The Wit and Humor of America, Volume III. (of X.)

by Ambrose Bierce

  "Inasmuch as to how?" I said.

  "I mean it is sad to think that so many peple have been killed withinthese gloomy walls. My frens, let us drop a tear!"

  "No," I said, "you must excuse me. Others may drop one if they feel likeit; but as for me, I decline. The early managers of this institootionwere a bad lot, and their crimes were trooly orful; but I can't sob forthose who died four or five hundred years ago. If they was my ownrelations I couldn't. It's absurd to shed sobs over things which occurdduring the rain of Henry the Three. Let us be cheerful," I continnered."Look at the festiv Warders, in their red flannil jackets. They arecheerful, and why should it not be thusly with us?"

  A Warder now took us in charge, and showed us the Trater's Gate, thearmers, and things. The Trater's Gate is wide enuff to admit abouttwenty traters abrest, I should jedge; but beyond this, I couldn't seethat it was superior to gates in gen'ral.

  Traters, I will here remark, are a onfornit class of peple. If theywasn't, they wouldn't be traters. They conspire to bust up acountry--they fail, and they're traters. They bust her, and they becomestatesmen and heroes.

  Take the case of Gloster, afterward Old Dick the Three, who may be seenat the Tower on horseback, in a heavy tin overcoat--take Mr. Gloster'scase. Mr. G. was a conspirator of the basist dye, and if he'd failed, hewould have been hung on a sour apple tree. But Mr. G. succeeded, andbecame great. He was slewed by Col. Richmond, but he lives in history,and his equestrian figger may be seen daily for a sixpence, inconjunction with other em'nent persons, and no extra charge for theWarder's able and bootiful lectur.

  There's one king in this room who is mounted onto a foaming steed, hisright hand graspin a barber's pole. I didn't learn his name.

  The room where the daggers and pistils and other weppins is kept isinterestin. Among this collection of choice cuttlery I notist the bowand arrer which those hot-heded old chaps used to conduct battles with.It is quite like the bow and arrer used at this day by certain tribes ofAmerican Injuns, and they shoot 'em off with such a excellent precisionthat I almost sigh'd to be an Injun when I was in the Rocky Mountainregin. They are a pleasant lot them Injuns. Mr. Cooper and Dr. Catlinhave told us of the red man's wonerful eloquence, and I found it so. Ourparty was stopt on the plains of Utah by a band of Shoshones, whosechief said:

  "Brothers! the pale-face is welcome. Brothers! the sun is sinking in thewest, and Wa-na-bucky-she will soon cease speakin. Brothers! the poorred man belongs to a race which is fast becomin extink."

  He then whooped in a shrill manner, stole all our blankets and whisky,and fled to the primeval forest to conceal his emotions.

  I will remark here, while on the subjeck of Injuns, that they are in themain a very shaky set, with even less sense than the Fenians, and when Ihear philanthropists be-wailin the fack that every year "carries thenoble red man nearer the settin sun," I simply have to say I'm glad ofit, tho' it is rough on the settin sun. They call you by the sweet nameof Brother one minit, and the next they scalp you with theirThomas-hawks. But I wander. Let us return to the Tower.

  At one end of the room where the weppins is kept, is a wax figger ofQueen Elizabeth, mounted on a fiery stuffed hoss, whose glass eyeflashes with pride, and whose red morocker nostril dilates hawtily, asif conscious of the royal burden he bears. I have associated Elizabethwith the Spanish Armady. She's mixed up with it at the Surrey Theater,where _Troo to the Core_ is bein acted, and in which a full bally coreis introjooced on board the Spanish Admiral's ship, giving the audiensthe idee that he intends openin a moosic-hall in Plymouth the moment heconkers that town. But a very interesting drammer is _Troo to the Core_,notwithstandin the eccentric conduct of the Spanish Admiral; and verynice it is in Queen Elizabeth to make Martin Truegold a baronet.

  The Warder shows us some instrooments of tortur, such as thumbscrews,throat-collars, etc., statin that these was conkered from the SpanishArmady, and addin what a crooil peple the Spaniards was in themdays--which elissited from a bright-eyed little girl of about twelvesummers the remark that she tho't it _was_ rich to talk about thecrooilty of the Spaniards usin thumbscrews, when he was in a Tower whereso many poor peple's heads had been cut off. This made the Warderstammer and turn red.

  I was so pleased with the little girl's brightness that I could havekissed the dear child, and I would if she'd been six years older.

  I think my companions intended makin a day of it, for they all hadsandwiches, sassiges, etc. The sad-lookin man, who had wanted us to dropa tear afore we started to go round, fling'd such quantities of sassigeinto his mouth that I expected to see him choke hisself to death; hesaid to me, in the Beauchamp Tower, where the poor prisoners writ theironhappy names on the cold walls, "This is a sad sight."

  "It is indeed," I anserd. "You're black in the face. You shouldn't eatsassige in public without some rehearsals beforehand. You manage itorkwardly."

  "No," he said, "I mean this sad room."

  Indeed, he was quite right. Tho' so long ago all these drefful thingshappened, I was very glad to git away from this gloomy room, and gowhere the rich and sparklin Crown Jewils is kept. I was so pleased withthe Queen's Crown, that it occurd to me what a agree'ble surprise itwould be to send a sim'lar one home to my wife; and I asked the Warderwhat was the vally of a good, well-constructed Crown like that. He toldme, but on cypherin up with a pencil the amount of funs I have in theJint Stock Bank, I conclooded I'd send her a genteel silver watchinstid.

  And so I left the Tower. It is a solid and commandin edifis, but I denythat it is cheerful. I bid it adoo without a pang.

  I was droven to my hotel by the most melancholly driver of afour-wheeler that I ever saw. He heaved a deep sigh as I gave him twoshillings.

  "I'll give you six d.'s more," I said, "if it hurts you so."

  "It isn't that," he said, with a hart-rendin groan, "it's only a way Ihave. My mind's upset to-day. I at one time tho't I'd drive you into theThames. I've been readin all the daily papers to try and understandabout Governor Eyre, and my mind is totterin. It's really wonderful Ididn't drive you into the Thames."

  I asked the onhappy man what his number was, so I could redily find himin case I should want him agin, and bad him good-by. And then I tho'twhat a frollicsome day I'd made of it.

  Respectably, etc. ARTEMUS WARD.

  --_Punch_, 1866.

  SCIENCE AND NATURAL HISTORY

  MR. PUNCH, _My Dear Sir_:--I was a little disapinted at not receivin ainvitation to jine in the meetins of the Social Science Congress....

  I prepared an Essy on Animals to read before the Social Science meetins.It is a subjeck I may troothfully say I have successfully wrastled with.I tackled it when only nineteen years old. At that tender age I writ aEssy for a lit'ry Institoot entitled, "Is Cats to be trusted?" Of themerits of that Essy it doesn't becum me to speak, but I may be excoos'dfor mentionin that the Institoot parsed a resolution that "whether welook upon the length of this Essy, or the manner in which it is written,we feel that we will not express any opinion of it, and we hope it willbe read in other towns."

  Of course the Essy I writ for the Social Science Society is a morefinisheder production than the one on Cats, which was wroten when mymind was crood, and afore I had masterd a graceful and ellygant stile ofcomposition. I could not even punctooate my sentences proper at thattime, and I observe with pane, on lookin over this effort of my youth,that its beauty is in one or two instances mar'd by ingrammaticisms.This was inexcusable, and I'm surprised I did it. A writer who can'twrite in a grammerly manner better shut up shop.

  You shall hear this Essy on Animals. Some day when you have four hoursto spare, I'll read it to you. I think you'll enjoy it. Or, what will bemuch better, if I may suggest--omit all picturs in next week's _Punch_,and do not let your contributors write eny thing whatever (let them havea holiday; they can go to the British Mooseum;) and publish my Essyintire. It will fill all your collumes full, and create comment. Doesthis proposition strike you? Is it a go?

  In case I had read the Es
sy to the Social Sciencers, I had intended itshould be the closin attraction. I intended it should finish theproceedins. I think it would have finished them. I understand animalsbetter than any other class of human creatures. I have a very animalmind, and I've been identified with 'em doorin my entire perfessionalcareer as a showman, more especial bears, wolves, leopards andserpunts.

  The leopard is as lively a animal as I ever came into contack with. Itis troo he cannot change his spots, but you can change 'em for him witha paint-brush, as I once did in the case of a leopard who wasn'tnat'rally spotted in a attractive manner. In exhibitin him I used tostir him up in his cage with a protracted pole, and for the purpuss ofmakin him yell and kick up in a leopardy manner, I used to casionallywhack him over the head. This would make the children inside the boothscream with fright, which would make fathers of families outside thebooth very anxious to come in--because there is a large class of parentswho have a uncontrollable passion for takin their children to placeswhere they will stand a chance of being frightened to death.

  One day I whacked this leopard more than ushil, which elissited aremonstrance from a tall gentleman in spectacles, who said, "My goodman, do not beat the poor caged animal. Rather fondle him."

  "I'll fondle him with a club," I ansered, hitting him another whack.

  "I prithy desist," said the gentleman; "stand aside, and see the effeckof kindness. I understand the idiosyncracies of these creeturs betterthan you do."

  With that he went up to the cage, and thrustin his face in between theiron bars, he said, soothingly, "Come hither, pretty creetur."

  The pretty creetur come-hithered rayther speedy, and seized thegentleman by the whiskers, which he tore off about enuff to stuff asmall cushion with.

  He said, "You vagabone, I'll have you indicted for exhibitin dangerousand immoral animals."

  I replied, "Gentle Sir, there isn't a animal here that hasn't abeautiful moral, but you mustn't fondle 'em. You mustn't meddle withtheir idiotsyncracies."

  The gentleman was a dramatic cricket, and he wrote a article for apaper, in which he said my entertainment wos a decided failure.

  As regards Bears, you can teach 'em to do interestin things, but they'reonreliable. I had a very large grizzly bear once, who would dance, andlarf, and lay down, and bow his head in grief, and give a mournful wale,etsetry. But he often annoyed me. It will be remembered that on theoccasion of the first battle of Bull Run, it suddenly occurd to theFed'ral soldiers that they had business in Washington which ought not tobe neglected, and they all started for that beautiful and romantic city,maintainin a rate of speed durin the entire distance that would havedone credit to the celebrated French steed _Gladiateur_. Very nat'rallyour Gov'ment was deeply grieved at this defeat; and I said to my Bearshortly after, as I was givin a exhibition in Ohio--I said, "Brewin, areyou not sorry the National arms has sustained a defeat?" His businesswas to wale dismal, and bow his head down, the band (a barrel origin anda wiolin) playing slow and melancholy moosic. What did the grizzly oldcuss do, however, but commence darncin and larfin in the most joyousmanner? I had a narrer escape from being imprisoned for disloyalty.

  DISLIKES

  BY OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES

  I want it to be understood that I consider that a certain number ofpersons are at liberty to dislike me peremptorily, without showingcause, and that they give no offense whatever in so doing.

  If I did not cheerfully acquiesce in this sentiment towards myself onthe part of others, I should not feel at liberty to indulge my ownaversions. I try to cultivate a Christian feeling to all myfellow-creatures, but inasmuch as I must also respect truth and honesty,I confess to myself a certain number of inalienable dislikes andprejudices, some of which may possibly be shared by others. Some ofthese are purely instinctive, for others I can assign a reason. Ourlikes and dislikes play so important a part in the order of things thatit is well to see on what they are founded.

  There are persons I meet occasionally who are too intelligent by halffor my liking. They know my thoughts beforehand, and tell me what I wasgoing to say. Of course they are masters of all my knowledge, and a gooddeal besides; have read all the books I have read, and in latereditions; have had all the experiences I have been through, and moretoo. In my private opinion every mother's son of them will lie at anytime rather than confess ignorance.

  I have a kind of dread, rather than hatred, of persons with a largeexcess of vitality; great feeders, great laughers, great story-tellers,who come sweeping over their company with a huge tidal wave of animalspirits and boisterous merriment. I have pretty good spirits myself, andenjoy a little mild pleasantry, but I am oppressed and extinguished bythese great lusty, noisy creatures, and feel as if I were a mute at afuneral when they get into full blast.

  I can not get along much better with those drooping, languid people,whose vitality falls short as much as that of the others is in excess. Ihave not life enough for two; I wish I had. It is not very enlivening tomeet a fellow-creature whose expression and accents say, "You are thehair that breaks the camel's back of my endurance, you are the last dropthat makes my cup of woe run over;" persons whose heads drop on one sidelike those of toothless infants, whose voices recall the tones in whichour old snuffling choir used to wail out the verses of

  "Life is the time to serve the Lord."

  There is another style which does not captivate me. I recognize anattempt at the _grand manner_ now and then, in persons who are wellenough in their way, but of no particular importance, socially orotherwise. Some family tradition of wealth or distinction is apt to beat the bottom of it, and it survives all the advantages that used to setit off. I like family pride as well as my neighbors, and respect thehigh-born fellow-citizen whose progenitors have not worked in theirshirt-sleeves for the last two generations full as much as I ought to.But _grand-pere oblige_; a person with a known grandfather is toodistinguished to find it necessary to put on airs. The few Royal PrincesI have happened to know were very easy people to get along with, and hadnot half the social knee-action I have often seen in the collapseddowagers who lifted their eyebrows at me in my earlier years.

  My heart does not warm as it should do towards the persons, notintimates, who are always _too_ glad to see me when we meet by accident,and discover all at once that they have a vast deal to unbosomthemselves of to me.

  There is one blameless person whom I can not love and have no excuse forhating. It is the innocent fellow-creature, otherwise inoffensive to me,whom I find I have involuntarily joined on turning a corner. I supposethe Mississippi, which was flowing quietly along, minding its ownbusiness, hates the Missouri for coming into it all at once with itsmuddy stream. I suppose the Missouri in like manner hates theMississippi for diluting with its limpid, but insipid current the richreminiscences of the varied soils through which its own stream haswandered. I will not compare myself to the clear or the turbid current,but I will own that my heart sinks when I find all of a sudden I am infor a corner confluence, and I cease loving my neighbor as myself untilI can get away from him.

  UNCLE SIMON AND UNCLE JIM

  BY ARTEMUS WARD

  Uncle Simon he Clumb up a tree To see What he could see, When presentlee Uncle Jim Clumb up beside of him And squatted down by he.

  THE LITTLE MOCK-MAN

  BY JAMES WHITCOMB RILEY

  The Little Mock-man on the Stairs-- He mocks the lady's horse 'at rares At bi-sickles an' things,-- He mocks the mens 'at rides 'em, too; An' mocks the Movers, drivin' through, An' hollers "Here's the way _you_ do With them-air hitchin'-strings!" "Ho! ho!" he'll say, Ole Settlers' Day, When they're all jogglin' by,-- "You look like _this_," He'll say, an' twis' His mouth an' squint his eye An' 'tend like _he_ wuz beat the bass Drum at both ends--an' toots and blares Ole dinner-horn an' puffs his face-- The Little Mock-man on the Stairs!

  The Little Mock-man on the Stairs Mocks all the peoples all he cares 'At
passes up an' down! He mocks the chickens round the door, An' mocks the girl 'at scrubs the floor, An' mocks the rich, an' mocks the pore, An' ever'thing in town! "Ho! ho!" says he, To you er me; An' ef we turns an' looks, He's all cross-eyed An' mouth all wide Like Giunts is, in books.-- "Ho! ho!" he yells, "look here at _me_," An' rolls his fat eyes roun' an' glares,-- "_You_ look like _this!_" he says, says he-- The Little Mock-man on the Stairs!

  _The Little Mock-- The Little Mock-- The Little Mock-man on the Stairs, He mocks the music-box an' clock, An' roller-sofy an' the chairs; He mocks his Pa an' spec's he wears; He mocks the man 'at picks the pears An' plums an' peaches on the shares; He mocks the monkeys an' the bears On picture-bills, an' rips an' tears 'Em down,--an' mocks ist all he cares, An' EVER'body EVER'wheres!_

  MAMMY'S LULLABY

  BY STRICKLAND W. GILLILAN

  Sleep, mah li'l pigeon, don' yo' heah yo' mammy coo? Sunset still a-shinin' in de wes'; Sky am full o' windehs an' de stahs am peepin' froo-- Eb'ryt'ing but mammy's lamb at res'. Swing 'im to'ds de Eas'lan', Swing 'im to'ds de Souf-- See dat dove a-comin' wif a olive in 'is mouf! Angel hahps a-hummin', Angel banjos strummin'-- Sleep, mah li'l pigeon, don' yo' heah yo' mammy coo?

  Cricket fiddleh scrapin' off de rozzum f'um 'is bow, Whippo'will a-mo'nin' on a lawg; Moon ez pale ez hit kin be a-risin' mighty slow-- Stahtled at de bahkin' ob de dawg; Swing de baby Eas'way, Swing de baby Wes', Swing 'im to'ds de Souflan' whah de melon grow de bes'! Angel singers singin', Angel bells a-ringin', Sleep, mah li'l pigeon, don' yo' heah yo' mammy coo?