Say what you will, it's no use talking, poverty is more potent and powerful, as a moral engine, than all the "sermons and soda water," law, logic, and prison discipline, ever started. All a man wants, while hehasa chance to be honest, and to get along smoothly, is a good situation and two dollars a day; give him five dollars a day, and he gets lazy and careless; while at ten, or a hundred a day, he is sure to cultivate beastly feeling, eat and sleep to stupefaction, become aroue, or a rotten politician. A poor man, in misery, applies to God for consolation, while a rich man applies to his banker, and tries on a "bender," or goes on a tour to Europe, and studies foreign folly and French license. Poverty is great; in a Christian community, or a thriving village, it is equal to "martial law," in suppressing moral rebellion and keeping down the "dander!" And how faithful, too, is poverty, says Dr. Litterage, for it sticks to a man after all his friends and the rest of mankind have deserted him!
I love to speak, I love to write of the mighty West. I have passed ten happy and partly pleasant years travelling over the immense tracts of land of the West and South. I have, during that time, garnered up endless themes for my pen. It was my custom, during my travels, to keep a "log," as the mariners have it, and at the close of the day I always noted the occurrences that transpired with me or others, when of interest, and opportunities were favorable to do so.
Several years ago I was stopping at Vevay, Indiana, a small village on the Ohio river, waiting for a steamboat to touch there and take me up to Louisville, Ky. It was in the fall of the year, water was very low, and but few boats running. Shortly after breakfast, I took my rifle and ammunition and started down along the river to amuse myself, and kill time by hunting. Game was scarce, and after strolling along until noon, I got tired and came out to the river to see if any boats were in sight, as well as take shelter from a heavy shower of rain that had come on. I sought an immense old tree, whose broad crown and thick foliage made my shelter as dry as though under a roof, and here I sat down, bending my eyes along the placid, quiet and noble river, until I was quite lost in silent reverie. The rain poured down, and presently I heard a footstep approaching from the woods behind, and at the same moment a rough, curly dog came smelling along towards me. The dog came up to within a few rods of me and stopped, took a grin at me and then disappeared again. But my further anxiety was soon relieved by the appearance of a tall, gaunt man, dressed in the usual costume of a western woodsman, jean trowsers, hunting shirt, old slouched felt hat, rifle, powder horn, bullet pouch, and sheath knife. He was an old man, face sallow and wrinkled, and hair quite a steelish hue.
"Mornin', stranger," said he; "rayther a wet day for game?"
I replied in the affirmative, and welcomed him to my shelter. Having taken a seat near me, on the fallen trunk of a small tree, the old man, half to himself and partly to me, sighed—
"Ah! yes, yes,ourday is fast gwoin over; an entire new set of folks will soon people this country, and the old settler will be all gone, and no more thought of."
"I imagine," said I, interrupting his soliloquy, "that you are an old settler, and have noted vast, wonderful changes here in the Ohio Valley?"
"Wonderful; yes, yes, stranger, thar you're right; I have seen wonderful changes since I first squatted 'yer, thirty-five years ago. Every thing changes about one so, that I skearse know the old river any more. 'Yer they've brought their steamboats puffin', and blowin', and skeerin' off the game, fish, and alligators. 'Yer they've built thar towns and thar store houses, and thar nice farm houses, and keep up sich a clatter and noise among 'em all, that one fond of our old quiet times in the woods, goes nigh bein' distracted with these new matters and folks."
"Well," said I, "neighbor, you old woodsmen will have to do as the Indians have done, and as Daniel Boone did, when the advancing axe of civilization, and the mighty steam and steel arms of enterprise and improvement make the varmints leave their lairs, and the air heavy and clamorous with the gigantic efforts of industry, genius, and wealth, you mustfall back. Our territories are boundless, and there are yet dense forests, woods, and wilds, where the Indian, lone hunter, and solitary beast, shall rove amid the wild grandeur of God's infinite space for a century yet to come."
"Ah, yes, yes, young man; I should have long since up stakes and rolled before this sweeping tide of new settlers, only I can't bar to leave this tract 'yer; no, stranger, I can't bar to do it."
"Doubtless," I replied; "one feels a strong love for old homes, a lingering desire to lay one's bones to their final resting place, near a spot and objects that life and familiarity made dear."
"Yes, yes, stranger, that's it, that's it. But look down thar—thar's what makes this spot dear to me—thar, do you see yon little hillock—yon little mound? Thar's what keeps old Tom Ward 'yer for life."
The old man seemed deeply affected, and sighed heavily, as he wiped the moisture from his eyes with the back of his hand. I gazed down towards the spot he had called my attention to, and there I beheld, indeed, something resembling a solitary and lonely grave; wild flowers bloomed around it, and a flat stone stood at the head, and a small stake at the foot.
"'Tisn't often one comes this way to ask the question, and the Lord knows, stranger, I'm always willing to tell the sad story of that lonely grave. Well, well, it's no use to grieve always, the red whelps have paid well for thar doins, and now, but few of 'em are spared to repent—the Lord forgive 'em all," to which I involuntarily echoed—"Amen!"
"Well, stranger, you see, about five-and-thirty years ago, I left Western Virginia to come down 'yer in the Ohio valley. I well remember the first glimpse I got of this stream; it war a big stream to me, and I gloried in the sight of it. Thar war but few settlements then upon its banks, and thar war none of your roarin', splashin' steamboats about; but I like the steamboats—thar grand creatures, and go it like high-mettled horses. Well, I war a young man then; me and my brother and our old mother joined in with a neighbor, built a family boat, put in our goods, and started off down the stream, towards the lower part thar of Kentucky.
"Captain Paul, our neighbor, war an old woodsman, though he war a young man; he had a wife and several fine, growin' children along with us, and our journey for many days war prosperous and pleasant. Capt. Paul's wife's sister war along with us, a fine young creature she war too. My brother and her I always carc'lated would make a match of it when we reached our journey's end; but poor Ben, God bless the boy, he little dreampt he'd be cut off so soon in the prime of life, and leave his bones 'yer to rot. I war young too, then, and little thought I should ever come to be this old, withered-up creature you see me now, stranger."
"Why, you appear to be a hearty, hale man yet," said I, encouraging the old man to proceed in his narrative, "and no doubt shoot as well and see as keenly and far as ever?"
"Ay, ay, I can drive a centre purty well yet; but my hand begins to tremble sometimes, and I'm failing—yes, yes, I know I'm failing. But, to go on with my story: I acted as sort of pilot. Then the country were yet pretty full of Ingins, and mighty few cabins war made along the river in them times. The whites and red-skins war eternally fighting. I won't say which war to blame; the whites killed the creatures off fast enough, and the Ingins took plenty of scalps and war cruel to the white man whenever they fastened on him.
"Our old ark or boat war well loaded down; a few loose boards served as a shelter from the sun and rain, and a few planks spiked to the sides 'bove water, kept the swells from rollin' in on us. Two black boys helped the captain and I to manage the boat, and an old black woman waited on the wimin folks and did the cooking.
"You see yon pint thar, up the river?" continued the narrator, pointing his long, bony finger towards a great bend, and a point on the Kentucky side of the stream.
"Yes," I replied, "I see it distinctly."
"Well, it war thar, or jest above thar, about sunset of a pleasant day, that we came drifting along with our flat-boat, orbroad horn, as they were called in them days, when Captain Paul said he thought it would be a snug place just behind the pint, to tie up to them same big trees yet standin' thar as they did then. Ben, poor Ben and I concluded too, it would be a clever place to camp for the night; so we headed the boat in—for, you see, we always kept in the middle of the stream, as near as possible, to keep clear of the red skins who committed a mighty heap of depredations upon the movers and river traders, by decoyin' the boat on shore, or layin' in ambush and firin' their rifles at the incautious folks in the boats that got too nigh 'em. Guina and Joe, the two black boys, rowed enough to get around the pint. We had no fear of the Ingins, as we expected we war beyond thar haunts just thar; mother war gettin' out the supper things, and Captain Paul's wife and sister were nestling away the children. Just then, as we got cleverly under the lee of the shore thar, I heard a crack like a dry stick snappin' under foot—
"'Thar's a deer or bar,' said the captain.
"'Hold on your oars,' says I—'boys, I don't like that—it 'tain't a deer's tread, nor a bar's nether,' says I.
"By this time we had got within thirty yards of the bank—another slight noise—the bushes moved, and I sung out—'Ingins, by the Lord! back the boat, back, boys, back!'
"Poor Ben snatched up his rifle, so did the captain; but before we could get way on the boat, a band of the bloody devils rushed out and gave us a volley of shouts and shower of balls, that made these hills and river banks echo again. Poor Ben fell mortally wounded and bleeding, into the bottom of the boat; two of the captain's children were killed, his wife wounded, and a bullet dashed the cap off my head.
"I shouted to the boys to pull, and soon got out of reach of the Ingins. They had no canoes, bein' only a scoutin' war party; they could not reach us. The wounded horses and cows kicked and plunged among the goods, the wimin and children screamed.
"Oh! stranger, it war a frightful hour; one I shall remember to my dyin' day, as it war only yesterday I saw and heard it. It war now dark, the boat half filled with water, my brother dyin', Captain Paul nerveless hangin' over his wife and children, cryin' like a whipped child. I still clung on to my oar, and made the poor blacks pull for this side of the river, as fast and well as thar bewildered and frightened senses allowed 'em.
"My poor mother leaned over poor Ben. She held his head in her lap; she opened his bosom and the blood flowed out. He still breathed faintly—
"'Benjamin, my son,' said she, 'do you know me?'
"'Mother,' he breathed lowly. Mother tried to have him drink a cup of water from the river, but he war past nourishment—and she asked him if he knew he war dyin'?
"He gasped, 'Yes, mother, and may the Lord our God in heaven be merciful to me, thus cut from you and life, mother—'
"'God's will be done,' cried my mother, as the pale face of her darlin' boy fell upon her hand—he was gone.
"We reached shore, but dar not kindle a light, for fear the Ingins might be prowlin' about on this side; yes, under this very tree, did we 'camp that gloomy night. The whole of us, livin', dead, and wounded, lay 'yer, fearin' even to weep aloud. About midnight, I took the two blacks, and we dug yon grave and laid poor Ben in it, and the two children by his side. It war an awful thing—awful to us all; and our sighs and sobs, mingled with the prayers of the old mother, went to God's footstool, I'm sure. We made such restin' places as circumstances permitted. I lay down, but the cries of poor Captain Paul's wife and sister, cries of the two survivin' children, and moans of us all, made sleep a difficult affair. By peep of day I went down to the grave, and thar sat the old mother. She had sat thar the live-long night; the sudden shock had been too much for her.
"Two days afterwards the grave was opened and enlarged, and received two more bodies, the wife of Captain Paul, and our kind, good old mother. Thirty-five years have now passed. Could I leave this place? No; not a day at a time have I missed seeing the grave, when within miles of it. No, here must I rest too."
The old man seemed deeply affected. I could not refrain from taking up the thread of his narrative to inquire what had become of Captain Paul and his wife's sister.
"Well, poor thing, you see it war natural enough for her to love her sister's children, and the captain, he couldn't help lovin' her too, for that. The captain settled down here, about two miles back, and in a few years the sister-in-law and he war man and wife, and a kind, good old wife she is too. I've 'camped with 'em ever since, and with 'em I'll die, and be put thar—thar, to rest in that little mound with the rest. But I must bide my time, stranger—we must all bide our time. Now, stranger, I've told you my sad story, I must ax a favor. Seeing as you are a town-bred person, perhaps a preacher, I want you to kneel down by that grave and make a prayer. I feel that it is a good thing to pray, though we woods people know but little about it."
I told him I was not a minister in the common acceptation of the term, but considering we all are God's ministers that study God's will and our own duty to man, I could pray, did pray, and left the poor woodsman with an exalted feeling, I hope, of divine and infinite grace to all who seek it.
A boat touched Vevay that evening, and I left, deeply impressed with this little story.
Meanness is as natural to some people, as gutta percha beefsteaks in a cheap boarding-house. Schoodlefaker says he saw a striking instance in Quincy market last Saturday. An Irish woman came up to a turkey merchant, and says she—
"What wud yees be after axin' for nor a chicken like that?"
"That's a turkey, not a chicken," says the merchant.
"Turkey? Be dad an' it's a mighty small turkey—it's stale enough, too, I'd be sworn; poor it is, too! What'd yees ax for 'un?"
"Well, seein' it's pooty nigh night, and the last I've got, I'll let you have it fortwo and six."
"Two and six? Hoot! I'd give yees half a dollar fur it, and be dad not another cint."
"Well," says thesatisfiedpoultry merchant, "take it along; I won't dicker for a cent or two."
Mrs. Doolygan paid over the half, boned the turkey, and went on her way quite elated with the brilliancy of her talents in financiering! There's one merit in meanness, if it disgusts the looker-on, it never fails to carry a pleasing sensation to the bosom of the gamester.
Office-Seeking has become a legitimatized branch of our every-day business, as much so as in former times "reduced gentlemen" took to keeping school or posting books. In former times, men took to politics to give zest to a life already replete with pecuniary indulgences, as those in the "sere and yellow leaf" are wont to take to religion as a solacing comfort against things that are past, and pave the way to a very desirable futurity. But now, politicians are of no peculiar class or condition of citizens; the success of a champion depends not so much upon the matter, as upon the manner, not upon the capital he may have in real estate, bank funds or public stocks, but upon the fundamental principle of "confidence," gutta percha lungs and unmistakable amplitude of—brass and bravado! If any man doubts the fact, let him look around him, and calculate the matter. Why is it thatlawyersare so particularly felicitous in running for, securing, and usurping most of all the important or profitable offices under government? Lungs—gutta percha lungs and everlasting impudence, does it. A man might as well try to bail out the Mississippi with a tea-spoon, or shoot shad with a fence-rail, as to hope for a seat in Congress, merely upon the possession of patriotic principles, or double-concentrated and refined integrity. Why, if George Washington was a Virginia farmer to-day, his chance for the Presidency wouldn't be a circumstance to that of Rufus Choate's, while there is hardly a lawyer attached to the Philadelphia bar that would not beat the old gentleman out of his top boots in running for the Senate! But we'llcut"wise saws" for a modern instance; let us attend a small "caucus" where incipient Demostheneses, Ciceros, and Mark Antonies most do congregate, and see things "workin'." It is night, a ward meeting of the unterrified, meat-axe, non-intervention—hats off—hit him again—butt-enders, have called a meeting tocaucusfor the coming fall contest. "Owing to the inclemency of the weather," and other causes too tedious to mention, of some eight hundred of theunterrified, non-intervention—Cuban annexation—Wilmot proviso, compromise, meat-axe, hats off—hit him again—butt-enders—only eighty attend the call. Of these eighty faithful, some forty odd are on the wing for office; one at least wants to work his way up to the gubernatorial chair, five to the Senate, ten to the "Assembly," fifteen to the mayoralty, and the balance to the custom house.
Now, before the "curtain rises," little knots of the anxious multitude are seen here and there about the corners of the adjacent neighborhood and in the recesses of the caucus chamber, their heads together—caucusing on a small scale.
"Flambang, who'd you think of puttin' up to-night for theSenate, in our ward?" asks a cadaverous, but earnestunterrified, of a brother in the same cause.
"Well, I swan, I don't know; what do you think of Jenkins?"
"Jenkins?" leisurely responded the first speaker; "Jenkins is a pooty good sort of a man, but he ain't known; made himself rather unpop'ler by votin' agin thatgrand junction railroad to the north polebill, afore the Legislature, three years ago; besides he's served two years in the Legislature, and been in the custom house two years; talks of going to California or somewhere else, next spring—so I-a, I-a—don't think much of Jenkins, anyhow!"
"Well, then," says Flambang, "there's Dr. Rhubarb; what do you think of him? He's a soundunterrified, good man."
"A—ye-e-e-s, the doctor's pooty good sort of a man, but I don't think its good policy to run doctors for office. If they are defeated it sours their minds equal to cream of tartar; it spiles their practice, and 'tween you and I, Flambang, if they takes a spite at a man that didn't vote for 'em, and he gets sick, they're called in; how easy it isfor 'em to poison us!"
"Good gracious!—you don't say so?"
"Idon'tsay, of course I don't say so of Dr. Rhubarb. I only supposed a case," replied the wilycaucuser.
"A case? Yes-s-s; a feller would be a case, under them circumstances. I'm down on doctors, then, Twist; but what do you say to Blowpipes? He's one of our best speakers—"
"Gas!" pointedly responded Twist.
"Gas? Well, you voted for him last year, when he run for Congress; you were the first man to nominate him, too!"
"So I was, and I voted for him, drummed for him, fifed and blowed; that was no reason for my thinking him the best man we had for the office. He's a demagogue, an ambitious, sly, selfish feller, as we could skeer up; but, he was in our way, we couldn't get shut of him; I proposed the nomination, and tried to elect him, so that we should get him out of the way of our local affairs, and more deserving and less pretendin' men could get a chance, don't you see? Now, Flambang, you're the man I'm goin' in for to-night!"
"Me! Mr. Twist? Why, bless your soul, I don't want office!"
"Come, now, don't be modest. I'll lay the ground-work, you'll be nominated—I'll not be known in it—you'll get the nomination—called out for a speech—so be on the trigger—give 'em a rouser, and you're in!"
Poor Flambang, a modest, retiring man, peaceable proprietor of a small shop, in which, by the force of prudence and economy, he has laid up something, has a voice among his fellow-citizens and some influence, but would as soon attempt to carry a blazing pine knot into a powder magazine, or "ship" for a missionary to the Tongo Islands, as to run for the Legislatureand make a speech in public!Twist knows it; he guesses shrewdly at the effect.
"Why don't you run?" says Flambang, after many efforts to get his breath.
"Me? Well, if you don't want torun."
"Run?I would as soon think of jumping over the moon, as running for office!" answers Flambang. "But I thank you, thankyoukindly, for your good intentions, foryourconfidence(!), Twist, and whatever good I can do for you, I'll do, and—"
Twist having secured the first step to hisplot, enters the caucus chamber in deep and earnest consultation with Flambang, and while preparations are being made to "histe the rag," he is seen making converts to his sly purposes, upon the same principle by which he converted his modest friend, Flambang.
"Who are you going in for to-night?" asks another "ambitious for distinction"unterrifiedof "a brother."
"Well, I don't know; it's hard to tell; good many wants to be nominated, and good many more than will be," was the cogent reply.
"That's a fact!" was the equally clear response. "But 'tween you and I, Pepper—I'd like to get the nomination for the Senate myself!"
"No-o-o?"
"Yes, sir; why shouldn't I? Hain't I stood by the party?"
"Well, and hain't I stood by it, hung by it, fastened to it?"
"Pepper, you have; so have I; now, I'll tell you what I'll do. You hang by me, for the Senate, and I'll go in for you for the House."
"Agreed; hang by 'em, give 'em a blast, first opening, and while you are fifing away for me, I'll go around for you, Captain Johns."
"Flammer, you going to go in for Smithers, to-night?" asks another of "the party," of a confederate.
"Smithers? I don't know about that; I don't think he's the right kind of a man for mayor, any how; do you?"
"Well, you know he's an almighty peart chap in talkin', and I guess he'll be elected, if he's nominated and goes around speaking; but here he is; let's feel his pulse." After a confab of some minutes between Flammer, Smithers, and Skyblue, things seem to be fixed to mutual satisfaction, andsomethingis "dropped" about "go in for me for the Mayoralty, I'll go in for you for the Senate," etc.
"Don't let on, that I'manxious, at all, you know," says Smithers, to which the two allies Skyblue and Flammer respond—"O, of course not!"
Now the curtain rises, the meeting's organized, with as much formality, fuss and fungus as the opening of the House of Parliament; soon is heard the work of balloting for nominations, and soon it is known thatTwististheman for the Senate—this callsTwistout; he spreads—feels overpowered—this unexpected (!) event—attending as a spectator, not anticipating any thing for himself—proud of the unexpected honor—had long served as aprivatein the ranks of theunterrified—die in the front of battle, if his friends thought proper, etc., etc. And Twist falls back, mid great applause of the multitude, to give way to Capt. Johns, who also felt overpowered by the unexpected rush of honor put upon him, in connecting his name with the senatorial ticket. He was proud of being thought capable of serving his country, etc., etc.; gave his friend Pepper "a first-rate notice." Pepper was nominated, made a speech, and so highly piled up the agony in favor of Smithers, that Smithers was nominated—made a speech in favor of Skyblue and Flammer, upon the force of which both were nominated—the wheel within a wheel worked elegant; and the organs next day were sublimely eloquent upon the result of the grand caucus—candidates—unanimity—etc., etc., of these subterranean politicians. So are our great men manufactured for the public.
A hard-fisted "old hunker," who has made $30,000 in fifty-one years, by saving up rags, old iron, bones, soap-grease, snipping off the edges of halves, quarters, and nine-pences, raised the whole neighborhood t'other evening. He came across a full-faced Spanish ninepence, and in an attempt to extract the jaw-teeth of the head, the poor thing squealed so, that the bells rang, and the South End watchmen hollered fire for about an hour! This "old gentleman" has a way ofsweatingthe crosses from a smooth fourpence, and makes them look so bran new, that he passes them for ten cent pieces! One case of his benevolence is "worthy of all praise;" he recentlygave awayto a poor Irishman's family, a bunch of cobwebs, and an old hat he had worn since the battle of Bunker Hill; upon these bounties the Irishman started into business; he boiled the hunker's hat, and it yielded a bar of soap and a dozen tallow candles! If old Smearcase continues to fool away his hard-earned wealth in that manner, his friends ought to buy an injunction on hiswill!
In 1800 the most of the State of Ohio, and nearly all of Indiana, was a dense wilderness, where the gaunt wolf and naked savage were masters of the wild woods and fertile plains, which now, before the sturdy blows of the pioneer's axe, and the farmer's plough, has been with almost magical effect converted into rich farms and thriving, beautiful villages.
In the early settlement of the west, the pioneers suffered not only from the ruthless savage, but fearfully from thewolf. Many are the tales of terror told of these ferocious enemies of the white man, and his civilization. Many was the hunter, Indian as well as the Angle-Saxon, whose bones, made marrowless by the prowling hordes of the dark forest, have been scattered and bleached upon the war-path or Indian trail of the back-woods. In 1812-13, my father was contractor for the north-western army, under command of Gen. Wm. Henry Harrison. He supplied the army with beef; he bought up cattle along the Sciota valley and Ohio river, and drove them out to the army, then located at Sandusky. Chillicothe, then, was a small settlement on the Sciota river, and protected by a block house or rude fort, in which the inhabitants could scramble if the Indians made their appearance. My father resided here, and having collected a large drove of cattle, he set out up the valley with a few mounted men as a kind of guard to protect the drove against the prowling minions of Tecumseh.
The third day out, late in the afternoon, being very warm weather, there arose a most terrific thunder-storm; the huge trees, by the violence of the wind and sharp lightning, were uprooted and rent into thousands of particles, and the panic-stricken herd scattered in every direction. I have seen the havoc made in forests through which one of these tornadoes has taken its way, or I should be incredulous to suppose whole acres of trees, hundreds of years old, could be torn up, or snapped off like reeds upon the river side.
The fury of the whirlwind seemed to increase as the night grew darker, until cattle, men and horses, were killed, crippled and dispersed. My father crawled under the lee of a large sycamore that had fell, and here, partly protected from the rain and falling timber, he lay down. I have camped out some, and can readily anticipate the comfort of the old gentleman's situation, and not at all disposed was he to go to sleep mounted upon such guard.
At length the work of destruction and ruin being done, the storm abated, the rain ceased topourand the winds to wag their noisy tongues so furiously. A wolfhowl, and of all fearful howls, or yelps uttered by beasts of prey, none can, I think, be more alarming and terrific to the ear than thewolfhowl as he scents carnage. A wolf howl broke fearfully upon the drover's ear as he lay crouched beneath the sycamore. It was a familiar sound, and therefore, andthenthe more dreadful. The drover carried a good Yeager rifle, knife, and pistols, but a man laden with arms in the midst of a troop of famished wolves, was as helpless as the tempest-tossed mariner in the midst of the ocean's storm. Thehowlhad scarcely echoed over the dark wood, before it was answered by dozens on every side! And as the drover's keen eye pierced the gloom around him, the dancing, fiery glare of the wolf's eyes met his wistful gaze.
The forest now resounded with the maddened banqueting beast, and as the glaring eyes came nearer and nearer, the drover hugged his Yeager tightly, and prepared to defend life while yet it lasted. Suddenly the sharp crack of a rifle was heard, and then a loud scream or cry of terror burst upon the air, a rushing sound, a man pursued by a troop of wolves fled by the drover and his cover; scream after scream rent the air, and the drover knew that a companion had fell a victim to the wolf in his attempt at self-defence. The night was a long one, and thus, among the savage beasts, a fearful one. The report of another rifle again broke upon the ear, and again, and again did the hunting iron speak, and the wolf howl salute it. A pair of eyes glared hurriedly upon the drover, and he could not resist the desire to use his Yeager, and the wolf taking the contents of the rifle in his mouth, rolled over, while a score rushed up to fill his place. Oh! how dreadful must have been the suspense and feelings of the drover as he lay crouched under the old tree, surrounded by this horde of glaring eyes, his ears split with their awfulhowl, and their hot and venomous breath fairly in his face! But the wolf is a base coward, and will not meet a man eye to eye, and so protected lay the drover, with his clenched teeth and unquivering eye, that the wolf had no chance to attack, but by rushing up to his very front. The red tongue lapped, the fierce teeth were arrayed and the demon eyes glaring, but the drover quailed not, and the cowardly wolf stood at bay. The sharp crack of the distant rifle still smote upon the air and the loud howl still went up over the forest around. The first faint streaks that deck the sky at morn, the fresh breath of coming day caught the keen scent of the bloody prowlers, and they began to skulk off. The drover gave the retreating cowards a farewell shot from his pistols, tumbled a lank, grey demon over, and the wolf howl soon died off in the distance.
Daylight now appeared, and the drover crawled from his lair. His loudwhoop!to the disbanded men and drove was answered by the neigh of a horse, who came galloping up, and proved to be his own good hunter, who seemed happy indeed to meet his master. Anotherwhoop-ebrought a responsive shout, and finally four men out of the twelve, with seven horses and a few straggling cattle, were mustered. The forest was strewn with torn carcasses of cattle and horses, mostly killed by the falling timber, and partly devoured by the ravenous wolves. A few hundred yards from the tree where the drover lay, was found a few fragments of clothes, the knife and rifle, and a half-eaten body of one of the soldiers. He had fought with the desperation of a mad man, and the dead and crippled wolves lay as trophies around the bold soldier. In a hollow near the river they found a horse and man partly eaten up, and several cattle that had apparently been hotly pursued and torn to death by the rapacious beasts. They started out in search of the spot from whence the drover had heard the firing in the night. They soon discovered the place; at the foot of a large dead sycamore stump, some twelve feet high lay the carcasses of a dozen or twenty wolves. Each wolf had his scalp neatly taken off, and his head elaborately bored by the rifle ball. An Indian ladder, that is, a scrubby saplin', trimmed with footholds left on it, was laying against the old tree, at the top of which was a sort of a rude scaffold, contrived, evidently, by a hunter. At a distance, in a hollow, was seen a great profusion of wolf skulls and bones, but no sign of a human being could there be traced. The party made a fire, and as beef lay plenty around, they regaled themselves heartily, after their night of horror and disaster. Having finished their repast, they separated, each taking different courses to hunt and drive up such of the stray cattle as could be found. My father, whom I have designated as the drover, pursued his way over the vast piles of fallen, tangled timber, leaping from one tree to the other. As he was about to throw himself over the trunk of a mighty prostrate oak, he found himself within two feet of one of the largest and most ferocious wolves that ever expanded its broad jaws and displayed its fierce tushes to the eye of man. Both parties were taken so suddenly by surprise, by this collision, that they seemed to be rooted to the spot without power to move. I have heard of serpents charming birds, said the drover, but I never believed in the theory until I found myself fairly magnetized by this great she-wolf. The wolf stood and snarled with its golden fiery eye bent upon the drover, who never moved his steady gaze from the wolf's face.
There is not a beast in existence that will attack a man if he keeps his eyes steady upon the animal, but will cower and sneak off, and so did the wolf. But no sooner had she turned her head and with a howl started off, than a blue pill from the drover's Yeager split her skull, and brought her career to a speedy termination.
Whoo-ep!
A shout so peculiar to the lusty lungs of the western hunter made the welkin ring again, and as the astonished drover turned towards the shouter, he beheld a sight that proved quite as formidable as the wolf he had just slain.
"Well done, stranger; you're the man for me; I like you. That shot done my heart good, though I was about to do the old she devil's business for ye, seeing as you war sort o' close quartered with the varmint."
"Thank you," responded the drover, addressing the speaker, a tall, gaunt, iron-featured, weather-beaten figure, with long grey hair, and a rude suit of wolf-skin clothing, cap and moccasins. He held in his long arms a large rifle, a knife in his belt, and a powder horn slung over his side. He seemed the very patriarch of the woods, but good humored, and with his rough hilarity soon explained his presence there.
"Well, stranger," said he, "you have had a mighty chance of bad luck yer last night, and I never saw them cursed varmints so crazy afore."
"Do you live in these parts?" inquired the drover.
"Ha! ha! yes, yes," replied the hunter. "I live yer, I live anywhar's whar wolf can be found. But you don't know me, I reckon, stranger?"
"I do not," said the drover.
"Ha! ha! well, that's quare, mighty quare. I thought thar warn't a man this side the blue ridge but what knows me and oldkithere, (his rifle.) Well, seeing you are a stranger, I'll just take that old sarpent's top-knot off, and have a talk with ye."
With this introductory of matters, the hunter in the wolf-skins scalped the wolf, and tucking the scalp in his belt, motioned the drover to follow. He led the way in deep silence some half a mile to a small stream, down which they proceeded for some distance, until they came to a low and rudely-constructed cabin. Here the hunter requested the drover to take a seat on a log, in front of the cabin, while he entered through a small aperture in his hut, and brought forth a pipe, tobacco, and some dried meat. These dainties being discussed, old Nimrod the mean time kept chuckling to himself, and mumbling over the idea that there should be a white man orInginthis side the blue ridge that didn't knowhim.
"Ha! ha! well, well, I swar, it is curious, stranger, that you don't know me,methat kin show moreInginskelps than any white man that ever trod these war paths;me, who kin shoot more wolves and fetch in more of the varmints' skelps in one night than any white man orInginthat ever trod this wilderness. But I'm gittin' old, very old, forgotten, and here comes a white man clean and straight from the settlements and he don't know me; I swar I've lived to be clean ashamed o' myself." And with this soliloquy, half to himself and partly addressed to the drover, the old hunter seemed almost fit to cry, at his imaginary insignificance and dotage.
"But, friend," said the drover, "as you have not yet informed me by what name I may call you—"
"Callme, stranger? why Iam"—and here his eyes glared as he threw himself into a heroic attitude—"Chris Green,oldChris Green, thewolf slayer!But, God bless ye, stranger, p'r'aps you're from t'other side the ridge, and don't know old Chris's history."
"That I frankly admit," replied the drover.
"Well, God bless ye, I love my fellow white men, yes, I do, though I live yer by myself, and clothe myself with the varmints' skins, go but seldom to the settlements, and live on what old kit thar provides me.
"Well, stranger, my history's a mighty mournful one, but as yer unlucky like myself and plenty of business to 'tend to 'fore night, I'll make my troubles short to ye.
"Well, you see about thirty years ago, I left the blue ridge with a party of my neighbors to come down yer in the Sciota country, to see it, and lay plans to drive the cussed red skins clean out of it. Well, the red skins appeared rather quiet, what few we fell in with, and monstrous civil. But cuss the sarpints, there's no more dependence to be put in 'em than thecantankerouswolves, and roast 'em, I always sets old kit talkin' Dutch to them varmints, the moment I claps eyes on 'em. The wolf's my nat'ral inimy—I'd walk forty miles to git old kit a wolf skelp. Well, we travelled all over the valley, and we gin it as our opinion that the Sciota country was the garden spot o' the world, and if we could only defend ourselves 'gainst the inimy we should move right down yer at once. We went back home, and the next spring a hull settlement on us came down yer. My neighbors thought it best for us all to settle down together at Chillicothe, whar a few Ingin huts and cabins war. I had a wife, and son and da'ter; now, stranger, I loved 'em as dearer to me 'nor life or heart's blood itself. Well, the red skins soon began to show their pranks—they stole our cre'ters (horses), shot down our cattle, and made all manner o' trouble for the little settlement. At last I proposed we should build a clever-sized block house, strong and stanch, in which our wimen folks and children, with a few men to guard 'em, could hold out a few days, while a handful o' us scoured Paint hills and the country about, and peppered a few of the cussed red devils. We had been out some four or five days when we fell in with the inimy; it war just about sunset, and the red skins war camped in a hollow close by this spot. We intended to let 'em get through their smoking and stretch themselves for the night, and then squar our accounts with 'em. Stranger, I've lived in these woods thirty years, I never saw such a hurricane as we had yer last night, 'cept once. The night we lay in ambush for theIngins, six-and-twenty years ago, thar came up a hurricane, the next mornin' eleven of the bodies of my neighbors lay crushed along the bottom yer, and for a hundred miles along the Sciota, whar the hurricane passed, the great walnuts and sycamore lay blasted, root and branch, just as straight as ye'd run a bee line; no timber grow'd upon these bottoms since. Five on us escaped the hurricane, but before day we fell in with a large party of red skins, and we fought 'em like devils; three on us fell; myself and the only neighbor left war obliged to fly to the hills. I made my way to the settlement.
"Stranger, when I looked down from the hills of Paint creek, and saw the block house scattered over the bottom, and not a cabin standin' or a livin' cre'ter to be seen in the settlement of Chillicothe, my heart left me; I become a woman at once, and sot down and cry'd as if I'd been whipped to death." The old man's voice grew husky, and the tears suffused his eyes, but after a few sighs and a tear, he proceeded:
"Well, you see, stranger, a man cannot always be a child, nor a woman, either; my crying spell appeared to ease my heart amazin'ly. I shouldered old kit here, and down I went to examine things. The hurricane had scattered every thing; the fire had been at work too, but, great God! the bloodywolfhad been thar, the settlement was kivered with the bloody bones of my own family and friends; if any had escaped the hurricane, the fire or wolf, theInginsfinished 'em, for I never seen 'em afterwards; I couldn't bear to stay about the place, I'd no home, friend, or kindred. I took to the woods, and swore eternal death to the red skins and my nat'ral inimy, thewolf!I've been true to my word, stranger; that cabin is lined with skelps and ornamented with Ingintop-knots!Look in, ha! ha! see there! they may well call old Chris theWolf Slayer!"
The drover regaled his eyes on the trophies of the old forlorn hunter, and then visited theperch, which was situated close by a "deer lick," where wolves resorted to fall upon their victims. And from thispercholdWolf Slayerhad made fearful work upon his nat'ral inimy the night previous. The old hunter assisted, during the day, to collect such of the scattered drove as yet were alive or to be found; the men came with another of their companions, and the small drove and men left the scene of terror and disaster, wishing a God-speed to theWolf Slayer.
If you have ever "been around" some, and taken notice of things, you have doubtless seen the man who knows pretty much every thing and every body!
I've seen them frequently. As the old preacher observed to a venerable lady, in reference toforerunners, "I see 'em now." Well, talking of that rare and curious specimen of the human family, the man that knows every body, I've rather an amusing reminiscence of "one of 'em." Stopping over night at the Virginia House, in that jumping off place of Western Virginia, Wheeling, some years ago, I had the pleasure or pastime of meeting several of the big guns of the nation, on their way from Washington city, home. It was in August, I think, when, as is most generally the case, the Ohio river gets monstrous low and feeble; when all of the large steamers are past getting up so far, and travelling down the river becomes quite amusing to amateurs, and particularly tedious and monotonous to business people, bound home. Three hundred travellers, more or less, were laying back at the "Virginia" and "United States," in the aforesaid hardscrabble of a city, or town, waiting for the river to get up, or some means for them to get down.
The session of Congress had closed at Washington, some time before, and as almost all of the M. C.'s, U. S. S.'s, wire pullers, hangers on, blacklegs, horse jockeys, etc., etc., came over "the National Road" to Wheeling, to take the river for Southern and Western destinations, of course the assemblage at that place, at that time, was promiscuous, and quite interesting; at least, Western and Southern men always make themselves happy and interesting, home or abroad, and particularly so when travelling. It was a glorious thing for the proprietors of the hotels, to have such a host of guests, as a house full of company always is a "host," the guests having nothing else to do but lay back, eat, drink, and be merry, and foot the bills when ready, or when opportunity offers, to—— go.
They drank and smoked, and drank again, and told jests, and played games and tricks, and thus passed the time along. Among the multitude was one of those ever-talkative and chanting men of the world, who knew all places and all men—ashewould have it. Just after removing the cloth, at dinner, a knot of the old jokers, bacchanalians and wits, settled away in a cluster, at the far end of a long table, and were having a very pleasant time. The man of all talk was there; he was the verynucleusof all that was being said or done. He was from below, somewhere, on his way, as he informed the crowd, to Washington city, upon affairs of no slight importance to himself and the country in general.
"Oho!" says one of the party, a sly, winking, fat and rosy gentleman, whom we shall designate hereafter, "you're bound to the capital, eh?"
"Yes,sir," responded the man of all talk.
"Of course you've been there before?" says the interrogator, nudging a friend, and winking at the rest.
"What?Me been in Washington before? Ha, ha!mebeentherebefore! Bless you, mebeenin Washington city!"
"Oho! ha, ha!" says the interrogator, "you're one of the caucus folks, eh? One of them wire pullers we read about, eh?"
"Me?Caucus? Ha, ha! Mum's the word, gents, (looking killingly cunning.) Come, gentlemen, let's fill up. Ha, ha! me pulling the—ha, ha! Well, here's to the old Constitution; let's hang by her, while there's a—a—a button on Jabe's coat."
And they all responded, of course, to this eloquent sentiment.
"Here's to Jabe's buttons, coat, hat, and breeches."
"Excuse me," continued the first operator, after the toast was wet down, "you'll please excuse me, in behalf of some of my friends here; as you've been down in that dratted place, and must know a good deal of the goings on there, I'd like to inquire about a few things we Western folks don't more than get an inkling of, through the papers."
"Certainly; go on, sir," says the victim, assuming all the dignity and depth of a man that's appealed to to settle a ponderous matter.
"I'd like to inquire if those Kitchen Cabinet disclosures of the Pennsylvania Senator, were true. Had you ever any means of satisfying yourself that there is, or was, a real service of gold in the President's house?"
"Aye! that's what we'd all like to know," says another.
"How many pieces were there?"
"Whatwere they?"
"Aye, and what theirheftwas?"
"Mum, gentlemen; let's drink—no tales out of school, ha, ha! No, no—mum's the word." And looking funny and deep, merry and wise, all at one and the same time, the man of all talk proposed to drink and keep——mum.
But they wouldn't drink, and insisted on the secret being let out—they wanted a decided and positive answer, from a man who knew the ropes.
"Gentlemen," said the victim, dropping his voice into a sort of melo-dramatic stage whisper, and stooping quite over the table, so as to collect the several heads and ears as close into a phalanx as possible: "gentlemen, it's afact!"
"What?" says the party.
"All gold!" says the victim.
"A gold service?" inquires the party.
"Thirty-eight pieces!" continued the victim.
"Solid gold?" chimed the rest.
"Just half a ton in heft!"
"You don't tell usthat?"
"Know it; eat out of 'em,then weighed 'em all!"
"P-h-e-w!" whistled some, while others went into stronger exclamations.
"Fact, by the great——"
"Oh, it's all right, sir; no doubt of it now, sir," said the mover of the business, grasping the victim's upraised arm.
"Then, of course, sir, you're well acquainted with Matty Van; on good terms with the little Magician," continued the leading wag.
"Me?me on good terms with Matty? Ha, ha! that is a good joke; never go to Washington without cracking a bottle with the little fox, and staying over night with him.Meon good terms with Matty?We've had many a spree together!Yes,sir!" and the knowing one winked right and left.
"Well, there's old Bullion," continued one of the interrogators, a fine portly old gent, "you know him, of course?"
"What, Tom Benton? Bless your souls, I don't know my letters half as well as I know old Tom."
"And Bill Allen, of Ohio?" asked another. "What sort of a fellow is Bill?"
"Bill Allen? Lord O! isn't he a coon? Bill Allen? I wish I had a dime for every horn, and game of bluff, we've had together."
"Well, there's another of 'em," inquiringly asked a fat, farmer-looking old codger: "Dr. Duncan, how's he stand down there about Washington?"
"Oh, well, he's a pretty good sort of an old chap, but, gents, between you and I, (with another whisper,) there is a good deal of the 'old fogie' senna and salts about him. But then he's death and the pale hoss on poker."
"What, Doctor Duncan?" says they.
"Why, y-e-e-s, of course. Didn't he skin me out of my watch last winter, playing poker, at Willard's?"
"Well," continued the fat farmer-looking man, "I didn't know Duncangambled?"
"Mum, not a word out of school; ha, ha! Let's drink, gents. Gamble? Lord bless you, it's common as dish-water down there—I've played euchre for hours with old Tom Benton, Harry Clay and Gen. Scott,right behind the speaker's chair!"
Thenthey alldrank, of course, and some of the party liked to have choked. The company now proposed to adjourn to the smoking room, and they arose and left the table accordingly. The man of all talk promenaded out on to the steps, and in course of half an hour, says the leading spirit of the late dinner, or wine party, to him:—
"Mr. ——a—a—?"
"Ferguson, sir; George Adolphus Ferguson is my address, sir," responded the victim.
"Mr. Ferguson, did you know that your friend Benton was in town?" inquired the wag.
"What, Tom Benton here?"
"And Allen," continued the wag.
"What, Bill Allen, too?" says the victim.
"And Doctor Duncan."
"You don't tell me all them fellows are here?"
"Yes, sir, your friends are all here. Come in and see them; your friends will be delighted," says the wag, taking Mister Ferguson by the arm, to lead him in.
"Ha, ha! I'm a—a—ha, ha!won'twe have a time? But you just step in—I a—I'll be in in one moment," but in less than half the time, Mr. Ferguson mizzled, no one knew whither!
The gentlemen at the table, it is almost needless to say, were no others than Benton, Allen, Duncan, and some three or four other arbiters of the fate of our immense and glorious nation, in her councils, and fresh from the capital.
Ferguson has not been heard of since.
It is the easiest thing under heaven to be sick, if you can afford it. What it costs some rich men for family sickness per annum, would keep all the children in "a poor neighborhood" in "vittels" and clothes the year round. When old Cauliflower took sick, once in a long life-time, he was prevailed upon to send for Dr. Borax, and it was some weeks before Cauliflower got down stairs again. At the end of the year Dr. Borax sent in his bill; the amount gave Cauliflower spasms in his pocket-book, and threatened a whole year's profits with strangulation.
"Doctor," says Cauliflower, "that bill of yours is all-fired steep, isn't it?"
"No, sir," says Borax; "your case was a dangerous case—I never raised a man from the grave with such difficulty, in all my practice!"
"But, fifty-threecalls, doctor, one hundred and six dollars."
"Exactly—two dollars a visit, sir," said the urbane doctor.
"And twenty-seven prescriptions, four plasters, &c.—eighty-one dollars!"
"One hundred and eighty-seven dollars, sir."
"Well," says Cauliflower, "this may be all verywellfor people who can af-fordit, but I can't; there's your money, doctor, but I'll bet you won't catch me sick as that again—soon!"
In 183-, it chanced in the big city of New York, that the aldermen elect were a sort oftie; that is, so many whigs and so many democrats. Such a thing did not occur often, the democracy usually having the supremacy. They generally had things pretty much all their own way, and distributed their favors among their partizans accordingly. The whigs at lengthtiedthem, and thelocos, beholding with horror and misgivings, the new order of things which was destined to turn out many a holder of fat office, many a pat-riot overflowing with democratic patriotism, whose devotion to the cause of the country was manifest in the tenacity with which he clung to his place, were extremely anxious to devise ways and means to keep the whigs at bay; and as the day drew near, when the assembled Board of Aldermen should have their sitting at the City Hall, variousdodgeswere proposed by the locos to out-vote the whigs, in questions or decisions touching the distribution of places, and appointment of men to fill the various stations of the new municipal government.
"I have it—I've got it!" exclaimed a round and jolly alderman of a democratic ward. "To-night the Board meets—we stand about eight and eight—this afternoon, let two of us invite two of the whigs, Alderman H—— and Alderman J——, out to a dinner at Harlem, get H—— and J—— tight as wax, and then we can slip off, take our conveyance, come in, and vote the infernal whigs just where we want them!"
"Capital! prime! Ha, ha, ha!" says one.
"First rate! elegant! ha, ha, ha!" shouts another.
"Ha, ha! haw! haw! he, he, he!" roared all the locys.
"Well, gentlemen, let's all throw in a V apiece, to defray expenses; we, you know, of course, must put the whigsthrough, and we must give them a rouse they won't forget soon. Champagne and turtle, that's the ticket; coach for fouroutand twoin. Ha, ha!—The whigs shall see the elephant!"
Well, the purse was made up, the coach hired, and the two victims, the poor whigs, were carted out under the pretence of a grand aldermanic feast to Harlem, the scene of many a spree and jollification with the city fathers, and other bon vivants and gourmands of Gotham.
Dinner fit for an emperor being discussed, sundry bottles of "Sham" were uncorked, and their effervescing contents decanted into the well-fed bodies of the four aldermen. Toasts and songs, wit and humor, filled up the time, until the democrats began to think it was time that one of them slipped out, took the carriage back to the city, leaving the other tofuddlethe two whigs, and detain them until affairs at "the Tea Room," City Hall, were settled to the entire satisfaction of the democrats.
"Landlord," says one of the democrats, whom we will call Brown, "landlord, have you any conveyance, horses, wagons, carriages or carts, by which any of my friends could go back to town to-night, if they wish?"
"Oh, yes," says the landlord, "certainly—I can send the gentlemen in if they wish."
"Very well, sir,—they may get verytightbefore they desire to return—they are men of families, respectable citizens, and I do not wish them, under any circumstances, to leave your house until morning. Whatever the bill is I will foot, provided you deny them any of your means to go in to-night. You understand!"
"Oh! yes, sir—if you request it as a matter of favor, that I shall keep your friends here, I will endeavor to do so—but hadn't you better attend to them yourself?"
"Well, you see," says Brown, "I have business of importance to transact—must be in town this evening. Give the party all they wish—put that in your fob—(handing the host an X)—post up your bill in the morning, and I'll be out bright and early to make all square. Do you hark?" says Brown.
"Oh, yes, sir—all right," responded the landlord.
Brown gave his confederate thecue, stepped out, promising to "be in in a minute," and then, getting into a carriage, he drove back to the city, almost tickled to death with the idea of how nicely the whigs would be "dished" when they all met at the City Hall, and came up minustwo!
Smith, Brown's loco friend, did his best to keep the thing up, by calling in the New Jersey thunder and lightning—vulgarly known as Champagne—and even walked into the aforesaid t. and l. so deeply himself, that a man with half an eye might see Smith would be as blind as an owl in the course of the evening. But Smith was bound to do the thing up brown, and thought no sacrifice too great or too expensive to preserve the loaves and fishes of his party. All of a sudden, however, night was drawing on a pace, the whigs began to smell amice. The absence of Brown, and the excessive politeness and liberality of Smith, in hurrying up the bottles, settled it in the minds of the whigs, that something was going on dangerous to the whig cause, and that they had better look out—and so they did.
"Jones," says one of the whigs,sotto voce, to the other, "Brown has cleared; it is evident he and Smith calculate to corner us here, prevent your presence in 'the Tea Room' to-night, and thus defeat your vote."
"The deuce! You don't think that, Hall, do you?"
"Faith, I do; but we won't be caught napping. Waiter, bring in a bottle of brandy."
"Brandy?" said Smith, in astonishment. "Why, you ain't going to dive right into it, in that way, are you?"
"Why not?" says Hall. "Brandy's the best thing in the world to settle your nerves after getting half fuddled on Champagne, my boy; just you try it—take a good stiff horn. Brown, you see, hascut, we must follow; so let's straighten up and get ready for a start. Here's to 'the loaves and fishes.'" Jones and Hall took their horns of Cogniac, which does really make some men sober as judges after they are very drunk on real or spurious Champagne.
"Well," says Smith, "it's my opinion we'll all be verytightgoing in this way, brandy on Champagne; but here goes to the fishes and loaves—the loaves and fishes, I mean."
The brandy had a rather contrary effect from what it does usually; it didsettleSmith—in five minutes he was so very "boozy" that his chin bore down upon his breast, he became as "limber as a rag," and snored like a pair of bagpipes.
"Now, Jones," says Hall, "let's be off. Landlord, get us a gig, wagon, carriage, cart, any thing, and let's be off; we must be in town immediately."
"Sorry, gentlemen, but can't oblige you—haven't a vehicle on the premises!"
"Why, confound it, you don't pretend to say you can't send us into town to-night, do you?" says Jones, waxing uneasy.
"Haven't you a horse, jackass, mule or a wheelbarrow—any thing, so we can be carted in, right off, too?" says Hall.
"Can't help it, gentlemen."
"What time do thecarscome along?" eagerly inquires Jones.
"About nine o'clock," coolly replies the host.
"Nine fools!" shouted the discomfited alderman. "But this won't do; come, Jones, no help for it—can't fool us in that way—eight miles to the City Hall—two hours to do it in; off coat andlet's foot it!"
The City Hall clock had just struck 7p. m., the Tea Room was lighted up, the assembled wisdom of the municipal government had their toadies, and reporters and lookers-on were there; the room was quite full. Brown was there, in the best of spirits, and the locos all fairly snorted with glee at the scientific manner in which Brown had "done" Jones and Hall out of their votes! The business of the evening was climaxing: the whigs missing two of their number, were in quite a spasm of doubt and fear. The chairman called the meeting to order. The roll was called: seven "good and true" locos answered the call. Six whigs had answered: the seventh was being called: the locos were grinning, and twisting their fingers at the apex of their noses!
"Alderman Jones! Alderman Jones!" bawled the roll-caller.
"Here!" roared the missing individual, bursting into the room.
"Alderman Hall!" continued the roll.
"Here!" responded that notable worthy, rushing in, entirely blowed out.
"Beat, by thunder!" roared the locos, in grand chorus; and in the modern classics of the Bowery, "they wasn't any thing else." The whigs not only had the cut but the entiredealin the appointments that time, and Alderman Brown had abillat Harlem, a little more serious to foot than the racing of the aldermen to get a chance to vote.
It seems to be just as natural for a subordinate in a "grocery" to levy upon thetill, for material aid to his own pocket, as for the sparks to fly upwards or water run down hill. Innumerable stories are told of the peculations of these "light-fingered gentry," but one of the best of the boodle is a story we are now about to dress up and trot out, for your diversion.
A tavern-keeper in this city, some years ago, advertised for a bar-keeper, "a young man from the country preferred!" Among the several applicants who exhibited themselves "for the vacancy," was a decent, harmless-looking youth whose generalcontourat once struck the tavern-keeper with most favorable impressions.
"So you wish to try your hand tending bar?"
"Yes, sir," said he.
"Have you ever tended bar?"
"No, sir; but I do not doubt my ability to learn."
"Yes, yes, you can learn fast enough," says the tavern-keeper. "In fact, I'm glad you are green at the business, you will suit me the better; the last fellow I had come to me recommended as one of the best bar-keepers in New Orleans; he was posted up in all the fancy drinks and fancy names, he wore fancy clothes and had a fancy dog, and I fancied pretty soon that the rascal had taken a fancy to my small change, so I discharged him in double quick time."
"Served him right, sir," said the new applicant.
"Of course I did. Well now, sir, I'll engage you; you can get the 'run' of things in a few weeks. I will give you twenty-five dollars a month, first month, and thirty dollars a month for the balance of the year."
"I'll accept it, sir," says the youth.
"Do you think it's enough?"
"O, yes, indeed, sir!"
"Well," says Boniface. "Now mark me, young man, I will pay you, punctually, but you mustn't pay yourself extra wages!"
"Pay myself?" says the unsophisticated youth.
"Musn't take 'the run' of the till!"
"Run of the till?"
"No knocking down, sir!"
"O, bless you!" quoth the verdant youth, "I am as good-natured as a lamb; I never knocked any body down in all my life."
"Ha! ha!" ejaculated the landlord; "heisgreen, so I won't teach him what he don't know. What's your name?"
"Absalom Hart, sir."
"Good Christian-like name, and I've no doubt we shall agree together, for a long time; so go to work."
Absalom "pitched in," a whole year passed, Absalom and the landlord got along slick as a whistle. Another year, two, three, four; never was there a more attentive, diligent and industrious bar-keeper behind a marble slab, or armed with a toddy stick. He was thene plus ultraof bar-keepers, a perfect paragon of toddy mixers. But one day, somehow or other, the landlord found himself in custody of the sheriff, bag and baggage. Business had not fallen off, every thing seemed properly managed, but, somehow or other, the landlord broke, failed, caved in, and the sheriff sold him out.
Who bought the concern? Absalom Hart—nobody else. Some of the people were astonished.
"Well, who would have thought it?"
"Hurrah for Absalom!"
"By George, that was quick work!" were the remarks of the outsiders, when the fact of the sale and purchase became known. The landlord felt quite humbled, he was out of house and home, but he had a friend, surely.
"Mr. Hart, things work queer in this world, sometimes."
"Think so?" quietly responded the new landlord.
"I do, indeed; yesterday I was up, and to-day I am down."
"Very true, sir."
"Yesterday you were down, to-day you are up."
"Very true; time works wonders, Mr. Smith."
"It does indeed, sir. Now, Mr. Hart, I am out of employment—got my family to support; I always trusted I treated you like a man, didn't I?"
"A—ye-e-s, you did, I believe."
"Now, I want you to employ me; I have a number of friends who of course will patronize our house while I am in it, and you can afford me a fair sort of a living to help you."
"Well, Mr. Smith," said Mr. Hart, "I suppose I shall have to hire somebody, and as I don't believe in taking a raw hand from the country, I will take one who understands all about it. I'll engage you; so go to work."
"Thank you, Mr. Hart." And so the master became the man, and the man the master.
"Poor Smith, he's down!" cries one old habitue of the 'General Washington' bar-room. "I carkelated he'd gin out afore long, if he let other people 'tend to his business instead of himself."
"I didn't like that fellow Absalom, no how," says another old head; "he's 'bout skin'd Smith."
"Well, Smith kin be savin', he's larnt something," says a third, "and oughter try to get on to his pegs again."
But when Absalom gave his "free blow," these fellows all "went in," partook of the landlord's hospitality, and hoped—of course they did—that he might live several thousand years, and make a fortune!
Time slid on—Smith was attentive, no bar-keeper more assiduous and devoted to the toddy affairs of the house, than Jerry Smith, the pseudo-bar-keeper of Absalom Hart. Absalom being landlord of a popular drinking establishment, was surrounded by politicians, horse jockies, and various otherwise complexioned, fancy living personages. Ergo, Absalom began to lay off and enjoy himself; he had his horses, dogs, and other pastimes; got married, and cut it very "fat." One day he got involved for a friend, got into unnecessary expenses, was sued for complicated debts, and so entangled with adverse circumstances, that at the end of his third year as landlord, the sheriff came in, and the "General Washington" again came under the hammer.
Now, who will become purchaser? Every body wondered who would become the next customer.
"I will, by George!" says Smith. And Smith did; he had worked long andfaithfully, and he had saved something. Smith bought out the whole concern, and once more he was landlord of the "General Washington."
Absalom was cut down, like a hollyhock in November—he was dead broke, and felt, in his present situation, flat, stale, and unprofitable enough.
"Mr. Smith," said Absalom, the day after the collapse, "I am once more on my oars."
"Yes, Ab, so it seems; it's a queer world, sometimes we are up, and sometimes we are down. Time, Ab, works wonders, as you once very forcibly remarked."
"It does, indeed, sir."
"We have only to keep up our spirits, Ab, go ahead; the world is large, if it is full of changes."
"True, sir, very true. I was about to remark, Mr. Smith—"
"Well, Ab."
"That we have known one another—"
"Pretty well, I think!"
"A long time, sir—"
"Yes, Ab."
"And when I was up and you down—"
"Yes, go on."
"I gave you a chance to keep your head above water."
"True enough, Ab, my boy."
"Now, sir, I want you to give me charge of the bar again, and I'll off coat and go to work like a Trojan."
"Ab Hart," said Smith, "when you came to me, you was so green you could hardly tell a crossed quarter from a bogus pistareen—the 'run of the till' you learnt in a week, while in less than a month you was the best hand at 'knocking down' I ever met! There's fifty dollars, you and I are square; we will keep so—go!"
Poor Absalom was beat at his own game, and soon left for parts unknown.