Delphi Complete Works of Stephen Leacock, page 622
We got a little dry or so, and wanted a horn, but this was a temperance house, and there was nothing to treat a friend to that was worth shaking a stick at; so, says I, “when there was a famine in the land of Canaan, there was plenty of corn in Egypt; let us go over to the Tremont; Boyden keeps stuff that runs friends together, and makes them forget which is which.” Over we went, and soon forgot all about the theatre.
I had promised next morning to go to Lowell with Mr. Lawrence, Mr. Harding, and others; but when I woke up, it was pouring down rain, so that kept me in the house all day.
I was not idle, for I had a heap of talk with the folks in the house. One gentleman asked me to come and see him; but he gave me so many directions about getting to where he lived, that I asked him to write it down, and told him if ever he came to my part of the country, I hoped he would call and see me. “Well,” said he, “how will I find where you live?”— “Why, sir, run down the Mississippi till you come to the Obion river, run a small streak up that, jump ashore anywhere, and inquire for me.”
Says I to one of them, “Do you believe in the sea-sarpint?”— “If I don’t, there’s no snakes. I believed it to be as much true as there is lie in our deacon when he says his red face a’n’t made by drinking ‘New England.’”— “Do you consider him dangerous, or is he peaceable?”— “Well, now, to keep to the truth, I never saw him; but Capting Hodijah Folger said as how he considered the critter as a sort o’ so, and a sort o’ not.”— “Had he a long tail?”— “Tail, did you say? You’d a-died to hear Didge tell about that thar verming. Didge said he was like skying a copper — head or tail — but you had to guess which. Ses Didge to me, ‘Don’t you mind,’ ses he, ‘that are angel what stood with one leg on the sea, and t’other on the dry land?’— ‘I guess I do.’— ‘Well,’ ses he to me, ‘that are sarpint’s skin was long enough to a-queued his hair.’”
I asked to sup with a Mr. Richards, whom I had seen at Washington. He had a house full of ladies and gentlemen, collected to see me; so I was on my manners, and I hope they were all as much gratified as I was. We had a fine supper, plenty of conversation, and some fun. I don’t think the northern ladies talk as much publicly as they do in the south and west. In private conversation they are ready enough.
When I got back, I saw my old cock again. “Well,” says I, “what do you think of nullification up here?”— “Why, they say, some of them, that it was got and bred by the tariff. Squire Williams, my neighbour, said he didn’t think so: it was a kind of come-by-chance, that was too wicked to know its own kin; and he thought it was a very ugly thing.”
“Well,” says I to him, “squire, setting a case as how the congress of Jackson-men should pass a law taxing of all the looms and spindles, and letting cottons and woollens come in from foreign parts, free of duty — what should we do?”— “Why, ask ’em to repeal it.”— “Suppose they would not do it; and when we were growing poorer and poorer, the taxgatherer should come to sell you out, stock and fluke.”— “Why, I’d dispute his authority desperately; and if that would not do, I’d fight him, by the blue blaizes.”— “And so would I: but a’n’t that nullifying, or something mighty like it?”— “Why,” ses he, “the toe that’s tramped on feels most; and a man that don’t swear, had better try a stumpy field with a young yolk of cattle.”— “Well,” ses I, “them there people down there fought desperate in the old war. They whipped Captain Cornwallis, and scared Sir Harry Clinton out and out; and I reckon then no more nor now they don’t like nobody to wrong them out of their rights.”— “But I’m glad it’s over: and I’ll tell you what I think; you don’t work hard enough in the south, and take good care of your grounds, and cattle, and so on; at least, I heard Josiah Norton say so, when he come home from down to south, where he had been peddling a spell. Si ses to me, ses he, ‘Please goodness! but that’s a poor country down yander; it makes the tears come into the kildear’s eyes when they fly over the old fields. Dod drot me, if you can even get a drink of cider!! They a’n’t got no apples but little runts of things, about as big as your thumb, and so sour, that when a pig sticks his tooth into ’em, he lays back his jaw, and hollers, you might hear him a mile: but it’s “eat, pig, or die” — for it’s all he’s got. And then again, they’re great for huntin’ of foxes; and if you were to see their hounds! lean, lank, labber-sided pups, that are so poor they have to prop up agin a post-and-rail fence, ‘fore they can raise a bark at my tin-cart. It’s the poorest place was ever made.’” — So, said I, “Stranger, you had better come down and judge for yourself, both as to principles and habits; you would be as much pleased, I am sure, as I have been in coming north.”
CROCKETT FINDS PHILADELPHIA TOO FAST
ARRIVED AT THE EXCHANGE, I crowded through, went up to the second floor, and walked out on the porch, drew off my hat, and made my bow; speaking was out of the question, the huzzas for Crockett were so loud and so long.
The time had come when my promise must be kept. There must have been more than five thousand people, and they were still gathering from all parts. I was now loudly called for from all quarters to begin. I could not help again thinking what a poor type I was to stand up before such an enlightened people; but screwing up my fortitude, I commenced.
* * * * *
Three times three cheers closed the concern, and I came down to the door, where it appeared as if all the world had a desire to shake hands with me. I stood on the doorstep, and, as Major Jack Downing said, shook hands as hard as I could spring for near an hour. After this I returned to the hotel, and remained until night, when I was asked to visit the theatre in Walnut street. The landlord, Dorrance, and others were to go with me, to see Jim Crow. While we were talking about it, one of them said he could go all over the world “To crow juicy.” Some laughed very hearty, and others did not. I was among the latter, for I considered it a dry joke, although there was something juicy in it. Some of them said it was Latin; and that proved to me the reason why I did not laugh — I was tired of the “old Roman.” But these Philadelphians are eternally cutting up jokes on words; so I puts a conundrum to them; and says I, “Can you tell me why the sacking of Jerusalem was like a cider mill?” Well, they all were stumpt, and gave it up. “Because it made the Jews fly.” Seeing them so much pleased with this, says I, “Why is a cow like a razor-grinder?” No one could answer. “Well,” says I, “I thought you could find that out, for I don’t know myself.”
We started for the theatre, and found a very full house, and Jim a playing for the dear life. Jim makes as good a nigger as if he was clean black, except the bandy-legs.
Everybody seemed pleased, particularly when I laughed; they appeared to act as if I knew exactly when to laugh, and they all followed.
What a pity it is that these theatres are not so contrived that everybody could go; but the fact is, backwoodsman as I am, I have heard some things in them that was a leetle too tough for good women and modest men; and that’s a great pity, because there are thousands of scenes of real life that might be exhibited, both for amusement and edification, without offending. Folks pretend to say that high people don’t mind these things. Well, it may be that they are better acquainted with vice than we plain folks; but I am yet to live and see a woman polished out of the natural feelings, or too high not to do things that a’n’t quite reputable in those of low degree.
Their fiddling was pretty good, considering every fellow played his own piece; and I would have known more about it, if they had played a tune, but it was all twee-wee-tadlum-tadlum-tumtum, tadle-leedle-tadle-leedle-lee. “The twenty-second of February,” or the “Cuckoo’s Nest,” would have been a treat.
I do not think, however, from all I saw, that the people enjoyed themselves better thân we do at a country frolic, where we dance till daylight, and pay off the score by giving one in our turn. It would do you good to see our boys and girls dancing. None of your stradling, mincing, sadying; but a regular sifter, cut-the-buckle, chicken-flutter set-to. It is good wholesome exercise; and when one of our boys puts his arm round his partner, it’s a good hug, and no harm in it.
SEBA SMITH, MAJOR JACK DOWNING
Seba Smith (1792-1868) a graduate of Bowdoin, contributed to the Portland newspapers a series of “Letters” by Jack Downing. They are the prototype of the Down-East-Yankee colloquial humor, developed further by Judge Haliburton as Sam Slick. Downing’s letters are nearly all political, Haliburton covers a wider area.
CAPTAIN DOWNING DEFIES THE BRITISH
The Captain — he had not yet promoted himself to be a major ‘ — writes at the height of the international tension over the disputed boundary of Maine. The award of the King of the Netherlands, which Downing repudiates, had just proposed to give 12,000 square miles to New Brunswick. President Jackson followed Captain Downing’s advice. The Captain dates his letter from, “Madawaska, State of Maine, or else Great Britain, I don’t know which, March 12, 1812.”
To the Editor of the Portland Courier — this with care and speed.
My DEAR or.D FRIEND, — I cleared out from Augusta in such a kind of a whirlwind, that I hadn’t time to write you a single word before I left. And I feel so kind of crazy now, I don’t know hardly which end I stand upon. I’ve had a good many head-flaws and worriments in my life time, and been in a great many hobbles, but I never, in all my born days, met with any thing that puzzled me quite so bad as this ere selling out down here. I fit in the Legislater as long as fighting would do any good, that is, I mean in the caucus, for they wouldn’t let me go right into the Legislater in the day time and talk to ’em there, because I was only a lobby member. But jest let them know it, lobby members can do as much as any of ’em on sich kind of business as this. I laid it down to ’em in the caucus as well as I could. I asked ’em if they didn’t think I should look like a pretty fool, after marching my company down there, and standing ready all winter to flog the whole British nation the moment any of ’em stept a foot on to our land, if I should now have to march back again and give up the land and all without flogging a single son-of-a-gun of ’em. But they said it was no use, it couldn’t be helped: Mr. Netherlands had given the land away to the British, and the President had agreed to do jest as Mr. Netherlands said about it, and all we could do now was to get as much pay for it as we could.
So I set down and figured it up a little to see how much it would come to, for I used to cypher to the rule of three when I went to school, and I found it would come to a pretty round sum. There was, in the first place, about two millions of acres of land. This, considerin the timber there was on it, would certainly be worth a dollar an acre, and that would be two millions of dollars. Then there was two or three thousand inhabitants, say twenty-five hundred; Crockett, Major Downing, Josh Billings 81 we must be paid for them too, and how much are they worth? I’ve read in the newspapers that black slaves, at the south, sell for three or four hundred dollars apiece. I should think, then, that white ones ought to fetch eight hundred. This, according to the rule of three, would be two hundred thousand dollars. Then there’s the pretty little town of Madawaska that our Legislater made last winter, already cut and dried with town officers all chosen, and every thing ready for the British to use without any more trouble. We ought to have pay for this too, and I should think it was worth ten thousand dollars.
And then the town of Madawaska has chosen Mr. Lizote to be a representative in the Legislater, and as the British can take him right into the Parliament without choosing him over again, they ought to pay us for that too. Now I have read in the newspapers that it sometimes costs, in England, two hundred thousand dollars to choose a representative to Parliament, reckoning all the grog they drink and all the money they pay for votes. But I wouldn’t be screwing about it, so I put Mr. Lizote down at one hundred thousand dollars. And then I footed up, and found it to be, —
For land, including timber, two millions of dollars,$2,000,000
For inhabitants, including women and children, two hundred thousand dollars,200,000
For the town of Madawaska, officers and all, ten thousand dollars,10,000
For Mr. Lizote, all ready to go to Parliament, one hundred thousand dollars,100,000
Total,$2,3 10,000
This was a pretty round sum, and I begun to think, come to divide it out, it would be a slice a-piece worth having; especially if we didn’t give the Feds any of it, and I supposed we shouldn’t, as there wasn’t any of ’em there in the caucus to help see about it.
“In this view of the subject,” I almost made up my mind that we ought to be patriotic enough to give it up, and help the general government out of the hobble they had got into. And I was jest a-going to get up and make a speech and tell ’em so, when Mr. McCrate of Noble-borough, and Capt. Smith of Westbrook, two of the best fellers in our party, came along and see what I was figuring about, and, says they, Capt. Downing, are you going to sell your country? In a minute I felt something rise right up in my throat, that felt as big as an ox-yoke. As soon as I got so I could speak, says I, No, never, while my name is Jack Downing, or my old rifle can carry a bullet. They declared too, that they wouldn’t sell out to the general government, nor the British, nor nobody else. And we stuck it out most of the evening, till we found out how it was going, and then we cleared out, and as soon as the matter was fairly settled, I started off for Madawaska; for I was afraid if my company should hear of it before I got there, it would make a blow up among ’em, and I should have to court-martial ’em.
When I first told ’em how the jig was up with us, that the British were going to have the land, without any fighting about it, I never see fellows so mad before in my life, unless it was Major Eaton at Washington when he sot out to flog Mr. Ingham. They said if they could only have had one good battle, they wouldn’t care a snap about it, but to be played torn-fool with in this way they wouldn’t bear it. They were so maa, they hopped right up and down, and declared they never would go back till they had been over to Fredericton and pulled the jail down, or thrashed some of the New Brunswick boys. But, after a while, I pacified ’em by telling ’em if we didn’t get a chance to fight here, I rather thought we might away off to Georgia, for there was something of a bobbery kicking up, and if the President should want troops to go on there, I was very sure my company would be one of the first he would send for.
So here we are, lying upon our arms, not knowing what to do. I have written to the President, and hope to hear from him soon. If the land is to go, I want to know it in season to get off before it’s all over; for I’ll be hanged if ever I’ll belong to the British.
Your distrest friend, CAPT. JACK DOWNING.
JOSH BILLINGS
Josh Billings (Henry W. Shaw), 1818-1885, was & New England boy who attended Hamilton College, Clinton, N. Y., and was expelled in his sophomore year for removing the clapper from the chapel bell. This arrested his education halfway, and he took vengeance on it later. He wandered round the country working at this and that, and came to rest as a real-estate dealer and auctioneer in Poughkeepsie. Here just before the Civil War he began, as Josh Billings, to write “pieces” for the papers. His success took him, in the war period, to New York. Here he met Q. K. Philander Doe sticks, Orpheus C. Kerr and Artemus Ward, then showing his “panorama” in Dodsworth Hall. Ward, sixteen years younger, was greatly taken with the sedate “Mr. Shaw” who looked old enough to be his father. He got him a publisher and launched him in the world of funny men. Josh had already tried his hand at lecturing in Poughkeepsie. Now he entered a wider field. The first results were ghastly failure. The audience sat in stony silence without a laugh. This at a humorous lecture is a bad sign. At one place the audience numbered only twenty people. Josh gave them back their money. At another town the “audience” consisted of only one man. Josh took him out to supper. The gross receipts of the tour from Poughkeepsie to Milwaukee were just equal to the railway fare from Milwaukee to Poughkeepsie.
But presently success came: and when it came it spread: reputation once gained works wonders. In the years that followed the Civil War Josh Billings lectured all over Canada and the United States. His technique both for publicity and performance was that of the professional “comic” man as modeled on Artemus Ward, and now quite abandoned on the platform. Here for example is a typical announcement.
JOSH BILLINGS
Will Deliver his Plaintiff Discourse on “Natral History.”
(and warrant it for 60 days) at — Hall, On — Evening.
It is with the most grave apprehensions that I consent to read a discourse on “Natral History,” a subject so nearly exhausted by the following distinguished authors.... Josh Billings, (521 Broadway, New York)
“The Cockroach, in my humble opinion, is a surplus bug.” — John Bright, M.P.
“The goose is a bird of much feathers.” — Duke of Mark-borough.
“The Angleworm, though filled with grit, is not quarrelsome.” — Lord Palmerstone.
“Tree Toads, are the only make of Toads, who can mount and dismount a tree.” — Louis Napoleon.
The announcement might vary but the lecture, after the ghastly fashion of those times, was always the same and was read out word by word. Billings read Skim Milk hundreds and hundreds of times. It was before the motorcar and the travel habit had abolished distance. The audience, ten miles away, was new. The lecturer could rely on the kind of assurance once given to the writer of this book, “The people who heard you before won’t be here tonight.”
Josh Billings’ lectures consisted of little sententious sayings, very much like those on the Mule and the Hen, given below. Of the great success of the lectures, once started, there can be no doubt. Still less of the success of the series of little books that began with Josh Billings His Sayings (1865) and which flooded America and England. Josh’s fame reached France in 1872 in the publication of his aphorisms as translated by Madame Bentzon, the same lady who, a month before, had similarly conferred immortality on Mark Twain’s Jumping Frog. Such aphorisms as La Verété est la seule chose qui ne soit pas susceptible du progrès; Les secrets font du cœur un donjon et de son propriétaire un geôlier would hardly be recognized as “Josh” in Indiana. Perhaps Madame Bentzon confused him with La Rochefoucauld.
