Part 10

I rushed off toward the letter-box, drew down the lid, and deposited the letter--my letter. When I turned she was running up the steps, and a second later she had disappeared.

I hadn't been so happy in all my life!

Cabby waited at the curb.

Suddenly I became conscious that I was holding something in my hand. It was the benevolent old gentleman's stovepipe hat!

* * * * *

I pushed the button: pushed it good and hard. Presently I heard a window open cautiously.

"What is it?" asked a querulous voice.

"Mr. Chittenden?"

"Yes."

"Well, here's your hat!" I cried.

LITIGATION

BY BILL ARP

The fust case I ever had in a Justice Court I emploid old Bob Leggins, who was a sorter of a self-eddicated fool. I giv him two dollars in advanse, and he argud the case as I thot, on two sides, and was more luminus agin me than for me. I lost the case, and found out atterwards that the defendant had employed Leggins atter I did, and gin him five dollars to lose my case. I look upon this as a warnin' to all klients to pay big fees and keep your lawyer out of temtashun.

My xperience in litigashun hav not been satisfaktory. I sued Sugar Black onst for the price of a lode of shuks. He sed he wanted to buy sum ruffness, and I agreed to bring him a lode of shuks for two dollers. My waggin got broke and he got tired a waitin', and sent out atter the shuks himself. When I called on him for the pay, he seemed surprised, and sed it had cost him two dollars and a half to hav the shuks hauld, and that I justly owd him a half a dollar. He were more bigger than I was, so I swallered my bile and sued him. His lawyer pled a set-off for haulin'. He pled that the shuks was unsound; that they was barred by limitashuns; that they didn't agree with his cow; and that he never got any shuks from me. He spoak about a hour, and allooded to me as a swindler about forty-five times. The bedevild jewry went out, and brot in a verdik agin me for fifty cents, and four dollars for costs. I hain't saved many shuks on my plantashun sence, and I don't intend to til it gits less xpensiv! I look upon this as a warnin' to all foaks _never to go to law about shuks_, or any other small sirkumstanse.

The next trubble I had was with a feller I hired to dig me a well. He was to dig it for twenty dollers, and I was to pay him in meat and meal, and sich like. The vagabon kep gittin' along til he got all the pay, but hadn't dug nary a foot in the ground. So I made out my akkount, and sued him as follers, to wit:

Old John Hanks, to Bill Arp Dr. To 1 well you didn't dig $20

Well, Hanks, he hired a cheep lawyer, who rared round xtensively, and sed a heep of funny things at my xpense, and finally dismissd my case for what he calld its "ridikulum abserdum." I paid those costs, and went home a sadder and a wiser man. I pulld down my little kabbin and mooved it sum three hundred yards nigher the spring, and I hav drunk mity little well water sence. I look upon this case as a warnin' to all foaks _never to pay for enything till you git it, espeshally if it has to be dug_.

The next law case I had I ganed it all by myself, by the forse of sirkumstanses. I bot a man's note that was giv for the hire of a nigger boy, Dik. Findin' he wouldn't pay me, I sued him before old Squire Maginnis, beleevin' that it was sich a ded thing that the devil couldn't keep me out of a verdik. The feller pled failur of konsiderashun, and _non est faktum_, and _ignis fatuis_, and infansy, and that the nigger's name wasn't Dik, but _Richard_. The old Squire was a powerful sesesh, and hated the Yankees amazin'. So atter the lawyer had got thru his speech and finished up his readin' from a book called "Greenleaf," I rose forward to a attitood. Stretchin' forth my arms, ses I: "Squire Maginnis, I would ax, sur, if this is a time in the histry of our afflikted kountry when Yankee law books should be admitted in a Southern patriot's Court? Hain't we got a State of our own and a code of Georgy laws that's printed on Georgy sile? On the very fust page of the gentleman's book I seed the name of the sitty of Bosting. Yes, sur, it was ritten in Bosting, where they don't know no more about the hire of a nigger than an ox knows the man who will tan his hide." I sed sum more things that was pinted and patriotik, and closd my argyment by handin' the book to the Squire. He put on his speks, and atter lookin' at the book about a minit, ses he:

"Mr. Arp, you can have a judgment, and I hope that from hensefourth no lawyer will presoom to cum before this honerabul court with pisen dokyments to proove his case. If he do, this court will take it as an insult, and send him to jail."

I look upon this case as a warnin' to all foaks who gambel in law to hold a good hand and play it well. High jestice and patriotism are winning trumps.

My next case was about steelin' a hog. Larseny from the woods, I think they call it. I didn't hav but one hog, and we had to let him run out to keep him alive, for akorns was cheeper than corn at my house. Old Romulus Ramsour sorter wanted sum fresh meat, and so he shot my shote in the woods, and was catched carrying him home. He had cut off his ears and throwed 'em away; but we found 'em, with the under bit in the right and swaller fork in the left, and so Romulus was brot up square before the jewry, and his defense was that it was a wild hog. The jewry was out about two hours and brot in a verdik: "We, the jewry, know that shortly atter the war the kountry was scarce of provishuns, and in considerashun of the hard time our poor peepul had in maintainin' their families, and the temtashuns that surrounded 'em, we find the defendant not guilty, but we rekommend him not to do so any more." The motto of this case is that a man ortent to keep hogs in a poor naberhood.

After this I had a diffikulty with a man by the name of Kohen, and I thot I wouldn't go to law, but would arbytrate. I had bot Tom Swillins' wheat at a dollar a bushel, _if he couldn't do any better_, and if he could do better he was to cum back and _giv me the prefferense_. The skamp went off and sold the wheat to Kohen for a dollar and five cents, and Kohen knowd all about his kontrak with me. Me and him lik to hav fit, and perhaps would, if I hadn't been puny; but we finally left it to Josh Billins to arbytrate. Old Josh deliberated on the thing three days and nites, and finally brot in an award that Kohen should hav the wheat an' _I should hav the prefferense_. I hain't submitted no more cases to arbytration sinse, and my advise to all peepul is to arbytrate nuthin' if your case is honest, for there ain't no judge there to keep one man from trikkin' the other. An honest man don't stan no chance nowhere xceptin' in a court house with a good lawyer to back him. The motto of this case is, never to arbytrate nuthin' but a bad case, and take a good lawyer to advise, and pay him fur it before you do that.

But I got Fretman. _I_ didn't, but my lawyer, Marks, did. Fretman was a nutmeg skhool teacher who had gone round my naborhood with his skool artikles, and I put down of Troup and Calhoun to go, and intended to send seven or eight more if he proved himself right. I soon found that the little nullifiers warn't lernin' enything, and on inquiry I found that nutmeg was a givin' powerful long recessess, and employin' his time cheefly in carryin' on with a tolerbul sized female gal that was a goin' to him. Troup sed he heerd the gal squeel one day, and he knowed Fretman was a squeezin' of her. I don't mind our boys a squeezin' of the Yankee gals, but I'll be blamed if the Yankees shall be a squeezin' ourn. So I got mad and took the children away. At the end of the term Fretman sued me for eighteen dollars, and hired a cheep lawyer to kollekt it. Before this time I had lerned sum sense about a lawyer, so I hired a good one, and spred my pokit book down before him, and told him to take what would satisfi him. And he took. Old Phil Davis was the jestice. Marks made the openin' speech to the effek that every profeshunal man ort to be able to illustrate his trade, and he therefore proposed to put Mr. Fretman on the stan' and _spell him_. This moshun was fout hard, but it agreed with old Phil's noshuns of "high jestice," and ses he: "Mr. Fretman, you will hav to spell, sur." Marks then swore him that he would giv true evidense in this case, and that he would spell evry word in Dan'l Webster's spellin' book correkly to the best of his knowledge and beleef, so help him, etc. I saw that he were a tremblin' all over like a cold wet dog. Ses Marks, "Mr. Fretman, spell 'tisik.'" Well, he spelt it, puttin' in a _ph_ and a _th_ and a _gh_ and a _zh_, and I don't know what all, and I thot he were gone up the fust pop, but Marks sed it were right. He then spelt him right strate along on all sorts of big words, and little words, and long words, and short words, and he knowd 'em all, til finally Marks ses, "Now, sur, spell 'Ompompynusuk.'" Fretman drawd a long breth and sed it warn't in the book. Marks proved it was by a old preecher who was a settin' by, and old Phil spoke up with power, ses he, "Mr. Fretman, you must spell it, sur." Fretman was a swettin' like a run down filly. He took one pass at it, and _missd_.

"You can cum down, sur," ses Marks, "you've lost your case;" and shore enuf, old Phil giv a verdik agin him like a darn.

Marks was a whale in his way. At the same court he was about to nonsoot a Doktor bekaus he didn't hav his diplomy, and the Doktor begged the court for time to go home after it. He rode seven miles and back as hard as he could lick it, and when he handed it over, Marks, ses he, "Now, sur, you will just take the stand and translate this lattin' into English, so that the court may onderstand it." Well, he jest caved, for he couldn't do it.

He lost his case in two minits, for the old squire sed that a dokter who couldn't read his diplomy had no more right to praktise than a magistrate what couldn't read the license had to jine two cuple together.

DARIUS GREEN AND HIS FLYING-MACHINE

BY J. T. TROWBRIDGE

If ever there lived a Yankee lad, Wise or otherwise, good or bad, Who, seeing the birds fly, didn't jump With flapping arms from stake or stump, Or, spreading the tail Of his coat for a sail, Take a soaring leap from post or rail, And wonder why _He_ couldn't fly, And flap, and flutter, and wish, and try,-- If ever you knew a country dunce Who didn't try that as often as once, All I can say is, that's a sign He never would do for a hero of mine.

An aspiring genius was D. Green: The son of a farmer, age fourteen; His body was long and lank and lean,-- Just right for flying, as will be seen; He had two eyes as bright as a bean, And a freckled nose that grew between, A little awry,--for I must mention That he had riveted his attention Upon his wonderful invention, Twisting his tongue as he twisted the strings, And working his face as he worked the wings, And with every turn of gimlet and screw Turning and screwing his mouth round, too, Till his nose seemed bent To catch the scent, Around some corner, of new-baked pies, And his wrinkled cheeks and his squinting eyes Grew puckered into a queer grimace, That made him look very droll in the face, And also very wise. And wise he must have been, to do more Than ever a genius did before, Excepting Dædalus, of yore, And his son Icarus, who wore Upon their backs Those wings of wax He had read of in the old almanacs. Darius was clearly of the opinion That the air is also man's dominion, And that, with paddle or fin or pinion, We soon or late shall navigate The azure, as now we sail the sea. The thing looks simple enough to me; And, if you doubt it, Hear how Darius reasoned about it. "The birds can fly, an' why can't I? Must we give in," says he, with a grin, "That the bluebird an' phoebe Are smarter'n we be? Jest fold our hands an' see the swaller An' blackbird an' catbird beat us holler? Does the little, chatterin', sassy wren, No bigger'n my thumb, know more than men? Jest show me that! Ur prove't the bat Hez got more brains than's in my hat, An' I'll back down, an' not till then!" He argued further, "Nur I can't see What's the use o' wings to a bumble-bee, Fur to git a livin' with, more'n to me; Ain't my business Important's his'n is? That Icarus Made a perty muss: Him an' his daddy Dædalus They might 'a' knowed wings made o' wax Wouldn't stand sun-heat an' hard whacks. I'll make mine o' luther, Ur suthin' ur other."

And he said to himself, as he tinkered and planned, "But I ain't goin' to show my hand To nummies that never can understand The fust idee that's big an' grand." So he kept his secret from all the rest, Safely buttoned within his vest; And in the loft above the shed Himself he locks, with thimble and thread And wax and hammer and buckles and screws, And all such things as geniuses use; Two bats for patterns, curious fellows! A charcoal-pot and a pair of bellows; Some wire, and several old umbrellas; A carriage-cover, for tail and wings; A piece of harness; and straps and strings; And a big strong box, In which he locks These and a hundred other things. His grinning brothers, Reuben and Burke And Nathan and Jotham and Solomon, lurk Around the corner to see him work,-- Sitting cross-legged, like a Turk, Drawing the wax-end through with a jerk, And boring the holes with a comical quirk Of his wise old head, and a knowing smirk. But vainly they mounted each other's backs, And poked through knot-holes and pried through cracks; With wood from the pile and straw from the stacks He plugged the knot-holes and calked the cracks; And a bucket of water, which one would think He had brought up into the loft to drink When he chanced to be dry, Stood always nigh, For Darius was sly! And whenever at work he happened to spy At chink or crevice a blinking eye, He let a dipper of water fly. "Take that! an' ef ever ye git a peep, Guess ye'll ketch a weasel asleep! And he sings as he locks His big strong box:--

SONG

"The weasel's head is small an' trim, An' he is leetle an' long an' slim, An' quick of motion an' nimble of limb, An' ef yeou'll be Advised by me, Keep wide awake when ye're ketchin' him!"

So day after day He stitched and tinkered and hammered away, Till at last 'twas done,-- The greatest invention under the sun! "An' now," says Darius, "hooray fer some fun!"

'T was the Fourth of July, And the weather was dry, And not a cloud was on all the sky, Save a few light fleeces, which here and there, Half mist, half air, Like foam on the ocean went floating by: Just as lovely a morning as ever was seen For a nice little trip in a flying-machine.

Thought cunning Darius: "Now I shan't go Along 'ith the fellers to see the show. I'll say I've got sich a terrible cough! An' then, when the folks 'ave all gone off, I'll hev full swing Fer to try the thing, An' practyse a leetle on the wing." "Ain't goin' to see the celebration?" Says Brother Nate. "No; botheration! I've got sich a cold--a toothache--I-- My gracious!--feel's though I should fly!"

Said Jotham, "'Sho! Guess ye better go." But Darius said, "No! Shouldn't wonder 'f yeou might see me, though, 'Long 'bout noon, ef I git red O' this jumpin', thumpin' pain 'n my head." For all the while to himself he said:--

"I tell ye what! I'll fly a few times around the lot, To see how 't seems, then soon 's I've got The hang o' the thing, ez likely 's not, I'll astonish the nation, An' all creation, By flyin' over the celebration! I'll balance myself on my wings like a sea-gull; I'll dance on the chimbleys; I'll stan' on the steeple; I'll flop up to winders an' scare the people! I'll light on the libbe'ty-pole, an' crow; An' I'll say to the gawpin' fools below, 'What world 's this 'ere That I've come near?' Fer I'll make 'em b'lieve I'm a chap f'm the moon! An' I'll try a race 'ith their ol' bulloon." He crept from his bed; And, seeing the others were gone, he said, "I'm gittin' over the cold'n my head." And away he sped, To open the wonderful box in the shed.

His brothers had walked but a little way, When Jotham to Nathan chanced to say, "What is the feller up to, hey?" "Do'no': the's suthin' ur other to pay, Ur he wouldn't 'a' stayed to hum to-day." Says Burke, "His toothache's all'n his eye! _He_ never'd miss a Fo'th-o'-July, Ef he hedn't got some machine to try." Then Sol, the little one, spoke: "By darn! Le's hurry back an' hide'n the barn, An' pay him fur tellin' us that yarn!" "Agreed!" Through the orchard they crept back, Along by the fences, behind the stack, And one by one, through a hole in the wall, In under the dusty barn they crawl, Dressed in their Sunday garments all; And a very astonishing sight was that, When each in his cobwebbed coat and hat Came up through the floor like an ancient rat. And there they hid; And Reuben slid The fastenings back, and the door undid. "Keep dark!" said he, "While I squint an' see what the' is to see."

As knights of old put on their mail,-- From head to foot an iron suit, Iron jacket and iron boot, Iron breeches, and on the head No hat, but an iron pot instead, And under the chin the bail (I believe they call the thing a helm), Then sallied forth to overwhelm The dragons and pagans that plagued the realm,-- So this _modern_ knight Prepared for flight, Put on his wings and strapped them tight, Jointed and jaunty, strong and light,-- Buckled them fast to shoulder and hip; Ten feet they measured from tip to tip! And a helm had he, but that he wore, Not on his head, like those of yore, But more like the helm of a ship. "Hush!" Reuben said, "He's up in the shed! He's opened the winder,--I see his head! He stretches it out, an' pokes it about, Lookin' to see 'f the coast is clear An' nobody near: Guess he do'no' who's hid in here! He's riggin' a spring-board over the sill! Stop laffin', Solomon! Burke, keep still! He's a climbin' out now--Of all the things! What's he got on? I van, it's wings! An' that t'other thing? I vum, it's a tail! An' there he sets, like a hawk on a rail! Steppin' careful, he travels the length Of his spring-board, and teeters to try its strength. Now he stretches his wings, like a monstrous bat, Peeps over his shoulder, this way an' that, Fur to see 'f the 's any one passin' by; But the' 's on'y a ca'f an' a goslin' nigh. _They_ turn up at him a wonderin' eye, To see--The dragon! he's goin' to fly! Away he goes! Jimminy! what a jump! Flop--flop--an' plump To the ground with a thump! Flutt'rin an' flound'rin', all 'n a lump!"

As a demon is hurled by an angel's spear, Heels over head, to his proper sphere,-- Heels over head and head over heels, Dizzily down the abyss he wheels,-- So fell Darius. Upon his crown, In the midst of the barn-yard, he came down, In a wonderful whirl of tangled strings, Broken braces and broken springs, Broken tail and broken wings, Shooting-stars, and various things, Barn-yard litter of straw and chaff, And much that wasn't so sweet by half. Away with a bellow fled the calf; And what was that? Did the gosling laugh? 'Tis a merry roar from the old barn door, And he hears the voice of Jotham crying, "Say, D'rius! how do you like flyin'?" Slowly, ruefully, where he lay, Darius just turned and looked that way, As he stanched his sorrowful nose with his cuff. "Wal, I like flyin' well enough," He said; "but the' ain't sich a thunderin' sight O' fun in't when ye come to light."

I just have room for the MORAL here: And this is the moral: Stick to your sphere. Or, if you insist, as you have the right, On spreading your wings for a loftier flight, The moral is, Take care how you light.

PAPER: A POEM

BY BENJAMIN FRANKLIN

Some wit of old,--such wits of old there were,-- Whose hints showed meaning, whose allusions care, By one brave stroke to mark all human kind, Called clear blank paper every infant mind! Then still, as opening sense her dictates wrote, Fair virtue put a seal, or vice a blot.

The thought was happy, pertinent, and true; Methinks a genius might the plan pursue. I (can you pardon my presumption), I-- No wit, no genius--yet for once will try.

Various the papers various wants produce, The wants of fashion, elegance and use. Men are as various; and, if right I scan, Each sort of _paper_ represents some _man_.

Pray not the fop,--half powder and half lace,-- Nice as a bandbox were his dwelling-place; He's the _gilt paper_, which apart you store, And lock from vulgar hands in the escritoire.

Mechanics, servants, farmers, and so forth, Are _copy-paper_, of inferior worth,-- Less prized, more useful, for your desk decreed. Free to all pens, and prompt at every need.

The wretch whom avarice bids to pinch and spare, Starve, cheat, and pilfer, to enrich an heir, Is coarse _brown paper_, such as peddlers choose To wrap up wares which better men will use.