Shapes of Clay Part 17
You’re reading novel Shapes of Clay Part 17 online at LightNovelFree.com. Please use the follow button to get notification about the latest chapter next time when you visit LightNovelFree.com. Use F11 button to read novel in full-screen(PC only). Drop by anytime you want to read free – fast – latest novel. It’s great if you could leave a comment, share your opinion about the new chapters, new novel with others on the internet. We’ll do our best to bring you the finest, latest novel everyday. Enjoy!
MR. FINK'S DEBATING DONKEY.
Of a person known as Peters I will humbly crave your leave An unusual adventure into narrative to weave-- Mr. William Perry Peters, of the town of Muscatel, A public educator and an orator as well.
Mr. Peters had a weakness which, 'tis painful to relate, Was a strong predisposition to the pleasures of debate.
He would foster disputation wheresoever he might be; In polygonal contention none so happy was as he.
'Twas observable, however, that the exercises ran Into monologue by Peters, that rhetorical young man.
And the Muscatelian rustics who a.s.sisted at the show, By involuntary silence testified their overthrow-- Mr. Peters, all unheedful of their silence and their grief, Still effacing every vestige of erroneous belief.
O, he was a sore affliction to all heretics so bold As to entertain opinions that he didn't care to hold.
One day--'t was in pursuance of a pedagogic plan For the mental elevation of Uncultivated Man-- Mr. Peters, to his pupils, in dismissing them, explained That the Friday evening following (unless, indeed, it rained) Would be signalized by holding in the schoolhouse a debate Free to all who their opinions might desire to ventilate On the question, "Which is better, as a serviceable gift, Speech or hearing, from barbarity the human mind to lift?"
The pupils told their fathers, who, forehanded always, met At the barroom to discuss it every evening, dry or wet, They argued it and argued it and spat upon the stove, And the non-committal "barkeep" on their differences throve.
And I state it as a maxim in a loosish kind of way: You'll have the more to back your word the less you have to say.
Public interest was lively, but one Ebenezer Fink Of the Rancho del Jackrabbit, only seemed to sit and think.
On the memorable evening all the men of Muscatel Came to listen to the logic and the eloquence as well-- All but William Perry Peters, whose attendance there, I fear.
Was to wreak his ready rhetoric upon the public ear, And prove (whichever side he took) that hearing wouldn't lift The human mind as ably as the other, greater gift.
The judges being chosen and the disputants enrolled, The question he proceeded _in extenso_ to unfold: "_Resolved_--The sense of hearing lifts the mind up out of reach Of the fogs of error better than the faculty of speech."
This simple proposition he expounded, word by word, Until they best understood it who least perfectly had heard.
Even the judges comprehended as he ventured to explain-- The impact of a spit-ball admonis.h.i.+ng in vain.
Beginning at a period before Creation's morn, He had reached the bounds of tolerance and Adam yet unborn.
As down the early centuries of pre-historic time He tracked important principles and quoted striking rhyme, And Whisky Bill, prosaic soul! proclaiming him a jay, Had risen and like an earthquake, "reeled unheededly away,"
And a late lamented cat, when opportunity should serve, Was preparing to embark upon her parabolic curve, A noise arose outside--the door was opened with a bang And old Ebenezer Fink was heard e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.i.n.g. "G'lang!"
Straight into that a.s.sembly gravely marched without a wink An ancient a.s.s--the property it was of Mr. Fink.
Its ears depressed and beating time to its infestive tread, Silent through silence moved amain that stately quadruped!
It stopped before the orator, and in the lamplight thrown Upon its tail they saw that member weighted with a stone.
Then spake old Ebenezer: "Gents, I heern o' this debate On w'ether v'ice or y'ears is best the mind to elevate.
Now 'yer's a bird ken throw some light uponto that tough theme: He has 'em both, I'm free to say, oncommonly extreme.
He wa'n't invited for to speak, but he will not refuse (If t'other gentleman ken wait) to exposay his views."
Ere merriment or anger o'er amazement could prevail; He cut the string that held the stone on that canary's tail.
Freed from the weight, that member made a gesture of delight, Then rose until its rigid length was horizontal quite.
With lifted head and level ears along his withers laid, Jack sighed, refilled his lungs and then--to put it mildly--brayed!
He brayed until the stones were stirred in circ.u.mjacent hills, And sleeping women rose and fled, in divers kinds of frills.
'T is said that awful bugle-blast--to make the story brief-- Wafted William Perry Peters through the window, like a leaf!
Such is the tale. If anything additional occurred 'Tis not set down, though, truly, I remember to have heard That a gentleman named Peters, now residing at Soquel, A considerable distance from the town of Muscatel, Is opposed to education, and to rhetoric, as well.
TO MY LAUNDRESS.
Saponacea, wert thou not so fair I'd curse thee for thy mult.i.tude of sins-- For sending home my clothes all full of pins-- A s.h.i.+rt occasionally that's a snare And a delusion, got, the Lord knows where, The Lord knows why--a sock whose outs and ins None know, nor where it ends nor where begins, And fewer cuffs than ought to be my share.
But when I mark thy lilies how they grow, And the red roses of thy ripening charms, I bless the lovelight in thy dark eyes dreaming.
I'll never pay thee, but I'd gladly go Into the magic circle of thine arms, Supple and fragrant from repeated steaming.
FAME.
One thousand years I slept beneath the sod, My sleep in 1901 beginning, Then, by the action of some scurvy G.o.d Who happened then to recollect my sinning, I was revived and given another inning.
On breaking from my grave I saw a crowd-- A formless mult.i.tude of men and women, Gathered about a ruin. Clamors loud I heard, and curses deep enough to swim in; And, pointing at me, one said: "Let's put _him_ in."
Then each turned on me with an evil look, As in my ragged shroud I stood and shook.
"Nay, good Posterity," I cried, "forbear!
If that's a jail I fain would be remaining Outside, for truly I should little care To catch my death of cold. I'm just regaining The life lost long ago by my disdaining To take precautions against draughts like those That, haply, penetrate that cracked and splitting Old structure." Then an aged wight arose From a chair of state in which he had been sitting, And with preliminary coughing, spitting And wheezing, said: "'T is not a jail, we're sure, Whate'er it may have been when it was newer.
"'T was found two centuries ago, o'ergrown With brush and ivy, all undoored, ungated; And in restoring it we found a stone Set here and there in the dilapidated And crumbling frieze, inscribed, in antiquated Big characters, with certain uncouth names, Which we conclude were borne of old by awful Rapscallions guilty of all sinful games-- Vagrants engaged in purposes unlawful, And orators less sensible than jawful.
So each ten years we add to the long row A name, the most unworthy that we know."
"But why," I asked, "put _me_ in?" He replied: "You look it"--and the judgment pained me greatly; Right gladly would I then and there have died, But that I'd risen from the grave so lately.
But on examining that solemn, stately Old ruin I remarked: "My friend, you err-- The truth of this is just what I expected.
This building in its time made quite a stir.
I lived (was famous, too) when 't was erected.
The names here first inscribed were much respected.
This is the Hall of Fame, or I'm a stork, And this goat pasture once was called New York."
OMNES VANITAS.
Alas for ambition's possessor!
Alas for the famous and proud!
The Isle of Manhattan's best dresser Is wearing a hand-me-down shroud.
The world has forgotten his glory; The wagoner sings on his wain, And Chauncey Depew tells a story, And jacka.s.ses laugh in the lane.
ASPIRATION.
No man can truthfully say that he would not like to be President.--_William C. Whitney._
Lo! the wild rabbit, happy in the pride Of qualities to meaner beasts denied, Surveys the a.s.s with reverence and fear, Adoring his superior length of ear, And says: "No living creature, lean or fat, But wishes in his heart to be like That!"
DEMOCRACY.
Let slaves and subjects with unvaried psalms Before their sovereign execute salaams; The freeman scorns one idol to adore-- Tom, d.i.c.k and Harry and himself are four.
Shapes of Clay Part 17
You're reading novel Shapes of Clay Part 17 online at LightNovelFree.com. You can use the follow function to bookmark your favorite novel ( Only for registered users ). If you find any errors ( broken links, can't load photos, etc.. ), Please let us know so we can fix it as soon as possible. And when you start a conversation or debate about a certain topic with other people, please do not offend them just because you don't like their opinions.
Shapes of Clay Part 17 summary
You're reading Shapes of Clay Part 17. This novel has been translated by Updating. Author: Ambrose Bierce already has 630 views.
It's great if you read and follow any novel on our website. We promise you that we'll bring you the latest, hottest novel everyday and FREE.
LightNovelFree.com is a most smartest website for reading novel online, it can automatic resize images to fit your pc screen, even on your mobile. Experience now by using your smartphone and access to LightNovelFree.com
- Related chapter:
- Shapes of Clay Part 16
- Shapes of Clay Part 18