He said: "What in thunder do you mean by letting your hens tear up my garden?" Reubens was prompted to call him a mud-snoot,—a new name just coming into general use, but he remembered his resolution, put down his rage, and meekly observed, "One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight- Then the mad neighbor who had been eying this answer with a great deal of suspicion, broke in again, "Why don't you answer my question, you rascal?" But still Reubens maintained his equanimity, and went on with the test. “Nine, ten, eleven, twelve, thirteen, fourteen, fifteen, sixteen-" The mad neighbor stared harder than ever. "Seventeen, eighteen, nineteen, twenty, twenty-one"You're a mean skunk," said the mad neighbor, backing toward the fence. Reubens' face flushed at this charge, but he only said, "Twenty-two, twenty-three, twenty-four, twenty-five, twentysix" At this figure the neighbor got up on the fence in some haste, but suddenly thinking of his pease, he opened his mouth, "You mean low-lived rascal; for two cents I could knock your cracked head over a barn, and I would"Twenty-seven, twenty-eight," interrupted Reubens, "twentynine, thirty, thirty-one, thirty-two thirty-three-❞ Here the neighbor broke for the house, and entering it, violently slammed the door behind him; but Reubens did not dare let up on the enumeration, and so he stood out there alone in his own yard, and kept on counting, while his burning cheeks and flashing eyes eloquently affirmed his judgment. When he got up into the eighties his wife came to the door in some alarm. "Why, Reubens, man, what is the matter with you?" she said. "Do come into the house." But he did n't come. She came up to him, and clung tremblingly to him, but he only looked into her eyes, and said: "Ninety-three, ninety-four, ninety-five, ninety-six, ninety-seven, ninety-eight, ninety-nine, one hundred—go into the house, old woman, or I'll bust ye;" and she -J. M. Bailey. went. K. N. E.-38. CXCIV.-MESOPOTAMIA. 'TIS sweet to roam when morning's light Resounds across the deep; When the crystal song of the woodbine bright When the midnight sky has a somber dye Of a pale and inky hue, And the wolf rings out his glittering shout, When the pearly wing of the wintry trees Dashes across the glen; When the laughing lights of the moss-grown cliffs And when at noon the bloodshot moon Is bathed in crumbling dew, And the wolf rings out his glittering shout, "Tu whit, tu whit, tu whoo!" THE MADMAN. His eye was stern and wild, his cheek was pale and cold as clay; Upon his tightened lip a smile of fearful meaning lay; He mused awhile, but not in doubt,-no trace of doubt was there; It was the steady, solemn pause of resolute despair. Once more he looked upon the scroll, once more its words he read, Then calmly, with unflinching hand, its folds before him spread. I saw him bare his throat, and seize the blue, cold, gleaming steel, And grimly try the tempered edge he was so soon to feel. He raised on high the glittering blade; then first I found a tongue; "Hold, madman! stay thy frantic deed!" I cried, and forth I sprung; He heard me, but he heeded not; one glance around he gave; But, ere I could arrest his hand, he had-begun to shave! CXCV.-MARK TWAIN AND THE INTERVIEWER. THE nervous, dapper, "peart" young man took the chair I offered him, and said he was connected with The Daily Thunderstorm," and added,— "Hoping it's no harm, I've come to interview you." "Come to what?" "Interview you." "Ah! I see. Yes yes. Um! Yes-yes." I was not feeling bright that morning. Indeed, my powers seemed a bit under a cloud. However, I went to the book-case, and, when I had been looking six or seven minutes, I found I was obliged to refer to the young man. I said, "How do you spell it?" "Spell what?" "Interview." "Oh, my goodness! What do you want to spell it for?" "I don't want to spell it: I want to see what it means.' "Well, this is astonishing, I must say. I can tell you what it means, if you-if you" "Oh, all right! That will answer, and much obliged to you, too." "I n, in,t e r, ter, inter" 66 Then you spell it with an I?" "Why, certainly!" 66 'Oh, that is what took me so long!" Why, my dear sir, what did you propose to spell it with?" 66 Well, I—I—I hardly know. I had the unabridged; and I was ciphering around in the back end, hoping I might tree her among the pictures. But it's a very old edition." Why, my friend, they would n't have a picture of it in even the latest e- My dear sir, I beg your pardon, I mean no harm in the world; but you do not look asas-intelligent as I had expected you would. No harm,I mean no harm at all." "Oh, don't mention it! It has often been said, and by people who would not flatter, and who could have no inducement to flatter, that I am quite remarkable in that way. Yes yes they always speak of it with rapture." "I can easily imagine it. But about this interview. You know it is the custom, now, to interview any man who has become notorious." "Indeed! I had not heard of it before. It must be very interesting. What do you do it with?" "Ah, well-well-well-this is disheartening. It ought to be done with a club, in some cases; but customarily it consists in the interviewer asking questions, and the interviewed answering them. It is all the rage now. Will you let me ask you certain questions calculated to bring out the salient points of your public and private history?” "Oh, with pleasure, with pleasure. I have a very bad memory; but I hope you will not mind that. That is to say, it is an irregular memory, singularly irregular. Sometimes it goes in a gallop, and then again it will be as much as a fortnight passing a given point. This is a great grief to me." "Oh! it is no matter, so you will try to do the best you can." "I will. I will put my whole mind on it." "Thanks! Are you ready to begin?" "Ready." Question. How old are you? six. Answer. Nineteen in June. Q. Indeed! I would have taken you to be thirty-five or Where were you born? A. In Missouri. Q. When did you begin to write? A. In 1836. Q. Why, how could A. I don't know. that be, if you are only nineteen now? It does seem curious, somehow. Whom do you consider the most re Q. It does indeed. markable man you ever met? A. Aaron Burr. Q. But you never could have met Aaron Burr, if you are only nineteen years A. Now, if you know more about me than I do, what do you ask me for? Q. Well, it was only a suggestion; nothing more. How did you happen to meet Burr? A. Well, I happened to be at his funeral one day; and he asked me to make less noise, and Q. But, good heavens! If you were at his funeral he must have been dead; and, if he was dead, how could he care whether you made a noise or not? A. I don't know. He was always a particular kind of a man that way. Q. Still, I don't understand it at all. You say he spoke to you, and that he was dead? A. I didn't say he was dead. Q. But wasn't he dead? A. Well, some said he was, some said he was n't. Q. What do you think? A. Oh, it was none of my business! It was n't any of my funeral. Q. Did youHowever, we can never get this matter straight. Let me ask about something else. What was the date of your birth? A. Monday, Oct. 31, 1693. |