104. CIV.
THE DISKONTENTID PEZANT.
A ORIENTLE ALLEGORY, WITH A MOREL ONTO IT.
[Note.—The follerin is desined to inkulkait the ijee uv contentment
with our condishn, and to show the folly uv pinin after more good
than nature intended us to enjoy. After ritin it, I red it myself, and
wuz affected 2 teers.—P. V. N.]
Wunst upon a time, long afore the flud, when
man wuz in his highly original and prime evil
stait (wich meenes that he wuz wickeder than he
hez bin ever sence) uv sin and wickidnis, Abou
Ben Hadem flourisht in Abissinny, wich is a stait
summers down East.
Abou Ben Hadem wuz a profit. He hed bin
in the profit biznis for sum 2 hundred yeers, and
wuz hunky at it. It wuz currently reportid and
ginerally beleevd that he cood beet enny profit in
them Eastern countries, with wun hand tied behind
him.
Wunst on a time, jest after he hed partaken uv
his froogle brekfast uv porter-howse steak, stufft
with Camden and Amboy oysters, and wuz a
musin onto the mutability uv human affares over
a pint uv Rhine wine and a meershaum, wun uv
the pezantry uv that country approacht.
“Art thou Abou Ben Hadem?” interrogatid
the stranger.
“I am he,” replied Abou; “what wouldest thou
with me?”
“Behold in2 me wun who is dissatisfide with
his lot,” replide the intelligent yomanry.
“All men are so, my son,” retortid Abou. “I
kin see sich in enny grocery. Life is made up uv
dissatisfactions. Wun wants riches, another fame;
sum chase wun fleetin shadder, sum another; but,
alars! all er doomd 2 disappintment. Let us inwest
in Harlem stox, and dubble our munny—we
repine that we dident buy oil shares, and treble it.
But what wouldest thou?”
“Mighty Ben Hadem, my name is Norval—on
the Grampian hills my father fed his flox, a froogal
swane, and when the old gentleman pegged
out, he willed em all 2 me. I sheer them sheep,
and wash the wool, and card it and spin it, and
weave it, and make it into garmence. Why, Abou,
cood not nacher hev made my sheep to grow rolls
instid uv wool, and saved me the trubble.”
“My jentle frend,” replied Abou, “go thy
ways. Hentz4th thy sheep shel grow rolls instid
uv wool.”
[A week er sich a matter is sposd 2 hev
elapst.]
The sturdy yomanry returnd.
“Wat now?” sed Abou. “Wuz not thy desire
gratified?”
“Yea, muchly,” replied the high-mindid constitooent;
“the sheep grew rolls, and good rolls,
too. But, great Abou, why coodent nacher, while
she wuz about it, hev made the sheep grow yarn
instid uv rolls?”
“Go to thy native mountins. Thy sheep shel
grow fine yarn uv menny colors.”
[Another week gose by.]
“Agin here?” sed Abou. “Artest thow not satisfide?
Wat woodest thou now?”
“Mity profit! all things is ez easy ez turnin
Jack frum the bottom, 2 thee. My sheep grow
yarn. Is it askin too mutch to hev them grow
cloth? Then wood my labor be lightened—I
shood hev but to cut it and sew it in2 garmence.”
“Be it so; but bother me no more. I am
cheerman uv the executiv committy uv my ward,
and the eleckshun is but 3 weeks off. Go, and
be satisfide. Cloth it is.”
[A week passes by, like a dreem.]
“Mighty Abou”—
“How now? Thy importunity displeeses me.
I hev 3 times grantid thy desires. Wat wantest
thou now?”
“Mighty Abou, trooly at thy biddin my Mereenos,
wich I importid frum Vermont, hev yeeldid
rolls, and yarn, and cloth. Why, O profit, coodent
they jest ez well grow clothin reddy-made,
with a Amerrykin watch in the fob, and a pocket-book
filled with greenbax and a plug uv Cavendish
tobacker in the trousis-pokkit. Grant me but
this, and”—
“Away, ongrateful, and let me see thy face no
more. I granted thy absurd wishes, to show that
nacher did jest all for us that we needed—that
the balance we must work out ourselves, and that
hed she dun more we wood still hev bin dissatisfide.
At fust, 't was rolls, then yarn, then cloth,
and now yoo want close reddy-made. Go back.
Yer sheep grows common wool agin. Sposin I hed
givd yoo all yoo askt—wat, O miserable, wood yoo
hev hed 2 do? Yoo wood becum lazy, filthy, and
rotten. Yoo wood loaf around groceries, mix in2
pollytix, and becum a noosance to yerself and
friends. Laber is hevin's law. Nacher gives us
the raw material, and 2 keep us busy she requires
us to work it into shape. Nacher gives us korn—
it is our dooty 2 make it in2 whisky, and sich
other produx ez go 2 sustane life. Without labor
life is a cuss; with it we air happy. A bizzy
man haznt time to reflect upon wat a mizzable
cuss he is, wich reflexion in men uv high minds
wood lead to sooiside. Go thy ways. Be virchus
and yool be happy.”
Morel.—Employment uv wun kind er another
is a necessity. For my part, I keep myself bizzy
in gittin a livin orf uv other people's labor, and,
in these degenerate days, it 's jest all I kin do.
Morel number 2.—The more we git, the more
we want. (Wich is new.)
Petroleum V. Nasby,
Lait Paster uv the Church uv the Noo Dispensashun.
