University of Virginia Library

GOING TO BED BEFORE A YOUNG LADY.

As I was saying, ten years ago, Judge Douglass, of
Illinois, was a beardless youth of twenty years of age,
freshly come amongst the people of the "Sucker State,"
with an air about him suspiciously redolent of Yankeeland.
A mere youthful adventurer amongst those
"quare" Suckers—one would deem the position embarrassing.
Not so with the judge; he had come on business.
A political fortune was to be made, and no time
lost. He was about launching on the sea of popular favour,
and he commenced a general coast survey the day
he arrived. He soon made himself District Attorney,
member of the Legislature, Register of the U. S. Land
Office, Secretary of State, and Judge of the Supreme
Court.

"How do you adapt yourself," said I, "Judge, to
the people? How did you `naturalize' yourself, as it
were?"

"Oh, nothing easier; you see I like it. It's democratic.
But it did come awkward at first. You know
I am, or rather was, bashful to rather a painful degree.
Well, now, nine-tenths of my constituents despise luxuries,

and have no such thing as a second room in their
houses. In beating up for votes, I live with my constituents,
eat with my constituents, drink with them, lodge
with them, pray with them, laugh, hunt, dance and work
with them; I eat their corn dodgers and fried bacon,
and sleep two in a bed with them. Among my first
acquaintances were the L—s, down under the Bluffs.
Fine fellows, the L—s,—by the way, I am sure of
five votes there. Well, you perceive, I had to live
there: and I did live there. But, sir, I was frightened
the first night I slept there. I own it; yes, sir, I
acknowledge the corn. An ice in August is something:
but I was done to an icicle; had periodical chills for
ten days. Did you ever see a Venus in linsey-woolsey?"

"No!"

"Then you shall see Serena L—s. They call her
the `White Plover:' seventeen:—plump as a pigeon,
and smooth as a persimmon. How the devil, said I to
myself, soliloquizing the first night I slept there, am I to
go to bed before this young lady? I do believe my heart
was topsyturvied, for the idea of pulling off my boots
before the girl was death. And as to doffing my other
fixtures, I would sooner have my leg taken off with a
wood-saw. The crisis was tremendous. It was nearly
midnight, and the family had been hours in bed. Miss
Serena alone remained. Bright as the sun, the merry
minx talked on. It was portentously obvious to me at
last, that she had determined to outsit me. By repeated
spasmodic efforts, my coat, waistcoat, cravat, boots and
socks were brought off. During the process, my beautiful
neighbour talked to me with unaverted eyes, and

with that peculiar kind of placidity employed by painters
to imbody their idea of the virgin. I dumped
myself down in a chair, in a cold perspiration. A distressing
thought occurred to me. Does not the damsel
stand on a point of local etiquette? It may be the
fashion of these people to see strangers in bed before
retiring themselves? May I not have kept those beautiful
eyes open, from ignorance of what these people
deem good breeding? Neither the lady's eyes nor
tongue had indeed betrayed fatigue. Those large jet
eyes seemed to dilate and grow brighter as the blaze of
the wood fire died away; but doubtless this was from
kind consideration for the strange wakefulness of her
guest. The thing was clear. I determined to retire,
and without delay. I arose with firmness, unloosed
my suspenders, and in a voice not altogether steady,
said:

" `Miss Serena, I think I will retire.'

" `Certainly, sir,' she quietly observed, `you will
lodge there, sir;' inclining her beautiful head towards
a bed standing a few yards from where she was sitting.
I proceeded to uncase; entrenching myself behind a chair
the while, fondly imagining the position offered some
security. It is simply plain to a man in his senses,
that a chair of the fashion of the one I had thrown
between myself and `the enemy,' as a military man
would say, offered almost no security at all. No more,
in fact, than standing up behind a ladder—nothing in
the way of the artillery of bright eyes, as a poet would
say, sweeping one down by platoons. Then I had a
dead open space of ten feet between me and the bed;
a sort of Bridge of Lodi passage which I was forced to

make, exposed to a cruel raking fire fore and aft.
Although I say it, who should not say it, an emergency
never arose for which I had not a resource. I had
one for this. The plan was the work of a moment,
I de—"

"Ah! I see, you stormed the battery and s—"

"Bah! don't interrupt me. No; I determined, by a
bold ruse de guerre, to throw her attention out of the
window, clear the perilous passage, and fortify myself
under the counterpane before she recovered her surprise.
The plan failed. You see I am a small man, physically
speaking. Body, limbs, and head, setting up business
on one hundred and seven and a half pounds, all told,
of flesh, blood, and bones, cannot, individually or collectively,
set up any very ostentatious pretensions. I
believe the young lady must have been settling in her
mind some philosophical point on that head. Perhaps
her sense of justice wished to assure itself of a perfectly
fair distribution of the respective motives. Perhaps she
did not feel easy until she knew that a kind Providence
had not added to general poverty individual wrong.
Certain it was, she seemed rather pleased with her
speculations; for when I arose from a stooping posture
finally, wholly disencumbered of cloth, I noticed mischievous
shadows playing about the corners of her
mouth. It was the moment I had determined to direct
her eye to some astonishing circumstance out of the
window. But the young lady spoke at the critical
moment.

" `Mr. Douglass,' she observed, `you have got a
mighty small chance of legs there.'

"Men seldom have any notice of their own powers;

I never made any pretensions to skill in ground and
lofty tumbling; but it is strictly true, I cleared, at one
bound, the open space, planted myself on the centre
of the bed, and was buried in the blankets in a
twinkling."

"I congratulate you, my boy," said I, poising a cube
of the crimson core of the melon on the point of my
knife; "a lucky escape truly! But was the young lady
modest?"

"Modest, sir!—there is not in Illinois a more modest,
or more sensible girl. It's habit—all habit. I think
nothing of it now. Why, it's only last week I was at
a fine wedding party, and a large and fine assembly of
both sexes lodged in the same room, with only three
feet or so of neutral territory between them."

"You astonish me, Mr. Douglass."

"Fact, sir, upon my honour. You see these people
are the very soul of hospitality, and never allow a fine
social party to turn out at twelve o'clock at night to go
long distances home. All that is more cleverly managed
here. An Illinois bed has a power of elongation or
expansion perfectly enigmatical to strangers. One bed
four feet wide, will, on occasion, flank one whole side
of the house, and is called a field-bed, and large parties
will range themselves on opposite sides of the house as
economically as candles in a box."

"But, my dear fellow, this is drouthy prose, introduce
yourself to that little fellow in the corner, and
pass him over; and now tell me all about old
Canandaigua."

This story of Judge Douglass has suggested to Field,
of the St. Louis "Reveille," the following adventure
of a Missouri politician:—

The "gentleman of Illinois" is not the only gentleman
whose legs have led him into embarrassment. A
political friend of ours, equally happy in his manners,
if not in his party, among the Missouri constituency,
found himself, while canvassing the State, last summer,
for Congress, in even a more peculiarly perplexing
predicament than the Illinois judge.

There is a spot in the south-western part of this State,
known as The Fiery Fork of Honey Run!—a delicious
locality, no doubt, as the run of "honey" is of course
accompanied by a corresponding flow of "milk," and
a mixture of milk and honey, or at any rate, honey and
"peach," is the evidence of sublunary contentment,
every place where they have preaching!

"Honey Run," further Christianized by the presence
of an extremely hospitable family whose mansion, comprising
one apartment—neither more nor less—is renowned
for being never shut against the traveller, and
so our friend found it during the chill morning air, at
the expense of a rheumatism in his shoulder, its numerous
unaffected cracks and spaces clearly showing, that
dropping the latch was a useless formality. The venerable
host and hostess, in their one apartment, usually
enjoy the society of two sons, four daughters, sundry
dogs and "niggers," and as many lodgers as may
deem it prudent to risk the somewhat equivocal allotment
of sleeping partners. On the night in question,
our friend, after a hearty supper of ham and eggs, and
a canvass of the Fiery Forkers, the old lady having

pointed out his bed, felt very weary, and only looked
for an opportunity to "turn in," though the mosquitoes
were trumping all sorts of wrath, and no net appeared
to bar them. The dogs flung themselves along the
floor, or again rose, restlessly, and sought the door-step;
the "niggers" stuck their feet in the yet warm ashes;
the old man stripped, unscrupulously, and sought his
share of the one collapsed-looking pillow, and the sons,
cavalierly followed his example, leaving the old
woman, "gals," and "stranger," to settle any question
of delicacy that might arise.

The candidate yawned, looked at his bed, went to
the door, looked at the daughters; finally, in downright
recklessness, seating himself upon "the downy," and
pulling off his coat. Well, he pulled off his coat—and
he folded his coat—and then he yawned—and then he
whistled—and then he called the old lady's attention to
the fact, that it would never do to sleep in his muddy
trousers—and then he undid his vest—and then he
whistled again—and then, suddenly, an idea of her
lodger's possible embarrassment seemed to flash upon
the old woman, and she cried—

"Gals, jest turn your backs round 'till the stranger
gits into bed."

The backs were turned, and the stranger did get
into bed in "less than no time," when the hostess again
spoke.

"Reckon, stranger, as you aint used to us, you'd
better kiver up till the gals undress, hadn't you?"

By this time our friend's sleepy fit was over, and
though he did "kiver up," as desired, somehow or
other, the old counterpane was equally kind in hiding

his blushes, and favouring his sly glances. The
nymphs were soon stowed away, for there were neither
bustles to unhitch nor corsets to unlace, when their
mamma, evidently anxious not to smother her guest,
considerately relieved him.

"You can unkiver now, stranger; I'm married folks,
and you aint afeared o' me, I reckon!"

The stranger happened to be "married folks," himself;
he unkivered, and turned his back with true
connubial indifference, as far as the ancient lady was
concerned, but, with regard to the "gals," he declares
that his half-raised curiosity inspired the most tormenting
dreams of mermaids that ever he experienced.