Various
Beadle's Dime National Speaker, Embodying Gems of Oratory and Wit, Particularly Adapted to American Schools and Firesides
THE MATTER-OF-FACT MAN. – Anon
I am what the old women call an "Odd Fish." I do nothing under heaven without a motive – never. I attempt nothing, unless I think there is a probability of my succeeding. I ask no favors when I think they are not deserved; and finally, I don't wait upon the girls when I think my attentions would be disagreeable. I am a matter-of-fact man, I am. I do every thing seriously. I once offered to attend a young lady home; I did it seriously; that is, I meant to wait on her home if she wanted me. She accepted my offer; I went home with her, and it has ever since been an enigma with me whether she wanted me or not. I bade her good night, and she said not a word. I met her next morning, and I said not a word. I met her again, and she gave me two hours' talk. It struck me as curious. She feared I was offended, she said, and could not, for the life of her, conceive why. She begged me to explain, but would not give me a chance to do so. She said she hoped I wouldn't be offended, asked me to call, and it has ever since been a mystery to me whether she wanted me or not.
Once I saw a lady at her window. I thought I would call. I did. I inquired for the lady, and was told she was not at home. I expected she was, I went away thinking so. I rather think so still. I met her again – she was offended – said I had not been neighborly. She reproached me for my negligence; said she thought I had been unkind. And I've ever since wondered whether she thought so or not.
A lady once said to me that she should like to be married if she could get a good, congenial husband who would make her happy, or at least try to. She was not difficult to please, she said. I said I should like to get married, too, if I could find a wife that would try to make me happy. She said Umph, and looked as if she meant what she said. She did. For when I asked her if she thought she could not be persuaded to marry me, she said she would rather be excused. I have often wondered why I excused her.
A good many things of this kind have happened to me, that are doubtful, wonderful, mysterious. What is it, then, that causes doubt and mystery to attend the ways of men? It is the want of fact. This is a matter-of-fact world, and in order to act well in it, we must deal in a matter-of-fact way.
RICH AND POOR. – Joseph Barber
"Men are born equal;" Jefferson, the Sage,
Upon our history's initial page,
Inscribed that dictum;
But we who live in later times amend
The "declaration" of our patriot friend
With a postscriptum.
We deem, like him, swart Labor's son and heir,
And wealth's soft bantling, of one earthenware,
But mark the sequel:
One's meanly clothed in threadbare suit forlorn,
The other flaunts in velvet, lace, and lawn;
Are they then equal?
Five thousand children in New York, each year,
Gasp for bare life, in cellars damp and drear,
'Neath the street level.
Deprived of sunshine, chill'd with vapor-blights,
Say what are their "inalienable rights,"
Social and civil?
The right to starve, the right to beg, to float
Among the city's scum – perchance to vote
Some day as "freemen."
Ah! yes, the polls their sovereignty declare,
Not so – in sordid chains they're oft led there
By Faction's Demon.
"The rich and poor are equal," says the State,
But the strong laws of destiny and fate,
O'erride its polity.
Both have a right to seek for "happiness;"
But, with such different chances of success,
Where's the equality?
Here wealth like a Colossus doth bestride
With legs of gold, the sorrow-troubled tide
Of Want and Squallor.
Nay, more, Law, Justice, oft becomes the tool
Of that bright tyrant, callous, calm, and cool,
Almighty Dollar!
"All men are equal," where? Why, in their dust,
Your worm cares little for your "upper crust!"
(What impropriety!)
And heaven receives alike all spirits pure,
On equal terms, and heaven is therefore sure
Of good society.
SEEING THE ECLIPSE. – Anon
[To be spoken without gesture, as if the speaker were telling a friend his experience.]
Did you ever see an eclipse? No? Well, you did miss a sight, got up for the especial benefit of darkies, perhaps, but every white man, of good standing, could enjoy it – if he was up. I'll tell you my experience, and you may judge what you have lost by not seeing the eclipse.
Well, I got up at three o'clock Wednesday morning. Looked for the sun, but couldn't find it. Concluded that I was up too early. Went to bed.
Got up again at half-past five. Saw something they called the sun. Looked red. Went down town. Sun looked whiter and bright as a tin pan. Thought I would go home and get breakfast. Noticed the breakfast-room looked dark. Opened the blinds when it looked lighter.
Seven o'clock. Went down town again. Sun shining very bright. Tried to look at it but couldn't. Thought I would take a glass. Took one. Smoked it. Thought that I could see better, but wasn't satisfied. Didn't see any eclipse.
Eight o'clock. Took another glass, thinking it might be a better one. Smoked. Could see a patch on the sun's face. Grew bigger. Took another glass – smoked. Looked first-rate.
Half-past eight. Things didn't look right, but could see something. Thought the trouble might be in the last glass. Took another. Saw the biggest kind of an eclipse. Saw the sun and moon. Took another glass and looked again. Saw two suns. Smoked and took another glass. Saw two suns and two moons. Took another glass. Five or six suns and ten or fifteen moons all mixed up and seemed to be drunk.
Nine o'clock. Couldn't see much of any thing. Concluded I must be sun-struck. Thought I would go home. Saw an omnibus, and thought I would get in. Turned out to be one of Swartz's what-d'ye-call-it. Tried another, and got in. Went home in a coal cart. Think eclipses are humbugs, besides making people have headaches.
THE BEAUTIES OF THE LAW
[Recited in the character of Counsellor Quirk.]
Farmer A. and Farmer B. were good neighbors. Farmer A. was seized or possessed of a white bull; Farmer B. was seized or possessed of, or otherwise well entitled to, a ferry-boat. Farmer B. having made his boat fast to a post on shore, by means of a piece of hay, twisted rope-fashion, or, as we say, vulgato vocto, a hayband, went up to town to get his dinner, which was also very natural for a hungry man to do. In the mean time Farmer A.'s white bull came down to the town to look for his dinner, which was also very natural for a hungry bull to do; the said white bull, discovering, seeing, and spying out, some turnips in the bottom of the ferry-boat, the bull scrambled into the ferry-boat aforesaid, eat up the turnips, and, to make an end of his meal, fell to work upon the hay-band. The ferry-boat being ate from its moorings, floated down the river with the white bull in it: it struck against a rock, which beat a hole in the bottom of the boat, and tossed the bull overboard; whereupon, the owner of the bull brought his action against the boat, for running away with the bull. The owner of the boat brought his action against the bull, for running away with the boat; and thus notice of the trial was given, Bullum versus Boatum – Boatum versus Bullum. Now the counsel for the bull began with saying: "Your Honor, and you, Gentlemen of the Jury, we are counsel in this cause for the bull. We are indicted for running away with the boat. Now, your Honor, your Honor may have heard of running horses, but never of running bulls before. Now, your Honor, I humbly submit to your Honor, the bull could no more have run away with the boat, than a man in a coach may be said to run away with the horses; therefore, your Honor, how can an action be maintained against that which is not actionable? How can we punish what is not punishable? How can we eat what is not eatable? Or, how can we drink what is not drinkable? Or, as the law says, how can we think on what is not thinkable? Therefore, your Honor, as we are counsel in this cause for the bull, if the jury should bring the bull in guilty, the jury will be guilty of a bull." The learned counsel for the boat, in the cross-action of Bullum versus Boatum, observed, that the bull should be nonsuited, because, in his declaration, he had omitted to state or specify what color he was; for thus wisely and thus learnedly spoke the counsel: "My Lord, if the bull was of no color he must be of some color; and if he was not of any color, what color could the bull be?" I overruled this motion myself, by observing the bull was a white bull, and that white is no color: besides, as I told my brethren, they should not trouble their heads to talk of color in the law, for the law can color any thing. The cause being afterwards left to a reference, upon the award, both bull and boat were acquitted, it being proved that the tide of the river carried them both away; upon which I gave it, as my opinion, that as the tide of the river carried both bull and boat away, both bull and boat had a good action against the water-bailiff. My opinion being taken, an action was issued, and, upon the traverse, this point of law arose: how, wherefore, and whether, why, when, and whatsoever, whereas, and whereby, as the boat was not a compos mentis evidence, how could an oath be administered? That point was soon settled by Boatum's attorney declaring, that for his client he would swear any thing. The water-bailiff's charter was then read, taken out of the original law Latin, which set forth in their declaration, that they were carried away either by the tide of flood, or the tide of ebb, the charter of the water-bailiff was as follows: Aquæ bailiffi est magistratus in choisi, sapor omnibus, fishibus, qui haberunt finnos et scalos, claws, shells, et talos, qui surmare in freshibus, vel saltibus riveris, lakos, pondis, canalibus et well boats, sive oysteri, shrimpini, catinos, sturgeoni, shadini, herringi, crabi, snaperini, flatini, sharkus; that is, not flat-fish alone, but flats and sharps both together. But now comes the nicety of the law, the law is as nice as a new-laid egg, and not to be understood by addle-headed people. Bullum and Boatum mentioned both ebb and flood to avoid quibbling, but it being proved that they were carried away, neither by the flood, nor by the tide of ebb, but exactly upon the top of high water, they were consequently nonsuited; but such was the lenity and perfection of our laws, that upon their paying all the costs, they were allowed to begin again, de novo.
GE-LANG! GIT UP! – New Orleans Delta
The drops of rain were falling fast,
When up through Camp-street quickly pass'd,
An omnibus, whose driver sung,
In accents of the Celtic tongue —
Ge-lang! git up!
His mules were lank, his whip was long;
He touch'd them with a biting thong,
And as they switch'd their threadbare tails,
This sound the listening ear assails —
Ge-lang! git up!
Along the street, on every side,
Were damp ones waiting for a ride;
They call'd, they yell'd, they raised a fuss,
But cried the driver of the 'bus.
Ge-lang! git up!
"Hold on! hold on!" an old man said,
And waved his hand above his head;
Crack went the whip, and all could hear
A sharp sound echoing on the ear —
Ge-lang! git up!
"Stop, driver, stop!" a maiden call'd
"Stop, stop!" a dozen voices bawl'd
The driver look'd on neither side,
But still in clarion voice replied —
Ge-lang! git up!
Far up the street a sound was heard,
And through the distance came a word
That fell on many a waiting soul
Like Hope's lugubrious funeral toll —
Ge-lang! git up!
That night the driver went to bed;
All through his troubled sleep he said
The same strange words which he had flung
All day from his Jehuic tongue —
Ge-lang! git up!
THE RATS OF LIFE. – Charles T. Congdon
Rats! rats! rats!
Pen-and-ink rats in their holes on high,
Writing libels for fools to buy;
Squabbling ever – the same old tune —
The hinted lie, or the broad lampoon!
Rats whose virtue can never fail,
Though each one carries his price on his tail;
Some bite like scorpions – some like gnats;
Know ye the names of the Editor Rats?
Rats! rats! rats!
Rats that the belfried churches nurse,
Drearily drawling chapter and verse;
Offering ever for human ills
Only the barren letter that kills;
Gnawing the Ark of the Covenant through,
From velvet cushion to padded pew;
Beating the dust to blind the flats!
Know ye the names of the Reverend Rats?
Rats! rats! rats!
Rats in ermine holding moot,
With law in parcels at prices to suit;
Shaping, inventing to cover the case,
Precedent musty or dictum base,
Gad! how they gibber to suitors below:
"If so be it thus, why then thus be it so!"
Leges non curant – verhum sat!
Know ye the name of the Legal Rat?
Rats! rats! rats!
Rats in the ancient Temple of Mind —
Mumbling maggots and munching rind!
Scrubbing and patching, splicing and jointing,
With particles Greek and with Hebrew pointing.
Proving virtue itself a sin,
By a comma left out or a colon left in;
Of guesses and glosses the autocrats:
Know ye the names of the Learned Rats?
Rats! rats! rats!
By beds where the dying pant for life!
How snug they stand with lancet and knife;
While the vampyre tugs at the fluttering heart,
How they jabber jargon of middle-aged art!
Soothing pain when 'tis savage and strong
By naming it something Latin and long!
A grain of this and a scruple of that! —
Know ye the name of the Medical Rat?
Rats! rats! rats!
Rats that run in the month of May
Rats of reform and right are they!
Rats who believe the hottest of speeches
Soonest the shame and sorrow reaches;
Generous rats whose chiefest delight
Is to set the order of Providence right;
Lean, or hairy, or greasy, or fat,
Know ye the name of the Platform Rat?
Rats! rats! rats!
Oh, Truth and Justice, and Common-Sense
When will you drive this rat-tribe hence?
Bait 'em and beat 'em! hurry 'em! skurry 'em!
With satire and scorn and laughter flurry 'em!
In hole and corner and cranny to hide,
The Flunkey Rat, and the Rat of Pride,
Selfishness, Pedantry, Cant, and all that,
Till nobody hears of a single Rat!
"THE CREOWNIN' GLORY OF THE UNITED STATES." – Knickerbocker Magazine
My Hearers: – My text ain't in Worcester's Pictorial, nor Webster's big quarto; but it is in the columns of the Bunkum Flagstaff and Independent Echo – "Edication is the Creownin' Glory of the United'n States'n." Thar ain't a feller in all this great and glorious Republic but has studed readin', ritin', and 'rithmetic. Thar ain't a youngster so big that you couldn't drown him in a spit-box but what has read Shakspeare's gogerphy, and knows that all the world is a stage, with two poles instead of one like a common stage; and that it keeps goin' reound and reound on its own axis, not axin' nothin' o' nobody; for "Edication is the Creownin' Glory of the United'n States'n." Who was it that, durin' the great and glorious Revolution, by his eloquence quenched the spirit of Toryism? An American citizen. Who was it that knocked thunder out of the clouds, and took a streak o' greased lightnin' for a tail to his kite? An American citizen. Who was it that invented the powder that will kill a cockroach, if you put a little on its tail and then tread on it? Who was it that discovered the Fat Boy, and captured the wild and ferocious What Is It? An American citizen! Oh, it's a smashin' big thing to be an American citizen! King David would have been an American citizen, and the Queen of Sheba would have been naturalized, if it could a bin did; for "Edication is the Creownin' Glory of the United'n States'n." When you and I shall be no more; when this glorious Union shall have gone to etarnal smash; when Barnum shall have secured his last curiosity at a great expense; then will the historian dip his pen in a georgious bottle of blue-black ink, and write – "Edication was the Creownin' Glory of the United'n States'n."
THREE FOOLS. – C. H. Spurgeon
I will show you three fools. One is yonder soldier, who has been wounded on the field of battle – grievously wounded, well-nigh unto death. The soldier asks him a question. Listen, and judge of his folly! What question does he ask? Does he raise his eyes with eager anxiety and inquire if the wound be mortal, if the practitioner's skill can suggest the means of healing, or if the remedies are within reach and the medicine at hand? No, nothing of the sort. Strange to tell, he asks: "Can you inform me with what sword I was wounded, and by what Russian I have been thus grievously mauled? I want," he adds, "to learn every minute particular respecting the origin of my wound." The man is delirious, his head is affected! Surely such questions at such a time are proof enough that he is bereft of his senses.
There is another fool. The storm is raging, the ship is flying impetuously before the gale, the dark scud moves swiftly overhead, masts are creaking, the sails are rent to rags, and still the gathering tempest grows more fierce. Where is the captain? Is he busily engaged on the deck, is he manfully facing the danger, and skillfully suggesting means to avert it? No, sir, he has retired to his cabin; and there, with studious thoughts and crazy fancies, he is speculating on the place where this storm took its rise. "It is mysterious, this wind; no one ever yet," he says, "has been able to discover it." And so, reckless of the vessel, the lives of the passengers, and his own life, he is careful only to solve his curious question. The man is mad, sir; take the rudder from his hand; he is clean gone mad!
The third fool I shall doubtless find among yourselves. You are sick and wounded with sin, you are in a storm and hurricane of Almighty vengeance, and yet the question which you would ask of me this morning would be: "Sir, what is the origin of evil?" You are mad, sir, spiritually mad; that is not the question you would ask if you were in a sane and healthy state of mind. Your question would be: "How can I get rid of the evil?" Not, "How did it come into the world?" but, "How am I to escape from it?" Not, "How is it that fire descended from heaven upon Sodom?" but, "How may I, like Lot, escape out of the city to a Zoar?" Not, "How is it that I am sick?" but, "Are there medicines that will heal me? Is there a physician to be found that can restore my soul to health?" Ah! you trifle with subtleties, while you neglect certainties.
WASHINGTON. – Hon. Thomas S. Bocock, Feb. 22d, 1860
As certain vegetable products are the natural growth of particular soils, at particular times, so some men spring almost necessarily out of certain forms of civilization, and stand as the representatives of the times and countries in which they live.
Pericles, able, accomplished, magnificent, was the representative man of Athens in the time of her highest civilization and prosperity. Richard I. was the representative man of England in the days of chivalry, and Charles II. in the days of gallantry. These men could scarcely have lived in any other age or clime. So Washington could scarcely have had his existence in any other time or country. He could no more have been an Italian of the middle ages, than Machiavelli could have been an American, or Cæsar Borgia an Englishman: no more than the Parthenon could have been a Gothic cathedral, or Westminster Abbey a Grecian temple. He was at once the offspring and the type of American civilization at his time. He was our great forest-bred cavalier, with all the high honor of his ancestral stock of De Wessingtons, with all the hardy firmness of a pioneer, and with all the kindly courtesy of his native State. Among the Adamses and Hancocks, the Lees and Henrys, the Sumpters and Rutledges of that day, he stood forth prominently as the representative man, and as the exemplar of our Revolution, just as that triplex monstrosity of Danton, Marat, and Robespierre, was the exemplar of the French.
He was a man of firm adherence to principle. We fought for principle in the revolutionary struggle. He was a man of signal moderation. Such was the spirit of our contest. He had great self-control. Unlike other revolutions, ours advanced not one step beyond the point proposed. Having reached that, it subsided as easily, as gracefully, and as quietly as though the voice of Omnipotence itself had spoken to the great deep of our society, saying: "Peace, be still."
Could he have lived in ancient days, the strains of immortal verse would have told his deeds, and fond adherents would have numbered him among the gods.
Those days are past; but we have yet hearts to admire, and pens to record, and tongues to praise his private virtues and his public worth. And when century after century shall have rolled by, bearing its fruits into the bosom of the past; even when men shall look back to this time, through the haze and mist of a remote and far-off antiquity, if this shall still be a land of freemen, this day shall still be fondly cherished as the anniversary of the birth of Washington; increased reverence shall attend his character, and thickening honors shall cluster around his name.
Upon this representative and similitude of the great and honored dead, which we this day put forth before the world, the winds shall blow, the rains shall fall, and the storms shall beat, but it shall stand unhurt amid them all. So shall it be with the fame of him whose image it is. The breath of unfriendly criticism may blow upon it; the storms that betoken moral or social change may break upon it; but it shall stand firmly fixed in the hearts and memories of every true and honest and liberty-loving man who inhabits our land or cherishes our institutions.
The inhabitants of this city, as they behold this statue, day after day, will look upon it as the Palladium of their privileges, and the silent guardian of their prosperity. And the thousands and tens of thousands, that from every nation, kingdom, and tongue, yearly go forth to gaze upon and admire the wonders of the earth, when they shall come up to this "Mecca of the mind," shall pause with reverential awe, as they gaze upon this similitude of the mighty Washington.
Year after year shall that dumb image tell its eloquent story of patriotism, devotion, and self-sacrifice; year after year shall it teach its holy lesson of duty and of faith; with generation after generation shall it plead for institutions founded in wisdom, and a country bought with blood. To the clouds and storms that gather over and break upon it, it will tell of the clouds and storms through which its great antitype did pass, in his devoted course on earth; and when the great luminary of the heavens, descending with his golden shower of beams like imperial Jove, shall wrap it in its warm embrace, it shall tell the sun that He who gave him his beams and bade him shine, has decreed that one day the darkness of eternal night shall settle on his face; but then the spirit of the mighty Washington, basking in an eternal sunlight above, shall still
"A darkening universe defy,
To quench his immortality,
Or shake his trust in God."