THE OBSERVATIONS OF MACE SLOPER, ESQ.

FAMILIABLY NARRATED BY HIMSELF.

NUMBER THIRTEEN.

IN WHICH, AFTER SOME LIGHT SKIRMISHING, HE CONCLUDES BY A DESPERATE ENGAGEMENT.

I SUPPOSE most folks who honor Mace Sloper by reading his literary efforts have heard the story of the fellow who went duck-shooting, and who, after getting a first-rate set, kept aiming and aiming and never firing. Why in thunder do n't you fire?' says a friend. Why,' says he, I got three or four first-rate sights already- that's a fact; but the minit I'm going to fire there's always another duck comes swimming right in the way."

Well, the story's an old one, but we can make a new application of an old story, as the school-marm said when she spanked the little boy with Robinson Crusoe.' And the application I'm going to make is this. There's a certain duck that Mace Sloper's been intending to have a shot at for some time. I've been willing, eager, and anxious to approach the fair subject. Only the day before yesterday there came a letter in which I was politely requested to say something more about her. In fact, I was informed on the best authority, that considerable many readers of these sketches considered it high time that I should learn that the subject in question was an object of admiration to others beside Mace Sloper, and that it was high time for me to fire away. Need I say that the subject in question was Amelia Twiggles ?

Of course I need n't; but the fact is, that when I sit down to dilate on that subject, some other notion is mighty apt to strike in and put me out - and I must allow that I'm rather glad to let myself be led astray and carried off on to another road. There are two stages of being in love. In the first a man never talks of any thing else but the lady. He eats her, drinks her, dreams her, makes scripture of her eyes, and feels a call to preach them to every soul he meets, as if nobody before had ever been converted to a good opinion of her beauty. This is the newspaper and kindling-wood stage, when every thing is a-blazing and crackling, blower up and sparks flying like winkey - he himself sparking it all the time as much as he knows how, while sighs go a-roaring up the chimney, a good deal of the fuel expended turning to smoke and gas, while the solid balance appears at last in a complete love-suit. Then, when the fire begins to regularly burn, and the coals settle down, the noise stops. The attention of the world is no longer requested; the fire does its own warming: in plain words, the man who is awfully in love, and fairly settled down in attentions,' no longer goes preaching about, but settles down into quiet devotion, and the unostentatious charity of drives, bouquets, small fillipeener jewelry, and other animal, vegetable, and mineral tributes of affection.

The duck which just now swum in and discombobberated my aim,

was a reflection on how much easier it is for some folks to see into things than others, and in how much shorter time than others some folks can make out how a love-suit is a-going to turn out. Thinking about ladies made me reflect on fancy wares in general, and this again turned my undivided attention to the fact that while some men of the 'cute sort can tell at a glance what their sum-total moral and common sense value is, and whether they can hope to marry 'em or not, other fellows can't find out, in a month of Sundays, either one or the other. In like manner there are men who can appraise the value of goods almost at a glance, and take 'count of stock and set down the prices in their head, sooner than the very salesman whose business it is to know all sort of thing. And reflecting on this, puts me in mind of a story of an old chap in Boston, that I and Sam Bachelder and Hiram were talking about only yesterday afternoon.

We were smoking a segar in the Young New-England Club Room, where Sam had dropped in to find Dr. Frank Fisher, with whom we were very soon on a talk, bringing up all sorts of old times in the Bay

State.

Did it ever strike you?' says Hiram, as we went in, that there used to be a queer set of jolly old fellows of a very droll sort, some twenty years ago—well, say in Salem, Boston, New-Bedford, Providence, and so on?'

Where the Penobscot Indian was born?' says Sam; all along shore.'

Where the speckled hens were,' says Dr. Fisher; 'about in spots.' Where the weddings were,' says I, among the marry-time arrange. ments.'

Stop there,' says Hiram. Mace, nobody 'll do any worse than that. Well, as I was saying, there used to be a queer old set of boys around in those days. Always running saws on some body, always biting some body deep on a trade, all for the fun of it, never laughing, and always doing every thing in the fear of the LORD, even to selling north-east rum, and holding up the onion-market by the tail. Yes, Sir. Did any of you ever know old 'Square Pardon Greene Cheeseberry?'

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Squire Cheeseberry!' cried Sam. Rather. Why, after I went back to Boston from the West, I was two years in his store. That was while he was in the comb, jewelry, and fancy notion business.'' 'Rich now, ain't he?'

6

'Some. About eight hundred thousand two hundred and fifty-seven dollars, twenty-three-and-a-half cents.

'Well,' says Hiram, I always took you to be a pious youth, and if you were two years under old 'Squire Cheese, it's easy to see how you came by it. The 'Squire was one of 'em; loved money as he did fun, and loved both better than any thing. Did you ever hear how he squared accounts with Solomon Rosenberg (Rose-bug they used to call him) of Savannah? Of course you have, but maybe Hiram and the Doctor have n't.'

'Well, I'll tell it,' says Sam, for I was in the store and helped at the time. Solomon Rosenberg was a very shrewd character, but mighty odd and eccentric in his ways, and full of queer whimsies. One

of his fancies was cat-fish fried in oil; another was to wear Greek gold money for coat-buttons. And another was to always buy goods by the shelf, and a very profitable fancy it was. Either Rosenberg was naturally one of the sharpest men in existence, or else long practice had made him one, for it is a fact, he could run his eye over any shelf of almost any kind of goods that ever was, and guess their average value, well-exactly.

'One day he bantered 'Squire Cheeseberry to sell him some shelves, and the 'Squire agreed. Rosenberg offered nine hundred dollars; the 'Squire offered to take ten. They split the difference on eleven, but Cheeseberry he lost just four hundred dollars that time. Three or four months after, Rosenberg was in town, and the 'Squire he heard it. He pursed up his mouth for a minute, and then a steady old smile came very gravely over his eyes. Then he jumped up in a hurry.

Sammy, my son,' says he, 'shut up the shop right away. Lock the door this very instant, and shut to the winders sooner 'n Jack Robinson.' 'I jumped up like a squirrel, and had the door locked in a minute. After that I fastened the window-shutters, and going in by the backway, stood up to the 'Squire for orders.

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'Never ask no questions.

That's right, Sammy,' said the old man. Act fust, and then talk, doth lead us to the golden walk. Now, Sammy, you and I and Philo (that was Philo Haskell, the salesman) will have to work mighty spry. We've got to work all day and all night too, I calculate.'

And we just exactly did. All that day and all night the old man and Philo and I worked like seventy, re-packing the shelves, putting the most valuable goods front, and filling up the backs with old herse of all sorts. Some shelves had gold watches in front, and cut-nails or tacks in behind, and considerable many were made up all front and no behind at all, like a French retail shop. At last we got done about eight o'clock next morning, and then the old man sent out for some breakfast, gave us a good feed, and told us to look as chirk and lively as we could. And considering that we had been hard at work all night, the advice was very fine to listen to.

'About eleven o'clock, after some business had been done, who should come in but Solomon Rosenberg? The old man saw him quick enough, but pretended not to look up. By-and-by he turned around, as Rosebug spoke.

"Well, I do declare; Mr. Rosenberg, who 'd a ever thought o' seeing you here so soon again in Bosting! Been on to Savanny, hain't you? Glad to see ye looking so likely. Want to buy again by the shelf 1 'spose. No, you can't come that again over me.. Sell ye by the piece: well, as much as ye want; but no more shelving operations here, not by a jugful, I calculate.'

6

Well, as you may suppose, Rosebug went in strong for the advantages of selling by the shelf, while the old man held off on the other side. Finally the 'Squire gave in, confoundedly slow of course, and agreed to sell one shelf- Rosebug to pick out for himself. He selected one full of silver watches in front. By agreement each marked off his price, and Philo and I took the papers and split the difference.

Then another shelf was sold, and finally half-a-dozen. Finally, Rosebug smelt a rat- he caught a twinkle in the old man's eye or something, and flared up like powder.

You old rogue!

thing wrong.'

what the devil is going on now? There's some

Laws a massey!' says the old 'Squire very calm.

'What on airth

are ye hollerin' at, Rosebug? Have another shelf, won't ye? What 'll ye 'low now for them combs ?'

'Without saying a word, Rosebug gave a twitch at a gross of spectacle-cases he had just bought, and brought down the lot bang by the board. All was empty behind. He turned pale, but did n't say much. When he summed up the whole lot, old Green Cheese found that he had made just three thousand dollars by selling by the shelf."

'I remember old Cheese,' said Doctor Fisher. He was what the American students in Paris used to call 'a merry cuss' all over, whenever they got hold of a Yankee who was pretty tolerably jolly. Once Cheeseberry was stopping in a little out-of-the-way, sea-side town, somewhere along the coast, and a large ship loaded with pepper was driven in there by stress of weather. The Captain was owner of the cargo, and old Green Cheese begun to bargain with him for the pepper.

'Well, they traded away, and talked, and whittled, and drank ciderbrandy over it for about three days, when all at once the idea struck the Captain that it was very queer for a man living in a little one-horse town of only half-a-dozen houses, to want to buy a whole ship-load of pepper, and he finally asked old Cheese 'what in thunder he wanted of so much pepper?

"Why,' says old Cheeseberry, talking very slow and whittling away on the edge of a Canil with his knife, 'I'm agoing to use it, I calculate.' "Use a hull ship-load of pepper?' cried the Captain. Well! I

Why, ye see, Captain,' says old Cheese, whittling away as sober as a judge, I've got a notion of buildin' an everlastin' great lot o' souphouses all along the coast from Novy Scoshy down to New-Or-leens, and I want that there pepper to season the soup with.''

AND now to change the subject. If Mace Sloper had been as 'cute to judge of a woman's mind as Sol. Rosebug was to judge of goods, or if he had as little mistrusted being come over as old Cheese was, he might have been calm and engaged-perhaps well, long ago. well, long ago. But it takes some time for folks who have got over the first blow of youthful steam to hurry up these matters, especially when 'prudential motives' whisper bolt! But it is a fact, and you may congratulate me. You may catch me by the hand and shake it half off and wish me joy from your very soul; and if you are a young lady, you may offer all sorts of sympathies and wishes, and say every thing you can think of about Mrs. Twiggles, (though you may never have seen her,) and put all sorts of close questions about the courtship, and wooing, and wedding that is to be, though very likely we never spoke more than three words together before; and though you would never have dreamed of being so familiar as to inquire after my brother's health! Love is common property to

the multitude, and engagements and marriages, like prize-fights, do really seem to be more interesting to the lookers-on than to the parties most nearly concerned. Hurrah for the fashions, however, and let's go in with the best if we bust! especially with the ladies, who have just about as good a right as any body to know what's up.

One evening in the last Christmas holidays, it happened to come pass by chancing to take place in the course of human events, that Mrs. Twiggles and I were up at Embury Van Dysen's spending the evening, Hiram and Mrs. Boutard being along. The Van Dysens live in an oldfashioned, comfortable sort of way, among a set of quiet, easy-looking chairs and sofas, which all look as if they had dressing-gowns and slippers on; and gather, after dinner, around a great table, piled up with all the papers and magazines going. They never miss of having half a dozen friends of an evening in the dining-room library, back of the back-parlor, and nobody ever set there three evenings yet before he got to calling old Van Dysen by his fore-name, Elisha, or Mrs. Van, Anne, and was pretty sure to have his own sur-name pretty well dropped ; all of which is due to the fact that Mrs. Van D. was a lively Quaker girl when younger, and is n't so old or bad to look at yet, but what she likes drollery and fun, and coquettes a little with the Quaker fashions yet. Old Van and Hiram were smoking great licks over a box of Operas, and were knee-deep in the Tariff, Guthrie, free wool and sugar. Mrs. Van was sitting with a coat of her husband's on her lap and threading a needle before doing some stitches on it. Amelia was working red sprigs around the edges of a handkerchief, and I, though not naturally 'cute at such operations, was trying to mark out a pattern with a pencil on another handkerchief for Mrs. Boutard, who, in her turn, was build ing card-houses with the pack which was to figure sooner or later in a game of whist. All at once Mrs. Van looked up and said:

''Lisha, what on earth makes you load your pockets so ?

Samples, I guess, Anne.'

Gracious, what a mess!' And here the good lady emptied the samples on to the table. Van is in the wholesale grocer business, and has a way of sticking every thing into his pockets and forgetting it. So that when the samples came out there was a mess of a bunch of raisins, half a pint of mixed rice, tea, and sago, allspice and paper labels, a leadpencil and eleven nutmegs, three lumps of sugar and a stick of cinnamon, a bit of rock-candy and two crackers, one Bermuda potato, a walnut, and a proof-vial; seventeen grains of coffee, and a small paper bundle, which was found on examination, to contain two new velvet corks, carefully done up for future inspection. Last of all, came several large firm pieces of mace.

Well, 'Lisha,' said Hiram, if any man was to give you a pretty heavy order in the street, you could fill it without sending to the store.' 'Well,' said I, 'I've heard of sinking the shop, but if Elisha were to fall over-board I should think that his shop would be most likely to sink him.'

'Well,' said Mrs. Boutard, rising up in her lively way and sitting high, if we only knew what every body had in their pockets, how we should laugh sometimes. I declare my husband is the greatest man