No More Learning

"

"Ahem! " replied my friend, taking off his coat, with a deep sigh, tying
a pocket-handkerchief around his waist, and producing an unaccountable
alteration in his countenance by twisting up his eyes and bringing down
the corners of his mouth--"ahem! " And "ahem! " said he again, after a
pause; and not another word more than "ahem! " did I ever know him to say
after that. "Aha! " thought I, without expressing myself aloud--"this is
quite a remarkable silence on the part of Toby Dammit, and is no doubt
a consequence of his verbosity upon a previous occasion. One extreme
induces another. I wonder if he has forgotten the many unanswerable
questions which he propounded to me so fluently on the day when I gave
him my last lecture? At all events, he is cured of the transcendentals. "

"Ahem! " here replied Toby, just as if he had been reading my thoughts,
and looking like a very old sheep in a revery.

The old gentleman now took him by the arm, and led him more into the
shade of the bridge--a few paces back from the turnstile. "My good
fellow," said he, "I make it a point of conscience to allow you this
much run. Wait here, till I take my place by the stile, so that I may
see whether you go over it handsomely, and transcendentally, and don't
omit any flourishes of the pigeon-wing. A mere form, you know. I will
say 'one, two, three, and away. ' Mind you, start at the word 'away'"
Here he took his position by the stile, paused a moment as if in
profound reflection, then looked up and, I thought, smiled very
slightly, then tightened the strings of his apron, then took a long look
at Dammit, and finally gave the word as agreed upon-

_One--two--three--and--away! _

Punctually at the word "away," my poor friend set off in a strong
gallop. The stile was not very high, like Mr. Lord's--nor yet very low,
like that of Mr. Lord's reviewers, but upon the whole I made sure
that he would clear it. And then what if he did not? --ah, that was
the question--what if he did not? "What right," said I, "had the
old gentleman to make any other gentleman jump? The little old
dot-and-carry-one! who is he? If he asks me to jump, I won't do it,
that's flat, and I don't care who the devil he is. " The bridge, as I
say, was arched and covered in, in a very ridiculous manner, and there
was a most uncomfortable echo about it at all times--an echo which I
never before so particularly observed as when I uttered the four last
words of my remark.

But what I said, or what I thought, or what I heard, occupied only an
instant. In less than five seconds from his starting, my poor Toby had
taken the leap. I saw him run nimbly, and spring grandly from the floor
of the bridge, cutting the most awful flourishes with his legs as he
went up. I saw him high in the air, pigeon-winging it to admiration
just over the top of the stile; and of course I thought it an unusually
singular thing that he did not continue to go over. But the whole leap
was the affair of a moment, and, before I had a chance to make any
profound reflections, down came Mr. Dammit on the flat of his back,
on the same side of the stile from which he had started. At the same
instant I saw the old gentleman limping off at the top of his speed,
having caught and wrapt up in his apron something that fell heavily into
it from the darkness of the arch just over the turnstile. At all this
I was much astonished; but I had no leisure to think, for Dammit lay
particularly still, and I concluded that his feelings had been hurt, and
that he stood in need of my assistance. I hurried up to him and found
that he had received what might be termed a serious injury. The truth
is, he had been deprived of his head, which after a close search I could
not find anywhere; so I determined to take him home and send for the
homoeopathists. In the meantime a thought struck me, and I threw open
an adjacent window of the bridge, when the sad truth flashed upon me at
once. About five feet just above the top of the turnstile, and crossing
the arch of the foot-path so as to constitute a brace, there extended a
flat iron bar, lying with its breadth horizontally, and forming one of
a series that served to strengthen the structure throughout its extent.
With the edge of this brace it appeared evident that the neck of my
unfortunate friend had come precisely in contact.

He did not long survive his terrible loss. The homoeopathists did not
give him little enough physic, and what little they did give him he
hesitated to take. So in the end he grew worse, and at length died, a
lesson to all riotous livers. I bedewed his grave with my tears, worked
a bar sinister on his family escutcheon, and, for the general expenses
of his funeral, sent in my very moderate bill to the transcendentalists.
The scoundrels refused to pay it, so I had Mr. Dammit dug up at once,
and sold him for dog's meat.




THOU ART THE MAN

I will now play the Oedipus to the Rattleborough enigma. I will expound
to you--as I alone can--the secret of the enginery that effected the
Rattleborough miracle--the one, the true, the admitted, the undisputed,
the indisputable miracle, which put a definite end to infidelity among
the Rattleburghers and converted to the orthodoxy of the grandames all
the carnal-minded who had ventured to be sceptical before.

This event--which I should be sorry to discuss in a tone of unsuitable
levity--occurred in the summer of 18--. Mr. Barnabas Shuttleworthy--one
of the wealthiest and most respectable citizens of the borough--had
been missing for several days under circumstances which gave rise to
suspicion of foul play. Mr. Shuttleworthy had set out from Rattleborough
very early one Saturday morning, on horseback, with the avowed intention
of proceeding to the city of-, about fifteen miles distant, and of
returning the night of the same day. Two hours after his departure,
however, his horse returned without him, and without the saddle-bags
which had been strapped on his back at starting. The animal was wounded,
too, and covered with mud. These circumstances naturally gave rise to
much alarm among the friends of the missing man; and when it was found,
on Sunday morning, that he had not yet made his appearance, the whole
borough arose en masse to go and look for his body.

The foremost and most energetic in instituting this search was the bosom
friend of Mr. Shuttleworthy--a Mr. Charles Goodfellow, or, as he was
universally called, "Charley Goodfellow," or "Old Charley Goodfellow. "
Now, whether it is a marvellous coincidence, or whether it is that the
name itself has an imperceptible effect upon the character, I have never
yet been able to ascertain; but the fact is unquestionable, that there
never yet was any person named Charles who was not an open, manly,
honest, good-natured, and frank-hearted fellow, with a rich, clear
voice, that did you good to hear it, and an eye that looked you always
straight in the face, as much as to say: "I have a clear conscience
myself, am afraid of no man, and am altogether above doing a mean
action. " And thus all the hearty, careless, "walking gentlemen" of the
stage are very certain to be called Charles.

Now, "Old Charley Goodfellow," although he had been in Rattleborough
not longer than six months or thereabouts, and although nobody knew
any thing about him before he came to settle in the neighborhood, had
experienced no difficulty in the world in making the acquaintance of all
the respectable people in the borough. Not a man of them but would have
taken his bare word for a thousand at any moment; and as for the women,
there is no saying what they would not have done to oblige him. And all
this came of his having been christened Charles, and of his possessing,
in consequence, that ingenuous face which is proverbially the very "best
letter of recommendation. "

I have already said that Mr. Shuttleworthy was one of the most
respectable and, undoubtedly, he was the most wealthy man in
Rattleborough, while "Old Charley Goodfellow" was upon as intimate terms
with him as if he had been his own brother. The two old gentlemen were
next-door neighbours, and, although Mr. Shuttleworthy seldom, if ever,
visited "Old Charley," and never was known to take a meal in his house,
still this did not prevent the two friends from being exceedingly
intimate, as I have just observed; for "Old Charley" never let a day
pass without stepping in three or four times to see how his neighbour
came on, and very often he would stay to breakfast or tea, and almost
always to dinner, and then the amount of wine that was made way with by
the two cronies at a sitting, it would really be a difficult thing to
ascertain. "Old Charleys" favorite beverage was Chateau-Margaux, and
it appeared to do Mr. Shuttleworthy's heart good to see the old fellow
swallow it, as he did, quart after quart; so that, one day, when the
wine was in and the wit as a natural consequence, somewhat out, he said
to his crony, as he slapped him upon the back--"I tell you what it is,
'Old Charley,' you are, by all odds, the heartiest old fellow I ever
came across in all my born days; and, since you love to guzzle the wine
at that fashion, I'll be darned if I don't have to make thee a present
of a big box of the Chateau-Margaux. Od rot me,"--(Mr. Shuttleworthy had
a sad habit of swearing, although he seldom went beyond "Od rot me," or
"By gosh," or "By the jolly golly,")--"Od rot me," says he, "if I don't
send an order to town this very afternoon for a double box of the best
that can be got, and I'll make ye a present of it, I will! --ye needn't
say a word now--I will, I tell ye, and there's an end of it; so look out
for it--it will come to hand some of these fine days, precisely when ye
are looking for it the least! " I mention this little bit of liberality
on the part of Mr. Shuttleworthy, just by way of showing you how very
intimate an understanding existed between the two friends.

Well, on the Sunday morning in question, when it came to be fairly
understood that Mr. Shuttleworthy had met with foul play, I never saw
any one so profoundly affected as "Old Charley Goodfellow. " When he
first heard that the horse had come home without his master, and without
his master's saddle-bags, and all bloody from a pistol-shot, that had
gone clean through and through the poor animal's chest without quite
killing him; when he heard all this, he turned as pale as if the missing
man had been his own dear brother or father, and shivered and shook all
over as if he had had a fit of the ague.

At first he was too much overpowered with grief to be able to do any
thing at all, or to concert upon any plan of action; so that for a long
time he endeavored to dissuade Mr. Shuttleworthy's other friends from
making a stir about the matter, thinking it best to wait awhile--say for
a week or two, or a month, or two--to see if something wouldn't turn up,
or if Mr. Shuttleworthy wouldn't come in the natural way, and explain
his reasons for sending his horse on before. I dare say you have often
observed this disposition to temporize, or to procrastinate, in people
who are labouring under any very poignant sorrow. Their powers of mind
seem to be rendered torpid, so that they have a horror of any thing like
action, and like nothing in the world so well as to lie quietly in bed
and "nurse their grief," as the old ladies express it--that is to say,
ruminate over the trouble.

The people of Rattleborough had, indeed, so high an opinion of the
wisdom and discretion of "Old Charley," that the greater part of them
felt disposed to agree with him, and not make a stir in the business
"until something should turn up," as the honest old gentleman worded
it; and I believe that, after all this would have been the general
determination, but for the very suspicious interference of Mr.
Shuttleworthy's nephew, a young man of very dissipated habits,
and otherwise of rather bad character. This nephew, whose name was
Pennifeather, would listen to nothing like reason in the matter of
"lying quiet," but insisted upon making immediate search for the "corpse
of the murdered man. "--This was the expression he employed; and Mr.
Goodfellow acutely remarked at the time, that it was "a singular
expression, to say no more. " This remark of 'Old Charley's,' too, had
great effect upon the crowd; and one of the party was heard to ask,
very impressively, "how it happened that young Mr. Pennifeather was so
intimately cognizant of all the circumstances connected with his wealthy
uncle's disappearance, as to feel authorized to assert, distinctly
and unequivocally, that his uncle was 'a murdered man. '" Hereupon some
little squibbing and bickering occurred among various members of
the crowd, and especially between "Old Charley" and Mr.
Pennifeather--although this latter occurrence was, indeed, by no means a
novelty, for no good will had subsisted between the parties for the
last three or four months; and matters had even gone so far that Mr.
Pennifeather had actually knocked down his uncles friend for some
alleged excess of liberty that the latter had taken in the uncle's
house, of which the nephew was an inmate. Upon this occasion "Old
Charley" is said to have behaved with exemplary moderation and Christian
charity. He arose from the blow, adjusted his clothes, and made no
attempt at retaliation at all--merely muttering a few words about
"taking summary vengeance at the first convenient opportunity,"--a
natural and very justifiable ebullition of anger, which meant nothing,
however, and, beyond doubt, was no sooner given vent to than forgotten.

However these matters may be (which have no reference to the point
now at issue), it is quite certain that the people of Rattleborough,
principally through the persuasion of Mr. Pennifeather, came at length
to the determination of dispersion over the adjacent country in search
of the missing Mr. Shuttleworthy. I say they came to this determination
in the first instance. After it had been fully resolved that a search
should be made, it was considered almost a matter of course that the
seekers should disperse--that is to say, distribute themselves in
parties--for the more thorough examination of the region round about. I
forget, however, by what ingenious train of reasoning it was that
"Old Charley" finally convinced the assembly that this was the most
injudicious plan that could be pursued. Convince them, however, he
did--all except Mr. Pennifeather, and, in the end, it was arranged that
a search should be instituted, carefully and very thoroughly, by the
burghers en masse, "Old Charley" himself leading the way.

As for the matter of that, there could have been no better pioneer
than "Old Charley," whom everybody knew to have the eye of a lynx;
but, although he led them into all manner of out-of-the-way holes and
corners, by routes that nobody had ever suspected of existing in the
neighbourhood, and although the search was incessantly kept up day and
night for nearly a week, still no trace of Mr. Shuttleworthy could be
discovered. When I say no trace, however, I must not be understood to
speak literally, for trace, to some extent, there certainly was.
The poor gentleman had been tracked, by his horses shoes (which were
peculiar), to a spot about three miles to the east of the borough,
on the main road leading to the city. Here the track made off into a
by-path through a piece of woodland--the path coming out again into the
main road, and cutting off about half a mile of the regular distance.
Following the shoe-marks down this lane, the party came at length to a
pool of stagnant water, half hidden by the brambles, to the right of the
lane, and opposite this pool all vestige of the track was lost sight
of. It appeared, however, that a struggle of some nature had here taken
place, and it seemed as if some large and heavy body, much larger and
heavier than a man, had been drawn from the by-path to the pool. This
latter was carefully dragged twice, but nothing was found; and the party
was upon the point of going away, in despair of coming to any result,
when Providence suggested to Mr. Goodfellow the expediency of draining
the water off altogether. This project was received with cheers,
and many high compliments to "Old Charley" upon his sagacity and
consideration. As many of the burghers had brought spades with them,
supposing that they might possibly be called upon to disinter a corpse,
the drain was easily and speedily effected; and no sooner was the
bottom visible, than right in the middle of the mud that remained was
discovered a black silk velvet waistcoat, which nearly every one
present immediately recognized as the property of Mr. Pennifeather. This
waistcoat was much torn and stained with blood, and there were several
persons among the party who had a distinct remembrance of its having
been worn by its owner on the very morning of Mr. Shuttleworthy's
departure for the city; while there were others, again, ready to testify
upon oath, if required, that Mr. P. did not wear the garment in question
at any period during the remainder of that memorable day, nor could
any one be found to say that he had seen it upon Mr. P. 's person at any
period at all subsequent to Mr. Shuttleworthy's disappearance.

Matters now wore a very serious aspect for Mr. Pennifeather, and it was
observed, as an indubitable confirmation of the suspicions which were
excited against him, that he grew exceedingly pale, and when asked
what he had to say for himself, was utterly incapable of saying a word.
Hereupon, the few friends his riotous mode of living had left him,
deserted him at once to a man, and were even more clamorous than his
ancient and avowed enemies for his instantaneous arrest. But, on the
other hand, the magnanimity of Mr. Goodfellow shone forth with only the
more brilliant lustre through contrast. He made a warm and intensely
eloquent defence of Mr. Pennifeather, in which he alluded more than once
to his own sincere forgiveness of that wild young gentleman--"the heir
of the worthy Mr. Shuttleworthy,"--for the insult which he (the young
gentleman) had, no doubt in the heat of passion, thought proper to put
upon him (Mr. Goodfellow). "He forgave him for it," he said, "from the
very bottom of his heart; and for himself (Mr. Goodfellow), so far from
pushing the suspicious circumstances to extremity, which he was sorry
to say, really had arisen against Mr. Pennifeather, he (Mr. Goodfellow)
would make every exertion in his power, would employ all the little
eloquence in his possession to--to--to--soften down, as much as he could
conscientiously do so, the worst features of this really exceedingly
perplexing piece of business. "

Mr. Goodfellow went on for some half hour longer in this strain,
very much to the credit both of his head and of his heart; but your
warm-hearted people are seldom apposite in their observations--they run
into all sorts of blunders, contre-temps and mal apropos-isms, in the
hot-headedness of their zeal to serve a friend--thus, often with the
kindest intentions in the world, doing infinitely more to prejudice his
cause than to advance it.

So, in the present instance, it turned out with all the eloquence of
"Old Charley"; for, although he laboured earnestly in behalf of the
suspected, yet it so happened, somehow or other, that every syllable he
uttered of which the direct but unwitting tendency was not to exalt the
speaker in the good opinion of his audience, had the effect to deepen
the suspicion already attached to the individual whose cause he pleaded,
and to arouse against him the fury of the mob.

One of the most unaccountable errors committed by the orator was his
allusion to the suspected as "the heir of the worthy old gentleman Mr.
Shuttleworthy. " The people had really never thought of this before. They
had only remembered certain threats of disinheritance uttered a year
or two previously by the uncle (who had no living relative except the
nephew), and they had, therefore, always looked upon this disinheritance
as a matter that was settled--so single-minded a race of beings were the
Rattleburghers; but the remark of "Old Charley" brought them at once to
a consideration of this point, and thus gave them to see the possibility
of the threats having been nothing more than a threat. And straightway
hereupon, arose the natural question of cui bono? --a question that
tended even more than the waistcoat to fasten the terrible crime upon
the young man. And here, lest I may be misunderstood, permit me to
digress for one moment merely to observe that the exceedingly brief and
simple Latin phrase which I have employed, is invariably mistranslated
and misconceived. "Cui bono? " in all the crack novels and elsewhere,--in
those of Mrs. Gore, for example, (the author of "Cecil,") a lady who
quotes all tongues from the Chaldaean to Chickasaw, and is helped to her
learning, "as needed," upon a systematic plan, by Mr. Beckford,--in all
the crack novels, I say, from those of Bulwer and Dickens to those of
Bulwer and Dickens to those of Turnapenny and Ainsworth, the two little
Latin words cui bono are rendered "to what purpose? " or, (as if quo
bono,) "to what good. " Their true meaning, nevertheless, is "for whose
advantage. " Cui, to whom; bono, is it for a benefit. It is a purely
legal phrase, and applicable precisely in cases such as we have now
under consideration, where the probability of the doer of a deed hinges
upon the probability of the benefit accruing to this individual or to
that from the deed's accomplishment. Now in the present instance, the
question cui bono? very pointedly implicated Mr. Pennifeather. His
uncle had threatened him, after making a will in his favour, with
disinheritance. But the threat had not been actually kept; the original
will, it appeared, had not been altered. Had it been altered, the only
supposable motive for murder on the part of the suspected would
have been the ordinary one of revenge; and even this would have been
counteracted by the hope of reinstation into the good graces of the
uncle. But the will being unaltered, while the threat to alter remained
suspended over the nephew's head, there appears at once the very
strongest possible inducement for the atrocity, and so concluded, very
sagaciously, the worthy citizens of the borough of Rattle.

Mr. Pennifeather was, accordingly, arrested upon the spot, and the
crowd, after some further search, proceeded homeward, having him in
custody. On the route, however, another circumstance occurred tending to
confirm the suspicion entertained. Mr. Goodfellow, whose zeal led him
to be always a little in advance of the party, was seen suddenly to run
forward a few paces, stoop, and then apparently to pick up some small
object from the grass. Having quickly examined it he was observed, too,
to make a sort of half attempt at concealing it in his coat pocket; but
this action was noticed, as I say, and consequently prevented, when the
object picked up was found to be a Spanish knife which a dozen persons
at once recognized as belonging to Mr. Pennifeather. Moreover, his
initials were engraved upon the handle. The blade of this knife was open
and bloody.

No doubt now remained of the guilt of the nephew, and immediately upon
reaching Rattleborough he was taken before a magistrate for examination.

Here matters again took a most unfavourable turn. The prisoner, being
questioned as to his whereabouts on the morning of Mr. Shuttleworthy's
disappearance, had absolutely the audacity to acknowledge that on
that very morning he had been out with his rifle deer-stalking, in the
immediate neighbourhood of the pool where the blood-stained waistcoat
had been discovered through the sagacity of Mr. Goodfellow.

This latter now came forward, and, with tears in his eyes, asked
permission to be examined. He said that a stern sense of the duty he
owed his Maker, not less than his fellow-men, would permit him no longer
to remain silent. Hitherto, the sincerest affection for the young man
(notwithstanding the latter's ill-treatment of himself, Mr. Goodfellow)
had induced him to make every hypothesis which imagination could
suggest, by way of endeavoring to account for what appeared suspicious
in the circumstances that told so seriously against Mr. Pennifeather,
but these circumstances were now altogether too convincing--too damning,
he would hesitate no longer--he would tell all he knew, although his
heart (Mr. Goodfellow's) should absolutely burst asunder in the effort.
He then went on to state that, on the afternoon of the day previous to
Mr. Shuttleworthy's departure for the city, that worthy old gentleman
had mentioned to his nephew, in his hearing (Mr. Goodfellow's), that
his object in going to town on the morrow was to make a deposit of an
unusually large sum of money in the "Farmers and Mechanics' Bank," and
that, then and there, the said Mr. Shuttleworthy had distinctly avowed
to the said nephew his irrevocable determination of rescinding the
will originally made, and of cutting him off with a shilling. He (the
witness) now solemnly called upon the accused to state whether what
he (the witness) had just stated was or was not the truth in every
substantial particular. Much to the astonishment of every one present,
Mr. Pennifeather frankly admitted that it was.

The magistrate now considered it his duty to send a couple of constables
to search the chamber of the accused in the house of his uncle. From
this search they almost immediately returned with the well-known
steel-bound, russet leather pocket-book which the old gentleman had been
in the habit of carrying for years. Its valuable contents, however, had
been abstracted, and the magistrate in vain endeavored to extort from
the prisoner the use which had been made of them, or the place of their
concealment. Indeed, he obstinately denied all knowledge of the matter.
The constables, also, discovered, between the bed and sacking of the
unhappy man, a shirt and neck-handkerchief both marked with the initials
of his name, and both hideously besmeared with the blood of the victim.

At this juncture, it was announced that the horse of the murdered man
had just expired in the stable from the effects of the wound he had
received, and it was proposed by Mr. Goodfellow that a post mortem
examination of the beast should be immediately made, with the view, if
possible, of discovering the ball. This was accordingly done; and, as
if to demonstrate beyond a question the guilt of the accused, Mr.
Goodfellow, after considerable searching in the cavity of the chest was
enabled to detect and to pull forth a bullet of very extraordinary size,
which, upon trial, was found to be exactly adapted to the bore of Mr.
Pennifeather's rifle, while it was far too large for that of any other
person in the borough or its vicinity. To render the matter even surer
yet, however, this bullet was discovered to have a flaw or seam at right
angles to the usual suture, and upon examination, this seam corresponded
precisely with an accidental ridge or elevation in a pair of moulds
acknowledged by the accused himself to be his own property.
Upon finding
of this bullet, the examining magistrate refused to listen to
any farther testimony, and immediately committed the prisoner for
trial-declining resolutely to take any bail in the case, although
against this severity Mr. Goodfellow very warmly remonstrated, and
offered to become surety in whatever amount might be required. This
generosity on the part of "Old Charley" was only in accordance with the
whole tenour of his amiable and chivalrous conduct during the entire
period of his sojourn in the borough of Rattle. In the present instance
the worthy man was so entirely carried away by the excessive warmth of
his sympathy, that he seemed to have quite forgotten, when he offered to
go bail for his young friend, that he himself (Mr. Goodfellow) did not
possess a single dollar's worth of property upon the face of the earth.

The result of the committal may be readily foreseen. Mr. Pennifeather,
amid the loud execrations of all Rattleborough, was brought to trial at
the next criminal sessions, when the chain of circumstantial evidence
(strengthened as it was by some additional damning facts, which Mr.
Goodfellow's sensitive conscientiousness forbade him to withhold from
the court) was considered so unbroken and so thoroughly conclusive, that
the jury, without leaving their seats, returned an immediate verdict
of "Guilty of murder in the first degree. " Soon afterward the unhappy
wretch received sentence of death, and was remanded to the county jail
to await the inexorable vengeance of the law.

In the meantime, the noble behavior of "Old Charley Goodfellow," had
doubly endeared him to the honest citizens of the borough. He became
ten times a greater favorite than ever, and, as a natural result of the
hospitality with which he was treated, he relaxed, as it were, perforce,
the extremely parsimonious habits which his poverty had hitherto
impelled him to observe, and very frequently had little reunions at his
own house, when wit and jollity reigned supreme-dampened a little, of
course, by the occasional remembrance of the untoward and melancholy
fate which impended over the nephew of the late lamented bosom friend of
the generous host.

One fine day, this magnanimous old gentleman was agreeably surprised at
the receipt of the following letter:-

Charles Goodfellow, Esq. , Rattleborough
From H. F. B. & Co.
Chat. Mar. A--No. 1. --6 doz. bottles (1/2 Gross)

"Charles Goodfellow, Esquire.

"Dear Sir--In conformity with an order transmitted to our firm about
two months since, by our esteemed correspondent, Mr. Barnabus
Shuttleworthy, we have the honor of forwarding this morning, to your
address, a double box of Chateau-Margaux of the antelope brand, violet
seal. Box numbered and marked as per margin.

"We remain, sir,
"Your most ob'nt ser'ts,
"HOGGS, FROGS, BOGS, & CO.

"City of--, June 21, 18--.

"P. S. --The box will reach you by wagon, on the day after your receipt
of this letter. Our respects to Mr. Shuttleworthy.

"H. , F. , B. , & CO. "

The fact is, that Mr. Goodfellow had, since the death of Mr.
Shuttleworthy, given over all expectation of ever receiving the promised
Chateau-Margaux; and he, therefore, looked upon it now as a sort
of especial dispensation of Providence in his behalf. He was highly
delighted, of course, and in the exuberance of his joy invited a large
party of friends to a petit souper on the morrow, for the purpose of
broaching the good old Mr. Shuttleworthy's present. Not that he said
any thing about "the good old Mr. Shuttleworthy" when he issued the
invitations. The fact is, he thought much and concluded to say nothing
at all. He did not mention to any one--if I remember aright--that he had
received a present of Chateau-Margaux. He merely asked his friends to
come and help him drink some, of a remarkable fine quality and rich
flavour, that he had ordered up from the city a couple of months ago,
and of which he would be in the receipt upon the morrow. I have often
puzzled myself to imagine why it was that "Old Charley" came to the
conclusion to say nothing about having received the wine from his
old friend, but I could never precisely understand his reason for the
silence, although he had some excellent and very magnanimous reason, no
doubt.

The morrow at length arrived, and with it a very large and highly
respectable company at Mr. Goodfellow's house. Indeed, half the borough
was there,--I myself among the number,--but, much to the vexation of the
host, the Chateau-Margaux did not arrive until a late hour, and when
the sumptuous supper supplied by "Old Charley" had been done very ample
justice by the guests. It came at length, however,--a monstrously big
box of it there was, too--and as the whole party were in excessively
good humor, it was decided, nem. con. , that it should be lifted upon the
table and its contents disembowelled forthwith.

No sooner said than done. I lent a helping hand; and, in a trice we had
the box upon the table, in the midst of all the bottles and glasses, not
a few of which were demolished in the scuffle. "Old Charley," who was
pretty much intoxicated, and excessively red in the face, now took a
seat, with an air of mock dignity, at the head of the board, and thumped
furiously upon it with a decanter, calling upon the company to keep
order "during the ceremony of disinterring the treasure. "

After some vociferation, quiet was at length fully restored, and, as
very often happens in similar cases, a profound and remarkable silence
ensued. Being then requested to force open the lid, I complied, of
course, "with an infinite deal of pleasure. " I inserted a chisel, and
giving it a few slight taps with a hammer, the top of the box flew
suddenly off, and at the same instant, there sprang up into a sitting
position, directly facing the host, the bruised, bloody, and nearly
putrid corpse of the murdered Mr. Shuttleworthy himself. It gazed for a
few seconds, fixedly and sorrowfully, with its decaying and lack-lustre
eyes, full into the countenance of Mr. Goodfellow; uttered slowly,
but clearly and impressively, the words--"Thou art the man! " and then,
falling over the side of the chest as if thoroughly satisfied, stretched
out its limbs quiveringly upon the table.

The scene that ensued is altogether beyond description. The rush for the
doors and windows was terrific, and many of the most robust men in the
room fainted outright through sheer horror. But after the first wild,
shrieking burst of affright, all eyes were directed to Mr. Goodfellow.
If I live a thousand years, I can never forget the more than mortal
agony which was depicted in that ghastly face of his, so lately rubicund
with triumph and wine. For several minutes he sat rigidly as a statue
of marble; his eyes seeming, in the intense vacancy of their gaze, to
be turned inward and absorbed in the contemplation of his own miserable,
murderous soul. At length their expression appeared to flash suddenly
out into the external world, when, with a quick leap, he sprang from his
chair, and falling heavily with his head and shoulders upon the table,
and in contact with the corpse, poured out rapidly and vehemently a
detailed confession of the hideous crime for which Mr. Pennifeather was
then imprisoned and doomed to die.

What he recounted was in substance this:--He followed his victim to the
vicinity of the pool; there shot his horse with a pistol; despatched
its rider with the butt end; possessed himself of the pocket-book, and,
supposing the horse dead, dragged it with great labour to the
brambles by the pond. Upon his own beast he slung the corpse of Mr.
Shuttleworthy, and thus bore it to a secure place of concealment a long
distance off through the woods.

The waistcoat, the knife, the pocket-book, and bullet, had been placed
by himself where found, with the view of avenging himself upon Mr.
Pennifeather. He had also contrived the discovery of the stained
handkerchief and shirt.

Towards the end of the blood-churning recital the words of the guilty
wretch faltered and grew hollow. When the record was finally exhausted,
he arose, staggered backward from the table, and fell-dead.

*****

The means by which this happily-timed confession was extorted, although
efficient, were simple indeed. Mr. Goodfellow's excess of frankness had
disgusted me, and excited my suspicions from the first. I was present
when Mr. Pennifeather had struck him, and the fiendish expression which
then arose upon his countenance, although momentary, assured me that his
threat of vengeance would, if possible, be rigidly fulfilled. I was thus
prepared to view the manoeuvering of "Old Charley" in a very different
light from that in which it was regarded by the good citizens of
Rattleborough. I saw at once that all the criminating discoveries arose,
either directly or indirectly, from himself. But the fact which clearly
opened my eyes to the true state of the case, was the affair of
the bullet, found by Mr. G. in the carcass of the horse. I had not
forgotten, although the Rattleburghers had, that there was a hole where
the ball had entered the horse, and another where it went out. If it
were found in the animal then, after having made its exit, I saw clearly
that it must have been deposited by the person who found it. The bloody
shirt and handkerchief confirmed the idea suggested by the bullet; for
the blood on examination proved to be capital claret, and no more.
When I came to think of these things, and also of the late increase of
liberality and expenditure on the part of Mr. Goodfellow, I entertained
a suspicion which was none the less strong because I kept it altogether
to myself.

In the meantime, I instituted a rigorous private search for the corpse
of Mr. Shuttleworthy, and, for good reasons, searched in quarters as
divergent as possible from those to which Mr. Goodfellow conducted his
party. The result was that, after some days, I came across an old dry
well, the mouth of which was nearly hidden by brambles; and here, at the
bottom, I discovered what I sought.

Now it so happened that I had overheard the colloquy between the two
cronies, when Mr. Goodfellow had contrived to cajole his host into the
promise of a box of Chateaux-Margaux. Upon this hint I acted. I procured
a stiff piece of whalebone, thrust it down the throat of the corpse,
and deposited the latter in an old wine box-taking care so to double
the body up as to double the whalebone with it. In this manner I had
to press forcibly upon the lid to keep it down while I secured it with
nails; and I anticipated, of course, that as soon as these latter were
removed, the top would fly off and the body up.

Having thus arranged the box, I marked, numbered, and addressed it
as already told; and then writing a letter in the name of the wine
merchants with whom Mr. Shuttleworthy dealt, I gave instructions to my
servant to wheel the box to Mr. Goodfellow's door, in a barrow, at a
given signal from myself. For the words which I intended the corpse to
speak, I confidently depended upon my ventriloquial abilities; for their
effect, I counted upon the conscience of the murderous wretch.

I believe there is nothing more to be explained. Mr. Pennifeather was
released upon the spot, inherited the fortune of his uncle, profited by
the lessons of experience, turned over a new leaf, and led happily ever
afterward a new life.




WHY THE LITTLE FRENCHMAN WEARS HIS HAND IN A SLING

IT'S on my visiting cards sure enough (and it's them that's all o'
pink satin paper) that inny gintleman that plases may behould the
intheristhin words, "Sir Pathrick O'Grandison, Barronitt, 39 Southampton
Row, Russell Square, Parrish o' Bloomsbury. " And shud ye be wantin' to
diskiver who is the pink of purliteness quite, and the laider of the hot
tun in the houl city o' Lonon--why it's jist mesilf. And fait that same
is no wonder at all at all (so be plased to stop curlin your nose), for
every inch o' the six wakes that I've been a gintleman, and left aff
wid the bogthrothing to take up wid the Barronissy, it's Pathrick that's
been living like a houly imperor, and gitting the iddication and the
graces. Och! and wouldn't it be a blessed thing for your spirrits if ye
cud lay your two peepers jist, upon Sir Pathrick O'Grandison, Barronitt,
when he is all riddy drissed for the hopperer, or stipping into the
Brisky for the drive into the Hyde Park. But it's the illigant big
figgur that I ave, for the rason o' which all the ladies fall in love
wid me. Isn't it my own swate silf now that'll missure the six fut, and
the three inches more nor that, in me stockins, and that am excadingly
will proportioned all over to match? And it is ralelly more than three
fut and a bit that there is, inny how, of the little ould furrener
Frinchman that lives jist over the way, and that's a oggling and
a goggling the houl day, (and bad luck to him,) at the purty widdy
Misthress Tracle that's my own nixt-door neighbor, (God bliss her! )
and a most particuller frind and acquaintance? You percave the little
spalpeen is summat down in the mouth, and wears his lift hand in a
sling, and it's for that same thing, by yur lave, that I'm going to give
you the good rason.

The truth of the houl matter is jist simple enough; for the very first
day that I com'd from Connaught, and showd my swate little silf in the
strait to the widdy, who was looking through the windy, it was a
gone case althegither with the heart o' the purty Misthress Tracle.
I percaved it, ye see, all at once, and no mistake, and that's God's
truth. First of all it was up wid the windy in a jiffy, and thin she
threw open her two peepers to the itmost, and thin it was a little gould
spy-glass that she clapped tight to one o' them and divil may burn me
if it didn't spake to me as plain as a peeper cud spake, and says it,
through the spy-glass: "Och! the tip o' the mornin' to ye, Sir Pathrick
O'Grandison, Barronitt, mavourneen; and it's a nate gintleman that ye
are, sure enough, and it's mesilf and me forten jist that'll be at yur
sarvice, dear, inny time o' day at all at all for the asking. " And it's
not mesilf ye wud have to be bate in the purliteness; so I made her
a bow that wud ha' broken yur heart altegither to behould, and thin I
pulled aff me hat with a flourish, and thin I winked at her hard wid
both eyes, as much as to say, "True for you, yer a swate little crature,
Mrs. Tracle, me darlint, and I wish I may be drownthed dead in a bog,
if it's not mesilf, Sir Pathrick O'Grandison, Barronitt, that'll make a
houl bushel o' love to yur leddyship, in the twinkling o' the eye of a
Londonderry purraty. "

And it was the nixt mornin', sure, jist as I was making up me mind
whither it wouldn't be the purlite thing to sind a bit o' writin' to the
widdy by way of a love-litter, when up com'd the delivery servant wid
an illigant card, and he tould me that the name on it (for I niver could
rade the copperplate printin on account of being lift handed) was all
about Mounseer, the Count, A Goose, Look--aisy, Maiter-di-dauns, and
that the houl of the divilish lingo was the spalpeeny long name of the
little ould furrener Frinchman as lived over the way.

And jist wid that in cum'd the little willian himself, and then he made
me a broth of a bow, and thin he said he had ounly taken the liberty
of doing me the honor of the giving me a call, and thin he went on to
palaver at a great rate, and divil the bit did I comprehind what he wud
be afther the tilling me at all at all, excipting and saving that he
said "pully wou, woolly wou," and tould me, among a bushel o' lies, bad
luck to him, that he was mad for the love o' my widdy Misthress Tracle,
and that my widdy Mrs. Tracle had a puncheon for him.

At the hearin' of this, ye may swear, though, I was as mad as a
grasshopper, but I remimbered that I was Sir Pathrick O'Grandison,
Barronitt, and that it wasn't althegither gentaal to lit the anger git
the upper hand o' the purliteness, so I made light o' the matter and
kipt dark, and got quite sociable wid the little chap, and afther a
while what did he do but ask me to go wid him to the widdy's, saying he
wud give me the feshionable inthroduction to her leddyship.

"Is it there ye are? " said I thin to mesilf, "and it's thrue for you,
Pathrick, that ye're the fortunittest mortal in life. We'll soon see
now whither it's your swate silf, or whither it's little Mounseer
Maiter-di-dauns, that Misthress Tracle is head and ears in the love
wid. "

Wid that we wint aff to the widdy's, next door, and ye may well say it
was an illigant place; so it was. There was a carpet all over the floor,
and in one corner there was a forty-pinny and a Jew's harp and the divil
knows what ilse, and in another corner was a sofy, the beautifullest
thing in all natur, and sitting on the sofy, sure enough, there was the
swate little angel, Misthress Tracle.

"The tip o' the mornin' to ye," says I, "Mrs. Tracle," and thin I made
sich an illigant obaysance that it wud ha quite althegither bewildered
the brain o' ye.

"Wully woo, pully woo, plump in the mud," says the little furrenner
Frinchman, "and sure Mrs. Tracle," says he, that he did, "isn't this
gintleman here jist his reverence Sir Pathrick O'Grandison, Barronitt,
and isn't he althegither and entirely the most particular frind and
acquaintance that I have in the houl world? "

And wid that the widdy, she gits up from the sofy, and makes the swatest
curthchy nor iver was seen; and thin down she sits like an angel;
and thin, by the powers, it was that little spalpeen Mounseer
Maiter-di-dauns that plumped his silf right down by the right side of
her. Och hon! I ixpicted the two eyes o' me wud ha cum'd out of my head
on the spot, I was so dispirate mad! Howiver, "Bait who! " says I, after
awhile. "Is it there ye are, Mounseer Maiter-di-dauns? " and so down I
plumped on the lift side of her leddyship, to be aven with the willain.
Botheration! it wud ha done your heart good to percave the illigant
double wink that I gived her jist thin right in the face with both eyes.

But the little ould Frinchman he niver beginned to suspict me at all
at all, and disperate hard it was he made the love to her leddyship.
"Woully wou," says he, "Pully wou," says he, "Plump in the mud," says he.

"That's all to no use, Mounseer Frog, mavourneen," thinks I; and I
talked as hard and as fast as I could all the while, and throth it was
mesilf jist that divarted her leddyship complately and intirely, by
rason of the illigant conversation that I kipt up wid her all about the
dear bogs of Connaught. And by and by she gived me such a swate smile,
from one ind of her mouth to the ither, that it made me as bould as a
pig, and I jist took hould of the ind of her little finger in the most
dillikitest manner in natur, looking at her all the while out o' the
whites of my eyes.

And then ounly percave the cuteness of the swate angel, for no sooner
did she obsarve that I was afther the squazing of her flipper, than she
up wid it in a jiffy, and put it away behind her back, jist as much as
to say, "Now thin, Sir Pathrick O'Grandison, there's a bitther chance
for ye, mavourneen, for it's not altogether the gentaal thing to be
afther the squazing of my flipper right full in the sight of that little
furrenner Frinchman, Mounseer Maiter-di-dauns. "

Wid that I giv'd her a big wink jist to say, "lit Sir Pathrick alone for
the likes o' them thricks," and thin I wint aisy to work, and you'd have
died wid the divarsion to behould how cliverly I slipped my right arm
betwane the back o' the sofy, and the back of her leddyship, and there,
sure enough, I found a swate little flipper all a waiting to say, "the
tip o' the mornin' to ye, Sir Pathrick O'Grandison, Barronitt. " And
wasn't it mesilf, sure, that jist giv'd it the laste little bit of a
squaze in the world, all in the way of a commincement, and not to be too
rough wid her leddyship? and och, botheration, wasn't it the gentaalest
and dilikittest of all the little squazes that I got in return? "Blood
and thunder, Sir Pathrick, mavourneen," thinks I to mesilf, "fait it's
jist the mother's son of you, and nobody else at all at all, that's the
handsomest and the fortunittest young bog-throtter that ever cum'd out
of Connaught! " And with that I givd the flipper a big squaze, and a big
squaze it was, by the powers, that her leddyship giv'd to me back. But
it would ha split the seven sides of you wid the laffin' to
behould, jist then all at once, the consated behavior of Mounseer
Maiter-di-dauns. The likes o' sich a jabbering, and a smirking, and a
parley-wouing as he begin'd wid her leddyship, niver was known before
upon arth; and divil may burn me if it wasn't me own very two peepers
that cotch'd him tipping her the wink out of one eye. Och, hon! if it
wasn't mesilf thin that was mad as a Kilkenny cat I shud like to be
tould who it was!

"Let me infarm you, Mounseer Maiter-di-dauns," said I, as purlite as
iver ye seed, "that it's not the gintaal thing at all at all, and not
for the likes o' you inny how, to be afther the oggling and a goggling
at her leddyship in that fashion," and jist wid that such another squaze
as it was I giv'd her flipper, all as much as to say, "isn't it Sir
Pathrick now, my jewel, that'll be able to the proticting o' you, my
darlint? " and then there cum'd another squaze back, all by way of the
answer. "Thrue for you, Sir Pathrick," it said as plain as iver a squaze
said in the world, "Thrue for you, Sir Pathrick, mavourneen, and it's
a proper nate gintleman ye are--that's God's truth," and with that she
opened her two beautiful peepers till I belaved they wud ha' cum'd out
of her hid althegither and intirely, and she looked first as mad as a
cat at Mounseer Frog, and thin as smiling as all out o' doors at mesilf.

"Thin," says he, the willian, "Och hon! and a wolly-wou, pully-wou," and
then wid that he shoved up his two shoulders till the divil the bit of
his hid was to be diskivered, and then he let down the two corners of
his purraty-trap, and thin not a haporth more of the satisfaction could
I git out o' the spalpeen.

Belave me, my jewel, it was Sir Pathrick that was unreasonable mad thin,
and the more by token that the Frinchman kipt an wid his winking at the
widdy; and the widdy she kept an wid the squazing of my flipper, as much
as to say, "At him again, Sir Pathrick O'Grandison, mavourneen:" so I
just ripped out wid a big oath, and says I;

"Ye little spalpeeny frog of a bog-throtting son of a bloody noun! "--and
jist thin what d'ye think it was that her leddyship did? Troth she
jumped up from the sofy as if she was bit, and made off through
the door, while I turned my head round afther her, in a complate
bewilderment and botheration, and followed her wid me two peepers. You
percave I had a reason of my own for knowing that she couldn't git down
the stares althegither and intirely; for I knew very well that I had
hould of her hand, for the divil the bit had I iver lit it go. And says
I; "Isn't it the laste little bit of a mistake in the world that ye've
been afther the making, yer leddyship? Come back now, that's a darlint,
and I'll give ye yur flipper. " But aff she wint down the stairs like a
shot, and thin I turned round to the little Frinch furrenner. Och hon!
if it wasn't his spalpeeny little paw that I had hould of in my own--why
thin--thin it wasn't--that's all.

And maybe it wasn't mesilf that jist died then outright wid the laffin',
to behold the little chap when he found out that it wasn't the widdy at
all at all that he had had hould of all the time, but only Sir Pathrick
O'Grandison. The ould divil himself niver behild sich a long face as he
pet an! As for Sir Pathrick O'Grandison, Barronitt, it wasn't for
the likes of his riverence to be afther the minding of a thrifle of a
mistake. Ye may jist say, though (for it's God's thruth), that afore I
left hould of the flipper of the spalpeen (which was not till afther her
leddyship's futman had kicked us both down the stairs), I giv'd it such a
nate little broth of a squaze as made it all up into raspberry jam.

"Woully wou," says he, "pully wou," says he--"Cot tam! "

And that's jist the thruth of the rason why he wears his lift hand in a
sling.



BON-BON.

Quand un bon vin meuble mon estomac,
Je suis plus savant que Balzac-- Plus sage que Pibrac;
Mon brass seul faisant l'attaque
De la nation Coseaque,
La mettroit au sac;
De Charon je passerois le lac,
En dormant dans son bac;
J'irois au fier Eac,
Sans que mon c? ur fit tic ni tac,
Presenter du tabac.
French Vaudeville

THAT Pierre Bon-Bon was a _restaurateur_ of uncommon qualifications,
no man who, during the reign of----, frequented the little Cafe in the
cul-de-sac Le Febvre at Rouen, will, I imagine, feel himself at liberty
to dispute. That Pierre Bon-Bon was, in an equal degree, skilled in
the philosophy of that period is, I presume, still more especially
undeniable. His _pates a la fois_ were beyond doubt immaculate; but
what pen can do justice to his essays _sur la Nature_--his thoughts sur
_l'Ame_--his observations _sur l'Esprit? _ If his _omelettes_--if his
_fricandeaux_ were inestimable, what _litterateur_ of that day would not
have given twice as much for an "_Idee de Bon-Bon_" as for all the trash
of "_Idees_" of all the rest of the _savants? _ Bon-Bon had ransacked
libraries which no other man had ransacked--had more than any other
would have entertained a notion of reading--had understood more than
any other would have conceived the possibility of understanding; and
although, while he flourished, there were not wanting some authors at
Rouen to assert "that his _dicta_ evinced neither the purity of the
Academy, nor the depth of the Lyceum"--although, mark me, his doctrines
were by no means very generally comprehended, still it did not follow
that they were difficult of comprehension. It was, I think, on account
of their self-evidency that many persons were led to consider them
abstruse. It is to Bon-Bon--but let this go no farther--it is to Bon-Bon
that Kant himself is mainly indebted for his metaphysics. The former was
indeed not a Platonist, nor strictly speaking an Aristotelian--nor did
he, like the modern Leibnitz, waste those precious hours which might
be employed in the invention of a _fricasee_ or, _facili gradu_, the
analysis of a sensation, in frivolous attempts at reconciling the
obstinate oils and waters of ethical discussion. Not at all. Bon-Bon was
Ionic--Bon-Bon was equally Italic. He reasoned _a priori_--He reasoned
also _a posteriori_. His ideas were innate--or otherwise. He believed in
George of Trebizonde--He believed in Bossarion [Bessarion]. Bon-Bon was
emphatically a--Bon-Bonist.

I have spoken of the philosopher in his capacity of _restaurateur_.