Memory, that with other people recalls so much that is sweet and pleasant to think of in connection with their youth, with me brings up nothing but mortification, bitter tears, I had almost said curses, on my solitary and homely lot.I have wished--a thousand times wished--that Memory had never consented to take a seat "in this distracted globe."You have heard of a man so homely that he couldn't sleep nights, his face ached so.Mr.Editor, I am that melancholy individual.
Whoever perpetrated the joke--for joke it was no doubt intended to be--knew not how much truth he was uttering, or how bitterly the idle squib would rankle in the heart of one suffering man.Many and many a night have I in my childhood laid awake thinking of my homeliness, and as the moonlight has streamed in at the window and fell upon the handsome and placid features of my little brother slumbering at my side, Heaven forgive me for the wicked thought, but I have felt an almost unconquerable impulse to forever disfigure and mar that sweet upturned innocent face that smiled and looked so beautiful in sleep, for it was ever reminding me of the curse I was doomed to carry about me.Many and many a night have I got up in my nightdress, and lighting my little lamp, sat for hours gazing at my terrible ugliness of face reflected in the mirror, drawn to it by a cruel fascination which it was impossible for me to resist.
I need not tell you that I am a single man, and yet I have had what men call affairs of the heart.I have known what it is to worship the heart's embodiment of female loveliness, and purity, and truth, but it was generally at a distance entirely safe to the object of my adoration.Being of a susceptible nature, I was continually falling in love, but never, save with one single exception, did I venture to declare my flame.I saw my heart's palpitator walking in a grove.
Moved by my consuming love, I rushed towards her, and throwing myself at her feet began to pour forth the long-pent-up emotions of my heart.She gave one look and then "Shrieked till all the rocks replied;"at least you'd thought they replied if you had seen me leave that grove with a speed greatly accelerated by a shower of rocks from the hands of an enraged brother, who was at hand.That prepossessing young lady is now slowly recovering her reason in an institution for the insane.
Of my further troubles I may perhaps inform you at some future time.
Homely Man.
1.47.THE ELEPHANT.
Some two years since, on the strength of what we regarded as reliable information, we announced the death of the elephant Hannibal, at Canton, and accompanied the announcement with a short sketch of that remarkable animal.We happened to be familiar with several interesting incidents in the private life of Hannibal, and our sketch was copied by almost every paper in America and by several European journals.A few months ago a "traveled" friend showed us the sketch in a Parisian journal, and possibly it is "going the rounds" of the Chinese papers by this time.A few days after we had printed his obituary Hannibal came to town with Van Amburgh's Menagerie, and the same type which killed the monster restored him to life again.
About once a year Hannibal "Gets on a spree, And goes bobbin around."to make a short quotation from a once popular ballad.These sprees, in fact, "is what's the matter with him."The other day, in Williamsburg, Long Island, he broke loose in the canvas, emptied most of the cages, and tore through the town like a mammoth pestilence.An extensive crowd of athletic men, by jabbing him with spears and pitchforks, and coiling big ropes around his legs, succeeded in capturing him.The animals he had set free were caught and restored to their cages without much difficulty.
We doubt if we shall ever forget our first view of Hannibal--which was also our first view of any elephant--of THE elephant, in short.
It was at the close of a sultry day in June, 18--.The sun had spent its fury and was going to rest among the clouds of gold and crimson.A solitary horseman might have been seen slowly ascending a long hill in a New England town.That solitary horseman was us, and we were mounted on the old white mare.Two bags were strapped to the foaming steed.That was before we became wealthy, and of course we are not ashamed to say that we had been to mill, and consequently THEM bags contained flour and middlins.Presently a large object appeared at the top of the hill.We had heard of the devil, and had been pretty often told that he would have a clear deed and title to us before long, but had never heard him painted like the object which met our gaze at the top of that hill on the close of sultry day in June.Concluding (for we were a mere youth)that it was an eccentric whale, who had come ashore near North Yarmouth, and was making a tour through the interior on wheels, we hastily turned our steed and made for the mill at a rapid rate.
Once we threw over ballast, after the manner of balloonists, and as the object gained on us we cried aloud for our parents.Fortunately we reached the mill in safety, and the object passed at a furious rate, with a portion of a woodshed on its back.It was Hannibal, who had run away from a neighboring town, taking a shed with him.
.....
DRANK STANDIN.--Col.-- is a big "railroad man." He attended a railroad supper once.Champagne flowed freely, and the Colonel got more than his share.Speeches were made after the removal of the cloth.Somebody arose and eulogized the Colonel in the steepest possible manner--called him great, good, patriotic, enterprising, &c., &c.The speaker was here interrupted by the illustrious Colonel himself, who arising with considerable difficulty, and beaming benevolently around the table, gravely said, "Let's (hic)drink that sedimunt standin!" It was done.
1.48.HOW THE NAPOLEON OF SELLERS WAS SOLD.
