7. VII.
JOSH CORRESPONDS FREELY WITH 3
FELLOWS.
Shortfellow.—Yure views are correkt; thare iz no
telling what hosses will trot by looking at them.
Lady Thorne and Dexter are no more bilt alike than
the Black Crook and Flying Scud. Neither do i
think that pedigree ever makes a hoss fast enny
more than it makes a man smart. Hambletonian
and sum ov the kings ov England hav both sired
lunkheads. If a hoss iz made right, he can proceed
fast, i don't kare who made him. Flying Dutchman
lived and died, and left a two-mile heat on the books
that haint bin duplikated yet, and about aul that iz
known ov him iz that he waz got in a brickyard in
Pensilvany. Tom Thum went the fust 100 miles in
10 hours that waz ever did, and he had no more
pedigree than a prary dorg, or a Digger injun. Who
ever heard ov Flory Temple having enny pedigree?
If she ever gits one, it will be like menny ov the
epitaffs we read in the graveyards—courteous libels.
I hav seen French ponys go on the ice faster than
you could telegraff, bilt like a pumpkin seed, and
with a pedigree just about as pure as a dock rat's.
Still, if you or i should talk these things among
the literati ov the hoss stabel, we should probably
git our front teeth knocked out. If i waz going
tew buy a trottin hoss i would't ask about his pedigree
enny more than i would ask who made a mint
julep. If the hoss didn't suit me, i am dredful
sertain the pedigree wouldn't. Old Eclipse never
waz beaten in hiz day, and his full brother wasn't
fast enuff for a modern hearse hoss.
Bigfellow.—Trout fishing iz a good deal like
painting picktures—you have got to be born how;
you kant learn how. It don't require the genius ov
a statesman tew know how tew ketch a trout; but
the two best trout fishers I ever knu waz Daniel
Webster and old Ishmael. Both were natiffs ov
Nu England; one ov them everyboddy iz proud to
remember, and the other waz a simple old nigger;
but i think the old dark waz the best fisher ov the
two.
He would walk up tew a hole in the brook, whare
a big trout lay az careless and yet az still az a hen
turkey, and stand thare till the fish mistook him for
the stub ov a tree, then would drop his worm, or hiz
grasshopper, or (if the seazon waz right) would danse
hiz flie above the trout's head so literal that the fish
would bite merely from the force ov habit, whether
he waz hungry or not.
This old Afrikan alwus started out for trout just
as a dorg duz for mischief, the other way from whare
he waz going, and never cum back without a trophy.
The best kind of a trout pole for brook-fishing grows
along side ov the brook. They are black alder, and
have the same kind ov a taper that a rat tarrier's
tale duz. Twelve foot is long enuff for the pole,
and the brook that don't raize them somewhare on its
banks iz not a good trout stream. But thare aint
room enuff in a letter for me tew talk trout. Go
with me sumtime next May among the mountains,
and i will show yu how tew win theze little spotted
morsels from their wet and noisy homes. But—
though I like company generally—tew be honest
about it, trout fishing iz a good deal like sparking—
one feller at a time iz enuff.
Littlefellow.—Yu tell me in your letter “that
musik iz yure egstatick bliss; that yure soul iz sot
tew musick, and feeds on its gorgous viands.” I am
glad tew hear yu say so, for now i know yu won't
never du enny big mischief in this world. Ennyboddy
who loves musick az much az yu say you do,
don't want enny other kind ov oats. I am unfortunate
in this direkshun. I don't kno one note from
another, unless it iz a bank-note, and i never had
enny ear for musick since i waz a boy. Once in a
while, in them daze, the schoolmarm, in lifting me
up off from the bench by the ears tew see how heavy
i waz, would start the musick out of me. I never
tended but one gorgous opera in my life, and it
won't never be convenient for me tew tend another.
A forrin woman sung sum ov the “gorgous viands”
yu speak ov. She was very fat herself, and want
very thoroughly drest about the neck and naberhood.
She threw her head back like a sled runner,
and yelled az tho she had a rat on her. I expekted
every minnit tew see her arrested for breaking the
piece. I suppose if i had the right kind ov taste for
gorgous vittles, this kind ov musick would eat me
good. I heard a milkmaid once sing, in a cow-yard,
as she sot by the side ov a heifer just as the sun
waz setting. It waz a love story song. Perhaps
there was no gorge in it; but there waz sumthing
in it that made me feel sorry aul over. This iz aul
i kno about musick. I could listen aul day tew that
kind ov soft sadness she sung about, and feel lonesum
and lonesummer aul the time.
