The Book of Anecdotes and Budget of Fun Part 25

POOR Tom Dibdin, a convivial, but always a sober man, gives a delicate allusion to the drinking propensity, in the following toast:--"May the man who has a good wife, never be addicted to liquor (_lick her_.)"--_Bentley's Miscellany._

KICKING A YANKEE.

A VERY handsome friend of ours, who a few weeks ago was poked out of a comfortable office up the river, has taken himself to Bangor for a time to recover from the wound inflicted upon his feelings by our "unprincipled and immolating administration."

Change of air must have had an instant effect upon his spirits, for, from Galena, he writes us an amusing letter, which, among other things, tells of a desperate quarrel that took place on board of a boat, between a real live tourist and a real live Yankee settler. The latter trod on the toes of the former, whereupon the former threatened to "kick out of the cabin" the latter.

"You'll kick me out of this cabing?"

"Yes, Sir, I'll kick you out of this cabin!"

"You'll kick _me_, Mr. Hitchc.o.c.k, out of this cabing?"

"Yes, Sir, I'll kick _you_, Mr. Hitchc.o.c.k!"

"Well, I guess," said the Yankee, very coolly, after being perfectly satisfied that it was himself that stood in such imminent danger of a.s.sault, "I guess, since you talk of kicking, you've never heard me tell about old Bradly and my mare to hum?"

"No, Sir, nor do I wish--"

"Wall, guess it won't set you back much, any how, as kicking's generally best to be considered on. You see old Bradly is one of those sanctimonious, long-faced hypocrites who put on a religious suit every Sabbath day morning, and with a good deal of s.c.r.e.w.i.n.g, manage to keep it on till after sermon in the afternoon; and as I was a Universalist, he allers picked me out as a subject for religious conversation--and the darned hypocrite would talk about heaven, and h.e.l.l, and the devil--the crucifixion and prayer without ever winking. Wall, he had an old roan mare that would jump over any fourteen rail fence in Illinois, and open any door in any barn that hadn't a padlock on it. Tu or three times I found her in my stable, and I told Bradly about it, and he was 'very sorry--an unruly animal--would watch'--and a hull lot of such things; all said in a serious manner, with a face twice as long as old deacon Farrar's on sacrament day.

"I knew, all the time, he was lying, and so I watched him and his old roan tu; and for three nights regular, old roan came to my stable about bed-time, and just at day-light Bradly would come, bridle her, and ride off. I then just took my old mare down to a blacksmith's shop and had some shoes made with corks about four inches long, and had 'em nailed on her hind feet. Your heels, mister, ain't nuthin to 'em. I took her hum--gave her about ten feet halter, tied her right in the centre of the stable, fed her well with oats at nine o'clock, and after taking a good smoke, went to bed, knowing that my old mare was a truth-telling animal, and that she'd give a good report of herself in the morning.

"I hadn't got fairly asleep before the old woman hunched me, and wanted to know what on airth was the matter out in the stable. So says I, 'Go to sleep, Peggy, it's nothing but Kate--she's kicking off flies, I guess.' Putty soon she hunched me again, and says, 'Mr. Hitchc.o.c.k, du get up, and see what in the world is the matter with Kate, for she is kicking most powerfully.'

"'Lay still, Peggy, Kate will take care of herself, I guess.'

"Well the next morning, about daylight, Bradly, with bridle in hand, c.u.m to the stable, and true as the book of Genesis, when he saw the old roan's sides, starn, and head, he cursed and swore worse than you did, mister, when I came down on your toes. After breakfast that morning, Joe Davis c.u.m down to my house, and says he--

"'Bradly's old roan is nearly dead--she's cut all to pieces, and can scarcely move.'

"'I want to know,' says I; 'how on airth did it happen?'

"Now Joe was a member of the same church with Bradly, and whilst we were talking, up c.u.m the everlastin hypocrite, and says he,

"'My old mare is ruined!'

"'Du tell!' says I.

"'She is all cut to pieces,' says he; 'do you know whether she was in your stable, Mr. Hitchc.o.c.k, last night?'

"Wall, mister, with this I let out: 'Do I _know_ it?'--(the Yankee here, in ill.u.s.tration, made way for him, unconsciously, as it were.) 'Do I know it, you no-souled, shad-bellied, squash-headed old night owl, you!--you hay-lookin, corn-cribbin, fodder-fudgin, cent-shavin, whitlin-of-nothin, you? Kate kicks like a dumb beast, but I have reduced the thing to a science!'"

The Yankee had not ceased to advance, nor the dandy, in his astonishment, to retreat; and now the motion of the latter being accelerated by the apparent demonstration on the part of the former to suit the action to the word, he found himself in the "social hall,"

tumbling backwards over a pile of baggage, tearing the knees of his pants as he scrambled up, and a perfect scream of laughter stunning him on all sides. The defeat was total. A few moments afterward he was seen dragging his own trunk ash.o.r.e, while Mr. Hitchc.o.c.k finished his story on the boiler deck.--_St. Louis Reveille._

DANCING THEIR RAGS OFF.

TWO unsophisticated country la.s.ses visited Niblo's in New York during the ballet season. When the short-skirted, gossamer clad nymphs made their appearance on the stage they became restless and fidgety.

"Oh, Annie!" exclaimed one _sotto voce_.

"Well, Mary?"

"It ain't nice--I don't like it."

"Hush."

"I don't care, it ain't nice, and I wonder aunt brought us to such a place."

"Hush, Mary, the folks will laugh at you."

After one or two flings and a pirouette, the blus.h.i.+ng Mary said:

"Oh, Annie, let's go--it ain't nice, and I don't feel comfortable."

"Do hush, Mary," replied the sister, whose own face was scarlet, though it wore an air of determination: "it's the first time I ever was at a theatre, and I suppose it will be the last, _so I am just going to stay it out, if they dance every rag off their backs_!"

DISINTERESTED ADVICE.

"HUSBAND, I have the asthma so bad that I can't breathe." "Well, my dear, I wouldn't try; n.o.body wants you to."

AN EDITOR DREAMING ON WEDDING CAKE.

A BACHELOR editor out West, who had received from the fair hand of a bride, a piece of elegant wedding-cake to dream on, thus gives the result of his experience.

"We put it under the head of our pillow, shut our eyes sweetly as an infant blessed with an easy conscience, and snored prodigiously. The G.o.d of dreams gently touched us, and lo! in fancy we were married! Never was a little editor so happy. It was 'my love,' 'dearest,' 'sweetest,'

ringing in our ears every moment. Oh! that the dream had broken off here. But no! some evil genius put it into the head of our ducky to have pudding for dinner just to please her lord.

"In a hungry dream, we sat down to dinner. Well, the pudding moment arrived, and a huge slice almost obscured from sight the plate before us.