by Rick Raphael
Comes my wife as I write and will have the key to her largest trunk thesame it doth appear is lost, the which on discovery she layeth at mydoor and weepeth afresh. Did strive to cheer her but with a heavyheart.
_August tenth_
This do be the hottest summer in many years and lest I forget to set itdown more mad dogs than can well be handled. My wife very hystericky andforever in a smock and declareth she would be dead and married life adelusion, the which opinion I take small issue with having my hands fullof business and Lasselle forever at my heels with our affair of the minenot to speak of H. Nevil which waileth continually over how he wascaught short in the month of June. Beshrew me if I repent not of June onmine own behalf but am determined to live properly and so havedespatched a messenger to my cousin Sarah Badminton asking that she cometo keep mine house.
_August twentieth_
Comes Sarah Badminton this day and Lord but a plain woman, being flatlike unto a board from her heels up unto her head, but curiously shapedin and out in front. Still she do seem a worthy jade and good at heartand ever attentive when I will to converse and sitteth with me of abreakfast my wife being ever asleep till ten.
Last night to the Play where comes Lasselle and makes very merry andtelleth jokes the which of great amusement to my wife while I find nomirth therein. Later to supper at the coffee house and my wifeexceedingly witty and me all of a wonder at the change in her in publicand on reflection do find it passing strange that one ugly like MistressBadminton will effort her to be gracious at home while one so handsomeas my wife sleeps ever.
To my office where did buy and sell as usual.
_September sixteenth_
My wife not well and strangely indisposed towards me yawning unduly andcomplaining that life is dull, yet gay enough for others and of a greatjoy over riding horseback with Lasselle. Last night did chide her in bedfor upwards of an hour and misliked me greatly when I had done to findthat she slept for some while before. Will have the doctor to her forthere be surely something amiss in a woman who is not happy with me.
To my office and H. Nevil all excitement over his margins.
_October twenty-ninth_
Returned this day from a trip to the Coast and find my wife no betteralthough the doctor hath been with her each day. She saith the doctoradviseth quiet until spring. Comes Mrs. Badminton her face all awry andwill that I go with her to Carlsbad and my affairs so many as never wasand never any lover of the sea. That which causeth me great vexationthat I have a wife and say flatly to Mrs. Badminton to ask the doctor ifhe can not take her to Carlsbad any money being wiser than to travelwith oats where they be now and chicken feed going up to beat the band,at which the good woman raiseth her hands aloft and maketh suchdemonstration that I clean out of patience and basted her with the fireshovel the same being not courteous but sadly necessary to allappearance.
_November sixth_
My wife most nervous and there being no peace with Her did discuss thesame with Lasselle to-day and although unmarried yet did sympathizemuch and advise for me with a right good will telling me of a place insouthern France where he hath been and the same beyond all else for thenerves only lonely but that not so bad since he proposeth going therethis winter himself and can see after my wife somewhat the which greatlyto my relief and so home and did discourse thereon with MistressBadminton the which drew a long face and plain to see was dead againstthe plan the which putting me in a fine temper with what a woman hathfor brains.
Wheat rising and A. B. & C. going down comes H. Nevil short to borrowthe which crowneth my fury his niece being so far from making me happyand he being the cause of all. But did indorse two notes for him and sohome and to bed with a bad grace and glad that my wife has betakenherself to another room.
_December ninth_
From the dock and my wife do be gone and now we may look for some peacethe which sad enough needed.
_December tenth_
Comes H. Nevil all distraught to say that it is about at the clubs thatmy wife will have a divorce and marry the doctor, on the which hearing Imuch annoyed and summon Mrs. Badminton who denyeth the doctor butasserteth Lasselle whereupon we in a great taking and much brandy andsoda but at last reflection and do decide not to sue but to pityLasselle for of a verity she be forever out of temper and flounceth whenquestioned.
To mine office and D. & E. going up comes H. Nevil to borrow again thegall of which doth take me greatly.
_January seventeenth_
Am all of a taking for that the papers in my wife's divorce do be filedinto me this day and great to do when I learn that the cause shedeclareth is Sarah Badminton a woman as little comely as never was andmine own cousin. Verily the ways of a wife be past understanding.
_April eleventh_
Free this day and being free comes Mrs. Badminton weeping and declarethshe be ruined if I marry her not next the which doth so overcome me thatere I have time to rally she hath kissed me and called me hers.
To my office with a heavy heart having no assurance of how this secondmarriage will turn out and little hope but seeing H. Nevil with a longface did refuse to give him any inside information the which led to hisgoing under about noon to my great joy for it was he who did get me inthis marrying habit.
_February first_
My birthday and Lord what eating and drinking the which being goodbeyond compare my wife staying in the pantry to keep the whole in trimand all my friends discoursing on my joy the which is truly great shebeing so plain that a man will never look at her and so loving that sheadoreth me come smiles come frowns.
But that which doth astonish me much is that H. Nevil telleth me thatshe that was once my wife is of exceeding content with Lasselle a pieceof news which I can scarce credit comparing him with myself.
But so wags the world.
THE PAINTERMINE[3]
BY KENYON COX
Its innocence deserves no jibe-- Pity the creature, do not mock it. 'Tis type of all the artist tribe; Its trousers haven't any pocket!
[Footnote 3: From "Mixed Beasts," by Kenyon Cox. Copyright 1904, by Fox,Duffield & Co.]
THE ADVERTISER
BY EUGENE FIELD
I am an advertiser great! In letters bold The praises of my wares I sound, Prosperity is my estate; The people come, The people go In one continuous, Surging flow. They buy my goods and come again And I'm the happiest of men; And this the reason I relate, I'm an advertiser great!
There is a shop across the way Where ne'er is heard a human tread, Where trade is paralyzed and dead, With ne'er a customer a day. The people come, The people go, But never there. They do not know There's such a shop beneath the skies, Because _he_ does not advertise! While I with pleasure contemplate That I'm an advertiser great.
The secret of my fortune lies In one small fact, which I may state, Too many tradesmen learn too late, If I have goods, I advertise. Then people come And people go In constant streams, For people know That he who has good wares to sell Will surely advertise them well; And proudly I reiterate, I am an advertiser great!
THE FAMOUS MULLIGAN BALL
BY FRANK L. STANTON
Did ever you hear of the Mulligan ball--the Mulligan ball so fine, Where we formed in ranks, and danced on planks, and swung 'em along the line? Where the first Four Hundred of the town moved at the music's call? There was never a ball in the world at all--like the famous Mulligan ball!
Town was a bit of a village then, and never a house or shed From street to street and beat to beat was higher than Mulligan's head! And never a theater troup came round to 'liven us, spring or fall, And so Mulligan's wife she says, says she: "Plaze God, I'll give a ball!"
And she did--God rest her, and save her, too! (I'm liftin' to her my hat!) And never a ball at all, at all, was half as fine as that! Never
no invitations sent--nothin' like that at all; But the whole Four Hundred combed their hair and went to the Mulligan ball.
And "Take yer places!" says Mulligan, "an' dance till you shake the wall!" And I led Mrs. Mulligan off as the lady that gave the ball; And we whirled around till we shook the ground, with never a stop at all; And I kicked the heels from my boots--please God--at the famous Mulligan ball.
Mulligan jumped till he hit the roof, and the head of him went clean through it! The shingles fell on the floor pell-mell! Says Mulligan: "Faith, I knew it!" But we kept right on when the roof was gone, with never a break at all; We danced away till the break o' day at the famous Mulligan ball.
But the best of things must pass away like the flowers that fade and fall, And it's fifty years, as the records say, since we danced at Mulligan's ball; And the new Four Hundred never dance like the Mulligans danced--at all, And I'm longing still, though my hair is gray, for a ball like Mulligan's ball!
And I drift in dreams to the old-time town, and I hear the fiddle sing; And Mulligan sashays up and down till the rafters rock and ring! Suppose, if I had a woman's eye, maybe a tear would fall For the old-time fellows who took the prize at the famous Mulligan ball!
THE GENIAL IDIOT DISCUSSES THE MUSIC CURE
BY JOHN KENDRICK BANGS
"Good morning, Doctor," said the Idiot as Capsule, M.D., entered thedining-room. "I am mighty glad you've come. I've wanted for a long timeto ask you about this music cure that everybody is talking about and getyou if possible to write me out a list of musical nostrums for every dayuse. I noticed last night before going to bed that my medicine chest wasabout run out. There's nothing but one quinine pill and a soda-mint dropin it, and if there's anything in the music cure I don't think I'll haveit filled again. I prefer Wagner to squills, and compared to thedelights of Mozart, Hayden and Offenbach those of paregoric are nit."
"Still rambling, eh?" vouchsafed the Doctor. "You ought to submit yourtongue to some scientific student of dynamics. I am inclined to think,from my own observation of its ways, that it contains the germ ofperpetual motion."
"I will consider your suggestion," replied the Idiot. "Meanwhile, let usconsult harmoniously together on the original point. Is there anythingin this music cure, and is it true that our Medical Schools arehereafter to have conservatories attached to them in which aspiringyoung M.D.'s are to be taught the _materia musica_ in addition to the_materia medica_?"
"I had heard of no such idiotic proposition," returned the Doctor. "Andas for the music cure I don't know anything about it. Haven't heardeverybody talking about it, and doubt the existence of any such thingoutside of that mysterious realm which is bounded by the four corners ofyour own bright particular cerebellum. What do you mean by the musiccure?"
"Why, the papers have been full of it lately," explained the Idiot. "Theclaim is made that in music lies the panacea for all human ills. It maynot be able to perform a surgical operation like that which is requiredfor the removal of a leg, and I don't believe even Wagner ever composeda measure that could be counted on successfully to eliminate one'svermiform appendix from its chief sphere of usefulness, but for otherthings, like measles, mumps, the snuffles, or indigestion, it is said tobe wonderfully efficacious; What I wanted to find out from you was justwhat composers were best for which specific troubles."
"You'll have to go to somebody else for the information," said theDoctor. "I never heard of the theory and, as I said before, I don'tbelieve anybody else has, barring your own sweet self."
"I have seen a reference to it somewhere," put in Mr. Whitechoker,coming to the Idiot's rescue. "As I recall the matter, some lady hadbeen cured of a nervous affection by a scientific application of somemusical poultice or other, and the general expectation seems to be thatsome day we shall find in music a cure for all our human ills, as theIdiot suggests."
"Thank you, Mr. Whitechoker," said the Idiot gratefully. "I saw thatsame item and several others besides, and I have only told the truthwhen I say that a large number of people are considering thepossibilities of music as a substitute for drugs. I am surprised thatDoctor Capsule has neither heard nor thought about it, for I shouldthink it would prove to be a pleasant and profitable field forspeculation. Even I who am only a dabbler in medicine, and know no moreabout it than the effects of certain remedies upon my own symptoms, havenoticed that music of a certain sort is a sure emollient for nervousconditions."
"For example?" said the Doctor. "Of course we don't doubt your word, butwhen a man makes a statement based upon personal observation it isprofitable to ask him what his precise experience has been merely forthe purpose of adding to our own knowledge."
"Well," said the Idiot, "the first instance that I can recall is that ofa Wagner Opera and its effects upon me. For a number of years I suffereda great deal from insomnia. I could not get two hours of consecutivesleep and the effect of my sufferings was to make me nervous andirritable. Suddenly somebody presented me with a couple of tickets for aperformance of Parsifal and I went. It began at five o'clock in theafternoon. For twenty minutes all went serenely and then the music beganto work. I fell into a deep and refreshing slumber. The intermissioncame, and still I slept on. Everybody else went home, dressed for theevening part of the performance, had their dinner, and returned. Still Islept and continued so to do until midnight when one of the gentlemanlyushers came and waked me up and told me that the performance was over. Irubbed my eyes and looked about me. It was true, the great auditoriumwas empty, and was gradually darkening. I put on my hat and walked outrefreshed, having slept from five twenty until twelve, or six hours andforty minutes, straight. That was one instance. Two weeks later I wentagain, this time to hear _Die Goetherdammerung_. The results were thesame, only the effect was instantaneous. The curtain had hardly risenbefore I retired to the little ante-room of the box our party occupiedand dozed off into a fathomless sleep. I didn't wake up this time untilnine o'clock the next day, the rest of the party having gone off withoutawakening me, as a sort of joke. Clearly Wagner, according to my way ofthinking, then deserves to rank among the most effective narcotics knownto modern science. I have tried all sorts of other things--sulfonal,trionel, bromide powders, and all the rest and not one of them producedanything like the soporific results that two doses of Wagner broughtabout in one instant, and best of all there was no reaction. Nosplitting headache or shaky hand the next day, but just the calm, quiet,contented feeling that goes with the sense of having got completelyrested up."
"You run a dreadful risk, however," said the Doctor, with a sarcasticsmile. "The Wagner habit is a terrible thing to acquire, Mr. Idiot."
"That may be," said the Idiot. "Worse than the sulfonal habit by a greatdeal I am told, but I am in no danger of becoming a victim to it whileit costs from five to seven dollars a dose. In addition to thisexperience I have also the testimony of a friend of mine who was curedof a frightful attack of the colic by Sullivan's Lost Chord played on aCornet. He had spent the day down at Asbury Park and had eaten notwisely but too copiously. Among other things that he turned loose in hisinner man were two plates of Lobster Salade, a glass of fresh cider anda saucerful of pistache ice-cream. He was a painter by profession andthe color scheme he thus introduced into his digestive apparatus was toomuch for his artistic soul. He was not fitted by temperament toassimilate anything quite so strenuously chromatic as that, and as aconsequence shortly after he had retired to his studio for the nightthe conflicting tints began to get in their deadly work and within twohours he was completely doubled up. The pain he suffered was awful.Agony was bliss alongside of the pangs that now afflicted him and allthe palliatives and pain killers known to man were tried without avail,and then, just as he was about to give himself up for lost, an amateurcornetist who occupied a studio on the floor above began to play theLost Chord. A counter-pain set in immediately. At the second bar of theLost C
hord the awful pain that was gradually gnawing away at his vitalsseemed to lose its poignancy in the face of the greater suffering, andphysical relief was instant. As the musician proceeded the internaldisorder yielded gradually to the external and finally passed awayentirely, leaving him so far from prostrated that by one A.M. he was outof bed and actually girding himself with a shotgun and an Indian Club togo upstairs for a physical encounter with the cornetist."
"And you reason from this that Sullivan's Lost Chord is a cure forCholera morbus, eh?" sneered the Doctor.
"It would seem so," said the Idiot. "While the music continued my friendwas a well man ready to go out and fight like a warrior, but when thecornetist stopped--the colic returned and he had to fight it out in theold way. In these episodes in my own experience I find amplejustification for my belief and that of others that some day the musiccure for human ailments will be recognized and developed to the full.Families going off to the country for the summer instead of taking amedicine-chest along with them will go provided with a music-box withcylinders for mumps, measles, summer complaint, whooping-cough,chicken-pox, chills and fever and all the other ills the flesh is heirto. Scientific experiment will demonstrate before long what compositionwill cure specific ills. If a baby has whooping-cough, an anxiousmother, instead of ringing up the Doctor, will go to the piano and givethe child a dose of Hiawatha. If a small boy goes swimming and catches acold in his head and is down with a fever, his nurse, an expert on theaccordeon, can bring him back to health again with three bars of Underthe Bamboo Tree after each meal. Instead of dosing kids with cod liveroil when they need a tonic, they will be set to work at a mechanicalpiano and braced up on Narcissus. There'll Be a Hot Time In The Old TownTo-Night will become an effective remedy for a sudden chill. Peoplesuffering from sleeplessness can dose themselves back to normalconditions again with Wagner the way I did. Tchaikowski, to be wellTshaken before taken, will be an effective remedy for a torpid liver,and the man or woman who suffers from lassitude will doubtless find inthe lively airs of our two-step composers an efficient tonic to bringtheir vitality up to a high standard of activity. Nothing in it? Why,Doctor, there's more in it that's in sight to-day that is promising andsuggestive of great things in the future than there was of the principleof gravitation in the rude act of that historic pippin that left theparent tree and swatted Sir Isaac Newton on the nose."
