We have read a great many stories of which Winchell, the great wit and mimic, was the hero, showing always how neatly and entirely he sold somebody.Any one who is familiar with Winchell's wonderful powers of mimicry cannot doubt that these stories are all substantially true.But there is one instance which we will relate, or perish in the attempt, where the jolly Winchell was himself sold.
The other evening, while he was conversing with several gentlemen at one of the hotels, a dilapidated individual reeled into the room and halted in front of the stove, where he made wild and unsuccessful efforts to maintain a firm position.He evidently had spent the evening in marching torchlight processions of forty-rod whisky down his throat, and at this particular time was decidedly and disreputably drunk.With a sly wink to the crowd, as much as to say, "We'll have some fun with this individual," Winchell assumed a solemn face, and in a ghostly voice said to one of the company:
"The poor fellow we were speaking of is dead!""No?" said the individual addressed.
"Yes," said Winchell; "you know both of his eyes were gouged out, his nose was chawed off, and both of his arms were torn out at the roots.Of course, he could'nt recover."This was all said for the benefit of the drunken man, who was standing, or trying to stand, within a few feet of Winchell; but he took no sort of notice of it, and was apparently ignorant of the celebrated delineator's presence.Again Winchell endeavored to attract his attention, but utterly failed as before.In a few moments the drunken man staggered out of the room.
"I can generally have a little fun with a drunken man," said Winchell, "but it is no go in this case.""I suppose you know what ails the man who just went out?" said the "gentlemanly host.""I perceive he is alarmingly inebriated," said Winchell; "does anything else ail him?""Yes," said the host, "HE'S DEAF AND DUMB!"This was true.There was a "larf," and Winchell, with the remark that he was sorry to see a disposition in that assemblage "to deceive an orphan," called for a light and went gravely to bed.
1.49.ON AUTUMN.
Poets are wont to apostrophize the leafy month of June, and there is no denying that if Spring is "some," June is Summer.But there is a gorgeous magnificence about the habiliments of Nature, and a teeming fruitfulness upon her lap during the autumnal months, and we must confess we have always felt genially inclined towards this season.
It is true, when we concentrate our field of vision to the minute garniture of earth, we no longer observe the beautiful petals, nor inhale the fragrance of a gay parterre of the "floral epistles" and "angel-like collections" which Longfellow (we believe) so graphically describes, and which Shortfellows so fantastically carry about in their buttonholes; but we have all their tints reproduced upon a higher and broader canvas in the kaleidoscopic colors with which the sky and the forest daily enchant us, and the beautiful and luscious fruits which Autumn spreads out before us, and "Crowns the rich promise of the opening Spring."In another point of view Autumn is suggestive of pleasant reflections.The wearying, wasting heat of Summer, and the deadly blasts with which her breath has for some years been freighted, are past, and the bracing north winds begin to bring balm and healing on their wings.The hurly-burly of travel, and most sorts of publicity (except newspapers), are fast playing out, and we can once more hope to see our friends and relations in the happy sociality of home and fireside enjoyments.Yielding, as we do, the full force to which Autumn is seriously entitled, or rather to the serious reflections and admonitions which the decay of Nature and the dying year always inspire, and admitting the poet's decade--"Leaves have their time to fall, And stars to set,--but all, Thou hast all seasons for thine own, O Death!"There is a brighter Autumn beyond, and brighter opening years to those who choose them rather than dead leaves and bitter fruits.
Thus we can conclude tranquilly with Bryant, as we began gaily with another--"So live, that when thy summons comes to join The innumerable caravan, which moves To that mysterious realm, where each shall take His chamber in the silent halls of death, Thou go not, like the quarry-slave at night, Scourged to his dungeon; but, sustained and soothed By an unfaltering trust, approach thy grave Like one who wraps the drapery of his couch About him, and lies down to pleasant dreams."1.50.PAYING FOR HIS PROVENDER BY PRAYING.
We have no intention of making fun of serious matters in telling the following story; we merely relate a fact.
There is a rule at Oberlin College that no student shall board at any house where prayers are not regularly made each day.A certain man fitted up a boarding-house and filled it with boarders, but forgot, until the eleventh hour, the prayer proviso.Not being a praying man himself, he looked around for one who was.At length he found one--a meek young man from Trumbull County--who agreed to pay for his board in praying.For a while all went smoothly, but the boarding-master furnished his table so poorly that the boarders began to grumble and to leave, and the other morning the praying boarder actually "struck!" Something like the following dialogue occurred at the table:--LANDLORD.--Will you pray, Mr.Mild?
MILD.--No, sir, I will not.
LANDLORD.--Why not, Mr.Mild?
MILD.--It don't pay, sir.I can't pray on such victuals as these.
And unless you bind yourself in writing to set a better table than you have for the last three weeks, NARY ANOTHER PRAYER YOU GET OUTOF ME!
And that's the way the matter stood at latest advices.
1.51.HUNTING TROUBLE.
