UNTO THIS LAST

Being, a Narrative in three Parts; a secret & true Historie of former Employ; a Parable of Christian Import; & a Tale of an abandoned Life:

In Which a Guest Offers an Alternate Viewpoint on a Particular Experience Shared With Our Benefactor

By Captain Karl Gaartenbach

Our esteemed Sir Epaphroditus Bainton is, at heart, a man of some modesties, and he has relayed to me that the following tale is one he does not wish to personally share as he feels it paints him in an unnecessarily boastful light. This is a falsehood, as the tale in question is one of coarseness and Horrors, leading me to believe that the true purpose of his mysterious reticence is all the more obscure, perhaps motivated by a desire to see his own terrifying actions from the viewpoint of a third party, like a man gazing at his own slack bed-bound corpse from above as his soul rises to the Great Reward. Whatever the circumstance, I hope to provide an alternate perspective on our benefactor, a perspective made all the more jarring by its grim veracity.

Though I am now a Man of the Seas, I once busied myself in the occupation of Entertainments, serving as the ringmaster for a Carnevale of some note. It was through this profession that I became re-acquainted with E. Bainton, a former rival turned friend and compatriot. I could see within Bainton's eyes the distinctive glitter of intelligence, and upon finding that he yearned for employment (his previous career as a Chirurgeon had been rendered obsolete by Progress, though I can attest to his skills in the field of Humours), I quickly set upon finding a suitable task which he might relieve me of. As every Circus must need its corresponding Bread, I decided to offer E. Bainton a career selling Fried and Sugared Doughs at the Carnevale Concessions. Though the work was beneath a man of his standing, he took to it as a Chinaman takes to the Rail, and as I watched the parade of merry Fatmen leaving his sugar-crusted register with thick smiles upon their greasy faces, I realized Bainton was the man I had sought to replace me, as I had grown weary of consorting with the Clownes and standing deep in the dung of the Elephaunts and Jungled Cats. I asked my Employer, the owner of the Carnevale, if she had objection to Bainton replacing myself as Ringmaster. She said she had no reservations regarding my plan.

At this point you are no doubt staggered by my use of the feminine pronoun. Yes, friends, I was in the Employ of a Woman. It remains unclear how she came to own the Carnevale, yet I believe it was bequeathed to her by wealthy aged relatives whose minds were too syphilis-blown to realize the error of their ways. While the “fairer” sex is generally known to be weak of mind and will, this particular example was a craven and venal simpleton, a platonic ideal of cronyism and incompetence. To refer to her as a “pin-head” would be an insult to the microencephalitics who would joyously caper in our center ring. She shall henceforth be referred to as “The Humbug.”

With The Humbug's blessing, I began to train Bainton in the art of Ringmastering, showing him how to utilize Confidence in order to part a man from his purse as surely and righteously as Moses parted the Red Sea. To the surprise of none, he took to the trade quickly, and I had utter faith in his ability to continue the operation of the Carnevale once I had returned to the North Pacific to hunt Steller's Sea-Cow. All seemed well at the Carnevale, until, that is, it came time for Bainton to receive his first pay-cheque, totaled and signed by The Dread Humbug herself. He came before me in confusion, for The Humbug had made him to understand that his added work was in vain, as he would not be taking over the Carnevale as Ringmaster, and to make matters worse, his pay-cheque came out to seven Spanish doubloons less than was previously understood. Bainton was paid less than even the Slop-Man, as though The Humbug wished to not only insult but emasculate him.

Over many Ham-Burgs, which were the food style at this time, we conspired to confront The Humbug regarding her poor treatment of Bainton, who, with each passing moment, seemed to become increasingly enraged at his foul lot. His rage was directed not at the pittance he was paid, as he believes money to be a cipher upon which small men project merit, but rather at the Principle behind the Principal. A man of Principle, as we all know, is a man only a fool would double-cross.

We confronted The Humbug in her office quarters and were surprised to find her with her two small children. Many would hold back their ire upon finding mother and child together, being reminded perhaps of the Pieta, but Bainton's rage was immune to all sentiment. While never raising his voice nor employing a cussed-word, he unleashed a barrage of vitriol upon The Humbug, accusing her of Shenanigans, Japes, and darkest Skullduggery. His words cut with surgical precision, owing, no doubt, to his previous experiences in less metaphorical blood-letting. I watched as The Humbug drew her offsprings to her breast, as though frightened that Bainton would steal them away and devour them in Saturnine fashion, a fear which, I should add, seemed apropos at the time. I had already suggested to The Humbug that perhaps her young ones should retire to my cabin and listen to the phonograph, as I had recently acquired a number of amusing recordings on wax cylinder, some of which ran nearly ninety seconds in length. She demurred, her bearings thrown so far from their axes that she could no longer cogitate rationally, seemingly preferring her children watch their mother's verbal vivisection.

While I remember few specifics of Bainton's heated oration (other than a reference to The Humbug's “obfuscatory duplicity”), I remain struck by the unrelenting viciousness of the whole affair. This put me in mind of when, as a child, I watched my Uncle Durastis beat a crazed dog to death with a small shillelagh that he kept for the purpose of beating feral animals to death. I remember being conflicted at the time; I hated the dog, which had taken to biting and snapping, and I knew it had to die, yet it was difficult to watch beloved Uncle Durastis drive the shillelagh into the creature's skull, as I knew the dog was not intelligent enough to know better, nor intelligent enough to defend itself. The hound, I regret to say, was infinitely more capable of defense than The Humbug.

Bainton left The Humbug in a state of glazed hysteria. We left the Carnevale, never to return in a professional capacity, through I understand Bainton did eventually receive his Doubloons. While I was startled by his capacity for Venoms, I cannot help but admire his conviction, which did not wither in the face of pitiable circumstance. I do not know The Humbug's fate, and I regret that I see Bainton infrequently now, but whenever I am hauling a sea-cow from the oceans and witness a shark-fish tearing the organs from its pasty belly, I offer a brief knowing smile.

Captain Karl Gaartenbach

[When I was a Stripling, Col. Bainton, my esteem'd Father, took me on a Survey of his Lands. There we found a wrecked Acre of vine-trellises, dragged across the tortur'd Ground like a wild Blanket of Green & Purple. He had, in some Years passed, set up a Vineyard here, on top an old Indian Field, but Maintenance had been neglect'd. He pointed with his Cane, and sd only, "Epaph, the World runs away."

So it is with Memory, & thus Capt. Gaartenbach steps from the Shadows of that other neglect'd Vineyard, the Past. The Letter came to me by the Roads & Foot-paths of Bearskin's people, out of Carolina & up the Roanoke, to meet this wild & untest'd Shenandoah. Tho' Gaartenbach now makes his Home at Sea, where there are no Dirt Floors, & the only Naturalls are Cannibal or Finn'd, I think of that noble Corsair often, & from that Time we spent together, do my best to wipe clean the Blood.]

[Gratias Tibi ago to B. R. Williams, previous mention'd Here, for his noble Work in Locating the elusive Gaartenbach, & transcribing his peculiar Style.]

L'orange chretien

Every Year, in nail'd & stapl'd Boxes, with a thin plastic Gauze overlaying glossy Skins, Clementines come to the now-crowded Counters of Ordinaries. In the Week passed, VIRGINIA has suffer'd grievously under the onerous, remorseless Burden of Snow. For Days 'pon days, the Snow fell silent as Cotton. This Precipitate has refus'd to budge, & instead become Hindrance to all - a Glare bright enough to demand Opera-glasses at mid-day, a Slick treacherous as walking on winding Snakes, and a naturall Ammunition to the riotous Sort, who are all the more frequent in a Isolatoe such as this.

But, count it as Law, that the more prohibitive Conditions be, the more Citizens burn to challenge them; and so the Ordinaries, by-ways & Publick Houses have been positively stuff'd with every-sort imaginable - the Doctor, haughty with Skill & sated with Rest; the two-tooth'd Meth-man, burning for Sweets & delights to burn in his smeltering Gut; the sweater'd Mother, ever-checking her Lists, accompanied at all Points by the Squawking of Babes & the Crinkling of Plastic bags.

Ned Bearskin & myself were chewing our Pipes over this very Situation, having a hearty Joy at the cozy Fire & our Seclusion from such vapid Bustle. But, as is her Wont, Mme Bainton enter'd & at once dispell'd whatever elusive Glee cou'd be coax'd out of the Evening. "Epaph!" she carped. "Have ye retriev'd the Clementines?"

My Heart went black, my Stomach swoon'd - I had not sent Stubb to do so. But had not she promis'd to obtain them on my Behalf? Bearskin, being Kinsman to my Wife, excus'd himself from the ensuing Discourse; but inevitably, as it must, the Responsibility devolv'd onto me, to retrieve the delicious Golden Apples, Clementines.

Upon entering the Ordinary, I look'd in vain for a Hook to hang my Jacket. But it was Velvet, & scarcely suit'd to be abandon'd in such Company. Predictably the worser Sort had collect'd at various Points thro'out, and even the sturdiest Men seemed entirely distract'd by the Ordeal. When I saw our Burgess crawl 'neath a hooded Sweatshirt, & whimper that he wou'd henceforth refuse any calling-cards, I took my seat in Plastic Storage, & consult'd my weary Interior.

"Oh!" came a low Moan, as from inside a Grave. "Oh!" came it again. I offer'd Salute; rec'd nothing. "Oh!" There it came again. I had no Companion to check my Impressions against, & consider'd the Possibility that my own Brains had been bent. But then unclick'd a nearby Bin, & emerg'd a young man.

His Face was all in Disorder, having recently been in Fisticuffs. His Pants wanted stitching, & the slow Work of Misery had plainly carved Lines round his Eyes. He refus'd any offer of Food, & instead stared, with indifferent Humor, at the noizy Customers all about. In short, he was a Youth, useless in Love.

He had come to the Store some days previous, in search of a Gift for his Sweet-heart; but having lost Hope, he had simply curl'd into a plastic Tub, & wait'd for the Horror-Christmas to pass, as all Things do. But this had not suffic'd, as I had unwittingly bang'd his Tub with my Cane. He queried me, concerning my Quest - I offer'd that I sought the elusive Clementine.

"Oh! The Clementine! The Christmas Orange! A Hesperidium!"

Greece once look'd to the West, for its Mysteries & Pleasures. Old Aigyptos had grown long in Tooth, & her Glamour had rather taken on the Courtezan's Sheen. Likewise, the ancient Phoinikai had disappear'd, dissolv'd away into their thousand Colonies. But Greece remember'd the former Order of Things, when Phoinecia ruled, & the scatter'd Cities of West Europe, blink'd like lonely Candles in an shatter'd Church.

One such Cittie was Tartessos, where Strabo places the Hesperides. Tartessos smelted Bronze, & hous'd Phonecians, Greeks, Tyrrhenians, & the unnumber'd unnamed Races of pre-History. It was Tartessos which was Tarshish, where ignoble Jonah fled, heartless to face Fate.

& yet why flee to another Port, when there were so many? For the Hesperides, that magic Garden, tended by Nymphs - whom we must understand as a sort of Vestal Virgin, consecrated to their delicate Task. Gardens were the Wonders of the Ancients - look to Babylon, where the Terraces contain'd all the Colour & Scent of Nature. & notice too, that our Word "Paradise" comes only for the Persian, for "Garden." But what held this Garden?

Hercules knew well enough. As one of his last Labours, exhausted Herakles had to steal the Golden Apples of the Hesperides. Greeks kenned what a common pomme was - the Fruit abounded in Asia. So Reason wou'd insist that the Golden Apple is a different Fruit entire, if indeed it exists.

But I count it a Wisdom of Science, that the Clementine is classed as a Hesperidium - for it carries hesperidin, that sweet, citrus Sugar that charms the Tongue into lazy Longing for more, more. Can we count it fair, that the Clementine shou'd be consider'd the Golden Apples of Antiquity? Wou'd Herakles retrieve Clementines from a secret Garden, when I cou'd not manage to grab them from the Shelf of an Ordinary?

"I shall never retrieve my Gift," came the disconsolate Moan. Lost in Speculation, I had forgot of my young Friend, the Squire whose Love burn'd so Hot he cou'd not Sleep. "I shall ever founder in this listless state, & never call her mine. Suitors approach, recieve dirty lookes; men race her scorn but when she already stands at the finish-line - her heart - what hope?"

I wearied of his Tub-Tale, & wish'd for a quick Conclusion. We two journey'd, & quickly stole away a Packet of luscious, robust Clementines. "See here, friend," said I, " take these Clementines, & give them to yr belov'd. Once Hippomenes threw these self-same Golden Apples before Atalanta, & even the proudest Virgin turn'd aside from her Stride to touch the glorious Fruit. Ye shall be assur'd, tis no dame alive now wou'd out-pride Atalanta."

Shrugging, the Youth went home, & I to my Fireside. Bearskin had retired, so I gave Stubb an awful Beating, & made him drink a Pint of Piss for his Indiscretion. A Gent. shou'd not have to journey into Inclemency for his Clementine!

****

I can add now only one Postscript, that this Christmas day I rec'd a most unusual Wreath, cover'd o'er in Clementines. Attach'd, the note - "Truer advice never given, & a better friend, though unsought, never found. Thank ye."

So Proof, then, of the Golden Apple's derivation. & after all,

"is not Love a Hercules, Still climbing trees in the Hesperides?"
-Berowne, Love's Labour's Lost.

On the Hilarious

"Children are never too tender to be whipped - like tough beefsteaks, the more you beat them the more tender they become."

-Edgar Poe


In the sundry Weeks since last I sent a Post-Mail, my Brain has been o'erclogg'd & choked with the sooty Work of Discovery. For well cou'd it be said, that before one may dig thro' the Ruins of Troy, it must burn.

Sept. pass'd with its belated, rosy Flirts & Plezantries, being too soon shoo'd off by her matronly Guardian - stern Octobra. Light dim'd, Leaves gilded & bronzed, and our Shoes trudg'd across the slippery Ground - all in the Echoe of Autumn's stormy Cackle.

God be prais'd, we had no Cause to fear of Sauvage Attack, tho' a grim Weroance frightened Mme Bainton quite out of her Wits. On his Way to Nemacolin's Path he took his Peace at my Porch, knowing Col. Bainton to be hospitable to our tattoo'd Neighbors. We drank our Cyder & spoke heartily of the Slaughter happily worked against the Shawnee - himself being Saponi, & harboring a toothsome Hatred for the Mingo. He gave out a Tale, that a young Shawnee wandered into the Path of the Weroance's party. They stripp'd him of his Clothes, which were meager, as he had been wandering for some Days. Thong'd to a dead Tree, he began to sing, which is the naturall Behavior of a captured Indian, as they wish to show their imperturb'd heart. My Weroance laugh'd to remember, how his Party whittled Twigs of Pine into tiny Needles, which were at once jabb'd & poked about the young Boy's Figure. Thus Porcupin'd, the Sauvages began setting the Needles alight - giving a similar Effect to what is describ'd by those Writers on Sieges, when they discuss the Work of Mines. For the Flames melted out Divotts of the Boy's skin, and boil'd his Blood, as it dripp'd from the Wounds.

Having our rawkous Chuckle 'twas hard to restrain our Bellies from bursting, full as they were with Corn-liquor & the glad Tidings of our Enemies' Woe. & to come to her Verandah, carrying Candle & wearing Shawl, only to find her Husband doubl'd o'er with Glee, while a brazen Sauvage strutt'd about in hilarious Mimicry of his Foe's Death-throes - such cou'd only disorder the frail Brains of Mme Bainton. Well is it said, that no Woman cou'd e'er pronounce Comedy, for they are too fill'd up with the cloudy Vapour of Emotion. Petulant Fancy strives with censorious Condemnation in her Mind - she has no room, amongst all her other Humours, for Humour.

A stern Rogering & the Promise to banish my Weroance-friend suffic'd to quiet my Wife. But what wou'd not be unquiet'd, was Curiosity, nagging like a toddling Youth, "What made the Weronace's Tale so hilarious?" I consult'd Herodotus, I pluck'd thro' Plutarch, & stoned myself with Plautus & Terentius. Yet none cou'd satisfy.

Goodman Stubb, most reliable of Manservants, intervenes at this point, making of himself a Exemplum. Bent o'er my tall Writing-desk, my Lucian open & my Notes still wett from furious Scribbling, I heard the fleet Steps of a Servant's soft Shoes shuffling up the Stairs. I made quick Work of closing my Nightgown, for I have been chastiz'd by Mme Bainton for suprizing the Maidservants with my uncover'd Munificence.

Alas it was only Stubb, one not unaccustom'd to the Sight of my naked J. Alfred. Panting & confused, his Eyes rolling like the cheap Marbles which consume his Time & Money, he lean'd 'gainst the Doorway, & pour'd out his Heart. Viz.:

-That two weeks prior (id est, Oct. 2), he had woo'd a young Hussy from a suspect Tavern;
-That she did operate 'pon him with the various Competencies naturall to such a One;
-That he had since been unable to pass his daily Waters, without excruciating Pain;
-That he was fill'd with regret, being unsatisfied with her Method, which, tho' effective & stimulating, was altogether too professional - a learned Pleasuring, a Bookkeeper's Joy.

He request'd my Help, as his trusted Mentor & Patron in this unkind Colonie, in retrieving a Doctor. I thought at once of my esteem'd Friend, the amicable & well-spun Leonard Galvan, a Root-worker most learned in the ways of Medicine. We had spent many a Night in the Cellars of old James Cittie, tippling & dauncing with the fine Ladies. I knew him for a Raconteur, & a solemn Ally in my Struggle 'gainst the vile King Bettie.

Galvan made Room immediate in his travelling Schedule, & rode to our Fort with all Haste. Quite stunned by the Presence of Indians, he cavill'd at me for some Time - "How is it, Epaph, that I am to work my Science, with the evidence of such Savagery about me at all Times?!" - "Such dusky Half-breeds ought be expung'd before they mingle their Mongrelcy amongst our Maidens!" Ordinarily, Leo. is not so mellifluous - but Drink soddens his Tongue, & saddens his naturally hopeful Disposition.

He examin'd Stubb in the Stables, & requir'd many grim Sacrifices on the Part of young Goodman. The Learned Galvan brought out his Foreceps, sundry Clampes & Pulleys, all straining at the suddenly-shrunk Equipment of poor S. Rods, Needles, Bits of glass, and sundry Shards of horse-iron were all applied to Stubb's Steve Coleman - and yet Galvan stood in mystification, struck nearly into Stone by the inefficacy of his Remedies. I brought Galvan the Parchment requested, which he used in a most peculiar Way - immediately paper-cutting poor Stubb's Billy Donovan. Stubb yelp'd but assured me that nothing cou'd singe him so much as wou'd continuing to suffer.

Bandaged, limping, but yet full of Enthusiasm for the Cure, Stubb took off to lie down. Galvan informed him sternly to return shou'd the Symptoms worsen. As soon as he had left our Sight, we betook ourselves to the aforemention'd Tavern - for the only Way to discover the Root of Stubb's Problems was Observation of this Hussy, perhaps even Examination.

With our Poor Richards quite unchanged by this Exercise, we spent the next Fortnight buried in Drink & Pastries. We found the Wench easy enough in her Affections that all Men struck her equal - a true Democrat of Love, a Model for those celebrated Strumpets of France, garbed in Silk & Champagne, giggling their Love for the People. To be sure, our Beery Hussy had no Silk, nor did she offer Burritoes, but she did not ask, as so many do, for Cookies, or Hat-pins, those two feminine Entertainments that have swallow'd Purses whole - like the Whale to Jonah. Or, indeed, like our Hussy, to any passing Willie Charles.

After digging thro' many a rumpled Bedsheet, faithful Stubb found us ensconced in the upper Rooms of a Boarding-house, teetering too much on the Brink of Ill-repute for me to name. He shudder'd into the Room, shaking with Confusion & Worry. "I am afeared, Sir, that I may be yet worse than I was."

From across the Room, under the Rump of a exhausted Whore, Galvan muttered, "It's the Lord's Vengeance, that you ne'er learn'd the dire Responsibility of jousting with yr Malcolm Lowry."

***

3 Days of Operation - and Nightmare - follow'd. At no inconsiderable Expense Galvan board'd with Mme Bainton & I. Tho' his Anticks are at first Comedy, soon enough they turn to Viciousness - as when he pinch'd at Mme Bainton's maidservant's Knickers, or cuff'd the Doorman for asking if he might take Galvan's Coat, or pour'd the Blood of a Steak into a Dog's Bowl, from which he drank Spirits & blood freely, or ate three Carrot-cakes, smuggling each away as they arrived from the Oven. "But Epaph," he would chortle, thro' Crumbs of my Wife's domestick Labor, "how was I to know yr solemn Wife was engag'd in entertaining? I am much too preoccupied with my curative Work to notice such Trifles!"

Not occupied enough, as it happened. The Galvan lurched & leer'd from one Corner of my Abode to another, eventually losing the Power of Speech to that merciless Master, Rum. Unhappily for Stubb, it was in one of these Phrenzies that he broke out a Mercury-pump. He declared, to the general Audience of the Dinner-table, that Stubb would soon be as good as Woman'd, if he cou'd not arrest the Progress of the Affliction.

***

For one fever'd Night I thought Galvan's merciless Medicine might finally have Stubb living up to his Name. Far-fallen are we indeed, that our Age's Hippocrates worships at the graped Altars of Bacchus & Venus Kallipygia - we have no Galen, only Galvan. In one of his Stupors, I packed Galvan away in a Trunk, hoping that he wou'd not regain Awareness before reaching Richmond. Tis in that Cittie that he most belongs.

Stubb remain'd lock'd away, excluded from Labor, in Consideration of his State. I continued my Work, the Carrot-cake return'd, and so too did the happy Countenance of Mme Bainton's Wench Lucy. She had been much out of Countenance over Stubb prior to his Disaster, nurturing towards him an ambivalent Regard, yet now seem'd pleasantly Curious, even Amorous. She attended on him daily, & wash'd his skin, hotly tingling-o'er with Pain & Duress.

One Morning I found her whistling as she scrubb'd the Panes of a Window, ponderous Work that she had detested formerly. Now the Suds dripp'd from her Wrist & the Glass gleamed in the pearly Light of late October.

"I say, Lucy," said I, "what has brought you to such a commodious Truce with yr Labor?"
She giggled & curtsied. "You might ask Mr. Stubb, sir - I mean no Impudence, please, no more of our last Guest, but - I think it a Conversation for Men."

I left Lucy to her squeaking Washcloth and hied at once to Stubb's Quarter, beneath the Stairs. I knock'd loudly, call'd him out, & found him altogether changed - his Hair smooth'd, his Carriage restored to unseemly Swagger, his Nails unbitten & his Cuffs white as Goose-down.

"What has worked you o'er, Stubb? Are you merely in that gross State of Health that obtains immediately prior to Death? Or are you consigned to Eunuchry?"
Stubb laughed a riotous Holler, & clapped his Hips. "Nay, sir, quite disproved of that. As soon as Galvan left, I put aside his vile Concoctions - if you don't mind me saying so, Sir - and submitted myself to another. Come to find, I'm healthy as a Buck! My Don Pedro is altogether remade!"

I rejoiced, and laughed a good Chuckle as I made haste upstairs. So close cou'd Man come to losing his Davey Bolingbroke, and yet emerge Strong as a Satyr! Such was Grist to my Mill - and Powder in Mme Bainton's Mortar, to which I soon applied my Pestle.

***

In other Newes - if ye be acquaint'd at all with the Hilarious, move post-haste at once to www.benrwilliams.blogspot.com, and indulge in a Feast of Mirth.

Thro' a Spoon, Darkly

It has been a frequent Custom of mine, to sit at my Porch, and ruminate on a spoon-ful of Batter. But no ordinary batter this; nay, this noble Tongue-ointment cou'd only bear its proper, hon'ble mantle - PEANUT BUTTER.

Cruel Experience has taught me the Folly of buying Foodstuffs for myself. Tho' my holdings produce some Necessities (hams & Swine-stuffs, Corn, potatoes, Tobacko (tabag), snap-peas, green beanes, tortoise, wheat, bread etc., barleywines & Beers, & of course apple-orchards w. brandy, etc. etc.), the woeful-barren State of Domestick Affairs some-times demands that I buy from other Planters.

& yet so gruesome, so pungently unwholesome - what Words cou'd else be used to describe the ingracious Rabble of Curs, Blackguards, & Degenerates that lurk & leer 'round the Corner of every Aisle? In Years past I enjoy'd the use of these Aisles for my Promenade - the Floor-surface being even, and resounding with a sharp crack from my Cane, whene'er I shou'd wish to emphasize a Sentiment. In the downy Breezes of frigid-Air I stroll'd the Ordinary, secure in my Vestiments & pleased with the shining Abundance of Virginia's Produce.

But recently, yr Correspondent has boiled in Doubt, as to whether he shou'd ever see the inside of an Ordinary again. Some two Years past I swagger'd thro' the Store, intending to purchase preserv'd Pickles. These delicious Treats are best served in the following way:

1 saltine Cracker

1 jar pickle slices

1 jar of peanut-butter

In a light Layer, spread p.b. across the Cracker-surface, tho' weakly, so as not to crack the Cracker. Then, dollop a Pickle-slice on the p.b., so that it sticks most securely. As you proceed to eat this Canape, revolve it in yr Mouth, so that the Pickle & p.b. Side lands on the Tongue. Thus is the sweet Pickle balanced with the roast'd Effusion of Peanut, and the acrid Taste of Preserve smooth'd by buttery Opulence.

Already my Tongue danced in my Cheeks, anticipating the tasty Treats that awaited me. Of a winter's Night, I have eaten four Sleeves of Crackers in such a way. Wearing a stocking Cap, wiggling my Toes at the rowdy Flames of a Blaze, and listening to the stinging repartee of Ned Bearskin & his sometime Conversant, Goodman Stubb - I should want only my Crackers, p.b. & Pickles.

Thus Fancy flitted, as did my Eyes , across the furlongs of Mixes, Bakes & Browney-concoctions! Ne'er had I seen so much Bakery! Ne'er, in the long History of Man's Attempt to slay that monstrous Beast, FLOUR, had so great a Victory-flag waved as this - Row upon Row of rampant Confectionary! But my bliss was short-liv'd.

Three Rioters approached, tupp'd with Wine & suffering a surfeit of Confidence. Each presented a weird & degenerate Aspect. One, the Oldest, smacked his toothless Lips & had no Hair, excepting a single Lock, the Texture of greazed Silk, that he stroked with the two Fingers of his right Hand. Another, fast & bulbous, seem'd little more than a Collection of Pustules, Boils, & hanging Lumps. He suck'd teeth as he nodded, plucking at his Belly with a stolen Spoon. The last, a sneering Ichabod, strutted & stuck his Stilt-Limbs e'ery which Way, climbing up the Shelves with a Cackle, flailing his frail Arms like an untied Scarecrow. Peering down at me, tapping his skeletal Digits 'gainst his Chin, he muttered,

"Sirrah, has ye seen the Bridge?"

Believing this to be a Metaphysickal Conceit, the Sort that so thrilled Col. Bainton's generation, I responded with a Titter, & gave out

"Nay, but I have a pretty Cupola!"

At once the Rioters choked out hollering Barks of Laughter, an awful Semblance of that joyous Melodie. Lumpman snuffled, and held one of his knobb'd Fingers 'neath his Nose like a Moustache; the Scarecrow stretch'd his Frame with Mirth, and the hairless Vulture stroked greedily at his single Spray of Hair. When he had stuff'd enough Breath in his reedy Lungs, the Scarecrow heaved out these Words:

"Oh, Bainton - have ye lost yr Wits? Or has yr Domestick run off with 'em?"
"Domestick?"
"Aye, - that brown'd Wench ye call yr Madame."

Rage, in his russet Mantle clad, dawned in my Heart. I remember but little from the slaughterhouse-Thrash that ensued - an occasional Detail will spring into my distract'd mind, like a Blood-soaked Tooth spat from pumell'd gums. Or perhaps the Chomp of Stubb's sturdy Jaws, hammering away at some Celery (his favorite Treat) will recall the snap of a ruffian Hip, as I twist'd his already-warp'd leg around his Back.

A joyous Romp in Summary, tho' Goodman Stubb was altogether perturb'd by my Performance. Sir, quoth he, might y'not track blood 'cross yr cane, for 'tis an awful chore to remove! But Stubb's Indolence is exceeded only by his Kindness, & later Accts. reminded me that Stubb made the aged Vulture eat his own Hair, & how the Lumpman whimper'd & moan'd as Stubb pluck'd at each Pustule, rubbing Salt & Flour into each brazen Sore.

All of which Memorys circled about my Skull as I chawed on the gracious Dollop of p.b. that coat'd my Spoon. I carry a complete Utensilry, as any gent. shou'd; but far apart from that I carry my Tub of Peanut Butter. My Travells have taken me far above the Inhabitants, amongst the Naturalls of the Shenandoah. At Dusk, their martial Cries fill the lower Clouds, scatter'd & numerous as Rain-drops. Mid-winter has already creep'd in to the middle of the Night, & sprawls his bandy Legs on that worn Chair that once support'd the blazes of Summer. Inside, the young Councillors' Works pile higher, ragged & stained as Laundry, undone & untouch'd. And I sat outside in my Knickers, and saw my Visage upsidedown, in the rheumy Eye of a Spoon.

Chopping Out

When, in Antient Times, our Forebears did survey a Ground, establishing those Lines which wou'd ensure all the commodious assurances of Property, those hearty men wou'd "Chop Out" a section of Woods. Taking down saplings and lesser Trees, leaving the Titans of that primeval Forest to break of their own Accord, these Explorers chopp'd into the Unnamed Wilderness.


And, as they with their clumsy axes did divvy the mute and remote Woodlands, so I set forth into that unseen VIRGINIA; the moreso ignored because omnipresent; as a Housewife's domestic improvements, by their very Success, are sure to be ignored. Or, as a Beggar's ubiquity blanches the Horror of Poverty.


I shall present True & Accurate notes on the body of our Dominion, not flinching from the bitten Nails and broken Bones, but neither forgetting to compliment her graceful carriage, her sweet-tuned Voice, and the autumnal light in her hair.