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.

Where is now your sourquydrye and your conquestes?

Winter chokes up Virginia like Pneumonia. The Sun, drained of summer Quickness, totters to southerly Climes, & the sweet Haze off the blue Ridge evaporates. Each day-light blanches what it reveals, bestowing a weary & sickened Kingdom on the Eye.

& yet Consolation comes, cheery & inconstant as a Wench. I journey'd to Winchester, a Citadel of Folly, where Iniquity & Tradition seat side-by-side, jostling each other for the Favours of that gruesome Capital, Washington. So far has the noble Name of Winchester fallen, to Whore as Bedroom-community for that Babylon on the Potomac!

For the Romans knew Winchester. From Venta Belgae - the Market-place of those savage Belgae, whom Caesar found spread thro'out wild Gaul. As the golden Tongue of Tully & the Gracchi decay'd to Barbarism, Belgae disappeared, and the bearded Saxons spoke only of the Venta Castra - the Market-Camp. "T" slid into "Ch", and the liquid "V" coagulated to "W."

So perhaps it shou'd be no Surprize that yr humble Epaph found himself quaffing Spirits & talking unseasonable late into the Night, dissecting with whate'er clouded Acuity possible the Problem of Preservation - how to hold back the Horde of Hacksaws, Shovels & Hammers that pound regular at the Door of Aniquity. In Staunton young Counsellors, full-up on Bachelor'd Learning, live in the rennovated Madhouse, & Richmond sees her Warehouses re-lit as Cells for lunatic Youth. In the last Days of Rome, Architects degenerate cut from old Monuments the Marble they would use for new Palaces - mutilating the ancestral Memoriae, to preserve themselves from the Labor of extracting new Stone from the Earth.

Such Problems twist'd the Knot of my enfum'd Brain. Not till an Hour before the cruel Crow of the Cock did I lay to Rest - & my Dreams haunt'd me that I wou'd miss the next Day's Appointment. For I had volunteer'd for an onerous Duty - to journey with a Train of Privy Counsellors (hence, Privies) to school them in the gentlemanly Ars Belli. We cross'd Mountains, Rivers, & even broke the State-line - into vicious, base Mary-land.

Enmity betwixt myself & this State being well-establish'd, I shall offer no further Comment thence. Only one Jewel offer'd Redemption for the diseas'd State, a Gymnasium of War, a University of Combat - Medieval Tymes.

Scoff tho' you may, Reader; chortle tho' you must, with yr knowing Glances & Smirks, much Wisdom derives from this Carnival. For the Solemnity of Rite only chokes the naturall Chuckle of unconvinc'd Humanity - & our Jollies contain subtler Philosophy than the learn'd Logic-Choppers of Wm. & Mary College.


A spindly Gent. welcom'd us to our Tickets. He point'd, with his poney-tail, and gestur'd to our Seats. At our Seats, we were treat'd to a Serving-wench. Now, I have had Occasion to describe such Personages in my various Post-Mails, but never, not even in my Days in whorish Williamsburgh, have I heard a Wench say the Following:

I am yr Serving-Wench this eve, & yes, you are to call me yr Serving Wench.

They are proverbial for their Liberality, but never had I encounter'd such generosity as this. We were to cheer the Red & Yellow Knight, a foppish Youth of some twenty&eight Years at the Most. His butterfinger'd Use of Sword gave Shame to the worthy Works of European Duellry, and a long time he gamboll'd about, showing little Pluck & less Skill. I mutter'd to my Companions a very dry Species of Drollery.

When all at once the Serving-wench return'd, and gave us such poor Eatings as I have never seen! Half a chicken, a tomatoe soup, slices of garlick'd Bread, several Ribbs of sauc'd ham, and a flakey apple-pastry of a Lightness much ador'd by the French. Such middling fare I accept'd, tho' did not relish - for what Man cou'd expect to be nourished by such a Poverty of Delight?

Altogether I was asham'd. We had dragg'd the young Councillors to an iniquitous Place, such as Mary-land undoubted is, given them a Presentation of the most effete Sort, and not e'en satisfied their Hunger - arous'd, surely, by the misleading Pungency of the Food!

I approach'd my previous poney-tailed Acquaintance. I spoke to him in subdued Tones, so as not to excite him - for he seem'd poised on the Edge of some aweful Precipice. I had no need for his squealing Excitement to overwhelm my Message. These people must be instruct'd in the proper Uses of the Sword. Sword-work, more than any other Qualification, makes a Gentleman. Now, Parisian Passions have made Sentiment the tubby Emperor of our Time, but what good will a Stack of Love-letters do, when facing an outrag'd opponent?

Sir, said I, I have certain Skilles that wou'd be most useful for yr Enterprise. He look'd intrigued, shifted to another Foot. "How do you know my enterprise?"

I have seen it readily displayed, and I am ready to offer my Services for yr Undertaking. I am well-skill'd in such Practices & shou'd have no Trouble instructing any Novice ye shou'd wish upon me.

He look'd upon me dubious now, and tapp'd his girlish Chin. "Follow me," he spoke. We came past various Barriers, paint'd quite well to appear as Rock. Finally, after succeding Hallways of Curtaines & Gowns, we came to a Dressing-room, where a burly Scalawag rubb'd his Belly, chewing on a long-exhausted Straw.

"Another one?"
"Yes," Poney-Tail replied.
"Sure about this one?"
"Yes. Look at him - none shall stop him at a Check!" They both look'd me over, curious & scornful in their Observation.
"Well, show him his Task."

We repair'd to yet another Room, and left the Scalawag to his Musings. If I had known then what I have learn'd since, I wou'd have broken my Knuckles across his moldy Brow. But instead, I continued down the useless Path towards Shame. Poney-tail stopped me ominously, before a Brief-case. He open'd it, and remov'd what appear'd to be a Sausage-sleeve enclosing a Sea-Cucumber.

What is this?
"You swallow it. You can only swallow - well, you cd swallow perhaps 5. But if they break, you'll die."
Why wou'd I swallow them? Why wou'd I die?
Fluster'd by my stupidity, he yelp'd, "You wd overdose!"

I leapt from the Room and fled, insensate, back to the Carriage waiting for to take us across the Mountains yet again. & that Night I slept sound, in the Knowledge that my Belly was Mule to no Man.

On Thieves, pt. 1

"A plague upon it when thieves cannot be true one to another!"

-Sir J. Falstaff, Henry IV, pt. 1


For ever the Road has claimed me. Sundry Travails & Exploits have taught me that peculiar Art of Dromomancy, - id est, the reading & Interpretation of Roads.

For Years before count, Men have peer'd at Creation, fumbling & muttering over its Signs like a Child at his Grammar-book. Man peel'd apart the hollow Bones of Birds & mapp'd the Course of his Fortune in slick Entrails; he gave Ear to the senseless Provocations of Delphi; he roll'd Dice in Joppa & drew Lots in Macao. He look'd for Fate's ghostly Figure in Rings of sacred Smoke, and guess'd fondly at writhing Flocks of Birds - tugg'd as they are by some cryptic Thread.

Lining out this String of Fate, we draw Squibbles & Doodles on the Land, our twisting Legacy. It is these that I read - for what can a Bird tell us of a Man, except in what way he felled it? What cou'd a priestess tell, but that her Nose has been stuff'd with sooty Incense? Human Labor, from one end to another, has made a Road - surveying, geologizing the Territory, the civil Institutions concern'd with land & its acquisition, the Sciences of grading & establishing road-bed, the Hopes that lead us to climb across a Horse's back & saddle Desire to Will.

I remember, when courting Mme Bainton, that I wou'd walk Home at night along a winding by-way. The last Spring, before we married, I took Tea at her House, and en famille we proceed'd thro' her Mother's Gardens. Her mother was rightly proud of her Work, Beds rich in Scent & Colour: snap-dragons, lillies-of-the-valley & other trifling bits, Tulips tenderly array'd, & a wild, untutor'd rose in the Corner. From this I pluck'd rose-hips whilst my future Wife peck'd at me for wasting her mother's Plants - for her father adored them in his Teas. After, when her Brothers went inside, I wou'd sit awhile with her and her Sister, as the Sun slipp'd under the Horizon-line. We bid good-bye, for the Evening, in the slate-blue Shadows of leafy Boughs.

& in that dusty pastelle-light I wou'd think of the Heroes land'd before me here - John Rolfe greeting the Summer with his new Bride Rebecca; noble Bacon, on Errand to the Accaneech, to slay their iniquitous Numbers; solicitous Byrd, crossing the elephantine James to dispute the Boundary-line. Then did my Archaeology a pied enrich my Heart.

But if it was such a Purse, that I cou'd fill it at will, I find now that each Outing leaves me decidedly thieved - a little less than I was before.


Does a Gentleman, if he deserve the Moniker, belong anywhere near the Road? Let us admit frankly that any publick Thoroughfare deserves its wretched Reputation. From the drafty publick House & Ordinary, crust'd with the greazy Remnants of Humanity, to the colonnaded Congresses of the Demos, that stink of haughty Rabble & whorish Grandees - there is little to commend the Places of publick Traffick.

I must contrary-insist, tho', that a Gentleman may make his Way, no matter what peanut-shells he may find beneath his buckl'd Shoe. I count myself such, despite my most recent Excursion to the Air-port of Charlottesville.

Tho' loath to return to a Cittie of such grievous Harlotry, lest it in some way afford hygenic Release, I had to make an Exception, for one of my People was expect'd across the Mountains, in Ohio-country. In that Land of Greenery it is said that Abundance has wed to Ease, and their Child Joy reigns as Prince of the Long-hunters. My companion, a Woodsman who first met with me on the Chikahominy R., spoke with me of the Pastures overflowing with Bird, Hind, Bear, the Fields madly Fecund, and a general Opulence of the sort that I wou'd scarcely believe.

In the midst of these earnest Disquisitions, I notic'd my Friend had grown frothy 'round the Mouth. This is not unusual for Men of the Frontier - the parch'd Condition we habitually endure forces certain occasional Miseries & Embarassments on us all. But he had a Wildness of Eye - they began to roll like Marbles, and their Colour oscillat'd from blue, to green, to a brown like dried Blood, or a bestirr'd River. He clutch'd at my Lapels, demanding, have ye the faintest clew, the empire you shove away when you live in Virginia?

He rifled over my Belongings & investigat'd my every Expression, for Proof that I might have turned my Interest elsewhere. "But I must away," said I, "for I need make Water."

Rattl'd, tho' somewhat mollified, he quak'd & shook in his Seat, crying after me, Remember that the World is alive! That Virginia is nothing more than an ancestral Ash-can!

I scuffled into the Bathroom, hurrying to the nearest Privy Stall where I might have a Moment's Respite - for I had no real Use in the Privy, but for Contemplation, & Reflection over my madden'd Friend's insensate Claims. I remov'd my Jacket, placed it on the Door, and began to scribble at my note-pages. What was left to Virginia, any more? to become tumor'd o'er by the sickly Castes of the Capital? to become a Fairy-tale Attraction, a Ginger-snap history, a wistful Solace for exhausted Interstaters? to become, in short, prey to the vague Grumbles of foreign Bellies?

Unconcluded I open the Door & immediately notic'd that I had been join'd in the Bathroom by an unannounc'd Visitor - a Custom I have never adjusted to. One shou'd announce one's entrance, viz., "Now enters Epaphroditus Bainton, Gent., & I proceed into this Lavatory to make Havock & rest my toilsome Back from Labour." But this bootless Peculiar had not.

I say bootless, for indeed he was. Moreover, he held his Feet in the Sink, scrubbing with a detach'd Joy, a dreamy Pleasure, at his hidden washing. I shudder'd at the Sight, which must have caught his Attention, for he suddenly look'd up, and drew back his Lips over a single, long, yellow Tooth, which hung from his Skull like a diseas'd Stalactite. His Eyelids rippled in queer Contractions, and he seem'd to not see me.

I shuffl'd past him quickly, back into the window'd & bright Rooms of the Air-port. Wide enough to accomodate a Virginia Reel, yet quiet except for the Mutterings of Clerks & the Snores of delayed Passengers, the Room fill'd with Light, like a Cathedral. For another Age built their Churches to shelter, to detain a while; we build ours to dispose, to shuffle off.

My Long-hunting Friend had disappeared. As had my note-pages - the Book! left in the Bathroom! I hurried, found my Book, and shuddered at the Memory of the Snaggletooth. His greazy Countenance seem'd lather'd all across the Counter. I approach'd unsteadily, and saw the rings of Dirt, the Traces & leavings of Hair, the spent Matches, and moved yet closer, to peer into the Sink, which gave off a queer Sort of Light. As I stepped over the Lip of the Basin, I found not water, but a crust'd Rim of Dirt, a Wrapper, and, filling it to the Brim, with treacly Drips, a glassy Pool of water'd Blood.

Such a Sight shakes the Senses of Someone unaccustom'd to Perversion, Crudity. I return'd to my Carriage, gain'd Purchase on the Running-boards, and for a Moment gazed at the far Mountains. Over that Lip remain'd Misery, perhaps - but such is eternal, is the Legacy of Man. But there also lurk'd, report'd only in Whispers, scarcely trust'd, the Joy of a newe Life.

Let yr Unloved Parts Get Loved

"With this conscious effort, the virtue of spirit began to grow, and kept them from satisfying their bestial lusts in the sight of Heaven, which now inspired their mortal fear. Instead, each giant would drag a woman into his cave and keep her there as his lifelong mate. In this way, they practiced human intercourse secretly in private, which is to say, with modesty and shame...After religion, shame is the second bond that keeps nations united...In this manner, marriage was introduced, which we may define as a carnal union modestly consummated in fear of some divinity."

-G. Vico, The New Science

Noble Vico - Last of the poetic Moralists. I say last, for the Years of Revolt & depraved Suspicion have choked the Light of Moralistick Reason. Tho' some few Sparks of Wisdom blink in the Dark, most oft we are abandoned to a Cloud of Unknowing - if Love succeed, we count it Happenstance, or flame our Hearts with vain Approbation. If our Loves fail, we shrug at the violent Mystery pass'd o'er us, like the Hurricanoes that sweep Houses to Twigs, & yet leave a pair of laced Dolls untouch'd.

Such, the blight'd & ignorant State that crowns us Moderns. And in our Depravity, we seek after false Prophesy & Explication; we incense & pray at the Altars of Mars & Venus; we swallow down the vile Philtres & Powders of 1,000 leering Conjur-men. These Trifles are the Bells to our Fool's Crown - the jangling Train of Attendants supported by Folly.

Is it any wonder then, that on this Harlequinne's Road we shou'd find ourselves most often Astray? When a Father leads his veil'd Daughter down the Aisle, has he shrouded her eyes not for Modesty's Sake, but to obscure the primrose path on which they walk? Is it any wonder that so great an Auctor as Johnson, himself known for his profound conjugal Affection, would say

"Sir, it is so far from being natural for a man and a woman to live in a state of marriage, that we find all the motives that they have for remaining in that connection, and the restraints which civilized society imposes to prevent separation, are hardly sufficient to prevent separation."
+++

Not two Days ago, I sat on my Porch, expecting at any Moment my dear Friend, Ned Bearskin. Saponi Ned had descended to his Home-grounds, the Land of the Fat Bear, as his brazen Chums call it. He wou'd bring back from this Venture a Winter's Store-worth of Deer, Bear, & the various trade-Trinkets that so delight the Naturalls local to my Plantation. Bear-flesh has always treat'd poor Epaph. most unkindly - the greazy Tissues & Folds of Muscle are jellied-o'er with mucous Fat.

This presents a most aweful Task to my untutor'd Belly, which most oft rejects the Meal, in a riotous & unpleasing Spectacle. So wretch'd was my last Voiding, that as a publick Service, the Magistrate visit'd upon me a Writ of Quarantine. Mme Bainton, long-since us'd to such mephitic Discharge, had wrapp'd her nose in an Alcohol-soak'd Rag; Goodman Stubb ate little, and retain'd less, as his Stomach was in perpetual Danger. "What rotten Beast, what curs'd Mongrel-hellion, cou'd have given ye such a disorder'd Bowels, Sir? Every Day yr Chamber-pot resounds with the Noises of yr bloody Violence, & our Naturalls [for we then had some of Bearskin's Family in a Dependency] shudder with every Scream that comes from yr room. What aweful Buttock-birth! What Labor ye expend, for the sake of a single Meal!"

But yet I rebuk'd Stubb for his familiarity, & took no small Delight in distressing his girlish Nose. Such pleasant Memories as these occupied my mind, when Bearskin huff'd to my Door, bearing with him up the shady Promenade an old Man. Despite strict Instruction to the contrary, Bearskin had return'd with a new Companion - yet another Mouth to feed!

I sputter'd; I shook; I left my Chamber-pot beneath his Window. Yet Bearskin wou'd not relinquish his shrivell'd Companion. I protest'd of Scarcity - had not Bearskin just relinquished his Wife & the sundry Comforts of Domesticity, merely to obtain Supplies necessary to our mutual Survival? But yet he wou'd give me one of his gnomic Stares, & shrug into Conversation with the old Sage.

This Business had so stuff'd me with Jealousy & querulous Curiosity that Bile began to rise in my Stomach; I sought an Interview with this Personage, this wizened Troll.

He had lost much of his Hair, & offer'd a shining, fuzzy Pate to the Sky. His Walk was an unhappy Compromise between the anxious Shuffle of a baby, and the Strut of an aged Sergeant-at-arms. Long Years of Fighting had train'd his Knees to buckle - a harsh Winter in the Hudson Valley took his Toes - but his Back remain'd straight, no matter the Circumstance. Yet an Eddy of gleeful Wrinkes surrounded his Eyes, & an ever-ready Smile sprung easy to his Lips. There was a cheery Wisdom about him, & a woeful Glee.

I queried him concerning his Discourse with my trusted Friend. "Ned ask'd for my advises," he wou'd say, simply & without Aggravation - yet without Invitation, either. Instead, this old Yankee Sibyl grinned at me, & drank my Brandy & ate my Venison, like a mugging Free-loader.

Amidst this Mystery, Mme Bainton purloin'd my Ear, and pour'd out a Sea of feminine Trouble. Ned's Wife, Annie, had taken to sleeping apart from my Comrade - had gone so far as to take up Confidence with a young Man from a neighboring Cittie, a Den of iniquitous Deception call'd Newe Market. Not yet had there been Consumation of this Lust, but Mme Bainton fear'd the worst, for my Friend, & for our general Peace. She theoriz'd that perhaps Ned had ask'd this Codger to assist him in recapturing his Wife's Attentions - that perhaps Ned sight'd the Dutch Warlock & return'd him to Virginia for his magickal Counsel. "Wou'd that some other Men were so concern'd after their Wives' Constancy!" To which I replied, in the spirit of Plutarch, "All Women look the Same, with the Lamp extinguish'd." Miff'd, she disappear'd; puzzled, I continued cogitation.

A ponderous Week pass'd - baleful Glares & leaden Silence all 'round. One Afternoon, on Promenade thro' my Grounds, Bearskin tread silently into Step with me. Tho' I was pleas'd at his Return, I cou'd not show this, til he shou'd reveal his Mysteries. Instead, he had a Request - "Cou'd you offer a Dinner for the Dutchman? He is due to leave, on the Morrow." I assented, Bearskin shuffled off again, into the Corn-fields & his Thoughts.

We pass'd a pleasant enough Meal, tho' the Fare was light, in consideration of the oncoming Winter: Rolls, Venison, a Fowl-pie, Beer & cider, Wines for the second Course of Sprouts & Creme, a Ham with Pilsner, a Heap of butter, & four Ears of Indian Corn for each. Mme Bainton made her usual, silly eye-brow Shrugs at me, indiscreetly indicating the subtle Movements of Bearskin's Chair, as it migrat'd closer & closer to that of his frigid Wife. She made no Gesture toward him, but ate silent & dour, unconcern'd by his obvious Interest. My Wife continued her idiot Pantomime, whose Meaning, beyond proving her imbecile Fascination with my Friend's Grief, remain'd obscure.

At last, the Dutchman clink'd his glass, & spoke his Mono-logue:

"When I left my wife, to go to the fighting at the frontier, I had been given two dolls - corn husk figures of us two. I do n't look as I did then, and then I did n't look like nay corn husk, neither. Yet I left them with her, and told her what I had been told, when they were given me, in secret, by a Huron midwife - 'keep always these two together, and ye will be happy together.' My wife wd keep them on the mantle in our general room. Some time, I wd come home after months afield & find them separate, and some time, over the nights, I wd find them, moved closer. Some time, if we argued, or had cause for discontent, she wd move them far apart, and the children knew to keep well away from her ill-temper. And with mine trespasses she had plenty cause for distemper.

But never did she lose 'em, never did she misplace 'em, in all her years of keeping house & cleaning up after. My wife died last summer, of the bloody pox, and now I can n't keep the dolls together in the house, knowing she won't nay be around. And I - miss her sometime. So I give 'em to you, Ned & Annie, because if they kept my wife with me, cruel & stupid tho' I cd be, they will keep ye together."

Mme Bainton clapped with Delight, & I was sure that later, she wou'd approach me in the Night for Caresses - she is tiresome Predictable. Ned handed his Doll to Annie, and she smiled, and held them together in her Lap. Looking brief at them, she then returned her Eyes to Ned, and did not move them. And, rumbling into his Seat, tippling from his Glass, the old Dutchman chuckled, and wiped from the Wrinkles of his Eyes, the Gleams of Tears.

The Devill & Jack Deale

I give this out, as a Tale of Wonder.

A gent. of Quality shou'd ever make a Habit of disdaining public Intercourse. Such are the Perils, according to wise Counsel:

By being seldom seen, I could not stir
But like a comet I was wonder'd at...
And dress'd myself in such humility
That I did pluck allegiance from men's hearts,
Loud shouts and salutations from their mouths,
Even in the presence of the crowned king.
Thus did I keep my person fresh and new;
My presence, like a robe pontifical,
Ne'er seen but wonder'd at: and so my state,
Seldom but sumptuous, showed like a feast
And won by rareness such solemnity.

In such ringing & measured Tones did I oft hear Schoolmaster Wendell upbraid me for my Liberty, wishing he cou'd bolt me to a Chamber lined with Books & empty of Females. But if every Poet has his Zoilos, every Hamlet has his Polonius, and Wendell's petulant cavills rang hollow 'gainst my chest.

In such Concourse I encounter'd my ancient tavern-companion, Bunston Deale. I had been arguing with a noisome Snail at the Ordinary, a nametagg'd Monstrosity call'd Snerdly. Snerdly has held some sundry Goods of mine for Weeks, including a precious Store of Damasck Myrrh. Burbling into his kerchief with a monstrous Hub-bub, he sort'd a Lump of what he call'd Tobaccky round his mouth, and fairly blotted the Fabric with that rotten Juice. I tugg'd at his stain'd Collar, & wish'd he wou'd be honest with me, concerning his late Failures. Amidst my buttonholing of the Cretin, Deale arriv'd, much displeas'd with the State of some hemp-rope recently purchas'd of Snerdly. Thus cornered, Snerdly appear'd on the Verge of Tears, and seem'd entirely overcome with a Wealth of Emotion, in his Poverty of Goods. He sniffled, & scrubb'd his Nose on his tatter'd Sleeve. Epaph! rumbled Deale, Ye must beware these Richmond Merchaunts! They disguise their wealth in Rags - the better to thieve us all!

Then Deale executed a peculiar Maneuver, one I had not seen since my Days at the Side of Ned Bearskin, deep 'neath the Dan R. Catching eye of a Snake, Deale grabb'd it from the Ground, and thrust its hissing Jaws into Snerdly's very Face. Oh - aho! Oh! Quite right!

Snerdly's Brains bubbl'd, & promis'd to burst from his very Ears. I loop'd my Arm through the Crook of Bunston's, & drug him away to a Stoop, to beseech his Attention.

Bunston, sd I, whence this curious Competency?

Georges Dealle, first Scion of his noble Line, spear'd the Devil with his Staff, cleaving ignoble Scratch quite in two. For his Struggle with Old Tom Devil, he became St. of England, & his Saint's Day April 23rd - that same day that birth'd Shakespere.

Deales of all kinds became acquainted with the finer Aspeckts of Devilry, the wild Doings of untamed Men & the lascivious Lusts of craven Witch-Harlots. These Humbugs trifled the kingdom of Brittannia so greatly, that the Deales did pluck up their Trousers, & sail to VIRGINIA.

& no nobler Move cou'd be imagined! The Dealles, various known as Deals, Deales, Dayles, & Doyles, spread themselves across the Middle Peninsula of James & Charles Cittie Shires. Mighty as the James, their Family split into a thousand Creeks, Runs & Streams, divergent off the main flux of aequeous Power. Deales lived as Kings alongside Shirley Run, & Doyles lived as bondsmen in Accamoosik Swamp. A Dealle Hand clutch'd a pearly Goblet in the panelled dining Rooms of Governors & Chauncellors; a Deal Shoulder crack'd, heaving against an intransigent Plough.

In this gnarl'd & twist'd Swampland of Relation & Obligation, one cou'd only expect that a Twitch upon the Thread wou'd set spinning the Scene entire. & befitting the watery course of Human Spirits, it was the swollen Moon that was most to blame for what ensued.

When silver Light fill'd every Corner of that swampy Peninsula, Ptolomy Deale, a Rioter, had spent 3 hours occupied with Drink. Quite sunk under the water-Line of drunkenness, he stumbled forth from the Door of a Tavern with his Chums. He cried to the open Heavens, limn'd with shining Silver, B'lieve I cou'd drink the Devil under the Table!

At which a Flash, & old Jack Scratch himself appear'd. In brimstone Notes of Menace, he utter'd his Curse - as long as a Deale man walk'd Sober, he wou'd claim the Family entire.

In Pitch-terror & Fear the Deales began their Campaign of Drink. This Sea-change switch'd out the commodious & pleasant Waters that formerly sustain'd a Body, replac'd instead with the choking dizzying Fluids of Brandy. One male especial became a Designated Drinker, & swallow'd down a Clan's Share of Alcohol.

This ran in fine til the Time of Bunston's great-Grandfather, Euphabius Deale, yclept "Jack" Deale. This Jack Deale play'd a most grossly wondrous Violin, a fiddle unlike any previous heard. But most especial, he became known as a dauncer.

Dancing being the principal Delight of the young Scampers & fillies, this Expertise prov'd invaluable, winning the Hearts of a thousand disappointed Ladies. For as his Feet flick'd & tapp'd, they traced out the Lines of lascivious Wonder. This devilish Habit made him many Admirers, to be certain, but also cancell'd the Esteem he had once held in divers Ancient hearts.

The day arrived, when young Jack Deale wou'd be forc'd to take up the Mantle of Family Drunk. & yet he refus'd, crying out to his greyed & wizen'd mater, The Devil is a Coward! I dare him a Challenge, that he cou'd not dance worth a lick on the Wide banks of the James R.!

In a flash, tiresome predictable, the Devill appear'd, & dragged young Deale down to the banks of the River, where Jamestown Island meets the Waters of the old Powhatan Flu. Whetting his old Hooves against the marshy Sand, the Devill murmur'd one of his Taunts, that old King Bettie will surely take glee in yr soul, Jack Deale, & yr prostrate limbs, as Well! The noble Deale only ran his Fingers through his bounteous Mustache, & call'd to dance a vicious Reel.

Ancient Clio Waggins call'd the Dance, & John Brackis fiddled til the very Wood sweat'd with Exertion. The Devil retriev'd from his deepest Bag of Chaunts & Magicks an intricate Swirl, a Foot-maelstrom that bewilder'd the Sense of poor Waggins & nearly chafed the Excellence of his Calling.

& yet the Deale was greater! Blazing Lightning of Heels, swift Murmur of Steps - an Audacity of Step not seen since the Bal des Ardents! The Devill, corner'd & humbl'd by the Majesty of Deale's footwork, crumbled into a faint Shadow of himself, a mere Goat of a man.

Oh Deale, sd he, what wou'd you have me do?

Devill, sd Deale, I wou'd have you leave this Place forever. Henceforth, ye shall live ever - in Surry Shire!

A Punishment then quite wretch'd, now perhaps moderat'd in the Light of subsequent Development - the Wilds of James & Charles Cittie o'errun by scrofulous Tourists & mealymouth'd Foreigners. But in these precious Days passed, I have oft wish'd that I might be given such sweet Punishment.

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.