masterpieces_of_american_wit_and_humor.txt Part 10

"'Right out in the open air?' he asked.

"'Yes, standin' right in the open field, whar she fell.'

"'Well, sir,' says 'Indiany,' 'all I've got to say is, _if she'd dropped in our parts, the cattle would have licked her up afore sundown!_'

"The preacher raised both his hands at such an irreverent remark, and the old gentleman laughed himself into a fit of asthmatics; what he didn't get over till he came to the next change of horses. The Hoosier had played the mischief with the gravity of the whole party; even the old maid had to put her handkerchief to her face, and the young lady's eyes were filled with tears for half an hour afterward.

The old preacher hadn't another word to say on the subject; but whenever we came to any place or met anybody on the road, the circus man cursed the thing along by asking what was the price of salt."

Anne Bache

THE QUILTING

The day is set, the ladies met, And at the frame are seated; In order plac'd, they work in haste, To get the quilt completed.

While fingers fly, their tongues they ply, And animate their labors, By counting beaux, discussing clothes, Or talking of their neighbors.

"Dear, what a pretty frock you've on--"

"I'm very glad you like it."

"I'm told that Miss Micomicon Don't speak to Mr. Micat."

"I saw Miss Bell the other day, Young Green's new gig adorning--"

"What keeps your sister Ann away?"

"She went to town this morning."

"'Tis time to roll"--"my needle's broke--"

"So Martin's stock is selling;"- "Louisa's wedding-gown's bespoke--"

"Lend me your scissors, Ellen."

"_That_ match will never come about--"

"Now don't fly in a pa.s.sion;"

"Hair-puffs, they say, are going out--"

"Yes, curls are all in fas.h.i.+on."

The quilt is done, the tea begun- The beaux are all collecting; The table's cleared, the music heard- His partner each selecting.

The merry band in order stand, The dance begins with vigor; And rapid feet the measure beat, And trip the mazy figure.

Unheeded fly the moments by, Old Time himself seems dancing, Till night's dull eye is op'd to spy The steps of morn advancing.

Then closely stowed, to each abode, The carriages go tilting; And many a dream has for its theme The pleasures of the Quilting.

Fitz-Greene Halleck

A FRAGMENT

His shop is a grocer's--a snug, genteel place, Near the corner of Oak Street and Pearl; He can dress, dance, and bow to the ladies with grace, And ties his cravat with a curl.

He's asked to all parties--north, south, east and west, That take place between Chatham and Cherry, And when he's been absent full oft has the "best Society" ceased to be merry.

And nothing has darkened a sky so serene, Nor disordered his beaus.h.i.+p's Elysium, Till this season among our _elite_ there has been What is called by the clergy "a schism."

'Tis all about eating and drinking--one set Gives sponge-cake, a few kisses or so, And is cooled after dancing with cla.s.sic sherbet "Sublimed" [see Lord Byron] "with snow."

Another insists upon punch and _perdrix_, Lobster salad, champagne, and, by way Of a novelty only, those pearls of our sea, Stewed oysters from Lynn-Haven Bay.

Miss Flounce, the young milliner, blue-eyed and bright, In the front parlor over her shop, "Entertains," as the phrase is, a party to-night Upon peanuts and ginger pop.

And Miss Fleece, who's a hosier and not quite as young, But is wealthier far than Miss Flounce, She "entertains" also to-night, with cold tongue, Smoked herring and cherry bounce.

In praise of cold water the Theban bard spoke, He of Teos sang sweetly of wine; Miss Flounce is a Pindar in cashmere and cloak, Miss Fleece an Anacreon divine.

The Montagues carry the day in Swamp Place, In Pike Street the Capulets reign; A _limonadiere_ is the badge of one race, Of the other a flask of champagne.

Now as each the same evening her _soiree_ announces, What better, he asks, can be done, Than drink water from eight until ten with the Flounces, And then wine with the Fleeces till one!

DOMESTIC HAPPINESS

"Beside the nuptial curtain bright,"

The Bard of Eden sings; "Young Love his constant lamp will light And wave his purple wings."

But raindrops from the clouds of care May bid that lamp be dim, And the boy Love will pout and swear, 'Tis then no place for him.

So mused the lovely Mrs. Dash; 'Tis wrong to mention names; When for her surly husband's cash She urged in vain her claims.

"I want a little money, dear, For Vandervoort and Flandin, Their bill, which now has run a year, To-morrow mean to hand in."

"More?" cried the husband, half asleep, "You'll drive me to despair"; The lady was too proud to weep, And too polite to swear.

She bit her lip for very spite, He felt a storm was brewing, And dream'd of nothing else all night, But brokers, banks, and ruin.

He thought her pretty once, but dreams Have sure a wondrous power, For to his eye the lady seems Quite alter'd since that hour; And Love, who on their bridal eve, Had promised long to stay; Forgot his promise, took French leave, And bore his lamp away.

Charles F. Browne ("Artemus Ward")

ONE OF MR. WARD'S BUSINESS LETTERS

To the Editor of the--

_Sir:_ I'm movin along--slowly along--down tords your place. I want you should rite me a letter, saying how is the show bizness in your place. My show at present consists of three moral Bares, a Kangaroo (a amoozin little Raskal--'twould make you larf yourself to deth to see the little cuss jump up and squeal), wax figgers of G.

Was.h.i.+ngton, Gen. Tayler, John Bunyan, Capt. Kidd, and Dr. Webster in the act of killin Dr. Parkman, besides several miscellanyus moral wax statoots of celebrated piruts & murderers, &c., ekalled by few & exceld by none. Now, Mr. Editor, scratch orf a few lines sayin how is the show bizniss down to your place. I shall hav my hanbills dun at your offiss. Depend upon it. I want you should git my hanbills up in flamin stile. Also git up a tremenjus excitemunt in yr. paper 'bowt my onparaleled Show. We must fetch the public sumhow. We must wurk on their feelins. c.u.m the moral on em strong. If it's a temperance community, tell em I sined the pledge fifteen minits arter Ise born, but on the contery, ef your peple take their tods, say Mister Ward is as Jenial a feller as ever we met. full of conwiviality, & the life an sole of the Soshul Bored. Take, don't you? If you say anythin abowt my show, say my snaiks is as harmliss as the new born Babe.