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twg_000000042400 | from communicating with the police on the subject of the events of the day. The publicity that would follow would render you an object of derision, and no possible good could result to you from disclosure of the facts. But you should at once make up your mind never to participate in another picnic. * * * * * A | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000042401 | CHANCE FOR OUR ORGAN GRINDERS. The famous _mitrailleur_, or grape-thrower, with which LOUIS NAPOLEON has already commenced to astonish the Prussians, suggests congenial work for the numerous performers on the barrel-organ with which our large cities are at all times infested. It is worked with a crank, exactly after the manner of the too-familiar street instrument; and might easily be | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000042402 | fitted with a musical cylinder arranged for the performance of the most inspiriting and patriotic French airs. Should Italy, at present neutral, take side with France hereafter, she should at once withdraw her wandering minstrels from all parts of the world, and set them to work on the "double attachment" engine of L.N. Nothing could be more appropriate for working | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000042403 | the _mitrailleur_ than a corps of barrel-organ grinders from the land of the Grape. * * * * * THE ORIGIN OF PUNCHINELLO. MR. PUNCHINELLO: Though aware that you "belong to Company G," and must not be bothered, I wish to ask whether you are descended from the famous chicken-dealer of Sorrento, who sold fowls in Naples, and was well-known | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000042404 | in that fun-loving city for the humor of his speech and the oddity of his form. He was called "PULCINELLA," I believe, the name being the same as that of his wares. If not to this celebrated wag, perhaps you trace your origin to Mr. PUCCIO D'ANELLO, who so delighted a company of actors at Aceria, with his jokes and | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000042405 | gibes, that they invited him to join them, and soon discovered that they had found a Star. If neither of these classical wags was your ancestor, may I ask, who the deuce _did_ you come from? Yours, truly, CURIOSO. * * * * * RECIPE TO BE TESTED. We see that they have been "firing cannon in the fields near | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000042406 | Paris, to bring on a rain." If there is any virtue in this recipe, they are likely to get some moist weather to the north-eastward of Paris, to say the least. The firing in that quarter may even lead to a Reign in Paris such as France has not lately seen. We would not go so far as to _predict_ | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000042407 | anything of this sort. Oh, no; for we are aware that the moment we should do so, NAPOLEON would lick the Prussians on purpose to show the world that we didn't hit it that time. * * * * * THE WATERING PLACES. Punchinello's Vacations. When one wants to see the great people who are to be seen nowhere else, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000042408 | one goes to the celebrated White Sulphur Springs of Virginia; and, very correctly supposing that there might be persons there who would like to see him, Mr. PUNCHINELLO took a trip to the aforesaid springs. He found it charming there. There was such a chance to study character. From the parlors where Chief-Justice CHASE and General LEE were hob-nobbing over | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000042409 | apple-toddies and "peach-and-honey," to the cabins where the wards of the nation were luxuriating in picturesque ease beneath the shade of their newly-fledged angel of liberty, everything was instructive to the well-balanced mind. Here, too, in these fertile regions, were to be seen those exquisite floral creations known as mint-juleps, the absence of which in our Northern agricultural exhibitions can | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000042410 | never be sufficiently deplored. Witness the beauty of the design and the ingenious delicacy of the execution of one of the humblest of the species. From experience in the matter, Mr. P. is prepared to say, that not only as an exponent of the beauties of nature, but as a drink, a mint-julep is far superior to the water which | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000042411 | gives thin resort its celebrity. Why people persist in drinking that vilest of all water which is found at the fashionable springs, Mr. P. cannot divine. If it is medicine you want, you can get your drugs at any apothecary's, and he will mix them in water for you for a very small sum extra. And the saving in expense | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000042412 | of travel, board and extras, will be enormous. But in spite of this fact, there were plenty of distinguished-looking people at the White Sulphur. Mr. P. didn't know them all, but he had no doubt that one of them was General LEE; one PHIL. SHERIDAN; another Prof. MAURY; another GOLDWIN SMITH; and others Governor WISE; HENRY WARD BEECHER, WADE HAMPTON, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000042413 | WENDELL PHILLIPS, RAPHAEL SEMMES, and LUCRETIA MOTT. One man, an incognito, excited Mr. P.'s curiosity. This personage was generally found in the society of LEE, JOHNSTON, POPE, HAMPTON, GREELEY, and those other fellows who did so much to injure the Union cause during the war. One day Mr. P. accosted him. He was an oddity, and perhaps it would be | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000042414 | a good idea to put his picture in the paper. "Sir!" said Mr. P., with that delicate consideration for which he is so noted, "why do you pull your hat down over your eyes, and what is your object in thus concealing your identity? Come sir! let us know what it all means." The _incognito_ glanced at Mr. P. with | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000042415 | the corner of his eye, and perceiving that he was in citizen's dress, pulled his hat still further over his face. "My business," said he, "is my own, but since the subject has been broached, I may as well let _you_ know what it is." "You know me, then?" said Mr. P. "I do," replied the other, and proceeding with | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000042416 | his recital, he said, "You may have heard that a number of negro squatters were lately ejected from a private estate in this State, after they had made the grounds to blossom like the rose, and to bring forth like the herring." "Yes, I heard that," said Mr. P. "Well," said the other, "I happened to have some land near | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000042417 | by, and I invited those negroes to come and squat on my premises--" "Intending to turn them off about blossoming time?" said Mr. P. "Certainly, certainly," said the other, "and I am just waiting about here until they put in a wheat crop on part of the land. I can then sell that portion, right away." "Well, Mr. BEN BUTLER," | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000042418 | said Mr. P., "all that is easily understood, now that I know who you are; but tell me this, why are you so careful to cover your face when in the company of civilians or ladies, and yet go about so freely among these ex-Confederate officers?" "Oh," said the other, "you see I don't want to be known down here, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000042419 | and some of the women or old men might remember my face. There's no danger of any of the soldiers recognizing me, you know." "Oh, no," cried Mr. P. "None in the world, sir." "And besides," said the modest BUTLER, "it's too late now for me to be spooning around among the women." "That's so," said Mr. P. "Good-bye, BENJAMIN. | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000042420 | Any news from Dominica?" "None at all," said the other, "and I don't care if there never is. I am opposed to that annexation scheme now." "Sold your claims?" said Mr. P. The incognito winked and departed. That evening at supper Mr. P. remarked that his biscuits were rather hard, and he blandly requested a waiter to take one of | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000042421 | them outside and crack it. The elder PEYTON, who runs the hotel, overheard Mr. P.'s remark, and stepping up to him, said: "Sir, you should not be so particular about your food. What you pay me, while you stay at my place, is my charge for the water you drink. The food and lodging I throw in, gratis." Mr. P. | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000042422 | arose. "Mr. PEYTON," said he, "when I was quite a little boy, my father, making the tour of America, brought me here, and I distinctly remember your making that remark to him. Since then many of my friends have visited the White Sulphur, and you invariably made the same remark to them. Is there no way to escape the venerable | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000042423 | joke?" The gentle PEYTON made no answer, but walked away, and after supper, one of the boarders took Mr. P. aside and urged him to excuse their host, as he was obliged to make the joke in question to every guest. The obligation was in his lease. So the matter blew over. Reflecting, however, that if he had to pay | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000042424 | so much for the water, that he had better drink a little, Mr. P. went down to the spring to see what could be done. On the way, he met Uncle AARON, formerly one of WASHINGTON'S body-servants. The venerable patriarch touched his hat, and Mr. P., hoping from such great age to gain a little wisdom, propounded the following questions: | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000042425 | "Uncle, is this water good for the bile?" "Oh, lor! no, mah'sr! Dat dar water 'ud jis spile anything you biled in it. Make it taste of rotten eggs, for all the world, sir! 'Deed it would.' "But what I want to know," said Mr. P., "is why the people drink it." "Lor' bless you, mah'sr! Dis here chile kin | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000042426 | tell you dat. Ye see de gem'men from de Norf dey drinks it bekase they eat so much cold wheat bread. Allers makes 'em sick, sir." "And why do the Southerners drink it?" "Wal, mah'sr, you see dey eats so much hot wheat bread, and it don't agree wid 'em, no how." "But how about the colored people? I have | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000042427 | seen them drinking it, frequently," said Mr. P. "Oh, lor, mah'sr, how you is a askin' questions! Don't you know dat de colored folks hab to drink it bekase dey don't get no wheat bread at all?" Mr. P. heard no better philosophy than this on the subject while he remained at the White Sulphur. When he left, he brought | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000042428 | a couple of gallons of the water with him, and intends keeping it in the water-cooler in his office, for loungers. * * * * * THE POEMS OF THE CRADLE. CANTO III. "JACK and GILL went up the bill To fetch a pail of water; JACK fell down and broke his crown, And GILL came tumbling after." How many | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000042429 | persons there are who read those lines without giving one moment's thought to their hidden beauty. Love, obedience, and devotion unto death, are here portrayed; and yet people will repeat the lines of the melancholy muse with a smile on their faces, and even teach it to their young children as a sort of joyful lyric. My own infant-mind was | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000042430 | tampered with in the same manner; and after I had committed the poem to memory I was proudly called up by my fond and doting parents to display my infantile acquirements before admiring visitors. The result might have been foreknown. All my infancy and youth passed away, and I never once perceived the hidden worth of these lines till I | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000042431 | had tumbled down a hill myself, cracked my crown, and was laid up with it a week or more. During that time I had leisure to muse on the fate of poor JACK. When my mind expanded so as to take in all the sublimity of his devotion and death, my heart was filled with admiration and astonishment, and I | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000042432 | resolved I would make one effort to rescue the memory of poor JACK and loving GILL from the oblivion it seemed to be falling into, in the greater admiration people gave to the musical style of the writer. "JACK and GILL went up the hill." Here you see the obedient, loving, long-suffering, put-upon drudge of his brothers and sisters-we will | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000042433 | take the liberty of giving him a few of each as we are a little more generous than the author--who was compelled (not the author, but JACK,) to do all the chores, fetch and carry, 'tend and wait, bear the heat and burden of the day, and be the JACK for all of them. He was not dignified by the | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000042434 | respectable title of JOHN, or JONATHAN, but was poor simple JACK. Virtue will always be rewarded, however, and even freckle-faced, red-headed JACK had one friend, blue-eyed, tender-hearted GILL, who, seeing the unhesitating obedience he rendered to all, forthwith concluded that one so lone and sad could appreciate true friendship and understand the motives that prompted her to give, unsolicited, her | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000042435 | gushing love. So, when the good JACK started up the hill, loving GILL generously offered to accompany him. Probably the other children looked out of the windows after them, and laughed, and jeered, and wondered whither they were going; but, observing the pail, concluded they were going "To fetch a pail of water," which they were willing JACK should do, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000042436 | as it would save them the possibility of being ordered to do it; not that there was a probability of such a command being given, but there was a slight danger that the thing might happen in case JACK was occupied otherwise when the water was needed. But now that he had gone for it, they were all right, and | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000042437 | rejoiced exceedingly thereat. Meanwhile the two little sympathizing companions toiled up the steep hill, drinking in with every inhalation of the balmy air copious draughts of the new-found elixir of life. "Soft eyes looked love to eyes that spake again,"[] and their hearts melted beneath each tender glance. The little chubby hands that grasped the handle of the pail timidly | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000042438 | crept closer together, and by the time they had reached the rugged top, it needed but one warm embrace to mingle the two souls into one, henceforth forever. This was done. Tremblingly they drew back, blushing, casting modest glances at each other; and then, to aid them in recovering from their confusion, turned their attention to the water, which reflected | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000042439 | back two happy, smiling faces. Filling the pail with the dimpled liquid mirror, they turned their steps homeward. Light at heart and intoxicated with bliss, poor JACK, ever unfortunate, dashed his foot against a stone, and thus it was that "JACK fell down and broke his crown." [Oh! what a fall was there, my countrywomen!] Fearful were the shrieks that | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000042440 | rent the mountain air as he rolled down the hillside. The pail they had carried so carefully was overturned and rent asunder, and the trembling water spilled upon the smiling hill-side--fit emblem of their vanishing hopes. Down went the roley-poley boy, like a dumpling down a cellar-door; crashing his head against the cruel rocks that stood in stony heartedness in | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000042441 | his way, and dashing his brains out against their hard sides. His loving companion, eyes and month dilated with horror, stood still and rigid, gazing upon the fearful descent, and its tragic ending, then throwing her arms aloft, and giving a fearful shriek of agony that thrilled with horror the hearts of the hearers--if there were any--cast herself down in | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000042442 | exact imitation of the fall of her hero, rolled over and over as he did, and ended by mingling her blood with his upon the same stones. _His_ crown was broken diagonally; _hers_ slantindicularly; that was the only difference. Her suicidal act is commemorated in the line, "And GILL came tumbling after." The catastrophe was witnessed by the assembled family, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000042443 | who hastened to the bleeding victims of parental injustice, and endeavored to do all that was possible to restore life to the mangled forms of the two who loved when living, and in death were not divided. But all in vain. They were dead, and not till then did the family appreciate the beautiful, self-denying, heroic disposition of the little | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000042444 | martyr, JACK. The two innocent forms were buried side by side, and the whole country round mourned the fate of the infant lovers. Painters preserved their pictures on canvas, and poets sung them at eventide. The beauties of their life, and their tragic death, were given by the poet-laureate of the day in the words I have just transcribed; and | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000042445 | such an impression did these make on the minds of the inhabitants, that the whole population took them to heart, and, with tears in their eyes, taught them to their children, even unto the third and fourth generations. Alas! it was reserved for our day and generation to gabble them over unthinking, carelessly unmindful of the fearful fate the words | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000042446 | describe. Repentant ones, drop to their memory a tear, even now! It is not too late! [Footnote : Original, by some other fellow.] * * * * * [Illustration: WHAT WE MAY EXPECT IN OUR ARMY OF THE FUTURE. "NONE BUT THE BRAVE," ETC.] * * * * * LETTER FROM A CROAKER. MR. PUNCHINELLO: You have not, I believe, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000042447 | informed your readers, one of whom I have the honor to be, as to whether you have yet united yourself to any Designing Female. As this is a matter peculiarly interesting to many of your readers, all of whom, I have not the least doubt, are interested in your welfare, I would advise some statement on your part, respecting it. | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000042448 | I trust, my dear sir, that, if you are as yet free, you will take the well-intended advice of a sufferer, and steer entirely clear of the shoals and quicksands peculiar to the life of a married man, by never embarking in the matrimonial ship. Do not misunderstand me. I lived happily, very happily, with my sainted BELINDA--it must be | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000042449 | confessed that she had a striking partiality for sardines, which caused considerable of a decrease in the profits of my wholesale and retail grocery establishment. I cherish no resentment on that account, but, as you probably well know, one of the discomforts of matrimonial existence is children. Sir, I have a daughter, who is considered passably good-looking by certain appreciative | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000042450 | individuals. Since the unfortunate demise of my lamented wife, the profits of the mercantile establishment of which I am proprietor have largely increased, and as REBECCA is my only child, there is a considerable prospect of her bringing to the man who espouses her, a comfortable dowry, and probably a share in my business. I keep no man-servant, and after | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000042451 | my daughter retires--generally at the witching hour of two in the morning,--I am obliged to hobble down stairs, extinguish the lights, cover the fire, lock up the house, and ascertain whether it is perfectly fire and burglar-proof for the time being. Were this, sir, the only annoyance to which I am subjected, my wrath would probably expend itself in a | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000042452 | little growling, but hardly have I reposed myself upon my couch, ere my ear catches an infernal tooting and twanging and whispering, and a broken-winded German band, engaged by an admirer of my REBECCA, strikes up some outrageous _pot pourri_, or something of that sort, and sleep, disgusted, flees my pillow. Last night--or rather this morning--they came again. Their discordant | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000042453 | symphonies roused me to desperation. I seized a bucket of slops, and; opening the window, dashed the contents in the direction of the music; the full force of the deluge striking a fat, froggy-looking little Dutchman, who was puffing and blowing at a bassoon infinitely larger than himself. He was just launching out into a prodigious strain, but it expired | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000042454 | while yet in the bloom of youth. He remained for a short time in the famous posture of the Colossus of Rhodes, vainly endeavoring to shake off the cigar-stumps and other little _et ceteras_ which were clinging to him like cerements, uttering the while unintelligible oaths. Then he struck for his _domus et placens uxor_ at as rapid a rate | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000042455 | as his little dumpy legs could carry him. If they come to-night--if they dare to come--I will give them a dose which they will remember. My dear sir, what can I do to rid myself of these annoyances? The girl has been to boarding-school, and so can't be sent there again. She has no friends or relations whom it would | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000042456 | be advisable to put her off upon. Assist me then, in this, the hour of my tribulation, and you, my dear Mr. PUNCHINELLO, will merit the lasting gratitude of an UNHAPPY FATHER. [The best thing an "Unhappy Father" can do, under the circumstances, is to learn to play upon the bass horn, and then, should the brazen serenaders again make | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000042457 | their appearance, he can give them blow for blow.--ED. PUNCHINELLO.] * * * * * That Iron "Dog." The latest bit of intelligence given by the police regarding the "dog" so much spoken of in connection with the Twenty-third street murder, is that it is not, as at first stated, the kind of instrument used by shipwrights. In other words, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000042458 | the police have discovered that it is not a Water-dog, though, up to the present date, they have not been able to prove it a Bloodhound. * * * * * Severe Penalty. A newspaper gravely informs us that "the Supreme Court of Pennsylvania has refused the Writ of Error in the case of Dr. SHOEPPE, convicted of the murder | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000042459 | of Mr. STEINNEKE, _and will be hanged_." Can nothing be done to save this Court? One may say they had no business to refuse the Writ. But, at any rate, we are of opinion that the punishment is excessive. * * * * * [Illustration: WONDERFUL TOUR DE FORCE, PERFORMED "ON THE BEACH AT LONG BEACH," BY PROFESSOR JAMES FISK, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000042460 | JR., THE GREAT AMERICAN ATHLETE.] * * * * * HIRAM GREEN ON JERSEY MUSQUITOES. A Hard-fought Battle--Musquitoes have no Sting that Jersey Lightning cannot Cure. New Jarsey is noted among her sister countries, as bein' responsible for of the most destructive things ever got up. The first is of the animal kingdom, and varyin in size from a yeer | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000042461 | old snappin' turtle, to a lode of hay. It has a bayonet its nose, in which is a skwirt gun charged with pizen. It has no hesitation, whatsoever, of shovin' it's pitch-fork into a human bein', and when a feller feels it, it makes him think old SOLFERINO has come for him, and no mistake. The sirname of this sleep-distroyin' | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000042462 | animile, is Muskeeter. And they like their meet raw. Misery Number is a beverige manufactured from the compound extract of chain litenin on the wing, and ile of vitril. It is then flavored with earysipelas and yeer itch, when it is ready to lay out it's man. I was on a visit to Jarsey, a short time ago, and if | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000042463 | ever a man was justified in cussin' the day he ever sot foot onto the classick red shores of New Jarsey, (which soil, by the way, is so greasy that all the red-headed New Jarsey gals use it for hair ile, while for greasin' a pancake griddle it can't be beat,) it was the undersined. The first nite I was | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000042464 | in that furrin climb, after hangin' my close over a chair, and droppin' my false teeth in a tumbler of water, I retired in a sober and morril condition. "Balmy sleep, sweet nater's hair restorer," which sentiment I cote from Mr. DICKENS, who, I understand from the Bosting clergy, is now sizzlin', haden't yet folded me in her embrace. Strains | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000042465 | of melody, surpassin' by severil lengths the melifflous discordant notes of the one-armed hand organist's most sublimerest seemfunny, sircharged the atmosfear. Ever and anon the red-hot breezes kissed the honest old man's innocent cheek, and slobbered grate capsules of odoriferous moisture, which ran in little silvery streams from his reclinin' form. Yes! verily, great pearls hung pendant from his nasal | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000042466 | protuberants. In other words, I hadent gone to sleep, but lay their sweatin' like an ice waggon, while the well-known battle song of famished Muskeeters fell onto my ear. The music seized; and a regiment of Jarsey Muskeeters, all armed to the teeth and wearin' cowhide butes, marched single-file into my open window. The Kernal, a gray-headed old war-worn vetenary, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000042467 | alited from his hoss, and tide the animal to the bed-post. The Commander then mounted ontop of the wash-stand, and helpin' hisself to a chaw of tobacker out of my box, which lay aside him, the old scoundrel commenced firin' his tobacker juice in my new white hat. "See here, Kernal," said I, somewhat riled at seein' him make a | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000042468 | spittoon of my best 'stove-pipe,' "if it's all the same to you, spose'n you eject your vile secretion out of the winder." "Cork up, old man," said the impudent raskle, "or ile spit on ye and drown you." All about the room the privates were sacreligously misusing my property. One red-headed old Muskeeter, who was so full of somebody's blood | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000042469 | he couldn't hardly waddle, was seated in the rockin'-chair, and with my specturcols on his nose, was readin' a copy of PUNCHINELLO, and laffin' as if heed bust. Another chap had got my jack-nife, and was amusin' hisself by slashin' holes in my bloo cotton umbreller, which two other Muskeeters had shoved up, and was a settin' under, engaged in | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000042470 | tyin' my panterloon legs into hard nots. Another scallawag had jammed my coat part way into my butes, and was pourin' water into 'em out from the wash-pitcher, and I am sorry to say it, evry darned Muskeeter was up to some mean trick, which would put to blush, even a member of the New Jarsey legislater. Suddenly the Kernal | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000042471 | hollered: "To arms!" And every Muskeeter fell into line about my bedside. "Charge bagonets!" said the Kernal. At which the hul lot went for me. Their pizened wepins entered my flesh. They charged onto my bald head. Rammed their bayonets into my arms--my back--my side--and there wasen't a place bigger'n a cent, which they diden't fill with pizen. There I | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000042472 | lay, groanin' for mercy. But Jersey Muskeeters, not dealin' in that article, don't know what it is. Like the new collecter MURFY, when choppin' off the heads of FENTON offis holders, mercy hain't their lay, about these times. At this juncture a company of draggoons clinchin' their pesky bills into me, dragged me off onto the floor. And then such | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000042473 | a horrible laff they would give, when I would strike for them and miss hittin'. There I lay on the floor, puffin' and blowin' like a steem ingine, while the hull army was dancin' a war dance around my prostrate figger, and the old Kernal was cuttin' down a double shuffle on the wash-stand, which made the crockery rattle. I | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000042474 | kicked at 'em as they would charge on my feet and l--limbs. I grabbed at 'em, as they charged on my face--arms--and shoulders. Slap! bang! kick! sware! I couldn't stand it much longer. As a big corpulent feller, who, I should judge, was gittin' readdy to jine a Fat mans club, went over me, I catched him by the heel. | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000042475 | I hung on to him with my best holt He dragged me all over the floor. My head struck the bedposts, and other furniture. other Muskeeters got straddle of me, and as if I was a hoss, spurred me up purty lively. All of a sudden the Muskeeter I was hangin' to give a yank, and drew out his foot, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000042476 | left his bute in my hand. Brandishin' the bute about my head, I cleared at lot of Muskeeters. Jumpin' to my feet I made things fly for a minuit, pilin' up the killed and wounded in a promiscous heap. Seein' the Kernal settin' up there enjoyin' the fun, I let fly the bute at him. Smash! went the lookin-glass. The | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000042477 | venerable commanding Muskeeter had dodged, and was settin' on the burow, with his thumb on his nose, wrigglin' his fingers at me in a very ongentlemanly manner. There I was again unarmed, dancin' about, swelled up like a base ball player on match day. "Blood IARGO!" was the cry. I tride to make a masked battery with a piller. It | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000042478 | was no protection again Jarsey Muskeeters. As RACHEL mourned for her step-mother, I sighed for me home. "Why, oh why," I cride, "did I leave old Skeensboro?" A widder wearin' a borrowed suit of mornin'--eleven children cryin' because the governor had been chawed up by Muskeeters crowded into my thoughts. The army was gettin' reddy to charge onto me agin, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000042479 | and avenge their fallen comrags. Suddenly a brite thought struck me. I ceased a sheet and waved it for a flag of truce. The order wasen't given. "Kernal," said I, "before we continue this fite, let's take a drink all around, and I'll stand treat." "Done," said he, "trot out your benzine." I opened the burow drawer, and took out | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000042480 | a black bottle. I pulled the cork and filled all the glasses, then poured a lot into the wash-bowl, when I handed the bottle to the Kernal. "Make ready! Take aim! Drink!" Down went the licker. I laffed a revengeful laff, as every condemned Muskeeter turned up their heels and cride: "Water--send my bones back to Chiny--mother dear, I'm comein', | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000042481 | , strong--we die--by the hand--of Jarsey--lite--" And Jarsey litenin', more powerful than the chassepo gun of France or the needle-gun of Prushy, had done its work, and the old man was saved to the world! It was days before any close would again fit me. I looked more like a big balloon than a human bein', I was swelled up | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000042482 | so with the pizen. My blessin's on the head of the individual who invented Jarsey litenin'. Nothin else would have saved the Lait Gustise's valuable life. Ever of thow, HIRAM GREEN, Esq., _Lait Gustise of the Peece._ * * * * * From our own Correspondent. Rumors of war from Europe must always be expected, for how can we get | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000042483 | Pacific news by Atlantic Telegraph? * * * * * [Illustration: "WHERE IGNORANCE IS BLISS," ETC, _First Small Bather_. "WOULDN'T OUR MAMS GIVE US FITS IF THEY CAUGHT US SWIMMIN'?" _Second Ditto_. "I'LL BET YER!" (_But neither of the happy little truants knows that a thief is running off with their clothes_.)] * * * * * REFORM IN JUVENILE | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000042484 | LITERATURE. Since the thrilling moment when GUTTENBURG made his celebrated discovery, numbers of persons have tried their hands--and undoubtedly their heads also--at Books for the Young. Hitherto, many of them have evinced a sad lack of judgment in respect of matter. Would you believe it, in this highly moral and virtuous age? they have actually written stories!--stories that were not | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000042485 | true! They haven't seemed to care a button whether they told the truth or not! Where can they have contracted the deadly heresy that imagination, feeling, and affection, are good things, deserving encouragement? Mark the effect of these pernicious teachings! Hundreds and thousands--nay, fellow mortal, _millions_ of children,--now walk the earth, believing in fairies, giants, ogres, and such-like unreal personages, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000042486 | and yet unable (we blush to say it!) to tell why the globe we live on is flattened at the poles! Is it not a serious question whether children who persistently ignore what is true and important, but cherish fondly these abominable fables, may not ultimately be lost? But, thanks to the recent growth of practical sense--or the decline of | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000042487 | the inventive faculty--in writers for the young, a better day is dawning, and there is still some hope for the world. Men of sense and morality are coming forward: they dedicate their minds to this service--those practical minds whence will be extracted the only true pabulum for the growing intellect. It is to minds of this stamp--so truly the antipodes | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000042488 | of all that is youthful, spontaneous, and child-like, (in a word: frivolous,) that we must look for those solid works which, in the Millennium that is coming, will perfectly supplant what may be termed, without levity, the "Cock and Bull" system of juvenile entertainment. Worldly people may consider this stuff graceful and touching, sweet and loveable; but it is nevertheless | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000042489 | clearly mischievous, else pious and proper persons wouldn't have said so, time and again. For our part, we may as well confess that our sympathies go out undividedly toward that important class who are averse to Nonsense,--more particularly _book_-nonsense,--which they can't stand, and won't stand, and there's an end of it. There is something exceedingly winning, to us, in that | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000042490 | sturdy sense, that thirst for mathematical precision, that impatience of theory, that positive and self-reliant--we don't mind saying, somewhat dogmatical--air, that sternness of feature, thinness of lip, and coldness of eye, which belong to the best examples. We respect even the humbler ones; for they at least hate sentiment, they do not comprehend or approve of humor, and they never | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000042491 | relish wit. What does a taste for these qualities indicate, but an idle and frivolous mind, devoted to trifles: and how fatal is such a taste, in the pursuit of wealth and respectability! Fantastic people have much to say of the "affections," the "graces and amenities of life," "soul-culture," and the like. We cannot too deeply deplore their fatuity, in | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000042492 | giving prominence to such abstractions. As for children, the most we can concede is, that they have a natural--though, of course, depraved--taste for stories: yes, we will say that this fondness is irrepressible. But, what we really must insist on, is, that in gratifying that fondness, you give them _true_ stories. Where is the carefully trained and upright soul that | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000042493 | would not reject "JACK, the Giant-killer," or "Goody Two-shoes," if it could substitute (say, from "New and True Stories for Children,") a tale as thrilling as this: "When I was a boy, I said to my uncle one day, 'How did you get your finger cut off?' and he said, 'I was chopping a stick one evening, and the hatchet | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000042494 | cut off my finger.'" Blessings, blessings on the man who thus embalmed this touching incident! Who does not see that the reign of fiction is over! That the parental portion of the public may judge what the future has in store for their little ones (who, we hope, will be men and women far sooner than their ancestors were,) we | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000042495 | present them with a fragrant nosegay (pshaw! we mean, a shovel-full) of samples, commending them, should they wish for more, to the nearest Sabbath-school library. Ah, it is a touching thing, to see some great philanthropist come forward, at the call of Duty and his Publisher (perhaps also quickened by the hollow sound emitted by his treasure-box), and compress himself | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000042496 | into the absurdly small compass of a few pages 18mo., in order to afford himself the exalted pleasure of holding simple and godly converse with children at large! "All truth--no fiction." What further guarantee would you have? How replete with useful matter must not a book with _that_ assurance be! Let us read: "The Indians cannot build a ship. They | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000042497 | do not Know how to get iron from the mines, _and they do not know enough._ "Besides, they do not like to work, and like to fight _better_ than to work. "When they want to sail, they burn off a log of wood, and make it hollow by burning and scraping it with sharp stones." Now we ask, does not | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000042498 | this satisfy your ideal of food for the youthful mind? Observe that it is simple, direct, graphic, satisfying. It cannot enfeeble the intellect. It will be useful. There is something tangible about it. The child at once perceives that if the Indians knew how to "get iron from the mines," and "knew enough" in general, they would build ships, in | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000042499 | spite of their distaste for work. There can be no doubt that this is "all truth--no fiction," for Indians are sadly in want of ships. They like to sail; for we learn that "when they want to sail" they are so wild for it, that they even go to the length of "burning off a log of wood, and making | 60 | gutenberg |
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