The Humors of Falconbridge. Falconbridge

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ of the disaffected church, to drop a line to his farmer regarding the fixtures of said estate. Having written a long, and of course, elaborate "essay" to his brethren, he wound up the day's literary exertions with a despatch to the farmer, and after a reverie to himself, he directs the two documents, and next morning despatches them to their several destinations.

      On Saturday evening a full and anxious synod of the belligerent churchmen took place in their tabernacle, and punctually, as promised, came the despatch from the Plato of the time and place, – Rev. John Bulkley. All was quiet and respectful attention. The moderator took up the document, broke the seal, opened and – a pause ensued, while dubious amazement seemed to spread over the features of the worthy president of the meeting.

      "Well, brother Temple, how is it – what does Mr. Bulkley say?" and another pause followed.

      "Will the moderator please proceed?" said another voice.

      The moderator placed the paper upon the table, took off his spectacles, wiped the glasses, then his lips – replaced his specs upon his nose, and with a very broad grin, said:

      "Brethren, this appears to me to be a very singular letter, to say the least of it!"

      "Well, read it – read it," responded the wondering hearers.

      "I will," and the moderator began:

      "You will see to the repair of the fences, that they be built high and strong, and you will take special care of the old Black Bull."

      There was a general pause; a silent mystery overspread the community; the moderator dropped the paper to a "rest," and gazing over the top of his glasses for several minutes, nobody saying a word.

      "Repair the fences!" muttered the moderator at length.

      "Build them strong and high!" echoed Deacon Potter.

      "Take special care of the old Black Bull!" growled half the meeting.

      Then another pause ensued, and each man eyed his neighbor in mute mystery.

      A tall and venerable man now arose from his seat; clearing his voice with a hem, he spoke:

      "Brethren, you seem lost in the brief and eloquent words of our learned adviser. To me nothing could be more appropriate to our case. It is just such a profound and applicable reply to us as we should have hoped and looked for, from the learned and good man, John Bulkley. The direction to repair the fences, is to take heed in the admission and government of our members; we must guard the church by our Master's laws, and keep out stray and vicious cattle from the fold! And, above all things, set a trustworthy and vigilant watch over that old black bull, who is the devil, and who has already broken into our enclosures and sought to desolate and lay waste the fair grounds of our church!"

      The effect of this interpretation was electrical. All saw and took the force of Mr. Bulkley's cogent advice, and unanimously resolved to be governed by it; hence the old black bull was put hors du combat, and the church preserved its union!

      Dobbs makes "a Pint."

      Dobbs walked into a Dry Goodery, on Court street, and began to look around. A double jinted clerk immediately appeared to Dobbs.

      "What can I do for you, sir?" says he.

      "A good deal," says Dobbs, "but I bet you won't."

      "I'll bet I will," says the knight of the yard-stick, "if I can."

      "What'll you bet of that?" says the imperturbable Dobbs.

      "I'll bet a fourpence!" says the clerk, with a cute nod.

      "I'll go it," says Dobbs. "Now, trust me for a couple of dollars' wuth of yur stuffs!"

      "Lost, by Ned!" says yard-stick. "Well, there's the fourpence."

      "Thank you; call again when I want to trade!" says Dobbs.

      "Do, if you please; wouldn't like to lose your custom," says the clerk, "no how."

      Polite young man that – as soon as his chin vegetates, provided his dickey don't cut his throat, he'll be arter the gals, Dobbs thinks!

      Used Up

      I am tempted to believe, that few – very few men can start in the world – say at twenty, with a replete invoice of honesty, free and easy – kind, generous – good-natured disposition, and keep it up, until they greet their fortieth year. There are, doubtless, plenty of men – I hope there are, who would be entirely and perfectly generous-hearted, if they could, with any degree of consistency; and I know there are multitudes who wouldn't exhibit an honorable or manly trait, of any human description, if they could. That class thrive best, it appears to me – if the accumulation of dollars and dimes be Webster, Walker, or Scriptural interpretation of that sense – in this sublunary world. Meanness and dishonesty win what good nature and honesty lose, hence the more thrift to the former, and the less gain, pecuniarily considered, to the latter. The subject is very prolific, and as my present purpose is as much to point a humorous sketch as to adorn a moral, I needs must cut speculative philosophistics for facts, in the case of my friend John Jenks, an emphatic – "used up" good fellow.

      Jenks started in this world with a first-rate opinion of himself and the rest of mankind. No man ever started with a larger capital of good nature, human benevolence, and common honesty, than honest John. Few men ever started with better general prospects, for "a good time," and plenty of it, than Jenks. He graduated with honor to himself and the Institute of his native State, and with but little knowledge beyond the college library and the social circles of his immediate friends. At twenty-three, John Jenks went into business on his own hook.

      Of course John soon formed various and many business acquaintances; he learned that men were brothers – should love, honor, and respect one another, from precepts set him at his father's fireside. He formed the opinion, that this brotherhood was not to be alienated in matters of business, for he never refused to act kindly to all; he freely loaned his autograph and purse to his business acquaintances; but, being backed up by a snug business capital, he seldom felt the necessity of claiming like accommodation, or he would have gotten his eye teeth cut cheaper and sooner.

      "Jenks," said a business man, stopping in at Jenks' counting room one September morning, "Perkins & Ball, I see, have stopped– gone to smash!"

      "Have they?" quickly responded Jenks.

      "They have, and a good many fingers will be burnt by them," replied the informant. "By the way, Barclay says you have some of their paper on hand; is it true?" continued the man.

      "I have some, not much," answered Jenks – "not enough at all events to create any alarm as to their willingness or ability to take it up."

      But in looking over his "accounts," Jenks found a considerably larger amount of Perkins & Ball's paper on hand, than an experienced business man might have contemplated with entire Christian resignation. The gazette, in the course of a few days, gave publicity to the smash of the house of Perkins, Ball & Co. There was a buzz "on 'change;" those losers by the smash were bitter in their denunciatory remarks, while those gaining by the transaction snickered in their sleeves and kept mum. Jenks heard all, and said nothing. He reasoned, that if the firm were smashed by imprudences, or through dishonest motives, they were getting "an elegant sufficiency" of public and private vituperation, without his aid. Though far from his thoughts СКАЧАТЬ