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diff --git a/19484-h/19484-h.htm b/19484-h/19484-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..47ce73d --- /dev/null +++ b/19484-h/19484-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,2483 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> + +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml"> + <head> + <meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=iso-8859-1" /> + <title> + The Project Gutenberg eBook of Editorial Wild Oats, by Mark Twain. + </title> + <style type="text/css"> +/*<![CDATA[ XML blockout */ +<!-- + p { margin-top: .75em; + text-align: justify; + margin-bottom: .75em; + } + h1,h2,h3,h4,h5,h6 { + text-align: center; /* all headings centered */ + clear: both; + } + hr { width: 33%; + margin-top: 2em; + margin-bottom: 2em; + margin-left: auto; + margin-right: auto; + clear: both; + } + img.plain { /* image with no border or padding, see float */ + border: none; padding: 0; + } + table {margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;} + + body{margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; + } + + .pagenum { /* uncomment the next line for invisible page numbers */ + /* visibility: hidden; */ + position: absolute; right: 2%; + font-size: 75%; + text-align: right; + text-indent: 0em; + font-style: normal; + font-weight: normal; + color: silver; background-color: inherit; + font-variant: normal;} /* page numbers */ + + .pagenum a {text-decoration: none; color: silver; background-color: inherit;} + + .blockquot{margin-left: 5%; margin-right: 10%;} + + .center {text-align: center;} + .smcap {font-variant: small-caps;} + .u {text-decoration: underline;} + + .caption {font-weight: bold;} + + .figcenter {margin: auto; text-align: center;} + + .figleft {float: left; clear: left; margin-left: 0; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-top: + 1em; margin-right: 1em; padding: 0; text-align: center;} + + .figright {float: right; clear: right; margin-left: 1em; margin-bottom: 1em; + margin-top: 1em; margin-right: 0; padding: 0; text-align: center;} + + .footnotes {border: dashed 1px;} + .footnote {margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; font-size: 0.9em;} + .footnote .label {position: absolute; right: 83%; text-align: right;} + .fnanchor {vertical-align: .25em; font-size: .8em; text-decoration: none;} + .footnote a {text-decoration: none;} + .toc a {text-decoration: none;} + + + // --> + /* XML end ]]>*/ + </style> + </head> +<body> + + +<pre> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Editorial Wild Oats, by Mark Twain + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Editorial Wild Oats + +Author: Mark Twain + +Release Date: October 6, 2006 [EBook #19484] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK EDITORIAL WILD OATS *** + + + + +Produced by Suzan Flanagan and the Online Distributed +Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was +produced from images generously made available by The +Internet Archive/American Libraries) + + + + + + +</pre> + +<p><br /><br /></p> + +<h1>Editorial Wild Oats</h1> + +<p><br /></p> +<h5>BY</h5> + +<h2>Mark Twain</h2> + +<p><br /><br /></p> + +<h4>ILLUSTRATED</h4> + +<p><br /><br /></p> + +<h4>NEW YORK AND LONDON<br /> +HARPER & BROTHERS<br /> +PUBLISHERS—MCMV</h4> + + +<p><br /><br /></p> +<table border="1" cellpadding="5" summary="Copyright"> +<tr><td align="center"> +Copyright, 1875, 1899, 1903, by <span class="smcap">Samuel L. Clemens</span>.<br /> +Copyright, 1879, 1899, by <span class="smcap">Samuel L. Clemens</span>. +<br /> +Copyright, 1905, by <span class="smcap">Harper & Brothers</span>. +<br /> +<i>All rights reserved.</i> +<br /> +Published September, 1905.</td></tr></table> + +<p><br /><br /></p> +<p><br /><br /></p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 135px;"> +<a href="images/ill005.jpg" name="I_FANCIED" id="I_FANCIED"> +<img src="images/ill005tn.jpg" width="135" height="200" class="plain" alt="See p. 57 -- "I FANCIED HE WAS DISPLEASED"" title="See p. 57 -- "I FANCIED HE WAS DISPLEASED"" /> +</a><span class="caption">See p. 57 <br /> "I FANCIED <br />HE WAS DISPLEASED"</span> +</div> + +<p><br /><br /></p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>Contents</h2> +<table border="0" cellpadding="2" cellspacing="0" summary="CONTENTS" class="toc"> + +<tr> + <td align='left'></td> + <td align='right'> PAGE</td></tr> +<tr> + <td align='left'><a href='#My_First_Literary_Venture'/><span class="smcap">My First Literary Venture</span></td> + <td align='right'><a href="#Page_3"/> 3</td></tr> +<tr> + <td align='left'><a href='#Journalism_in_Tennessee'/><span class="smcap">Journalism in Tennessee</span></td> + <td align='right'><a href="#Page_11"/> 11</td></tr> +<tr> + <td align='left'><a href='#Nicodemus_Dodge'/><span class="smcap">Nicodemus Dodge—Printer</span></td> + <td align='right'><a href="#Page_30"/> 30</td></tr> +<tr> + <td align='left'><a href='#Mr_Blokes_Item'/><span class="smcap">Mr. Bloke's Item</span></td> + <td align='right'><a href="#Page_41"/> 41</td></tr> +<tr> + <td align='left'><a href='#How_I_Edited'/><span class="smcap">How I Edited an Agricultural Paper</span></td> + <td align='right'><a href="#Page_52"/> 52</td></tr> +<tr> + <td align='left'><a href='#The_Killing_of_Julius'/><span class="smcap">The Killing of Julius Cæsar "Localized"</span></td> + <td align='right'><a href="#Page_70"/> 70</td></tr> + +</table> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>Illustrations</h2> +<div><br /></div> +<table border="0" cellpadding="2" cellspacing="0" summary="CONTENTS" class="toc"> + +<tr> + <td align='left'><a href='#I_FANCIED'/>"I FANCIED HE WAS DISPLEASED"</td><td></td> + <td align='right'><a href="#I_FANCIED"/> <i>Frontispiece</i></td></tr> +<tr> + <td align='left'><a href='#HE_HAD_CONCLUDED'/>"HE HAD CONCLUDED HE WOULDN'T"</td> + <td align='right'><i>Facing p.</i></td> + <td align='right'><a href="#Page_4"/> 4</td></tr> +<tr> + <td align='left'><a href='#GILLESPIE_HAD_CALLED'/>"GILLESPIE HAD CALLED"</td> + <td align='right'><i>"</i></td> + <td align='right'><a href="#Page_24"/> 24</td></tr> +<tr> + <td align='left'><a href='#WHEEZING_THE_MUSIC'/>"WHEEZING THE MUSIC OF 'CAMPTOWN RACES'"</td> + <td align='right'><i>"</i></td> + <td align='right'><a href="#Page_38"/> 38</td></tr> +<tr> + <td align='left'><a href='#I_HAVE_READ'/>"I HAVE READ THIS ABSURD ITEM OVER"</td> + <td align='right'><i>"</i></td> + <td align='right'><a href="#Page_50"/> 50</td></tr> +<tr> + <td align='left'><a href='#A_LONG_CADAVEROUS'/>"A LONG CADAVEROUS CREATURE"</td> + <td align='right'><i>"</i></td> + <td align='right'><a href="#Page_58"/> 58</td></tr> +<tr> + <td align='left'><a href='#THERE_WAS_NOTHING'/>"THERE WAS NOTHING IN THE POCKETS"</td> + <td align='right'><i>"</i></td> + <td align='right'><a href="#Page_82"/> 82</td></tr> +</table> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h5>Transcribers Note: The dialect in this book is transcribed exactly as in +the original.</h5> +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h1>Editorial Wild Oats</h1> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><div><br /></div> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_3" id="Page_3" href="#Page_3">[Pg 3]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="My_First_Literary_Venture" id="My_First_Literary_Venture"></a>My First Literary Venture</h2> + + +<p>I was a very smart child +at the age of thirteen—an +unusually smart child, +I thought at the time. +It was then that I did my first newspaper +scribbling, and most unexpectedly +to me it stirred up a fine sensation +in the community. It did, +indeed, and I was very proud of it, +too. I was a printer's "devil," and a +progressive and aspiring one. My +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_4" id="Page_4" href="#Page_4">[Pg 4]</a></span> +uncle had me on his paper (the <i>Weekly +Hannibal Journal</i>, two dollars a year, +in advance—five hundred subscribers, +and they paid in cord-wood, cabbages, +and unmarketable turnips), and on a +lucky summer's day he left town to +be gone a week, and asked me if I +thought I could edit one issue of the +paper judiciously. Ah! didn't I want +to try! Higgins was the editor on +the rival paper. He had lately been +jilted, and one night a friend found an +open note on the poor fellow's bed, in +which he stated that he could no +longer endure life and had drowned +himself in Bear Creek. The friend +ran down there and discovered Higgins +wading back to shore. He had +concluded he wouldn't. The village +was full of it for several days, but +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_5" id="Page_5" href="#Page_5">[Pg 5]</a></span> +Higgins did not suspect it. I thought +this was a fine opportunity. I wrote +an elaborately wretched account of +the whole matter, and then illustrated +it with villanous cuts engraved on +the bottoms of wooden type with a +jack-knife—one of them a picture of +Higgins wading out into the creek in +his shirt, with a lantern, sounding the +depth of the water with a walking-stick. +I thought it was desperately +funny, and was densely unconscious +that there was any moral obliquity +about such a publication. Being +satisfied with this effort, I looked +around for other worlds to conquer, +and it struck me that it would +make good, interesting matter to +charge the editor of a neighboring +country paper with a piece of +gratuitous rascality and "see him<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_6" id="Page_6" href="#Page_6">[Pg 6]</a></span> +squirm."</p> + +<div class="figleft" style="width: 125px;"> +<a href="images/ill014.jpg" name="HE_HAD_CONCLUDED" id="HE_HAD_CONCLUDED"> +<img src="images/ill014tn.jpg" width="125" height="200" class="plain" alt=""HE HAD CONCLUDED HE WOULDN'T"" title=""HE HAD CONCLUDED HE WOULDN'T"" /> +</a><span class="caption">"HE HAD CONCLUDED HE WOULDN'T"</span> +</div> +<!--image should face page 4--> + +<p>I did it, putting the article into the +form of a parody on the "Burial of +Sir John Moore"—and a pretty crude +parody it was, too.</p> + +<p>Then I lampooned two prominent +citizens outrageously—not because +they had done anything to deserve +it, but merely because I thought it +was my duty to make the paper +lively.</p> + +<p>Next I gently touched up the +newest stranger—the lion of the +day, the gorgeous journeyman tailor +from Quincy. He was a simpering +coxcomb of the first water, and the +"loudest" dressed man in the State. +He was an inveterate woman-killer. +Every week he wrote lushy "poetry" +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_7" id="Page_7" href="#Page_7">[Pg 7]</a></span> +for the <i>Journal</i>, about his newest +conquest. His rhymes for my week +were headed, "<span class="smcap">To Mary in H—l</span>," +meaning to Mary in Hannibal, of +course. But while setting up the +piece I was suddenly riven from +head to heel by what I regarded as +a perfect thunderbolt of humor, and +I compressed it into a snappy footnote +at the bottom—thus:</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>"We will let this thing pass, just this +once; but we wish Mr. J. Gordon Runnels +to understand distinctly that we +have a character to sustain, and from +this time forth when he wants to commune +with his friends in h—l, he must +select some other medium than the columns +of this journal!"</p></div> + +<p>The paper came out, and I never +knew any little thing attract so much +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_8" id="Page_8" href="#Page_8">[Pg 8]</a></span> +attention as those playful trifles of +mine.</p> + +<p>For once the <i>Hannibal Journal</i> +was in demand—a novelty it had +not experienced before. The whole +town was stirred. Higgins dropped +in with a double-barrelled shot-gun +early in the forenoon. When he +found that it was an infant (as he +called me) that had done him the +damage, he simply pulled my ears +and went away; but he threw up his +situation that night and left town +for good. The tailor came with his +goose and a pair of shears; but he +despised me, too, and departed for +the South that night. The two +lampooned citizens came with threats +of libel, and went away incensed at +my insignificance. The country editor +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_9" id="Page_9" href="#Page_9">[Pg 9]</a></span> +pranced in with a warwhoop +next day, suffering for blood to +drink; but he ended by forgiving me +cordially and inviting me down to +the drug-store to wash away all +animosity in a friendly bumper of +"Fahnestock's Vermifuge." It was +his little joke. My uncle was very +angry when he got back—unreasonably +so, I thought, considering what +an impetus I had given the paper, +and considering also that gratitude +for his preservation ought to have +been uppermost in his mind, inasmuch +as by his delay he had so +wonderfully escaped dissection, tomahawking, +libel, and getting his head +shot off. But he softened when he +looked at the accounts and saw that +I had actually booked the unparalleled +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_10" id="Page_10" href="#Page_10">[Pg 10]</a></span> +number of thirty-three new +subscribers, and had the vegetables +to show for it—cord-wood, cabbage, +beans, and unsalable turnips enough +to run the family for two years!</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><div><br /></div> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_11" id="Page_11" href="#Page_11">[Pg 11]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="Journalism_in_Tennessee" id="Journalism_in_Tennessee"></a>Journalism in Tennessee</h2> + + +<blockquote><p>The editor of the Memphis <i>Avalanche</i> +swoops thus mildly down upon a correspondent +who posted him as a Radical: "While +he was writing the first word, the middle, +dotting his i's, crossing his t's, and punching +his period, he knew he was concocting a +sentence that was saturated with infamy +and reeking with falsehood."—<i>Exchange</i>.</p></blockquote> + + +<p>I was told by the physician +that a Southern climate +would improve my +health, and so I went +down to Tennessee and got a berth +on the <i>Morning-Glory and Johnson +County Warwhoop</i> as associate editor. +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_12" id="Page_12" href="#Page_12">[Pg 12]</a></span> +When I went on duty I found +the chief editor sitting tilted back +in a three-legged chair with his feet +on a pine table. There was another +pine table in the room and another +afflicted chair, and both were half +buried under newspapers and scraps +and sheets of manuscript. There +was a wooden box of sand, sprinkled +with cigar-stubs and "old soldiers," +and a stove with a door hanging by +its upper hinge. The chief editor +had a long-tailed black cloth frock-coat +on, and white linen pants. His +boots were small and neatly blacked. +He wore a ruffled shirt, a large seal +ring, a standing collar of obsolete +pattern, and a checkered neckerchief +with the ends hanging down. +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_13" id="Page_13" href="#Page_13">[Pg 13]</a></span> +Date of costume about 1848. He +was smoking a cigar, and trying to +think of a word, and in pawing his +hair he had rumpled his locks a +good deal. He was scowling fearfully, +and I judged that he was +concocting a particularly knotty editorial. +He told me to take the exchanges +and skim through them +and write up the "Spirit of the +Tennessee Press," condensing into +the article all of their contents that +seemed of interest.</p> + +<p>I wrote as follows:</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>"SPIRIT OF THE TENNESSEE PRESS</p> + +<p>"The editors of the <i>Semi-Weekly +Earthquake</i> evidently labor under a +misapprehension with regard to the +Ballyhack railroad. It is not the object +of the company to leave Buzzardville +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_14" id="Page_14" href="#Page_14">[Pg 14]</a></span> +off to one side. On the contrary, +they consider it one of the most important +points along the line, and +consequently can have no desire to +slight it. The gentlemen of the <i>Earthquake</i> +will, of course, take pleasure in +making the correction.</p> + +<p>"John W. Blossom, Esq., the able +editor of the Higginsville <i>Thunderbolt +and Battle-Cry of Freedom</i>, arrived in +the city yesterday. He is stopping at +the Van Buren House.</p> + +<p>"We observe that our contemporary +of the Mud Springs <i>Morning Howl</i> has +fallen into the error of supposing that +the election of Van Werter is not an +established fact, but he will have discovered +his mistake before this reminder +reaches him, no doubt. He was doubtless +misled by incomplete election returns.</p> + +<p>"It is pleasant to note that the city +of Blathersville is endeavoring to contract +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_15" id="Page_15" href="#Page_15">[Pg 15]</a></span> +with some New York gentlemen +to pave its wellnigh impassable streets +with the Nicholson pavement. The +<i>Daily Hurrah</i> urges the measure with +ability, and seems confident of ultimate +success."</p></div> + +<p>I passed my manuscript over to +the chief editor for acceptance, alteration, +or destruction. He glanced +at it and his face clouded. He ran +his eye down the pages, and his +countenance grew portentous. It was +easy to see that something was wrong. +Presently he sprang up and said:</p> + +<p>"Thunder and lightning! Do you +suppose I am going to speak of those +cattle that way? Do you suppose +my subscribers are going to stand +such gruel as that? Give me the +pen!"</p> + +<p>I never saw a pen scrape and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_16" id="Page_16" href="#Page_16">[Pg 16]</a></span> +scratch its way so viciously, or plough +through another man's verbs and +adjectives so relentlessly. While he +was in the midst of his work, somebody +shot at him through the open +window, and marred the symmetry +of my ear.</p> + +<p>"Ah," said he, "that is that scoundrel +Smith, of the <i>Moral Volcano</i>—he +was due yesterday." And he +snatched a navy revolver from his +belt and fired. Smith dropped, shot +in the thigh. The shot spoiled +Smith's aim, who was just taking a +second chance, and he crippled a +stranger. It was me. Merely a finger +shot off.</p> + +<p>Then the chief editor went on with +his erasures and interlineations. Just +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_17" id="Page_17" href="#Page_17">[Pg 17]</a></span> +as he finished them a hand-grenade +came down the stove-pipe, and the +explosion shivered the stove into a +thousand fragments. However, it +did no further damage, except that a +vagrant piece knocked a couple of +my teeth out.</p> + +<p>"That stove is utterly ruined," +said the chief editor.</p> + +<p>I said I believed it was.</p> + +<p>"Well, no matter—don't want it +this kind of weather. I know the +man that did it. I'll get him. Now, +<i>here</i> is the way this stuff ought to be +written."</p> + +<p>I took the manuscript. It was +scarred with erasures and interlineations +till its mother wouldn't +have known it if it had had one. +It now read as follows: +</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>"SPIRIT OF THE TENNESSEE PRESS +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_18" id="Page_18" href="#Page_18">[Pg 18]</a></span> +</p> + +<p>"The inveterate liars of the <i>Semi-Weekly +Earthquake</i> are evidently endeavoring +to palm off upon a noble and +chivalrous people another of their vile +and brutal falsehoods with regard to +that most glorious conception of the +nineteenth century, the Ballyhack railroad. +The idea that Buzzardville was +to be left off at one side originated in +their own fulsome brains—or rather +in the settlings which <i>they</i> regard as +brains. They had better swallow this +lie if they want to save their abandoned +reptile carcasses the cowhiding they +so richly deserve.</p> + +<p>"That ass, Blossom, of the Higginsville +<i>Thunderbolt and Battle-Cry of Freedom</i>, +is down here again sponging at the +Van Buren.</p> + +<p>"We observe that the besotted blackguard +of the Mud Springs <i>Morning Howl</i> +is giving out, with his usual propensity +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_19" id="Page_19" href="#Page_19">[Pg 19]</a></span> +for lying, that Van Werter is not elected. +The heaven-born mission of journalism +is to disseminate truth: to eradicate +error; to educate, refine, and elevate +the tone of public morals and manners, +and make all men more gentle, more +virtuous, more charitable, and in all +ways better, and holier, and happier; +and yet this black-hearted scoundrel +degrades his great office persistently +to the dissemination of falsehood, calumny, +vituperation, and vulgarity.</p> + +<p>"Blathersville wants a Nicholson +pavement—it wants a jail and a poor-house +more. The idea of a pavement +in a one-horse town composed of two +gin-mills, a blacksmith-shop, and that +mustard-plaster of a newspaper, the +<i>Daily Hurrah</i>! The crawling insect, +Buckner, who edits the <i>Hurrah</i>, is +braying about this business with his +customary imbecility, and imagining +that he is talking sense."</p></div> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_20" id="Page_20" href="#Page_20">[Pg 20]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Now <i>that</i> is the way to write—peppery +and to the point. Mush-and-milk +journalism gives me the +fan-tods."</p> + +<p>About this time a brick came +through the window with a splintering +crash, and gave me a considerable +of a jolt in the back. I moved out +of range—I began to feel in the way.</p> + +<p>The chief said: "That was the +Colonel, likely. I've been expecting +him for two days. He will be up +now right away."</p> + +<p>He was correct. The Colonel appeared +in the door a moment afterwards +with a dragoon revolver in +his hand.</p> + +<p>He said: "Sir, have I the honor of +addressing the poltroon who edits +this mangy sheet?" +</p> + +<p>"You have. Be seated, sir. Be +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_21" id="Page_21" href="#Page_21">[Pg 21]</a></span> +careful of the chair, one of its legs +is gone. I believe I have the honor +of addressing the putrid liar, Colonel +Blatherskite Tecumseh?"</p> + +<p>"Right, sir. I have a little account +to settle with you. If you +are at leisure we will begin."</p> + +<p>"I have an article on the 'Encouraging +Progress of Moral and Intellectual +Development in America' +to finish, but there is no hurry. +Begin."</p> + +<p>Both pistols rang out their fierce +clamor at the same instant. The +chief lost a lock of his hair, and the +Colonel's bullet ended its career in +the fleshy part of my thigh. The +Colonel's left shoulder was clipped +a little. They fired again. Both +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_22" id="Page_22" href="#Page_22">[Pg 22]</a></span> +missed their men this time, but I got +my share, a shot in the arm. At the +third fire both gentlemen were wounded +slightly, and I had a knuckle +chipped. I then said I believed I +would go out and take a walk, as this +was a private matter, and I had a +delicacy about participating in it +further. But both gentlemen begged +me to keep my seat, and assured +me that I was not in the way.</p> + +<p>They then talked about the elections +and the crops while they reloaded, +and I fell to tying up my +wounds. But presently they opened +fire again with animation, and every +shot took effect—but it is proper to +remark that five out of the six fell +to my share. The sixth one mortally +wounded the Colonel, who remarked, +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_23" id="Page_23" href="#Page_23">[Pg 23]</a></span> +with fine humor, that he would have +to say good-morning now, as he had +business up-town. He then inquired +the way to the undertaker's and left.</p> + +<p>The chief turned to me and said: +"I am expecting company to dinner, +and shall have to get ready. It will +be a favor to me if you will read +proof and attend to the customers."</p> + +<p>I winced a little at the idea of attending +to the customers, but I was +too bewildered by the fusillade that +was still ringing in my ears to think +of anything to say.</p> + +<p>He continued: "Jones will be here +at three—cowhide him. Gillespie will +call earlier, perhaps—throw him out +of the window. Ferguson will be +along about four—kill him. That +is all for to-day, I believe. If you +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_24" id="Page_24" href="#Page_24">[Pg 24]</a></span> +have any odd time, you may write a +blistering article on the police—give +the chief inspector rats. The cowhides +are under the table; weapons +in the drawer—ammunition there in +the corner—lint and bandages up +there in the pigeon-holes. In case +of accident, go to Lancet, the surgeon, +down-stairs. He advertises—we +take it out in trade."</p> + +<div class="figleft" style="width: 125px;"> +<a href="images/ill036.jpg" name="GILLESPIE_HAD_CALLED" id="GILLESPIE_HAD_CALLED"> +<img src="images/ill036tn.jpg" width="125" height="200" class="plain" alt=""GILLESPIE HAD CALLED"" title=""GILLESPIE HAD CALLED"" /> +</a><span class="caption">"GILLESPIE HAD CALLED"</span> +</div> + + + +<p>He was gone. I shuddered. At +the end of the next three hours I had +been through perils so awful that all +peace of mind and all cheerfulness +were gone from me. Gillespie had +called and thrown <i>me</i> out of the window. +Jones arrived promptly, and +when I got ready to do the cowhiding +he took the job off my hands. +In an encounter with a stranger, not +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_25" id="Page_25" href="#Page_25">[Pg 25]</a></span> +in the bill of fare, I had lost my +scalp. Another stranger, by the +name of Thompson, left me a mere +wreck and ruin of chaotic rags. And +at last, at bay in the corner, and beset +by an infuriated mob of editors, +blacklegs, politicians, and desperadoes, +who raved and swore and flourished +their weapons about my head +till the air shimmered with glancing +flashes of steel, I was in the act of +resigning my berth on the paper +when the chief arrived, and with him +a rabble of charmed and enthusiastic +friends. Then ensued a scene of riot +and carnage such as no human pen, +or steel one either, could describe. +People were shot, probed, dismembered, +blown up, thrown out of the +window. There was a brief tornado +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_26" id="Page_26" href="#Page_26">[Pg 26]</a></span> +of murky blasphemy, with a confused +and frantic war-dance glimmering +through it, and then all was +over. In five minutes there was +silence, and the gory chief and I sat +alone and surveyed the sanguinary +ruin that strewed the floor around +us.</p> + +<p>He said: "You'll like this place +when you get used to it."</p> + +<p>I said: "I'll have to get you to +excuse me; I think maybe I might +write to suit you after a while; as +soon as I had had some practice and +learned the language I am confident +I could. But, to speak the plain +truth, that sort of energy of expression +has its inconveniences, and +a man is liable to interruption. You +see that yourself. Vigorous writing +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_27" id="Page_27" href="#Page_27">[Pg 27]</a></span> +is calculated to elevate the public, +no doubt, but then I do not like to +attract so much attention as it calls +forth. I can't write with comfort +when I am interrupted so much as I +have been to-day. I like this berth +well enough, but I don't like to be +left here to wait on the customers. +The experiences are novel, I grant +you, and entertaining, too, after a +fashion, but they are not judiciously +distributed. A gentleman shoots at +you through the window and cripples +<i>me</i>; a bomb-shell comes down the +stove-pipe for your gratification and +sends the stove-door down <i>my</i> throat; +a friend drops in to swap compliments +with you, and freckles <i>me</i> with +bullet-holes till my skin won't hold +my principles; you go to dinner, and +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_28" id="Page_28" href="#Page_28">[Pg 28]</a></span> +Jones comes with his cowhide, Gillespie +throws me out of the window, +Thompson tears all my clothes off, +and an entire stranger takes my +scalp with the easy freedom of an old +acquaintance; and in less than five +minutes all the blackguards in the +country arrive in their war-paint, +and proceed to scare the rest of me +to death with their tomahawks. +Take it altogether, I never had such +a spirited time in all my life as I +have had to-day. No; I like you, +and I like your calm, unruffled way of +explaining things to the customers, +but you see I am not used to it. The +Southern heart is too impulsive; +Southern hospitality is too lavish +with the stranger. The paragraphs +which I have written to-day, and +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_29" id="Page_29" href="#Page_29">[Pg 29]</a></span> +into whose cold sentences your masterly +hand has infused the fervent +spirit of Tennessean journalism, will +wake up another nest of hornets. +All that mob of editors will come—and +they will come hungry, too, and +want somebody for breakfast. I shall +have to bid you adieu. I decline to +be present at these festivities. I +came South for my health; I will go +back on the same errand, and suddenly. +Tennessean journalism is too +stirring for me."</p> + +<p>After which we parted with mutual +regret, and I took apartments at the +hospital. +</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><div><br /></div> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_30" id="Page_30" href="#Page_30">[Pg 30]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="Nicodemus_Dodge" id="Nicodemus_Dodge"></a>Nicodemus Dodge—Printer</h2> + + +<p>When I was a boy in a +printing-office in Missouri, +a loose-jointed, +long-legged, tow-headed, +jeans-clad, countrified cub of about +sixteen lounged in one day, and without +removing his hands from the +depths of his trousers pockets or taking +off his faded ruin of a slouch hat, +whose broken rim hung limp and +ragged about his eyes and ears like a +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_31" id="Page_31" href="#Page_31">[Pg 31]</a></span> +bug-eaten cabbage-leaf, stared indifferently +around, then leaned his hip +against the editors' table, crossed his +mighty brogans, aimed at a distant +fly from a crevice in his upper teeth, +laid him low, and said, with composure:</p> + +<p>"Whar's the boss?"</p> + +<p>"I am the boss," said the editor, +following this curious bit of architecture +wonderingly along up to its +clock-face with his eye.</p> + +<p>"Don't want anybody fur to learn +the business, 'tain't likely?"</p> + +<p>"Well, I don't know. Would you +like to learn it?"</p> + +<p>"Pap's so po' he cain't run me no +mo', so I want to git a show somers +if I kin, 'tain't no diffunce what—I'm +strong and hearty, and I don't +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_32" id="Page_32" href="#Page_32">[Pg 32]</a></span> +turn my back on no kind of work, +hard nur soft."</p> + +<p>"Do you think you would like to +learn the printing business?"</p> + +<p>"Well, I don't re'ly k'yer a durn +what I <i>do</i> learn, so's I git a chance +fur to make my way. I'd jist as soon +learn print'n' 's anything."</p> + +<p>"Can you read?"</p> + +<p>"Yes—middlin'."</p> + +<p>"Write?"</p> + +<p>"Well, I've seed people could lay +over me thar."</p> + +<p>"Cipher?"</p> + +<p>"Not good enough to keep store, +I don't reckon, but up as fur as +twelve-times-twelve I ain't no slouch. +'Tother side of that is what gits me."</p> + +<p>"Where is your home?"</p> + +<p>"I'm f'm old Shelby."</p> + +<p>"What's your father's religious denomination?" +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_33" id="Page_33" href="#Page_33">[Pg 33]</a></span> +</p> + +<p>"Him? Oh, he's a blacksmith."</p> + +<p>"No, no—I don't mean his +trade. What's his <i>religious</i> denomination?"</p> + +<p>"<i>Oh</i>—I didn't understand you +befo'. He's a Freemason."</p> + +<p>"No, no; you don't get my meaning +yet. What I mean is, does he belong +to any <i>church</i>?"</p> + +<p>"<i>Now</i> you're talkin'! Gouldn't[sic] +make out what you was a-tryin' to +git through yo' head no way. B'long +to a <i>church</i>! Why, boss, he's be'n +the pizenest kind of a Free-will +Babtis' for forty year. They ain't +no pizener ones 'n' what <i>he</i> is. Mighty +good man, pap is. Everybody says +that. If they said any diffrunt they +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_34" id="Page_34" href="#Page_34">[Pg 34]</a></span> +wouldn't say it whar <i>I</i> wuz—not +<i>much</i> they wouldn't."</p> + +<p>"What is your own religion?"</p> + +<p>"Well, boss, you've kind o' got +me thar—and yit you hain't got me +so mighty much, nuther. I think 't +if a feller he'ps another feller when +he's in trouble, and don't cuss, and +don't do no mean things, nur noth'n' +he ain' no business to do, and don't +spell the Saviour's name with a little +g, he ain't runnin' no resks—he's about +as saift as if he b'longed to a church."</p> + +<p>"But suppose he did spell it with +a little g—what then?"</p> + +<p>"Well, if he done it a-purpose, I +reckon he wouldn't stand no chance,—he +<i>oughtn't</i> to have no chance, +anyway, I'm most rotten certain +'bout that."</p> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_35" id="Page_35" href="#Page_35">[Pg 35]</a></span> +</p> +<p>"What is your name?"</p> + +<p>"Nicodemus Dodge."</p> + +<p>"I think maybe you'll do, Nicodemus. +We'll give you a trial, anyway."</p> + +<p>"All right."</p> + +<p>"When would you like to begin?"</p> + +<p>"Now."</p> + +<p>So, within ten minutes after we +had first glimpsed this nondescript +he was one of us, and with his coat +off and hard at it.</p> + +<p>Beyond that end of our establishment +which was farthest from the +street was a deserted garden, pathless, +and thickly grown with the +bloomy and villanous "jimpson" +weed and its common friend the +stately sunflower. In the midst of +this mournful spot was a decayed and +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_36" id="Page_36" href="#Page_36">[Pg 36]</a></span> +aged little "frame" house with but +one room, one window, and no ceiling—it +had been a smoke-house a +generation before. Nicodemus was +given this lonely and ghostly den as a +bedchamber.</p> + +<p>The village smarties recognized a +treasure in Nicodemus right away—a +butt to play jokes on. It was easy +to see that he was inconceivably +green and confiding. George Jones +had the glory of perpetrating the +first joke on him; he gave him a +cigar with a fire-cracker in it and +winked to the crowd to come; the +thing exploded presently and swept +away the bulk of Nicodemus's eyebrows +and eyelashes. He simply +said:</p> + +<p>"I consider them kind of seeg'yars +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_37" id="Page_37" href="#Page_37">[Pg 37]</a></span> +dangersome"—and seemed to suspect +nothing. The next evening Nicodemus +waylaid George and poured a +bucket of ice-water over him.</p> + +<p>One day, while Nicodemus was +in swimming, Tom McElroy "tied" +his clothes. Nicodemus made a bonfire +of Tom's by way of retaliation.</p> + +<p>A third joke was played upon Nicodemus +a day or two later—he walked +up the middle aisle of the village +church, Sunday night, with a staring +hand-bill pinned between his shoulders. +The joker spent the remainder +of the night, after church, in the +cellar of a deserted house, and Nicodemus +sat on the cellar door till +towards breakfast-time to make sure +that the prisoner remembered that +if any noise was made some rough +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_38" id="Page_38" href="#Page_38">[Pg 38]</a></span> +treatment would be the consequence. +The cellar had two feet of stagnant +water in it, and was bottomed with +six inches of soft mud.</p> + +<div class="figleft" style="width: 124px;"> +<a href="images/ill054.jpg" name="WHEEZING_THE_MUSIC" id="WHEEZING_THE_MUSIC"> +<img src="images/ill054tn.jpg" width="124" height="200" class="plain" alt=""WHEEZING THE MUSIC OF 'CAMPTOWN RACES'"" title=""WHEEZING THE MUSIC OF 'CAMPTOWN RACES'"" /> +</a><span class="caption">"WHEEZING THE MUSIC OF 'CAMPTOWN RACES'"</span> +</div> + +<p>But I wander from the point. It +was the subject of skeletons that +brought this boy back to my recollection. +Before a very long time +had elapsed, the village smarties +began to feel an uncomfortable consciousness +of not having made a +very shining success out of their attempts +on the simpleton from "old +Shelby." Experimenters grew scarce +and chary. Now the young doctor +came to the rescue. There was delight +and applause when he proposed +to scare Nicodemus to death, and +explained how he was going to do it. +He had a noble new skeleton—the +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_39" id="Page_39" href="#Page_39">[Pg 39]</a></span> +skeleton of the late and only local +celebrity, Jimmy Finn, the village +drunkard—a grisly piece of property +which he had bought of Jimmy Finn +himself, at auction, for fifty dollars, +under great competition, when Jimmy +lay very sick in the tanyard a fortnight +before his death. The fifty +dollars had gone promptly for whiskey +and had considerably hurried up the +change of ownership in the skeleton. +The doctor would put Jimmy Finn's +skeleton in Nicodemus's bed!</p> + +<p>This was done—about half-past +ten in the evening. About Nicodemus's +usual bedtime—midnight—the +village jokers came creeping +stealthily through the jimpson weeds +and sunflowers towards the lonely +frame den. They reached the window +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_40" id="Page_40" href="#Page_40">[Pg 40]</a></span> +and peeped in. There sat the +long-legged pauper, on his bed, in a +very short shirt, and nothing more; +he was dangling his legs contentedly +back and forth, and wheezing the +music of "Camptown Races" out of +a paper-overlaid comb which he was +pressing against his mouth; by him +lay a new jews-harp, a new top, a +solid india-rubber ball, a handful of +painted marbles, five pounds of +"store" candy, and a well-knawed +slab of gingerbread as big and as thick +as a volume of sheet music. He +had sold the skeleton to a travelling +quack for three dollars and was +enjoying the result!</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><div><br /></div> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_41" id="Page_41" href="#Page_41">[Pg 41]</a></span> +</p> +<h2><a name="Mr_Blokes_Item" id="Mr_Blokes_Item"></a>Mr. Bloke's Item</h2> + + +<p>Our esteemed friend, Mr. +John William Bloke, of +Virginia City, walked into +the office where we are +sub-editor at a late hour last night, +with an expression of profound and +heartfelt suffering upon his countenance, +and, sighing heavily, laid the +following item reverently upon the +desk, and walked slowly out again. +He paused a moment at the door, +and seemed struggling to command +his feelings sufficiently to enable +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_42" id="Page_42" href="#Page_42">[Pg 42]</a></span> +him to speak, and then, nodding his +head towards his manuscript, ejaculated +in a broken voice, "Friend of +mine—oh! how sad!" and burst into +tears. We were so moved at his +distress that we did not think to call +him back and endeavor to comfort +him until he was gone, and it was +too late. The paper had already +gone to press, but knowing that our +friend would consider the publication +of this item important, and cherishing +the hope that to print it would +afford a melancholy satisfaction to +his sorrowing heart, we stopped the +press at once and inserted it in our +columns:</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p><span class="smcap">Distressing Accident</span>.—Last evening, +about six o'clock, as Mr. William +Schuyler, an old and respectable citizen +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_43" id="Page_43" href="#Page_43">[Pg 43]</a></span> +of South Park, was leaving his residence +to go down-town, as has been his usual +custom for many years with the exception +only of a short interval in the spring +of 1850, during which he was confined +to his bed by injuries received in attempting +to stop a runaway horse by +thoughtlessly placing himself directly +in its wake and throwing up his hands +and shouting, which, if he had done so +even a single moment sooner, must +inevitably have frightened the animal +still more instead of checking its speed, +although disastrous enough to himself +as it was, and rendered more melancholy +and distressing by reason of the +presence of his wife's mother, who was +there and saw the sad occurrence, notwithstanding +it is at least likely, though +not necessarily so, that she should be +reconnoitring in another direction when +incidents occur, not being vivacious and +on the lookout, as a general thing, but +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_44" id="Page_44" href="#Page_44">[Pg 44]</a></span> +even the reverse, as her own mother is +said to have stated, who is no more, +but died in the full hope of a glorious +resurrection, upward of three years ago, +aged eighty-six, being a Christian woman +and without guile, as it were, or +property, in consequence of the fire of +1849, which destroyed every single +thing she had in the world. But such +is life. Let us all take warning by this +solemn occurrence, and let us endeavor +so to conduct ourselves that when we +come to die we can do it. Let us place +our hands upon our heart, and say +with earnestness and sincerity that +from this day forth we will beware of +the intoxicating bowl.—<i>First edition of +the Californian.</i></p></div> + +<p>The head editor has been in here +raising the mischief, and tearing his +hair and kicking the furniture about, +and abusing me like a pickpocket. +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_45" id="Page_45" href="#Page_45">[Pg 45]</a></span> +He says that every time he leaves +me in charge of the paper for half +an hour, I get imposed upon by the +first infant or the first idiot that comes +along. And he says that that distressing +item of Mr. Bloke's is nothing +but a lot of distressing bosh, and has +no point to it, and no sense in it, and +no information in it, and that there +was no sort of necessity for stopping +the press to publish it.</p> + +<p>Now all this comes of being good-hearted. +If I had been as unaccommodating +and unsympathetic as +some people, I would have told Mr. +Bloke that I wouldn't receive his +communication at such a late hour; +but no, his snuffling distress touched +my heart, and I jumped at the +chance of doing something to modify +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_46" id="Page_46" href="#Page_46">[Pg 46]</a></span> +his misery. I never read his item +to see whether there was anything +wrong about it, but hastily wrote the +few lines which preceded it, and +sent it to the printers. And what +has my kindness done for me? It +has done nothing but bring down +upon me a storm of abuse and ornamental +blasphemy.</p> + +<p>Now I will read that item myself, +and see if there is any foundation for +all this fuss. And if there is, the +author of it shall hear from me.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>I have read it, and I am bound +to admit that it seems a little mixed +at a first glance. However, I will +peruse it once more.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>I have read it again, and it does +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_47" id="Page_47" href="#Page_47">[Pg 47]</a></span> +really seem a good deal more mixed +than ever.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>I have read it over five times, +but if I can get at the meaning of it, +I wish I may get my just deserts. +It won't bear analysis. There are +things about it which I cannot +understand at all. It don't say +what ever became of William Schuyler. +It just says enough about him +to get one interested in his career, +and then drops him. Who is William +Schuyler, anyhow, and what part of +South Park did he live in, and if he +started down-town at six o'clock, +did he ever get there, and if he did, +did anything happen to him? Is <i>he</i> +the individual that met with the +"distressing accident"? Considering +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_48" id="Page_48" href="#Page_48">[Pg 48]</a></span> +the elaborate circumstantiality of detail +observable in the item, it seems +to me that it ought to contain more +information than it does. On the +contrary, it is obscure—and not only +obscure, but utterly incomprehensible. +Was the breaking of Mr. Schuyler's +leg, fifteen years ago, the "distressing +accident" that plunged Mr. +Bloke into unspeakable grief, and +caused him to come up here at dead +of night and stop our press to acquaint +the world with the circumstance? +Or did the "distressing accident" +consist in the destruction of +Schuyler's mother-in-law's property +in early times? Or did it consist in +the death of that person herself three +years ago (albeit it does not appear +that she died by accident)? In a +word, what <i>did</i> that "distressing accident" +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_49" id="Page_49" href="#Page_49">[Pg 49]</a></span> +consist in? What did that +drivelling ass of a Schuyler stand <i>in +the wake</i> of a runaway horse for, with +his shouting and gesticulating, if he +wanted to stop him? And how the +mischief could he get run over by a +horse that had already passed beyond +him? And what are we to +take "warning" by? And how is this +extraordinary chapter of incomprehensibilities +going to be a "lesson" to +us? And, above all, what has the intoxicating +"bowl" got to do with it, +anyhow? It is not stated that Schuyler +drank, or that his wife drank, or +that his mother-in-law drank, or +that the horse drank—wherefore, +then, the reference to the intoxicating +bowl? It does seem to me that +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_50" id="Page_50" href="#Page_50">[Pg 50]</a></span> +if Mr. Bloke had let the intoxicating +bowl alone himself, he never would +have got into so much trouble about +this exasperating imaginary accident. +I have read this absurd item over +and over again, with all its insinuating +plausibility, until my head swims, +but I can make neither head nor tail +of it. There certainly seems to have +been an accident of some kind or +other, but it is impossible to determine +what the nature of it was, or +who was the sufferer by it. I do not +like to do it, but I feel compelled to +request that the next time anything +happens to one of Mr. Bloke's friends, +he will append such explanatory +notes to his account of it as will +enable me to find out what sort of an +accident it was and whom it happened +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_51" id="Page_51" href="#Page_51">[Pg 51]</a></span> +to. I had rather all his friends +should die than that I should be +driven to the verge of lunacy again +in trying to cipher out the meaning +of another such production as the +above.</p> +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 123px;"> +<a href="images/ill066.jpg" name="I_HAVE_READ" id="I_HAVE_READ"> +<img src="images/ill066tn.jpg" width="123" height="200" class="plain" alt=""I HAVE READ THIS ABSURD ITEM OVER"" title=""I HAVE READ THIS ABSURD ITEM OVER"" /> +</a><span class="caption">"I HAVE READ THIS ABSURD ITEM OVER"</span> +</div> +<!-- image should face page 50 --> +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><div><br /></div> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_52" id="Page_52" href="#Page_52">[Pg 52]</a></span> +</p> +<h2><a name="How_I_Edited" id="How_I_Edited"></a>How I Edited an Agricultural Paper</h2> + + + +<p>I did not take temporary +editorship of an agricultural +paper without misgivings. +Neither would a +landsman take command of a ship +without misgivings. But I was in +circumstances that made the salary +an object. The regular editor of +the paper was going off for a holiday, +and I accepted the terms he offered, +and took his place.</p> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_53" id="Page_53" href="#Page_53">[Pg 53]</a></span> +</p> +<p>The sensation of being at work +again was luxurious, and I wrought +all the week with unflagging pleasure. +We went to press, and I waited a +day with some solicitude to see +whether my effort was going to attract +any notice. As I left the office, +towards sundown, a group of men +and boys at the foot of the stairs +dispersed with one impulse, and +gave me passageway, and I heard +one or two of them say, "That's +him!" I was naturally pleased by +this incident. The next morning I +found a similar group at the foot of +the stairs, and scattering couples +and individuals standing here and +there in the street, and over the +way, watching me with interest. +The group separated and fell back +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_54" id="Page_54" href="#Page_54">[Pg 54]</a></span> +as I approached, and I heard a man +say, "Look at his eye!" I pretended +not to observe the notice I +was attracting, but secretly I was +pleased with it, and was purposing +to write an account of it to my +aunt. I went up the short flight of +stairs, and heard cheery voices and a +ringing laugh as I drew near the door, +which I opened, and caught a glimpse +of two young rural-looking men, +whose faces blanched and lengthened +when they saw me, and then they +both plunged through the window +with a great crash. I was surprised.</p> + +<p>In about half an hour an old gentleman, +with a flowing beard and a +fine but rather austere face, entered, +and sat down at my invitation. He +seemed to have something on his +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_55" id="Page_55" href="#Page_55">[Pg 55]</a></span> +mind. He took off his hat and set it +on the floor, and got out of it a red +silk handkerchief and a copy of our +paper.</p> + +<p>He put the paper on his lap, and +while he polished his spectacles with +his handkerchief, he said, "Are you +the new editor?"</p> + +<p>I said I was.</p> + +<p>"Have you ever edited an agricultural +paper before?"</p> + +<p>"No," I said; "this is my first +attempt."</p> + +<p>"Very likely. Have you had any experience +in agriculture practically?"</p> + +<p>"No; I believe I have not."</p> + +<p>"Some instinct told me so," said +the old gentleman, putting on his +spectacles, and looking over them +at me with asperity, while he folded +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_56" id="Page_56" href="#Page_56">[Pg 56]</a></span> +his paper into a convenient shape. +"I wish to read you what must have +made me have that instinct. It was +this editorial. Listen, and see if it +was you that wrote it:</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>"Turnips should never be pulled, +it injures them. It is much better to +send a boy up and let him shake the +tree."</p></div> + +<p>"Now, what do you think of that—for +I really suppose you wrote it?"</p> + +<p>"Think of it? Why, I think it is +good. I think it is sense. I have +no doubt that every year millions +and millions of bushels of turnips +are spoiled in this township alone +by being pulled in a half-ripe condition, +when, if they had sent a boy +up to shake the tree—"</p> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_57" id="Page_57" href="#Page_57">[Pg 57]</a></span> +</p> +<p>"Shake your grandmother! Turnips +don't grow on trees!"</p> + +<p>"Oh, they don't, don't they! Well, +who said they did? The language +was intended to be figurative, wholly +figurative. Anybody that knows anything +will know that I meant that +the boy should shake the vine."</p> + +<p>Then this old person got up and +tore his paper all into small shreds, +and stamped on them, and broke several +things with his cane, and said +I did not know as much as a cow; +and then went out and banged the +door after him, and, in short, acted +in such a way that I fancied he was +displeased about something. But not +knowing what the trouble was, I +could not be any help to him.</p> +<div class="figleft" style="width: 125px;"> +<a href="images/ill076.jpg" name="A_LONG_CADAVEROUS" id="A_LONG_CADAVEROUS"> +<img src="images/ill076tn.jpg" width="125" height="200" class="plain" alt=""A LONG CADAVEROUS CREATURE"" title=""A LONG CADAVEROUS CREATURE"" /> +</a><span class="caption">"A LONG CADAVEROUS CREATURE"</span> +</div> +<p>Pretty soon after this a long +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_58" id="Page_58" href="#Page_58">[Pg 58]</a></span> +cadaverous creature, with lanky locks +hanging down to his shoulders, and +a week's stubble bristling from the +hills and valleys of his face, darted +within the door, and halted, motionless, +with finger on lip, and head and +body bent in listening attitude. No +sound was heard. Still he listened. +No sound. Then he turned the key +in the door, and came elaborately +tiptoeing towards me till he was +within long reaching distance of me, +when he stopped and, after scanning +my face with intense interest for a +while, drew a folded copy of our +paper from his bosom, and said:</p> + +<p>"There, you wrote that. Read it +to me—quick! Relieve me. I suffer."</p> + + + +<p>I read as follows; and as the sentences +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_59" id="Page_59" href="#Page_59">[Pg 59]</a></span> +fell from my lips I could see +the relief come, I could see the drawn +muscles relax, and the anxiety go +out of the face, and rest and peace +steal over the features like the merciful +moonlight over a desolate landscape:</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>"The guano is a fine bird, but great +care is necessary in rearing it. It +should not be imported earlier than +June or later than September. In the +winter it should be kept in a warm place, +where it can hatch out its young.</p> + +<p>"It is evident that we are to have a +backward season for grain. Therefore +it will be well for the farmer to begin +setting out his corn-stalks and planting +his buckwheat-cakes in July instead of +August.</p> + +<p>"Concerning the pumpkin.—This +berry is a favorite with the natives of +the interior of New England, who prefer +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_60" id="Page_60" href="#Page_60">[Pg 60]</a></span> +it to the gooseberry for the making +of fruit-cake, and who likewise give it +the preference over the raspberry for +feeding cows, as being more filling and +fully as satisfying. The pumpkin is +the only esculent of the orange family +that will thrive in the North, except the +gourd and one or two varieties of the +squash. But the custom of planting it +in the front yard with the shrubbery is +fast going out of vogue, for it is now +generally conceded that the pumpkin as +a shade tree is a failure.</p> + +<p>"Now, as the warm weather approaches, +and the ganders begin to +spawn"—</p></div> + +<p>The excited listener sprang towards +me to shake hands, and said:</p> + +<p>"There, there—that will do. I +know I am all right now, because +you have read it just as I did, word +for word. But, stranger, when I +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_61" id="Page_61" href="#Page_61">[Pg 61]</a></span> +first read it this morning, I said to +myself, I never, never believed it +before, notwithstanding my friends +kept me under watch so strict, but +now I believe I <i>am</i> crazy; and with +that I fetched a howl that you +might have heard two miles, and +started out to kill somebody—because, +you know, I knew it would +come to that sooner or later, and so +I might as well begin. I read one +of them paragraphs over again, so +as to be certain, and then I burned +my house down and started. I have +crippled several people, and have +got one fellow up a tree, where I can +get him if I want him. But I thought +I would call in here as I passed along +and make the thing perfectly certain; +and now it <i>is</i> certain, and I tell +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_62" id="Page_62" href="#Page_62">[Pg 62]</a></span> +you it is lucky for the chap that is +in the tree. I should have killed +him sure, as I went back. Good-bye, +sir, good-bye; you have taken a +great load off my mind. My reason +has stood the strain of one of your +agricultural articles, and I know that +nothing can ever unseat it now. +<i>Good</i>-bye, sir."</p> + +<p>I felt a little uncomfortable about +the cripplings and arsons this person +had been entertaining himself with, +for I could not help feeling remotely +accessory to them. But these +thoughts were quickly banished, for +the regular editor walked in! [I +thought to myself, Now if you had +gone to Egypt, as I recommended +you to, I might have had a chance +to get my hand in; but you wouldn't +do it, and here you are. I sort of +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_63" id="Page_63" href="#Page_63">[Pg 63]</a></span> +expected you.]</p> + +<p>The editor was looking sad and +perplexed and dejected.</p> + +<p>He surveyed the wreck which that +old rioter and these two young farmers +had made, and then said: "This +is a sad business—a very sad business. +There is the mucilage-bottle +broken, and six panes of glass, and a +spittoon, and two candlesticks. But +that is not the worst. The reputation +of the paper is injured—and permanently, +I fear. True, there never +was such a call for the paper before, +and it never sold such a large edition +or soared to such celebrity; but does +one want to be famous for lunacy, +and prosper upon the infirmities of +his mind? My friend, as I am an +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_64" id="Page_64" href="#Page_64">[Pg 64]</a></span> +honest man, the street out here is +full of people, and others are roosting +on the fences, waiting to get a glimpse +of you, because they think you are +crazy. And well they might after +reading your editorials. They are a +disgrace to journalism. Why, what +put it into your head that you could +edit a paper of this nature? You +do not seem to know the first rudiments +of agriculture. You speak of +a furrow and a harrow as being the +same thing; you talk of the moulting +season for cows; and you recommend +the domestication of the polecat +on account of its playfulness and +its excellence as a ratter! Your remark +that clams will lie quiet if +music be played to them was superfluous—entirely +superfluous. Nothing +disturbs clams. Clams <i>always</i> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_65" id="Page_65" href="#Page_65">[Pg 65]</a></span> +lie quiet. Clams care nothing whatever +about music. Ah, heavens and +earth, friend! if you had made the +acquiring of ignorance the study of +your life, you could not have graduated +with higher honor than you +could to-day. I never saw anything +like it. Your observation that +the horse-chestnut as an article of +commerce is steadily gaining in favor, +is simply calculated to destroy +this journal. I want you to throw +up your situation and go. I want no +more holiday—I could not enjoy it +if I had it. Certainly not with you +in my chair. I would always stand +in dread of what you might be going +to recommend next. It makes me +lose all patience every time I think +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_66" id="Page_66" href="#Page_66">[Pg 66]</a></span> +of your discussing oyster-beds under +the head of 'Landscape Gardening.' +I want you to go. Nothing on earth +could persuade me to take another +holiday. Oh! why didn't you <i>tell</i> +me you didn't know anything about +agriculture?"</p> + +<p>"<i>Tell</i> you, you cornstalk, you cabbage, +you son of a cauliflower? It's +the first time I ever heard such an +unfeeling remark. I tell you I have +been in the editorial business going +on fourteen years, and it is the first +time I ever heard of a man's having +to know anything in order to edit +a newspaper. You turnip! Who +write the dramatic critiques for the +second-rate papers? Why, a parcel +of promoted shoemakers and apprentice +apothecaries, who know just +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_67" id="Page_67" href="#Page_67">[Pg 67]</a></span> +as much about good acting as I do +about good farming and no more. +Who review the books? People who +never wrote one. Who do up the +heavy leaders on finance? Parties +who have had the largest opportunities +for knowing nothing about it. +Who criticise the Indian campaigns? +Gentlemen who do not know a warwhoop +from a wigwam, and who +never have had to run a foot-race +with a tomahawk, or pluck arrows +out of the several members of their +families to build the evening campfire +with. Who write the temperance +appeals, and clamor about the +flowing bowl? Folks who will never +draw another sober breath till they +do it in the grave. Who edit the +agricultural papers, you—yam? +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_68" id="Page_68" href="#Page_68">[Pg 68]</a></span> +Men, as a general thing, who fail in +the poetry line, yellow-colored novel +line, sensation-drama line, city-editor +line, and finally fall back on agriculture +as a temporary reprieve from +the poor-house. <i>You</i> try to tell <i>me</i> +anything about the newspaper business! +Sir, I have been through it +from Alpha to Omaha, and I tell +you that the less a man knows the +bigger the noise he makes and the +higher the salary he commands. +Heaven knows if I had but been +ignorant instead of cultivated, and +impudent instead of diffident, I could +have made a name for myself in this +cold selfish world. I take my leave, +sir. Since I have been treated as +you have treated me, I am perfectly +willing to go. But I have done my +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_69" id="Page_69" href="#Page_69">[Pg 69]</a></span> +duty. I have fulfilled my contract +as far as I was permitted to do it. I +said I could make your paper of interest +to all classes—and I have. I +said I could run your circulation up +to twenty thousand copies, and if I +had had two more weeks I'd have +done it. And I'd have given you +the best class of readers that ever an +agricultural paper had—not a farmer +in it, nor a solitary individual who +could tell a watermelon-tree from a +peach-vine to save his life. <i>You</i> are +the loser by this rupture, not me, +Pie-plant. Adios."</p> + +<p>I then left.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><div><br /></div> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_70" id="Page_70" href="#Page_70">[Pg 70]</a></span> +</p> +<h2><a name="The_Killing_of_Julius" id="The_Killing_of_Julius"></a>The Killing of Julius Cæsar "Localized"</h2> + + +<div class="blockquot"><p><i>Being the only true and reliable account +ever published; taken from +the "Roman Daily Evening Fasces," +of the date of that tremendous +occurrence.</i></p></div> + + +<p>Nothing in the world +affords a newspaper reporter +so much satisfaction +as gathering up the +details of a bloody and mysterious +murder, and writing them up with +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_71" id="Page_71" href="#Page_71">[Pg 71]</a></span> +aggravating circumstantiality. He +takes a living delight in this labor of +love—for such it is to him, especially +if he knows that all the other papers +have gone to press, and his will be +the only one that will contain the +dreadful intelligence. A feeling of +regret has often come over me that I +was not reporting in Rome when +Cæsar was killed—reporting on an +evening paper, and the only one in +the city, and getting at least twelve +hours ahead of the morning-paper +boys with this most magnificent +"item" that ever fell to the lot of +the craft. Other events have happened +as startling as this, but none +that possessed so peculiarly all the +characteristics of the favorite "item" +of the present day, magnified into +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_72" id="Page_72" href="#Page_72">[Pg 72]</a></span> +grandeur and sublimity by the high +rank, fame, and social and political +standing of the actors in it.</p> + +<p>However, as I was not permitted +to report Cæsar's assassination in +the regular way, it has at least afforded +me rare satisfaction to translate +the following able account of it +from the original Latin of the <i>Roman +Daily Evening Fasces</i> of that date—second +edition.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>"Our usually quiet city of Rome was +thrown into a state of wild excitement +yesterday by the occurrence of one of +those bloody affrays which sicken the +heart and fill the soul with fear, while +they inspire all thinking men with forebodings +for the future of a city where +human life is held so cheaply, and the +gravest laws are so openly set at defiance. +As the result of that affray, +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_73" id="Page_73" href="#Page_73">[Pg 73]</a></span> +it is our painful duty, as public journalists, +to record the death of one of our +most esteemed citizens—a man whose +name is known wherever this paper +circulates, and whose fame it has been +our pleasure and our privilege to extend, +and also to protect from the tongue +of slander and falsehood, to the best of +our poor ability. We refer to Mr. J. +Cæsar, the Emperor-elect.</p> + +<p>"The facts of the case, as nearly as +our reporter could determine them +from the conflicting statements of eyewitnesses, +were about as follows:—The +affair was an election row, of course. +Nine-tenths of the ghastly butcheries +that disgrace the city nowadays grow +out of the bickerings and jealousies and +animosities engendered by these accursed +elections. Rome would be the +gainer by it if her very constables were +elected to serve a century; for in our +experience we have never even been +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_74" id="Page_74" href="#Page_74">[Pg 74]</a></span> +able to choose a dog-pelter without +celebrating the event with a dozen +knockdowns and a general cramming +of the station-house with drunken +vagabonds overnight. It is said that +when the immense majority for Cæsar +at the polls in the market was declared +the other day, and the crown was offered +to that gentleman, even his amazing +unselfishness in refusing it three times +was not sufficient to save him from +the whispered insults of such men as +Casca, of the Tenth Ward, and other +hirelings of the disappointed candidate, +hailing mostly from the Eleventh and +Thirteenth and other outside districts, +who were overheard speaking ironically +and contemptuously of Mr. Cæsar's conduct +upon that occasion.</p> + +<p>"We are further informed that there +are many among us who think they are +justified in believing that the assassination +of Julius Cæsar was a put-up thing—a +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_75" id="Page_75" href="#Page_75">[Pg 75]</a></span> +cut-and-dried arrangement, hatched +by Marcus Brutus and a lot of his +hired roughs, and carried out only too +faithfully according to the programme. +Whether there be good grounds for this +suspicion or not, we leave to the people +to judge for themselves, only asking +that they will read the following account +of the sad occurrence carefully +and dispassionately before they render +that judgment.</p> + +<p>"The Senate was already in session, +and Cæsar was coming down the street +towards the Capitol, conversing with +some personal friends, and followed, as +usual, by a large number of citizens. +Just as he was passing in front of Demosthenes +& Thucydides' drug-store, +he was observing casually to a gentleman, +who, our informant thinks, is a +fortune-teller, that the Ides of March +were come. The reply was, 'Yes, they +are come, but not gone yet.' At this +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_76" id="Page_76" href="#Page_76">[Pg 76]</a></span> +moment Artemidorus stepped up and +passed the time of day, and asked +Cæsar to read a schedule or a tract or +something of the kind, which he had +brought for his perusal. Mr. Decius +Brutus also said something about an +'humble suit' which <i>he</i> wanted read. +Artemidorus begged that attention +might be paid to his first, because it was +of personal consequence to Cæsar. The +latter replied that what concerned himself +should be read last, or words to +that effect. Artemidorus begged and +beseeched him to read the paper instantly.<a name="FNanchor_A_1" id="FNanchor_A_1"></a><a href="#Footnote_A_1" class="fnanchor">[1]</a> +However, Cæsar shook him +off, and refused to read any petition +in the street. He then entered the +Capitol, and the crowd followed him.</p></div> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_77" id="Page_77" href="#Page_77">[Pg 77]</a></span> +</p> +<div class="blockquot"><p>"About this time the following conversation +was overheard, and we consider +that, taken in connection with +the events which succeeded it, it bears +an appalling significance: Mr. Papilius +Lena remarked to George W. Cassius +(commonly known as the 'Nobby Boy +of the Third Ward'), a bruiser in the pay +of the Opposition, that he hoped his +enterprise to-day might thrive; and +when Cassius asked, 'What enterprise?' +he only closed his left eye temporarily +and said with simulated indifference, +'Fare you well,' and sauntered towards +Cæsar. Marcus Brutus, who is suspected +of being the ringleader of the +band that killed Cæsar, asked what it +was that Lena had said. Cassius told +him, and added, in a low tone, '<i>I fear +our purpose is discovered.</i>'</p> + +<p>"Brutus told his wretched accomplice +to keep an eye on Lena, and a +moment after Cassius urged that lean +and hungry vagrant, Casca, whose +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_78" id="Page_78" href="#Page_78">[Pg 78]</a></span> +reputation here is none of the best, to +be sudden for <i>he feared prevention</i>. +He then turned to Brutus, apparently +much excited, and asked what should +be done, and swore that either he or +Cæsar <i>should never turn back</i>—he would +kill himself first. At this time Cæsar +was talking to some of the back-country +members about the approaching fall +elections, and paying little attention +to what was going on around him. +Billy Trebonius got into conversation +with the people's friend and Cæsar's—Mark +Antony—and under some pretence +or other got him away, and Brutus, +Decius, Casca, Cinna, Metellus Cimber, +and others of the gang of infamous +desperadoes that infest Rome at present, +closed around the doomed Cæsar. +Then Metellus Cimber knelt down and +begged that his brother might be recalled +from banishment, but Cæsar +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_79" id="Page_79" href="#Page_79">[Pg 79]</a></span> +rebuked him for his fawning conduct, +and refused to grant his petition. Immediately, +at Cimber's request, first +Brutus and then Cassius begged for +the return of the banished Publius; +but Cæsar still refused. He said he +could not be moved; that he was as +fixed as the North Star, and proceeded +to speak in the most complimentary +terms of the firmness of that star and its +steady character. Then he said he was +like it, and he believed he was the only +man in the country that was; therefore, +since he was 'constant' that Cimber +should be banished, he was also +'constant' that he should stay banished, +and he'd be hanged if he didn't keep +him so!</p> + +<p>"Instantly seizing upon this shallow +pretext for a fight, Casca sprang at +Cæsar and struck him with a dirk. +Cæsar grabbing him by the arm with +his right hand, and launching a blow +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_80" id="Page_80" href="#Page_80">[Pg 80]</a></span> +straight from the shoulder with his +left that sent the reptile bleeding to +the earth. He then backed up against +Pompey's statue, and squared himself +to receive his assailants. Cassius and +Cimber and Cinna rushed upon him +with their daggers drawn, and the +former succeeded in inflicting a wound +upon his body; but before he could +strike again, and before either of the +others could strike at all, Cæsar stretched +the three miscreants at his feet with +as many blows of his powerful fist. +By this time the Senate was in an +indescribable uproar; the throng of +citizens in the lobbies had blockaded +the doors in their frantic efforts to +escape from the building, the sergeant-at-arms +and his assistants were struggling +with the assassins, venerable +senators had cast aside their encumbering +robes, and were leaping over +benches and flying down the aisles in +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_81" id="Page_81" href="#Page_81">[Pg 81]</a></span> +wild confusion towards the shelter of +the committee-rooms, and a thousand +voices were shouting 'Po-lice! Po-lice!' +in discordant tones that rose above the +frightful din like shrieking winds above +the roaring of a tempest. And amid +it all, great Cæsar stood with his back +against the statue, like a lion at bay, +and fought his assailants weaponless +and hand to hand, with the defiant +bearing and the unwavering courage +which he had shown before on many a +bloody field. Billy Trebonius and Caius +Legarius struck him with their daggers +and fell, as their brother-conspirators +before them had fallen. But at last, +when Cæsar saw his old friend Brutus +step forward armed with a murderous +knife, it is said he seemed utterly overpowered +with grief and amazement, +and dropping his invincible left arm +by his side, he hid his face in the folds +of his mantle and received the treacherous +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_82" id="Page_82" href="#Page_82">[Pg 82]</a></span> +blow without an effort to stay the +hand that gave it. He only said, '<i>Et +tu, Brute?</i>' and fell lifeless on the marble +pavement.</p> + +<div class="figleft" style="width: 124px;"> +<a href="images/ill082.jpg" name="THERE_WAS_NOTHING" id="THERE_WAS_NOTHING"> +<img src="images/ill082tn.jpg" width="124" height="200" class="plain" alt=""THERE WAS NOTHING IN THE POCKETS"" title=""THERE WAS NOTHING IN THE POCKETS"" /> +</a><span class="caption">"THERE WAS NOTHING IN THE POCKETS"</span> +</div> + +<p>"We learn that the coat deceased +had on when he was killed was the +same one he wore in his tent on the +afternoon of the day he overcame the +Nervii, and that when it was removed +from the corpse it was found to be +cut and gashed in no less than seven +different places. There was nothing in +the pockets. It will be exhibited at +the coroner's inquest, and will be damning +proof of the fact of the killing. +These latter facts may be relied on, +as we get them from Mark Antony, +whose position enables him to learn +every item of news connected with the +one subject of absorbing interest of +to-day.</p> + +<p>"<span class="smcap">Later</span>.—While the coroner was +summoning a jury, Mark Antony and +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_83" id="Page_83" href="#Page_83">[Pg 83]</a></span> +other friends of the late Cæsar got hold +of the body, and lugged it off to the +Forum, and at last accounts Antony +and Brutus were making speeches over +it and raising such a row among the +people that, as we go to press, the +chief of police is satisfied there is going +to be a riot, and is taking measures +accordingly."</p> + +<p><br /></p> +<p class="center">THE END</p></div> + +<hr style="width: 95%;" /><div class="footnotes"><div class="footnote"> +<h3>FOOTNOTE</h3><p><a name="Footnote_A_1" id="Footnote_A_1"></a> +<a href="#FNanchor_A_1"><span class="label">1</span></a> Mark that: It is hinted by William +Shakespeare, who saw the beginning and +the end of the unfortunate affray, that this +"schedule" was simply a note discovering +to Cæsar that a plot was brewing to take +his life.</p></div></div> + + + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Editorial Wild Oats, by Mark Twain + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK EDITORIAL WILD OATS *** + +***** This file should be named 19484-h.htm or 19484-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/1/9/4/8/19484/ + +Produced by Suzan Flanagan and the Online Distributed +Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was +produced from images generously made available by The +Internet Archive/American Libraries) + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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