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About The Sunday Oregonian. (Portland, Ore.) 1881-current | View Entire Issue (Feb. 24, 1895)
THE StQDAY OK.EGKXXIAls-. PQBTT'A1I; PEBBTJAKX 24, 1895.
Phoebe, wandering in the wood.
Chanced to spy Dan Cupid sleeping;
Xong the curious maMen stood
Tiptoe through the branches peeping:
For the youngster's lips she yearned,
TIM, the branches parting slyly.
She, ta slake her thirst that burned.
Steeped and klsd the rogue's mouth shyly.
Hew the boy's eyes open wide.
And upon the maid he gazes.
Grasps an arrow at his side.
And bis silver bow upraises.
Swift the maiden turns to flee.
Swift the arrow follows after,
"Wounding In Its flight a tree:
Hark! how rings the maid's dear laughter.
Cuptd, with his sleep-dazzled eyes.
Stares a moment through the bushes
"Where the laughing maid still flies;
Then adown the wood he rushes.
JCow the shaft overtakes the quarry,
JJow it cleaves poor Phoebe's heart
MaMens, are you wake Love, tarry
First to flleh his every dart.
James B. Kenyon in the Century.
The jioDor of Boifs
'A Story of n. Terrible Temptation.
By Herbert D. "Ward.
"But mother. How ridiculous. I'm no
longer a little boy." Sidney straighten
ed himself up to his full height of 5 feet
I ml im
ilmm B M
I 11 M
'l HOPE that tit: hay see more of
B Inches, and looked at Tils mother "with
an Insulted air. "Besides, I've never been
in Boston in my life, and I want to go."
The boy pursed his lips out petulantly.
Mrs, Dorris looked at her only child
with a conflicting expression. Was it an
ger or embarrassment that made her sun
burnt face flush? She cast a quick, ap
pealing glance at her sister, which Sid
nep did not police. He had moodily stoop
led to pick up the little King Charles
spaniel, and was twisting its silken ear
on his finger.
"I will not send you to boarding-school,
Sidney." said his mother slowly and
sternly, "unless you promise me not to go
to Boston, except when I give you permis
sion. Besides, I think the rules of the
school do not allow you to .go."
"Now Aunt Lou, don't you think It Is
rough on a fellow who has never been out
of his own town? I'll bet you I'm the
only boy in the city who has never been
to Boston, and only 40 miles away. I'm
tired of it," Sidney turned pathetically
to hiB middle-aged aunt, who stood look
ing from one to the other. She alternate
ly wiped her eyes and her spectacles with
her brown gingham apron.
"Perhaps your mother will let you go
through Boston on your way to the
Mshool. But it will be more expensive
than changing at Lowell Junction." The
last clause was added as a sort of apol
ogy to the daring suggestion of the first.
Aunt Lou loved her nephew devotedly. All
the long week they lived together In a
little brick house on a side street In the
busy city ot Hills. For Mrs. Dorris and
the beautiful white spaniel took the first
train every Monday morning for Boston,
and there they stayed until the last train
on Saturday night. Mis. Dorris' husband
had died when Sidney was a baby, and
the 17-year-old lad could not remember the
time when his mother had not spent the
Blx days of the week in Boston, attending,
as he "supposed, to his father's business.
What that business was he never knew.
It had been long accepted in the house as
a subject which should never be men
tioned. "Sidney will change at Lowell Junction,
and be a good boy." said Mrs. Dorris af
ter a long pause. "I will see him that far
on the train myself, and then go on to the
city. He will find his own way from
there. He is old enough to look out for
himself, but not old enough to be disobedi
ent," she added t-lgnittcantly.
Sidnoy gave Ermine's tall a pull. The
dog's little yelp muffled his own sigh.
"All right." lie said philosophically.
"1MI be a man soon, and then I'll go
where I please."
"When you get through college,"
answered Mrs. Dorris, snapping her eyes,
"and earn enough to support yourself,
then yon an do as you please. My work
will be done then."
"At least, I can go into father's busi
ness and help you." Sidney looked up
at his mother lovingly. All opposition
to lier wish had faded from his face. The
little dog barked gleefully; but Aunt Lou
heW her hand on the table to steady her
self. Mrs. Dorris stared at her son as If she
had not understood his words. Then the
color abruptly left her sunburnt, parched
kln. She looked 20 years older in that
iitsiant. Sidney was frightened at the
"You shall never" Mrs.Dorris did not
"Mother!" cried Sidney. "You are 111.
But she straightened herself up from
her habitual stoop, pushed him aside, and
left the room and shut the door behind
her. Sidney stared after her aghast,
but made no effort to follow. A cordon
of new thoughts seemed to surround and
Sidney Dorris entered the senior class
of the great fitting-school with- no con
ditions. There were 70 more boys In the
same olass, yet Sidney felt as If he had
been cast upon a desert coast. Although
he had been used to associating with boys
nil his life, yet, as this was the first time
that he had ever been away from home by
as much as a single night, the feeling of
homesickness overpowered him. and It
seemed to him at that time impossible
even to form acquaintances and friends.
Because of his fearless expression Sid
ney was a boy's boy, and so It was most
natural that one of the richest fellows
In the olass, a. member of the most ex
clusive of the many secret societies in the
school, should approach him on the third
day. It Is a good thing- that in our Ameri
can schools there is no rank In school but
that of good-fellowship. So the recog
nition of Tom Devenant was enough to
give Sidney a social position for the rest
of his course.
"You've just come into cur class, and
I'm Devenant Tom, for short. I hope
that we may see much of each other."
He held out his hand cordially. It was
a fat hand, and exquisitely kept for a
schoolboy's. A gold snake ring with two
good-sized rubles for eyes glistened on
his finger. He wore a fine tennis suit,
and his very presence exhaled luxury.
Sidney had never been acquainted with a
boy of Tom's social position before, and
he was fascinated by that graclousness
and perfect form.
"Have a cigarette?" Tom took from
his pocket a silver cigarette-holder and
handed It over to his new classmate. Sid
ney hesitated, blushed, and then took, the
proffered narcotic. He had never smoked
in his life before; but It seemed to him
as If he should lose caste before the eyes
of his classmates if he refused. If a
poor boy had asked him to do the same
thing he would have said "Xo" quickly
"Where do you room?" asked Tom with
a kindly yet indefinable tone of conde
scention. "At the Millstone House,' 'answered
Sidney, gaily; then, noticing a smile of
superiority on his companion's face, he
hurried to say apologetically: "It was
the only room I could get, coming so
late. Where do you room?"
"At the Clubhouse, of course," point
ing to a large brick building on the top of
the hill the most aristocratic boarding-
house in town. "Do you play tennis?
I've got a private court up there, laid
it out myself. I'll furnish racquet and
balls and play you three sets, and bet
you sodas I'll win. Is it a go?"
"All right." Sidney's eyes sparkled. He
loved tennis above all sports, and was
a fine player, having taken the High
school championship. "I'll run home and
put on my things. I've got a raquet,
thank you, I don't care if I do," he said,
dropping into the easy, schoolboy's slang
as he accepted another cigarette with a
matter-of-course air. He played and won,
and Tom and he became fast friends. I
do not mean fast in the literal sense.
Tom Devenant was too well brought up
to be dissipated, and Sidney could not
But "Tom was lax in regard to school
rules, and felt himself superior to them.
He introduced Sidney into his own set,
and before Sidney knew It he was swag
gering down the street to the postofflce,
playing tennis and whist, and chumming
with boys who could afford to spend in
one month "what he could spend In a year.
Nevertheless he did not allow his studious
habits to wear off. He made a mark in
the classroom. Besides, he took his rank
as a possible tennis champion. This gave
him quick prestige in his class; and, at
last, he was elected into the Beetle So
ciety, of which Tom Devenant was the
patriarch, and whose badge of member
ship consisted of an ivory beetle which
was exhibited between members on vari
ous occasions in mysterious ways.
"Look here, Sid," said Tom one No
vember morning after Greek composition,
"all of us, you know," (In a guttural whis
per, exhibiting his ivory beetle after cast
ing oblique glances In ever direction),
"are going to Boston on the 12:42. We're
going to catch the train on the siding.
The engineer always slows down for a
good cigar. Crumpy " (referring to the
principal) "won't be onto that. Hey?
What's the matter? '
Sidney stammered and colored. His
mother's strict command Inundated his
mind. He had clean forgotten all about
It. Then the vision of his rich, smiling,
careless classmate drove his mother out.
And then the foolishness of her request,
and of the promise that he had made to
her overcome him. But still the best in
him asserted itself for a moment.
"I don't think I ought to go; I can't
"Now, Sid, look here: don't be a Gilly."
That was the worst reproach a boy could
fling at another in that day. No diction
ary has been able to define the meaning
of the term as used by the schoolboys in
this satiric sense.
"But I can't afford you know," stam
mered the poor boy.
"Bah! Nonsense! This is my treat. As
a member you have got to come."
And Sid went.
A few hours later a group of seven boys
emerged from an ice cream saloon upon
Tremont street. They crossed over to the
seemed to catch, and then jump ahead.
The effect on the asthmatic music was
ludicrous enough to draw pennies from a
bootblack. The grinder's head and shoul
ders were enveloped in two shawls; her
eyes kept watch upon the little tlncup
whose bottom was already hidden by the
pennies that the thoughtless boys had
One hand purple at the knuckles,
weatherbeaten and thin, ground out the
hoarse tones, while the other fondled a
beautiful, white, King Charles spaniel.
"Can he bark? I'll give a cent to hear
him bark," cried Tom with a jingle of his
right hand. "Here Sid give your su
perfluous cents to the poor not that he
has any sense to give," he added with a
vigorous attempt to be funny. The boys
all laughed loudly. Before he knew it,
Sidney found himself thrust almost at the
beggar. He had to put his hands on the
railing above her to keep from falling
against her. He laughed joyously with
the rest and said: "Oh, let up, fellows,
can't you?" Then he looked down, and
the color died from his race, as the cloud
hides the sun.
He beheld Ermine, his own little dog,
to whom he had sent messages of love in
every letter home, In the arm of that
woman below him. His first Impulse was
to snatch the dog away from the thief and
comfort it at hi3 breast; for in that In
stantaneous view, he had recognized his
spaniel's delicately tinged ears, and tne
collar that he had himself put around its
neck. He had not looked at the woman
as yet. But as he did so, a chill struck
his heart. The parched hand that turned
the worn crank had a ring upon It that he
remembered too well. Oh, the familiar
stoop to those shoulders! The outline of
her head suffocated him. In that in
stant's shock the command of his mother
flashed before his mind, and now he knew
too well what that order meant.
"Shell out, Sid!" The inexorable Tom
gave him another shove.
"I c-can't," stammered the unhappy
lad. He stood trembling in every limb, the
picture of horror and confusion.
"Can't? You've got to give to the poor.
Haven't you read your Bible? We've all
done our duty. Come Shell out! Why!
What's the matter, Sid? Are you sick?
By Jove, I believe he has recognized the
Duchess of Yorlc"
With another loud laugh the boys turned
from the beggar upon Sidney, who stood
before them trembling plteously. He was
staring at his mother with jaw dropped,
with ashen face as if he had seen the
dead. Ermine had been looking on as
small dogs are apt to do, with quick intel
ligence. He had recognized his young
master, and with one wiggle had leaped
out of Mrs. Dorris's arms and was jump
ing up Sidney's legs, barking at the top
of his lungs. Sidney's classmates stared
at him in amazement. What did this
"Give it to us, Sid?" asked one of the
fellows with a rough sneer, "Who Is she?
Out with the mystery of the beggar dog."
In that moment Sidney saw his position
in the great school ruined beyond re
trieve. No more cigarettes from Tom.
No more Beetle society. No more tennis.
No more anything. Who would speak to
the beggar's son? His soul, which had
undergone a gradual descent since he had
left home, had not touched Its spiritual
depth as yet. He gave Ermine a brutal
kick and took from his pocket a few cop-
"pers and threw them Into the cup with a
"How the Dickens do I know?" He
said this with an oath. It was his first.
"Come on, won't you?" Even now he
might escape, although the boys were
only half satisfied; but the spaniel fol
lowed faithfully. He was confused and
stunned by his rough reception. The beg
gar woman made no effort to hold the dog
back. She did not raise her eyes. She did
not speak. She ground out "The Last
Rose of Summer" as If her son had not de
"Here, Sid, here's your dog following,"
cried his schoolmates mockingly, "He
seems to know you."
But to Sidney the whole world had been
blotted out, and everything swam before
his eyes. He dared not turn, but stag
gered on a few steps like a drunken man.
His mother a beggar-woman! His heart
was shriveled up within him. Then he
saw the dog beside him, and turned.
"Go back!" he shouted with a mad
dened, guttural voice.
The beautiful dog stopped abashed and
turned in piteous doubt toward Its mis
tress. At that moment the stolid figure,
which had not moved from Its granite po
sition when the lad denied his mother,
now lifted up Its head and looked at him
for the first time when he repudiated the
dog, and oh, what shame and disappoint
ment and pride were in that glance.
The perforated slip changed, and her
right hand now mechanically ground out
the latest popular melody, "Oh Promise
Me Oh, Promise Me!" Sidney had often
sung this In chorus with the boys at
school. The sound of the tune and its
meaning brought his heart back to his
his lips were pale and quivering. He
gasped as If a jjlass of cold water had
been suddenly dashed in his face. To his
narrow vision life and all Its possibilities
seemed extinguished by this terrible dis
covery. But he faced his fate like a hero.
His classmates stood in a jeering crowd
around him. A few others had gathered
there too. And the organ droned the
"How my heart grows weary, far from
de old folks at home."
"I must beg you to leave us alone."
Sidney looked his classmates straight In
the eyes, and spoke with his grandest
air. "That lady is my mother."
The tension was too great for the sensi
tive lad. He swayed and swooned.
Tom caught him, and the boys, so easily
turned from sarcasm to pity by the in
stinct of youth, now seemed to understand
their classmate's anguish, and tried to
minister to him.
"He never knew I did this." said Mrs.
Dorris In a low tone to Tom as they both
tried to revive her son. "I told him not
to come to Boston. I took to it when my
husband died, IB years ago, because
there's so much money in it, I've been
an honest woman and worked hard God
knows for my boy. I wanted to give him
a good education" Here she sobbed.
"Ah, young sir, he's the same boy that
he was before he saw me. Don't blame
Sidney. Don't give him up! I'll give it
up!" Tom's mouth twitched as he list
ened. Just as Sid opened his eyes his own
soft hand stole around the knotted
knuckles of the organ woman, and he
gave them a warm pressure.
"You may trust me," he said. Til be
his friend." Then he looked seriously at
the mother "and son with the experienced
air of a man of the world. "I think you
had better give it up "now, for his sake,"
he whispered as he helped Sidney to his
The street-player nodded silently. When
Sidney had struggled to his feet, and be
gan to look for her in a dazed way, his
mother had disappeared in- the crowd.
That "night there was a meeting of the
celebrated Beetle Society. The members
present were as solemn4as an easterly fogf
Sidney alone was not there.
"It isn't his faulty said the Patriarchy
"What's the use of belonging to a society
unless you stick to veach other? It isn't
to go back on one another. Gentlemen
don't do that," He stopped and looked
"Now, the funny thing about that hog
kllllng business." continued Mr. Rabbit,
leaning back in his chair and smacking- his
lips together, as old people will do some
times, "was that after the hogs were
killed Mr. Man had to get their hair off.
I don't know how people do now, but that
was what Mr. Man did then. He had to
get the hair off but how? Well, he piled
up wood, and In between the logs he
placed rocks and stones. Then he dug a
hole in the ground and half buried a hogs
head, the open end tilted up a little higher
than the other end. This hogshead he
filled with as much water as it would hold
in that position. Then he set fire to the
pile of wood. As it burned, of course the
rocks would become heated. These Mr.
Man would take in a shovel and throw in
the hogshead of water. The hot rocks
would heat the water and In this way the
hogs were scalded so the hair on their
hides could be scraped off,
"Well, the day I'm telling you about,
Mr. Man had been killing hogs and scald
ing the hair off. When I got there the
pile of wood had burned away, and Mr.
Man had just taken his hogs home In his
wagon. The weather was very cold, and
as I stood there warming myself, I heard
Brother Lion roaring a little way off. He
had scented the fresh meat, and I knew
he would head right for the place where
the hogs had been killed.
"Now Brother Lion had been worrying
me a good deal. He had hired Brother
Wolf to capture me, and Brother Wolf
had failed. Then he hired Brother Bear,
and Brother Bear got Into deep trouble.
Finally he hired Brother Fox, and I knew
the day wasn't far oft when Mrs. Fox
would have to hang crape on her door and
go in mourning. All this had happened
some time before, and I bore Brother Lion
no good will.
"So "when I heard him in the ' woods
singing out that he smelled fresh blood,
I grabbed the shovel the man had left
and threw a dozen or so hot rocks in the
hogshead, and then threw some fresh dirt
on the fire. Presently Brother Lion came
trotting up, sniffing the air, and pursing
like a spinning wheel a-runnlng, and
dribbling at the mouth.
"I passed the time of day with him as
he came up, but I kept further away from
htm than he could jump. He seemed
very much surprised to see me, and said
It was pretty bad weather for such little
chaps to be out; but I told him I had on
pretty thick underwear, and besides that
ARTESrS WARD, THE GREAT
Career of a Man "Who Made an. Inter
actional Reputation and Died
AVue Only 32.
(Copyright. 1SSJ, by S. S. McClure, Limited)
"Artenius Ward," the genial showman,
was not a mere Yankee humorist. His
genius was thoroughly cosmopolitan, and he
himself a "rolling stone." But though
everywhere a stranger, he was everywhere
at home. In his native place, Waterford,
Me., he received a common school educa
tion, and, being early thrown upon his
own resources, he at the age of 14 entered
the Clarion printing office at Skowhegan
to earn his livelihood.
Having learned to set type fairly well
BROTHER LIOX LV HOGSHEAD.
wjr I 1 1
F B v - -r, T vV
Jw ' . . r.. -nT ft r-
Xf - J
U0 ' . tehc.
n6 w vr7 .: i.
R- iH-;k 4 Ji ,i i 1
1 1L - 1 j' v r - - y "
If iH1 I 1wSi
"THIS LADY IS JIY MOTHER."
Common. They were In high spirits, and
policemen and citizens smiled upon them
"Have you ever been on top of the
state house?" asked Tom, pointing at the
Being the most self-conscious one in the
crowd, Sidney thought the question was
meant for him. "I never thought much
about it." he answered quickly. "Are you
"Of course," answered Tom, with a su
"Let's go," said another. And the seven
boys, so easily wafted by a breath, turned
to the right, and walked up the hill.
Sidney was ahead with Tom. After they
crossed Beacon street, Sidney lagged be
hind In order to steal a glance down the
famous highway that represented the cul
ture and wealth of the great common
wealth. In the meantime the boys had
stopped at the iron gate that leads to the
stone steps and the capltol. They were
laughing and chaffing, iingllng pennies,
surrounding an old weman.
"Here, Sid; hurry up! You've got to
chip In. Can't let you .off, old man."
It was one of those hurdy-gurdy play
ers, whom the boys had stopped to tease
with generous and careless nonchalence.
She was bent, and evidently old. She wss
sitting on the sidewalk huddled up against
the gate, droning her lugubrious Instru
ment slowly and pathetically. The strains
mother. Oh, her sorrowful face! Of
what value to him was his position In
school? What was the petty opinion of his
new mates? Here was his mother. With
a bound he was by her side, and he bent
and put his strong arms around her as
if to protect her from any further insult
from his classmates. For five terrible
minutes he had denied her. But now, he
saw things in a new light. His mother,
no matter what she did, was more than
Tom. Home was more than school. In
that Instant all that was noble in the lad
leaped up like a spring when a weight is
removed from It.
And Mrs. Dorris? The habit of years,
even in this supreme moment was strong
with the street-player. Her hand kept
turning the hurdy-gurdy. The roll had
changed to "The Old Folks at Home"
"All de world am sad and dreary,
Eb'ry where I roam;
Oh darkles, how my heart grows weary.
Far from de old folks at home."
droned out the grotesque instrument;
but the tears were now streaming down
the withered face of the head bowed In
"Well. Sid, who is your friend anyhow?
She's a daisy." Tom Devenant spoke
with his pertest air of sarcasm.
Sidney raised himself to his height. His
hand rested lovingly on his mother's
shoulder. His poor chin trembled, and I KilUng-hogs.
from one to another appealingly. "Do
"I move you," said a member address
ing Tom, "that any man who gives Sid
away in this school or even after, and
who doesn't stand up for him like a broth
er is a a gilly, and shall be eternally dis
graced, and and " J
"That's enough," .said Tom, with swim
ming eyes. "All-in favor, hands up.
Contrary minded-.'. It is a unanimous
vote. The meetingis adjourned. Let's all
go and, see Sid." 'r
And to theTionoreJvthe boys and of the
school, the vote waY scrupulously carried
out. l f,
LITTLE MR. TH1MBLEFINGER
The Children' SA-ond Visit By Joel
(Copyright, 1SS3, by Joel Chandler Harris.)
CHAPTER XIII-HOW BROTHER LION
LOST HIS WOOL.
Mr. Rabbit shaded his eyes with his
hand and pretended to believe that there
might be a wooden horse trying to catch
Tlckle-My-Toes after all. But Mrs. Mead
ows said that there was no danger of
anything like that. She explained that
Tlckle-My-Toes was running away be
cause he didn't want to hear what was
said about his story.
"I think he's right," remarked Mr. Rab
bit. "It was the queerest tale I ever
heard in all my life. You might sit and
listen to tales from now until well until
the first Tuesday before the last Satur
day In. the year 700,777, and you'd never
hear another tale like it."
"1 don't 6ee why," suggested Mrs.
Meadows. , i
"Well," replied Mr;1 Rabbit, chewing h!s
tobacco very slowly,' "there are more rea
sons than I have hairs In my head, but I
will only give you three. In the first place,
this Sparkle Spry doesn't marry the king's
daughter. In the second place, he doesn't
live happily forever after. And in the
third' place" Mr. Rabbit paused and
scratched his head "I declare, I've for
gotten the third reason."
"If it's no better than the other two, it
doesn't amount to much," said Mrs. Mead
ows. "There's no reason why he shouldn't
have married the king's daughter If the
king had a daughter, and If he didn't live
happily It was his own fault. Stories are
not expected to tell everything."
"Now, I'm glad of that," exclaimed Mr.
Rabbit. "Truly glad. I've had a story on
my mind for many years, and I've kept
it to myself because I had an idea that in
telling a story you had to tell every
thing." "Well, you were very much mistaken,"
said Mrs. Meadows, with emphasis.
"So it seems so it seems," remarked
"What was the story?" asked Buster
"I called it a story," replied Mr. Rabbit,
"but that Is too big a name for it. I reckon
vou have heard of the time when Brother
Lion had hair all over him as long and as
thick as the mane he has now?"
But the children shook their heads. They
had never heard of that, and even Mrs.
Meadows said It was news to her.
"Now, that Is very queer," remarked
Mr. Rabbit, filling his pipe slowly and de
liberately. "Very queer indeed. Time
and again I've had It on the tip of my
tongue to mention that matter, but I al
ways came to the conclusion that every
body knew all about It. Of course, it
doesn't seem reasonable that Brother Lion
went about covered from head to foot, and
to the tip of his tail with long, woolly hair,
but, on the other hand, when he was first
seen without his long woolly hair, he was
the laughing stock of the whole district.
I know mighty well he was the most mis-erable-lookimr
creature I ever saw.
"It was curious, too, how It happened,"
Mr. Rabbit continued. "We were all liv
ing In a much colder climate than that in
the country next door. Six months in the
year there was ice in the rivers and snow
on the ground, and them that didn't lay
up something to eat when the weather
was open had a pretty tough time of It
the rest of the year. Brother Lion's long
woolly hair belonged to that climate. But
for that he would have frozen to aeatn,
for he was a great hunter, and he had to
be out in all sorts of weather.
"One season we had a tremendous spell
of cold weather, the coldest I had ever
felt. I happened to be out one day. brows
ing around, wnen I saw blue smoke rising
a little distance off. so I says to myself,
says I. I'll go within smelling distance of
the fire and thaw myself out. So I went
toward the smoke, and I soon saw that
Mr. Man, who lived cot far off, had been
I had just taken a hot bath In the hogs
head. " 'I'm both cold and dirty, says he,
smelling around the hogshead, 'and I
need a bath. I've been asleep in the
woods yonder, and I'm right stiff with
cold. But that water is bubbling around
in there mightily.'
" 'I've just flung some rocks in," says J.
" 'How do you get in?' says he.
" 'Back in, says I.
"Brother Lion walked .around the hogs-
head once "or twice,.asjlfto satisfy him-
self that there" was no trap, and then
squatted and began to crawl into the
hogshead "backward. By the time his hind
leg touched the water he pulled it out
with a howl, and tried to jump away,
but .somehow his foot slipped off the
rim of the hopshead and he souzed into
the water kerchug! up to his shoul
ders." Mr. Rabbit paused, shut his eyes, and
chuckled to himself.
"Well, you never heard such howling
since you were born. Brother Lion scram
bled out quicker than a cat can wink
her left eye, and rolled on the ground,
and scratched around, and tore up the
earth considerably. I thought at first he
was putting on and pretending, but the
water must have been mighty hot, for
while Brother Lion was scuffling about
all the wool on his body came off up
to his shoulders, and if you were to see
him today you would find him just that
"And more than that before he souzed
himself in that hogshead of hot water,
Brother Lion used to strut around con
siderably. Being the king of all the ani
mals, he felt very proud, and he used to
go with his tail curled over his back.
But since that time, he sneaks around as
if he was afraid somebody would see
"There's another thing. His hide hurt
him so bad for a week that every time
a fly lit on him he'd wiggle his tail. Some
of the other animals, seeing him do this,
thought it was a new fashion, and so
they began to wiggle their tails. Watch
your old house cat when you go home,
and you'll see her wiggle her tail 40 time3
a day, without any reason or provocation.
Why? Simply because the other animals,
when they saw Brother Lion wiggling his,
tail, thought it was the fashion, and so
they all began It, and now It has become
a habit with the most of them. It is
curious how such things go.
"But the queerest thing of all," con
tinued Mr. Rabbit, leaning back in his
chair, and looking at Mrs. Meadows and
the children through half-closed eyes,
"was this that the only wool left on
Brother Lion's body, with the exception
of his mane, was a little tuft right on
the end of his tail."
"How was that?" inquired Mrs. Mead
ows. Mr. Rabbit laughed heartily, but made
"I don't see anything to laugh at,"
said Mrs. Meadows, with some emphasis.
"A civil question deserves a civil an
swer, I've always heard."
"Well, you know what you said awhile
ago," remarked Mr. Rabbit.
"I don't know as I remember," re
plied Mrs. Meadows.
"Why, you said pointedly that it was
not necessary to tell everything in ' a
story-" Mr. Rabbit made this remark
with great dignity. "And I judged by the
way you 3aid. it that it was bad taste
to tell everything."
"Oh, I remember now," safd Mrs. Mead
ows, laughing. "It was only one of my
"But this Is no joke," protested Mr.
Rabbit, winking at the children, but keep
ing the serious side of his face toward
Mrs. Meadows. I took you at your sol
emn word. Now, here is a tuft of wool
on Brother Lion's tail, and you asked
me how It happened to be there. I an
swer you as you answered me 'You don't
have to tell everything in a story." Am
I right or am I wrong?"
"I'll not dispute with you," remarked
Mrs. Meadows, taking up her knitting.
"I don't mind telling you," remarked
Mr. Rabbit, turning to the children with
a confidential air. "It was simple as
falling off a log. When Brother Lion fell
into the hogshead of hot water, the end
of his tail slipped through the bung
hole." This explanation was such an unexpect
ed one that the children laughed, and so
did Mrs. Meadows. But Mr. Thimble
finger, who put in an appearance, shook
his head and remarked that he was afraid
that Mr. Rabbit got worse as he grew
older, instead of better.
.To be continued.)
his restless spirit soon set him in motion,
and he roamed from one country printing
office to another till he was 16. when he
found himself stranded in Boston. Hew
ever, having already made himself a first
class typesetter, he had no difficulty In se
curing employment in the office of the
Carpet Bag. a comic journal conducted by
Shlllaber, the famous "Mrs. Partington,"
who was then very busy In keeping back
the waters of the Atlantic ocean. Here
"Artemus Ward," born Charles Farrar
Browne, was in his element, and soon he
began to try his wings in the congenial
Carpet Bag, to the great delight of "Mrs.
Partington" and the remarkable boy "Ike,"
who wondered much what rare bird had
strayed Into their nest.
But in vain they wondered, for Artemus
carefully concealed himself, and hearing
Horace Greeley's "Go West, young man,"
he before long took flight again, not alight
ing until he had reached Toledo, Ohio.
Here he remained but a short time, when
he removed to Cleveland, where he took
quarters in the composing-room of the
Plain-Dealer, an able, widely circulated
journal, and a great power in that portion
Here "Artemus Ward" was born and
grew to maturity under the fostering care
of this influential newspaper. At first
he was employed at type-setting, writing
only short things to fill up some vacant
column of the journal. But these short
things attracting the attention of the editor-in-chief,
he was promoted to the ed
itorial staff, where he soon opened the
menagerie of "Artemus Ward, Showman,"
Into which he introduced from time to
time "three moral Bares, a Kangaroo (a
amoosing little Raskal 'twould make you
larf yerself to deth to see the little cuss
jump up and squeal); wax figgers of G.
Washington, General Taylor, John Bun
yan. Captain Kidd and Dr. Webster In
the act of killing Dr. Parkman; besides
several miscellanyus wax statoos of cel
ebrated 4 pirates pd murderers etc.,
'ekalled tiy "few"' and excelled byTone:"'r
The menagerie took Cleveland by storm,
and scarcely a day passed without some
country reader of the Plain Dealer apply
ing to its counting-room for a sight of
the Kangaroo, the moral "Bares" and
the wonderful wax "figgers."
Being in Cleveland in 1K51 1 made the ac
quaintance of one of the editors of that
journal, who had been the associate and
friend of "A. Ward" at this period. He
described to me his appearance when he
first came to the Plain Dealer office. He
was, he said, long and lank, with flowing
hair, loosely fitting coat, and trousers too
short in the legs and bagging at the
knees. His humor was irrepressible, al
ways bubbling over, and he kept all about
him in a constant state of merriment.
He could sea only the ludicrous side of
a subject was a wag, and In that line a
He soon took on more becoming rai
ment, and wherever he went he became
a universal favorite. Soon after his pro
motion to the editorial staff he was called
upon at a "Ben" Franklin festival to re
spond to a toast to the press. He rose to
his feet, hung his head for a few mo
ments in silence, and then sat down, hav
ing said nothing. In his own account of
the festival in the next day's Plaindealer
his speech was reported by a blank space
of nearly half a column.
He made a fortnight's visit every year
to his mother, in Maine, and when about
to go off on one of these vacations he em
ployed the gentleman to whom I have re
ferred to perform his duties in his ab
sence. After carefully instructing him as
to his work, he drew from, his pocket a
piece of tow string about a foot and a
half long, saying that was the amount of
copy he would be expected to furnish per
day, and he left it on his desk as a re
minder of the quantity.
"A. Ward's" absurd descriptions of his
imaginary menagerie, his keen witticisms,
shrewd sayings and irresistible plays of
humor, secured him a wide reputation,
and after several years connection with
the Plaindealer, he was invited to remove
to New York city and become a regular
contributor to Vanity Fair, a short-lived
but exceeding brilliant comic journal, then
edited by that accomplished scholar and
thorough gentleman, Charles Godfrey Lc
land (Hans Breitmann).
This gave Artemus vard a more ex
tended audience, and a national reputa
tion. His sayings were soon in the mouths
of every Northern man, and they did very
much to sustain a sentiment of loyalty
to the L'nion. His satire was keen, but
very genial, and beneath it all was a
stratum of shrewd American common
sense that appealed alike to political
friends and enimies. I know of nothing
that so well depicts the troublous times
of the early years of the civil war as his
sketches in Vanity Fair. As mere pic
tures of the war period they have a per
manent historical value. Nowhere else are
so clearly shown the confused and jarring
notions of the average American on the
great emancipation problem, or such a
portrait as that of the gushing patriot
who sent all his own and wife's rela
tions to the front, but stayed at home
These sketches written at the darkest
period of the the war, vividly express the
nation's trials and perplexities, and no one
can read them now without being struck
with the strong hold they took upon the
people, as It Is evidenced by the great
number of hl3 witty sayings and happy
turns of thought that have become a part
of the language of the country. Some of
his single words became at once a part
of the national vocabulary.
When Charles G. Leland, resigned to
take the literary editorship of the Conti
nental Monthly, "A. Ward" succeeded him
as editor of Vanity Fair, and soon he be
gan his remarkably successful career as
a lecturer. In this capacity he visited
Utah and California, and returning to
New York in 1SG3 he produced a series of
lectures on Mormonism, which took the
public by storm, and even now are a de
light to those who read his book on Brig
ham Young and his people. In the spring
I of 1505 be went to London, Intending to at
once begin a lectur'n? tour of Great
Britain, but falling health unfitted him for
the work until June of that year. His lec
tures were as great a success in England
as they had been In this country, and his.
contributions to the Lcndon Punch, whichi
began at the same time took rank with
those of the most famous humorists of
our time, who have one and all written
for that noted journal. Few things In hu
morous literature ar better than his re
flections "At the Tomb of Shakspere,"
which was his first cortrlbutlon to Punch.
"I told my wife Betsey," he says, "when
I left home I would go to the birthplace
of the orther of 'Otheller' and other plays.
She said that as long as I kept out of
Newgate she aldn't care where I went.
'But,' I said, 'don't you know he was the
greatest polt that ever lived? Not one of
these common polts, l'ke that young ldylt
who writes verses to our daughter abowt
the roses as growses and the breezes a3
blowses but a Boss Poit. also a philoso
pher, also a man who knew a great deal
"She was packing my things at the
time, and the only answer she made was
to ask me If I was a-gcln to carry both ot
my red flannel nightcaps.
"Yes, I've besn to Stratford on the Avon,
the birthplace of Shakspere. Mr. S. is
now no more. He's been dead over three
hundred (300) years. The people of his
native town are justly proud of him. They
cherish his mem'ry, and them as sell pic
tures of his birthplace, etc, make it
proftlble cherlsbln it. Almost everybody
puys a pictur to put in their Albiom.
"As I stood gazing on the spot where
Shakspere Is supposed to have fell down
on the Ice and hurt hisself when a boy
(this spot cannot be bought the town au
thorities say It shall never be taken from
Stratford). I wondered If 500 years hence
picture of my birthplace will be in de
mand? Will the people of my native town
be proud of me in 300 years? I guess they
won't short of that time, because they say
the fat man weighing 1000 pounds which I
exhibited there was stuffed out with pil
lers and cushions, which he said one very
hot day in July: 'Oh, bother; I can't stand
this,' and commenced pullin the pillers
out from under his weskit. and heavin
'em at the audience. I never saw a man
lose flesh so fast in my life. The audience
said I "was a pretty man to come chiselln
my own townspeople. I said, Do not be
angry, feller citizens. I exhibited him sim
ply as the work, of art. I simply wished
to show you that a man could grow fat
without the aid of cod liver oil. But
they wouldn't listen to nie. They are a
low and grovelit set of people, who excite
a feelln of loathing in every breast where
lorfty emotions and original Idees have a
But Mr. Browne's sojourn In England
was cut short by his continued ill health.
It rapidly declined, and he set out to re
turn to this country, but death overtook
him before he could get upon shipboard,
and he breathed his last at Southampton,
England, on the 6th of March, 1867, at the
early age of S2. By his will, after provid-
insr for his mother and for a young mar
he had undertaken to educate, he left all
his property to found an orphan asylum
for printers and their orphan children.
His affection for his widowed mother was
peculiarly beautiful. She survived him
several years, and whenever she spoke of
him after his death, it was his long and
faithful love of her that she dwelt upon,
and not upon the brilliant qualities that
had made him world-famous. They now
lie together, side by side, in the grass
grown cemetery at South Waterford, Me.,
with a simple monument over their heads,
on which is the single word "Browne."
This is all that now marks the last resting-place
of the greatest of American hu
morists. In his short life he created one
of the most original and amusing charac
ters in all literature. Those who knew him
well are of opinion that had he lived his
fame would have rivaled that of Rabelais
or Cervantes. JAMES GILMORE.
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