39. XXXIX.
MONOGRAFFS.
The happy man iz alwus marrid or expekts tew be.
He don't beleaf in ghosts or ghostesses, nor raleroad
acksidence before they occur.
He lives upon milk, and pays az he goes.
He luvs evry boddy, and but fu luv him.
He laffs when he gits wet, and only takes pills tew
pleaze other folks.
Like the birds, he waz born happy, and like them
he seems tew enjoy it.
The world calls him almost a phool, but his happyness
iz worth more, and cost less than wisdum.
But i consider happiness the easiest tew manage
when thare aint much ov it.
Our wretched wants, though they are what makes
a man more than a brute, are just what reduces our
happyness by expanding it.
Evry boddy kan tell his nabor tew be contented
with what he haz got, (this is good news,) but noboddy
but a phool can foller it.
Phools are alwus happy, but alas! they don't know
it.
Still, thare aint no arithmetic for happiness—a
man has to be measured for hiz happiness just az
he duz for hiz boots, and then he aint sure but what
they will pinch somewhare.
THE HANDSOME MAN AND PRETTY WOMAN.
Buty iz one ov them kind ov conquests that don't
last long.
It is a kind ov raid, which surprises, but kant hold
the territory which it invades.
It is a kind ov meteorick rain, which people may
set up a night or two to watch for, but failing tew see
it a grate deal, may conclude that it aint much ov
a shower after awl.
Handsum men are skase, and it is good that they
are, for there is but very little power in man buty,
and thare iz more vanity in one handsum man, than
thare iz in two droves ov peacocks' tails.
Buty iz another name for effeminacy.
Pretty wimmin are plenty, and i am glad ov it, for
wimmin hav a perfekt right tew be pretty; but very
butiful wimmin are unplenty, and i am glad ov that
ditto, for the chances is, they would use their buty
to gain our adorashun rather than our esteem. After
awl, grate buty iz a left-handed kompliment, for
most ov the silly i have met with, are thoze who
believed they was very butiful.
I think i had rather hav a noze 7 inches and a half
long, (in the clear) than tew be the hansumest man in
our county; for in the fust case, i should work hard
tew shorten mi nose bi some other good qualitys,
while in the other case, i probably should never be
told by my looking-glass that i was a phool.
THE LIVE MAN.
The Live Man iz like the little pig; he iz weaned
young, and begins tew root arly.
He iz the pepper-sass ov creation—the all-spice ov
the world.
One Live Man in a village is like a case ov itch a
a distrikt skool—he sets evry boddy scratching a
onst.
A man who kan draw New Orleans molasses in
the month ov January, thru a half inch augur-hole,
and sing “Home! sweet home!” while the molasis iz
running, may be strictly honest, but he aint sudden
enuff for this climate.
The Live Man iz az full ov bizness az the conducter
ov a street kar—he iz often like a hornet, very bizzy,
but about what, the Lord only knows.
He lights up like a cotton faktory, and haint got
enny more time tew spare than a skool-boy has Saturday
afternoons.
He is like a decoy duck, alwus above water, and
lives at least 18 months each year.
He is like a runaway hoss; he gits the whole ov
the road.
He trots when he walks, and lies down at night
only bekauze everyboddy else duz.
The live man is not always a deep thinker; he
jumps at conclusions, just as the frog duz, and don't
alwus land at the spot he is looking at.
He is the Amerikan pet, a perfekt mystery tew
foreigners; but he has done more (with charcoal)
tew work out the greatness of this country than any
other man in it.
He is jist as necessary as the grease on an axle-tree.
He don't alwus die ritch, but alwus dies bizzy,
and meets death a good deal az an oyster duz, without
making enny fuss.
THE NERVOUS MAN.
The nervous man is the original harp ov one
thousand strings.
He is a fiddle, past finding out.
The tread ov an elephant don't skare him, but he
wilteth when the mouse nibbles in the wainscot.
He turneth pale at the coming ov the spider.
He laffeth when the whirlwind is on a bender,
but shuddereth when the striped snaik walks out for
an airing.
He gazeth at the red lightning with joy, when it
gasheth the heavens; but the scales ov his back lift
up in horrer when old Baxter files up his wood-saw.
The nervous man is a very singular critter—he
might more properly be called a plural critter.
My advice tew the nervous man is tew drink
milk for a living, and for excitement chaw spruce
gum.
