badly tired out, and the dead
and wounded lay all around us; but I got our men together, and made the final charge. Gods! what a
charge! My horse was killed under me. The men went
forward in a shower of bullets. I thought they were
going straight for that flag; then all at once they
wavered. The bullets flew like rain, and the advance
men were all shot down. There was no one to lead,
and I thought all was lost. Just then I saw a man come
rushing up from the rear. He grabbed, a dead soldier's
repeating-rifle, pushed right through the dead and dying, 268
reached the he#d, and pushed up to the redoubt. The
boys saw him, took courage, and followed. In a moment
I saw the brave fellow swing his rifle around him on the
top of the redoubt, grasp the flag-staff and break it off,
while the boys struggled up the side and emptied their
guns into the retreating Rebels.
The day was ours!    As I came up I shouted!
" Who took the flag, boys ? "
" It was Mason!" said the boys, and looking down, I
saw a broken chain and a shackle still on his ankle!"
Then the narator's voice choked him, and the tears
'came into his eyes.
" I couldn't help it, Colonel," said Mason, " I couldn't
see the boys fighting alone; so I got the ax and pounded
off the ball and chain, and now, Colonel, I'll go back and
put 'em on again."
" Go back and put them on again!" I almost cried.
"No, sir! Mason, I'll put them on myself first." "Then,"
said the Colonel, " I reflected that this wasn't military
and I told the brave fellow to stay with two  of the
" That night," continued the Colonel, " I wrote over
to Gen. Davis about Mason's bravery; how he captured
the Rebel flag and led the regiment to victory; in fact,
saved the battle; and begged him if he had not approved
Mason's sentence of death, to send it back to the Court
unapproved. In an hour the messenger came back with
the paper. The sentence had been approved before the
battle, but Gen. Davis took his pen and wrote across the
" The findings of the Court disapproved. Private
Thomas Mason, for distinguished bravery in capturing a
Rebel flag, promoted to a Second Lieutenantcy." 269
" What did Mason say when you told him about his
promotion ? " I asked.
" Well," said the Colonel, " I read him the death-sentence, and its approval first. Mason sank down, his
face fell on his arm, and I heard a deep groan.    Then he
said as his eyes filled with tears: ©
" Well, Colonel it is hard, but I can stand it if any one
1 But here is another clause, Mason," I said. " On
account of your splendid bravery yesterday you have
been promoted to a Second Lieutenantcy."
I What me?   Colonel, me? "
j Yes Lieut. Mason, you!"
1 Thank God!" burst out, and the bravest man in the
Northern army stepped into his tent to send a streak of
sunlight to cheer up his broken-hearted mother."
"And that's the man who just lifted Whiskey Bill into
his wagon!"
I Yes, sir, that's the man, and he's brave enough to do
anything, from pulling down a Rebel flag to leading a
drunken comrade out of a saloon." THREE-CARD MONTE MEN.
On the wing, Feb. 9.—The reason why I urge upon
every one, however smart, not to put too much confidence in his own smartness, will be seen further on.
Yesterday I had to wait several hours at Monmouth,
111., a station on the Chicago, Burlington & Quincy
Road. Monmouth has been frequented by three-card
monte men for years. I have always known it, have
often seen them there, and have often written about
Well, yesterday they were there again. One of them,
with a Canada-Bill dialect, wanted to show me some
strange 1 keerds " that he got up in Chicago.
I What were you doing up there?" I asked, knowing
that he was a three-card monte man, and feeling an interest in his modes.
" Me  and  pap,"  he  said, I took up some hogs.    We
took  up a pile on 'em, an' made a heap; but pap he got
swindled by a three-keerd monte man.   Got near ruined.
But I grabbed  the  keerds, and I'll show you how they
done it."
" Never mind, boys," I said, 11 know all about it.    I
know the whole racket.    Now I'll keep quiet, mind my
own business, and let you try your monte game on some
one a little more fresh."
The monte-boy saw  at  once that I was posted, and
soon turned his attention to a good-looking, iolly, young,
270 gnsin j SKHSEHSHHSSfl
and innocent clergyman in the depot. In a few moments
I saw that the innocent clergyman had become deeply
interested. His interest grew as he watched the cards.
There were three ordinary business-cards, like these:
Radway's Ready Relief,
Dr. Radway, N. Y.
Royal Baking Powder,
New York.
Weber's  Pianos,
New York.
11 believe I can tell which card has Weber's Pianos
on it," said the innocent clergyman.
" All right—try it said the monte-man, flopping them
"There, that one! " said the clergyman, smiling.
Sure enough he was right.
11 don't see how your poor father could lose all his
money at such a simple game as that," said the clergyman.    " Why your eyes can see the cards all the time.
" Suppose you bet $5 that you can tell," suggested the
I All right, I'll risk it," said the clergyman, " though I
don't like to win money that way."
The cards were turned, and of course the poor, unsuspecting clergyman lost. Again he mtried it, hoping to
get his $5 back, but lost again. Then he put up his last
dollar and lost that.    Then seeming to realize his situa- 272
tion, he put his  hand to his head and walked out of the
" To think," he said, " that I, a clergyman, should get
caught at this game. Why I might have known it was
three-card monte. I,ve no respect for myself," and he
wiped his eyes like a man who felt the most acute condemnation.
" Why don't you complain of the scoundrel? " I said.
" I would, but I'm a clergyman, and if they should
hear of my sin and foolishness in Peoria, I would be
relieved.    My family would suffer for my sins."
"Then I'd keep quiet about it," I said; "but let it be a
lesson to you never to think you know more than other
" But they've got my last dollar, and I want to go to
Peoria. I must be there to preach on Sunday," said the
innocent, suffering man.
" Can't you borrow of some one? " I asked.
" No one knows me, and I dont like to tell my name
here after this occurrence," said the poor man half crying.
" Very well," I said, " hand me your card, and I will
let you have $5, and you can send it to me at the Palmer
House, Chicago, when you get to Peoria," and I handed
the poor man the money.
A moment afterwards I spoke to the agent at the
depot about the wickedness of those monte-men, and told
him how I had to lend the poor clergy man $5 to ge
" And you lent him five dollars ?"
" Yes, I lent the poor man the money."
" Well, by the great guns!" and then he swung his
hat and yelled to the operator: 273   l m
ft Bill, you know that ministerial-looking man around
here?" WBl'
j You mean the capper for the three-card monte-men,
don't you?—Bill Keyes—Missouri Bill."
u y
I Well, by the great guns, he's the best man in the
whole gang; he's just struck old Eli Perkins for $5. It
does beat me what blankety -blank fools them darned
literary fellers are!" Yours, tearfully.— Chicago Tribune.
I studied law once in the Washington law School.
In fact, I was admitted to the bar. I shall never forget my first case. Neither will my first client. I was
called upon to defend a young man for passing counterfeit money. I knew the young man was innocent, because I lent him the money that caused him to be arrested. Well, there was a hard feeling against the
young man in the county, and I pleaded for a change of
venue. I made a great plea for it. I can remember,
even now, how fine it was. It was filled with choice
rhetoric and passionate oratory. I quoted Kent and,
Blackstone and Littleton, and cited precedent after precedent from the Digest of State Reports. I wound up
with a tremendous argument, amid the applause of all
the younger members of the bar. Then, sanguine of
success, I stood and awaited the Judge's decision. It
soon came. The Judge looked me full in the face and
said: 274
I Your argument is good, Mr. Perkins, very good,
and I've been deeply interested in it and when a case
comes up that your argument fits, I shall give your remarks all the consideration that they merit.   Sit down!"
This is why I gave up law and resorted to lecturing
and writing for the newspapers.—JV. T. Sun.
When I lectured before the Carlisle (Pa.) Teachers'
Institute they told me innumerable stories about that
grim old patriot and Anti-Slavery Agitator, Thad
One day the old man was practising in the Carlisle
courts and he didn't like the ruling of the presiding
Judge. A second time the Judge ruled against 1 old
Thad," when the old man got up with scarlet face and
quivering lips and commenced tying up his papers as if
to quit the court room.
"Do I understand, Mr. Stevens," ..asked the Judge,
eyeing " old Thad " indignantly, " that you wish to show
your contempt for this Court?"
"No, sir; no, sir." replied "old Thad." "I didn't
want to show my contempt, sir; I'm trying to conceal
it!"—iK T. Star.
The witty paragraphers will have their fun at the
expense of their brother journalists. Eli Perkins and
George Alfred Townsend being known to every reader 275
in the country, become handy pegs for the paragrapher
to hang his jokes on. Indeed, Perkins and Townsend
are used by the press as lay figures around which a
great deal of newspaper fun is draped.
For instance, the witty Chicago Times says:
" We see Eli Perkins has writen a long letter in the
New York Sun on the Pennsylvania gas wells. He
speaks very favorably of them, which is very generous
on the part of Eli, when we come to think that these
gas wells are the only real rivals he has."
Then Gregory, the wit of the Buffalo Express, says:
" The evidence came out in the trial of Robert Smith,
of Herkimer county, for incendiarism, that he burnt a
neighbor's house the night that Eli Perkins lectured in
that town. If Mr. Smith can prove by competent witnesses that he did actually commit the great crime after
hearing Eli Perkins lecture, the jury will, no doubt,
bring in a verdict of justifiable incendiarism*"
In return for this witty assault, Eli Perkins sharpens
his pen and hangs this joke on George Alfred Town-
"When George Alfred Townsend had a headache in
Saratoga, last summer, he didn't drink the Congress
water to cure it, but he quietly went across the street
into Deacon Newcomb's garden, and laid a large cabbage leaf in the top of his hat, when his headache immediately disappeared. The cure was effected through
the well-known homeopathic principle that \ like cures
like.'" |
Then Mr. Watterson, of the Louisville Courier your-
nal, defends Mr. Perkins thus: M
"Eli Perkins a liar? Perish the thought! We have
always considered Eli Perkins the centennial truth
teller—he tells a truth every hundred years."
Eli Perkins ran across a San Francisco man a few
days ago in Chicago who was travelling for pleasure.
1 But," said the great Gotham fabricator. " You do
not seem to be having such a very hilarious time."
"No; I'm not travelling for my own pleasure, but
for my wife's pleasure."
" Oh! then your wife is with you?"
"No; oh, no; she is in San Francisco."—San Francisco Chronicle. ELI PERKINS ON CHILDREN.
To-day I sat in a car-seat on the Lake Shore Road,
behind a pale, care-worn young lady, who was taking a
little boy from Cleveland to Ashtabula. As the little
boy was of a very inquiring mind, and as everything
seemed to attract his attention, I could not help listening
to some of his questions.
I What is that Auntie?"    the little boy commenced,
as he pointed to a heap of yellow corn.
I O, that's corn dear," answered the care-worn lady.
" What is corn, Auntie? 1
1 Why, corn is corn, dear."
I But what is corn made of ? "
I Why, corn is made of dirt and water, and air,
"Who makes it, Auntie? "
1 God makes it, dear."
I Does He make it in the day-time or in the night ?"
I In both, dear."
"And Sundays?"
" Yes; all the time."
I Ain't it wicked to make corn on Sunday, Auntie?"
I O, I don't know. Do keep still, Freddy—that's a
dear!    Auntie is tired."
After remaining quiet a moment, little Freddy broke
" Where do stars come from. Auntie ? I
m 278
" I don't know; nobody knows."
" Did the moon lay 'em? "
" Yes, I guess so," replied the wicked lady.
" Can the moon lay eggs, too? "
" I suppose so, don't bother me!"
A short silence, when Freddy broke out again.
" Fanny Mason says oxins is a owl, Auntie, is they ? "
" O, perhaps so."
" I think a whale could lay eggs, don't you, Auntie ? "
" O, yes—I guess so!" said the shamless woman.
" Did you ever see a whale on his nest ? "
" O, I guess so."
"Where?" Jf
" O, I don't know! Do keep still, Freddy!" And
the lady gave a sigh and looked out of the window.
A moment afterwards Freddy looked out of the window and saw a man milking a cow.
" What is he doing to the cow, Auntie? "
" Milking her, dear."
" Where do they put the milk in, Auntie?"
" O, in her mouth!"
" Did you ever see them put the milk in?"
" O, yes."
fS I mean No. Freddy, you must he quiet I'm getting
crazy!" »
" What makes you crazy, Auntie!"
" O, dear, you ask so many questions."
The little boy seemed to be puzzled and thoughtful
a moment; but soon his curiosity got the better of him,
and, as the cars passed a pasture in which were a sheep
and a lamb, he asked:
" Where do lambs come from, Auntie ?" 279
" O! from the old sheep.    The old sheep has them."
" Can little boys have lambs? "
| Certainly. I'll let you have a lamb, Freddy, when
you get home."
" Did you ever have a lamb, Auntie?"
" O, of course dear."
10, Freddy, do stop! You ask such foolish questions.
I'm all fagged ont. You will drive me crazy; and then
the poor, worn-out woman leaned her aching, head on
the back of the forward seat, while Freddy busied himself placing his mouth against the window and soliloquized in a sing-song tone:
" Mary had a little lamb!
I Sheep had a little lamb!
"Auntie had a.little lamb!
"O, Auntie! Auntie!"   p
" What is it, Freddy? " asked the poor woman waking up.
" Did you ever see a little fly eat sugar? "
j Yes, dear."
"Where?" I ■    '        ■ j.
"Freddy! sit down on that seat and be still or I'll
shake you. I won't be tormented to death. Now, not
another word." And the lady pointed her finger
sharply at the little boy, as if she was going to stick it
through him.
If she had been a wicked man she would have sworn;
and still we have eight million little boys like Freddy
in the United States, each one causing more or less profanity.
And, notwithstanding all this, the Y. M. C. A's
throughout the country denounce Herod and Pharoah as K
f P <l I /      1
biased men, because they ordered all the children killed
—except their own.—" Chicago Times"
| Did  any  of you  ever see an elephant's skin?" inquired a teacher of an infant class.
" I have," exclaimed one.
" Where ?" asked the teacher.
" On the elephant."
Flora pointed pensively to the masses of clouds in
the sky, saying:
" I wonder where those clouds are going?" and her
brother remarked;
" I think they are going to thunder."
Why will young ladies lace so tight?
My Uucle Consider says our New York young ladies
lace tight so as to show economical young fellows how
frugal they are—how little waste they can get along
with. They don't lace so as to show their beaus how
much squeezing they can stand, and not hurt 'em, oh, no!    


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