a little, but I saw that I had brought the whole train together once more
by my delay, and that they were all anxious to drink too-and would have
been long ago if the Arab had not pretended that he was out of water.
So I hastened to pass the vessel to Davis. He took a mouthful, and never
said a word, but climbed off his horse and lay down calmly in the road.
I felt sorry for Davis. It was too late now, though, and Dan was
drinking. Dan got down too, and hunted for a soft place. I thought I
heard Dan say, "That Arab's friends ought to keep him in alcohol or else
take him out and bury him somewhere." All the boys took a drink and
climbed down. It is not well to go into further particulars. Let us
draw the curtain upon this act.
..............................
Well, now, to think that after three changing years I should hear from
that curious old relic again, and see Dan advertising it for sale for the
benefit of a benevolent object. Dan is not treating that present right.
I gave that pipe to him for a keepsake. However, he probably finds that
it keeps away custom and interferes with business. It is the most
convincing inanimate object in all this part of the world, perhaps. Dan
and I were roommates in all that long "Quaker City" voyage, and whenever
I desired to have a little season of privacy I used to fire up on that
pipe and persuade Dan to go out; and he seldom waited to change his
clothes, either. In about a quarter, or from that to three-quarters of a
minute, be would be propping up the smoke-stack on the upper deck and
cursing. I wonder how the faithful old relic is going to sell?
A REMINISCENCE OF THE BACK SETTLEMENTS
Now that corpse [said the undertaker, patting the folded hands of the
deceased approvingly was a brick-every way you took him he was a brick.
He was so real accommodating, and so modest-like and simple in his last
moments. Friends wanted metallic burial case--nothing else would do.
I couldn't get it. There warn't going to be time anybody could see that.
Corpse said never mind, shake him up some kind of a box he could stretch
out in comfortable, he warn't particular 'bout the general style of it.
Said he went more on room than style, any way, in the last final
container. Friends wanted a silver door-plate on the coffin, signifying
who he was and wher, he was from. Now you know a fellow couldn't roust
out such a gaily thing as that in a little country town like this. What
did corpse say? Corpse said, whitewash his old canoe and dob his address
and general destination onto it with a blacking brush and a stencil
plate, long with a verse from some likely hymn or other, and pint him for
the tomb, and mark him C. O. D., and just let him skip along. He warn't
distressed any more than you be--on the contrary just as carm and
collected as a hearse-horse; said he judged that wher' he was going to,
a body would find it considerable better to attract attention by a
picturesque moral character than a natty burial case with a swell
doorplate on it. Splendid man, he was. I'd druther do for a corpse like
that 'n any I've tackled in seven year. There's some satisfaction in
buryin' a man like that. You feel that what you're doing is appreciated.
Lord bless you, so's he got planted before he sp'iled, he was perfectly
satisfied; said his relations meant well, perfectly well, but all them
preparations was bound to delay the thing more or less, and he didn't
wish to be kept layin' round. You never see such a clear head as what he
had--and so carm and so cool. Just a hunk of brains that is what he was.
Perfectly awful. It was a ripping distance from one end of that man's
head to t'other. Often and over again he's had brain fever a-raging in
one place, and the rest of the pile didn't know anything about it--didn't
affect it any more than an Injun insurrection in Arizona affects the
Atlantic States. Well, the relations they wanted a big funeral, but
corpse said he was down on flummery--didn't want any procession--fill the
hearse full of mourners, and get out a stern line and tow him behind.
He was the most down on style of any remains I ever struck. A beautiful,
simple-minded creature--it was what he was, you can depend on that. He
was just set on having things the way he wanted them, and he took a solid
comfort in laying his little plans. He had me measure him and take a
whole raft of directions; then he had a minister stand up behind a long
box with a tablecloth over it and read his funeral sermon, saying
'Angcore, angcore!' at the good places, and making him scratch out every
bit of brag about him, and all the hifalutin; and then he made them trot
out the choir so's he could help them pick out the tunes for the
occasion, and he got them to sing 'Pop Goes the Weasel,' because he'd
always liked that tune when he was downhearted, and solemn music made him
sad; and when they sung that with tears in their eyes (because they all
loved him), and his relations grieving around, he just laid there as
happy as a bug, and trying to beat time and showing all over how much he
enjoyed it; and presently he got worked up and excited; and tried to join
in, for mind you he was pretty proud of his abilities in the singing
line; but the first time he opened his mouth and was just going to spread
himself, his breath took a walk. I never see a man snuffed out so
sudden. Ah, it was a great loss--it was a powerful loss to this poor
little one-horse town. Well, well, well, I hain't got time to be
palavering along here--got to nail on the lid and mosey along with' him;
and if you'll just give me a lift we'll skeet him into the hearse and
meander along. Relations bound to have it so--don't pay no attention to
dying injunctions, minute a corpse's gone; but if I had my way, if I
didn't respect his last wishes and tow him behind the hearse, I'll be
cuss'd. I consider that whatever a corpse wants done for his comfort is
a little enough matter, and a man hain't got no right to deceive him or
take advantage of him--and whatever a corpse trusts me to do I'm a-going
to do, you know, even if it's to stuff him and paint him yaller and keep
him for a keepsake--you hear me!"
He cracked his whip and went lumbering away with his ancient ruin of a
hearse, and I continued my walk with a valuable lesson learned--that a
healthy and wholesome cheerfulness is not necessarily impossible to any
occupation. The lesson is likely to be lasting, for it will take many
months to obliterate the memory of the remarks and circumstances that
impressed it.
A ROYAL COMPLIMENT
The latest report about the Spanish crown is, that it will now be
offered to Prince Alfonso, the second son of the King of Portugal,
who is but five years of age. The Spaniards have hunted through all
the nations of Europe for a King. They tried to get a Portuguese in
the person of Dom-Luis, who is an old ex-monarch; they tried to get
an Italian, in the person of Victor Emanuel's young son, the Duke of
Genoa; they tried to get a Spaniard, in the person of Espartero, who
is an octogenarian. Some of them
desired a French Bourbon,
Montpensier; some of them a Spanish Bourbon, the Prince of Asturias;
some of them an English prince, one of the sons of Queen Victoria.
They have just tried to get the German Prince Leopold; but they have
thought it better to give him up than take a war along with him.
It is a long time since we first suggested to them to try an
American ruler. We can offer them a large number of able and
experienced sovereigns to pick from-men skilled in statesmanship,
versed in the science of government, and adepts in all the arts of
administration--men who could wear the crown with dignity and rule
the kingdom at a reasonable expense.
There is not the least danger of Napoleon threatening them if they
take an American sovereign; in fact, we have no doubt he would be
pleased to support such a candidature. We are unwilling to mention
names--though we have a man in our eye whom we wish they had in
theirs.--New York Tribune.
It would be but an ostentation of modesty to permit such a pointed
reference to myself to pass unnoticed. This is the second time that 'The
Tribune' (no doubt sincerely looking to the best interests of Spain and
me as a fit person to fill the Spanish throne. Why 'The Tribune' should
single me out in this way from the midst of a dozen Americans of higher
political prominence, is a problem which I cannot solve. Beyond a
somewhat intimate knowledge of Spanish history and a profound veneration
for its great names and illustrious deeds, I feel that I possess no merit
that should peculiarly recommend me to this royal distinction. I cannot
deny that Spanish history has always been mother's milk to me. I am
proud of every Spanish achievement, from Hernando Cortes's victory at
Thermopylae down to Vasco Nunez de Balboa's discovery of the Atlantic
ocean; and of every splendid Spanish name, from Don Quixote and the Duke
of Wellington down to Don Caesar de Bazan. However, these little graces
of erudition are of small consequence, being more showy than serviceable.
In case the Spanish sceptre is pressed upon me--and the indications
unquestionably are that it will be--I shall feel it necessary to have
certain things set down and distinctly understood beforehand. For
instance: My salary must be paid quarterly in advance. In these
unsettled times it will not do to trust. If Isabella had adopted this
plan, she would be roosting on her ancestral throne to-day, for the
simple reason that her subjects never could have raised three months of a
royal salary in advance, and of course they could not have discharged her
until they had squared up with her. My salary must be paid in gold; when
greenbacks are fresh in a country, they are too fluctuating. My salary
has got to be put at the ruling market rate; I am not going to cut under
on the trade, and they are not going to trail me a long way from home and
then practise on my ignorance and play me for a royal North Adams
Chinaman, by any means. As I understand it, imported kings generally get
five millions a year and house-rent free. Young George of Greece gets
that. As the revenues only yield two millions, he has to take the
national note for considerable; but even with things in that sort of
shape he is better fixed than he was in Denmark, where he had to
eternally stand up because he had no throne to sit on, and had to give
bail for his board, because a royal apprentice gets no salary there while
he is learning his trade. England is the place for that. Fifty thousand
dollars a year Great Britain pays on each royal child that is born, and
this is increased from year to year as the child becomes more and more
indispensable to his country. Look at Prince Arthur. At first he only
got the usual birth-bounty; but now that he has got so that he can dance,
there is simply no telling what wages he gets.
I should have to stipulate that the Spanish people wash more and
endeavour to get along with less quarantine. Do you know, Spain keeps
her ports fast locked against foreign traffic three-fourths of each year,
because one day she is scared about the cholera, and the next about the
plague, and next the measles, next the hooping cough, the hives, and the
rash? but she does not mind leonine leprosy and elephantiasis any more
than a great and enlightened civilisation minds freckles. Soap would
soon remove her anxious distress about foreign distempers. The reason
arable land is so scarce in Spain is because the people squander so much
of it on their persons, and then when they die it is improvidently buried
with them.
I should feel obliged to stipulate that Marshal Serrano be reduced to the
rank of constable, or even roundsman. He is no longer fit to be City
Marshal. A man who refused to be king because he was too old and feeble,
is ill qualified to help sick people to the station-house when they are
armed and their form of delirium tremens is of the exuberant and
demonstrative kind.
I should also require that a force be sent to chase the late Queen
Isabella out of France. Her presence there can work no advantage to
Spain, and she ought to be made to move at once; though, poor thing, she
has been chaste enough heretofore--for a Spanish woman.
I should also require that--
mean me, after all. Very well, I do not care two cents.
THE APPROACHING EPIDEMIC
One calamity to which the death of Mr. Dickens dooms this country has not
awakened the concern to which its gravity entitles it. We refer to the
fact that the nation is to be lectured to death and read to death all
next winter, by Tom, Dick, and Harry, with poor lamented Dickens for a
pretext. All the vagabonds who can spell will afflict the people with
"readings" from Pickwick and Copperfield, and all the insignificants who
have been ennobled by the notice of the great novelist or transfigured by
his smile will make a marketable commodity of it now, and turn the sacred
reminiscence to the practical use of procuring bread and butter. The
lecture rostrums will fairly swarm with these fortunates. Already the
signs of it are perceptible. Behold how the unclean creatures are
wending toward the dead lion and gathering to the feast:
"Reminiscences of Dickens." A lecture. By John Smith, who heard him
read eight times.
"Remembrances of Charles Dickens." A lecture. By John Jones, who saw
him once in a street car and twice in a barber shop.
"Recollections of Mr. Dickens." A lecture. By John Brown, who gained a
wide fame by writing deliriously appreciative critiques and rhapsodies
upon the great author's public readings; and who shook hands with the
great author upon various occasions, and held converse with him several
times.
"Readings from Dickens." By John White, who has the great delineator's
style and manner perfectly, having attended all his readings in this
country and made these things a study, always practising each reading
before retiring, and while it was hot from the great delineator's lips.
Upon this occasion Mr. W. will exhibit the remains of a cigar which he
saw Mr. Dickens smoke. This Relic is kept in a solid silver box made
purposely for it.
"Sights and Sounds of the Great Novelist." A popular lecture. By John
Gray, who ,waited on his table all the time he was at the Grand Hotel,
New York, and still has in his possession and will exhibit to the
audience a fragment of the Last Piece of Bread which the lamented author
tasted in this country.
"Heart Treasures of Precious Moments with Literature's Departed Monarch."
A lecture. By Miss Serena Amelia Tryphenia McSpadden, who still wears,
and will always wear, a glove upon the hand made sacred by the clasp of
Dickens. Only Death shall remove it.
"Readings from Dickens." By Mrs. J. O'Hooligan Murphy, who washed for
him.
"Familiar Talks with the Great Author." A narrative lecture. By John
Thomas, for two weeks his valet in America.
And so forth, and so on. This isn't half the list. The man who has a
"Toothpick once used by Charles Dickens" will have to have a hearing; and
the man who "once rode in an omnibus with Charles Dickens;" and the lady
to whom Charles Dickens "granted the hospitalities of his umbrella during
a storm;" and the person who "possesses a hole which once belonged in a
handkerchief owned by Charles Dickens." Be patient and long-suffering,
good people, for even this does not fill up the measure of what you must
endure next winter. There is no creature in all this land who has had
any personal relations with the late Mr. Dickens, however slight or
trivial, but will shoulder his way to the rostrum and inflict his
testimony upon his helpless countrymen. To some people it is fatal to be
noticed by greatness.
THE TONE-IMPARTING COMMITTEE
I get old and ponderously respectable, only one thing will be able to
make me truly happy, and that will be to be put on the Venerable Tone-