The Humors of Falconbridge. Falconbridge

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СКАЧАТЬ to men in the fifth stage of libation deep; "Gentlemen – hic —gentlemen, I'm requested to state – hic – that – hic – a very serious piece of intelligence – hic – has met my ear. This gentleman – hic – says somebody's dead in the next – hic – room."

      "Not at all, sir; I did not say that, sir," says the clerk.

      "Beg – hic – your pardon, sir – hic – it's all right; if it ain't all right, I'll make it – hic —all right in the morning! Gentlemen, let's – hic – us all adjourn; let's change the see – hic – scene, call a coach – hic – somebody, let's take a ride – hic – and return and go to – hic – our pious – hic – rest."

      Having delivered this order and exhortation, Don Cæsar arose on his pins, and marshalling his party, after a general swap of hats all around, in which trade big heads got smallest hats, and small heads got largest hats, by aid of the staircase and the servants, they all got to the street, and lumbering into a large hack, they started off on a midnight airing, noisy and rip-roarious as so many sailors on a land cruise. The last words uttered by Don Cæsar, there, as the coach drove off, were:

      "All right – hic – mi boy, if it ain't, we'll make it all right in the morning!"

      "Yes, that we will," says the landlord, "and if I don't stick you into a bill of costs 'in the morning,' rot me. You'll have a nice time," he continued, "out carousing till daylight; lucky I've got his wallet in the fire-proof, the jackass would be robbed before he got back, and I'd lose my bill!"

      Don Cæsar did not return to make good his promise in the morning, and so the landlord took the liberty of investigating the wallet, deposited for safe keeping in the fire-proof of the office, by the Don; and lo! and behold! it contained old checks, unreceipted bills, and a few samples of Brandon bank notes, with this emphatic remark: – "All right, if it ain't all right, we'll make it all right in the morning!"

      Don't you believe in 'em?

      We are astounded at the incredulity of some people. Every now and then you run afoul of somebody who does not believe in spiritual knockers. Enter any of our drinking saloons, take a seat, or stand up, and look on for an hour or two, especially about the time "churchyards yawn!" and if you are any longer skeptical upon the spirit-ual manifestations as exhibited in the knee pans, shoulder joints, and thickness of the tongue of the mediums, – education would be thrown away on you.

      The Old Black Bull

      It's poor human natur', all out, to wrangle and quarrel now and then, from the kitchen to the parlor, in church and state. Even the fathers of the holy tabernacle are not proof against this little weakness; for people will have passions, people will belong to meetin', and people will let their passions rise, even under the pulpit. But we have no distinct recollection of ever having known a misdirected, but properly interpreted letter, to settle a chuckly "plug muss," so efficiently and happily as the case we have in point.

      Old John Bulkley (grandson of the once famous President Chauncey) was a minister of the gospel, and one of the best edicated men of his day in the wooden nutmeg State, when the immortal (or ought to be) Jonathan Trumbull was "around," and in his youth. Mr. Bulkley was the first settled minister in the town of his adoption, Colchester, Connecticut. It was with him, as afterwards with good old brother Jonathan (Governor Trumbull, the bosom friend of General Washington), good to confer on almost any matter, scientific, political, or religious – any subject, in short, wherein common sense and general good to all concerned was the issue. As a philosophical reasoner, casuist, and good counselor, he was "looked up to," and abided by.

      It so fell out that a congregation in Mr. Bulkley's vicinity got to loggerheads, and were upon the apex of raising "the evil one" instead of a spire to their church, as they proposed and split upon. The very nearest they could come to a mutual cessation of the hostilities, was to appoint a committee of three, to wait on Mr. Bulkley, state their case, and get him to adjudicate. They waited on the old gentleman, and he listened with grave attention to their conflicting grievances.

      "It appears to me," said the old gentleman, "that this is a very simple case – a very trifling thing to cause you so much vexation."

      "So I say," says one of the committee.

      "I don't call it a trifling case, Mr. Bulkley," said another.

      "No case at all," responded the third.

      "It ain't, eh?" fiercely answered the first speaker.

      "No, it ain't, sir!" quite as savagely replied the third.

      "It's anything but a trifling case, anyhow," echoed number two, "to expect to raise the minister's salary and that new steeple, too, out of our small congregation."

      "There is no danger of raising much out of you, anyhow, Mr. Johnson," spitefully returned number one.

      "Gentlemen, if you please – " beseechingly interposed the sage.

      "I haven't come here, Mr. Bulkley, to quarrel," said one.

      "Who started this?" sarcastically answered Mr. Johnson.

      "Not me, anyway," number three replies.

      "You don't say I did, do you?" says number one.

      "Gentlemen! – gentlemen! – "

      "Mr. Bulkley, you see how it is; there's Johnson – "

      "Yes, Mr. Bulkley," says Johnson, "and there's old Winkles, too, and here's Deacon Potter, also."

      "I am here," stiffly replied the deacon, "and I am sorry the Reverend Mr. Bulkley finds me in such company, sir!"

      "Now, gentlemen, brothers, if you please," said Mr. Bulkley, "this is ridiculous, – "

      "So I say," murmured Mr. Winkles.

      "As far as you are concerned, it is ridiculous," said the deacon.

      This brought Mr. Winkles up, standing.

      "Sir!" he shouted, "sir!"

      "But my dear sirs– " beseechingly said the philosopher.

      "Sir!" continued Winkles, "sir! I am too old a man – too good a Christian, Mr. Bulkley, to allow a man, a mean, despicable toad, like Deacon Potter – "

      "Do you call me —me a despicable toad?" menacingly cried the deacon.

      "Brethren," said Mr. Bulkley, "if I am to counsel you in your difference, I must have no more of this unchristian-like bickering."

      "I do not wish to bicker, sir," said Johnson.

      "Nor I don't want to, sir," said the deacon, "but when a man calls me a toad, a mean, despicable toad– "

      "Well, well, never mind," said Mr. Bulkley; "you are all too excited now; go home again, and wait patiently; on Saturday evening next, I will have prepared and sent to you a written opinion of your case, with a full and free avowal of most wholesome advice for preserving your church from desolation and yourselves from despair." And the committee left, to await his issue.

      Now it chanced that Mr. Bulkley had a small farm, some distance from the town of Colchester, and found it necessary, the same day he wrote his СКАЧАТЬ