The History and Records of the Elephant Club

"Judge.– All this is worse than nothing; you are taking up the time of the court by your tedious talk, which, so far as I can see, has no bearing whatever on the charge you have seen fit to make against this man Timothy.

"Witness.– Haven't I been trying for the last ten minutes to tell ye, and ye'll not not let me? It's wid a bad grace that yer honor reproves me for not tellin' ye what I know, whin it's yerself that is interruptin' me. Well, yer honer, it was on Friday morning, whin I heard the horn of a fish-cairt in front of my door, sez I to myself, now Michael —

"Judge.– I don't want to hear that story any more. You have told that several times already. State the facts about Timothy. Come down to the time when he commences to figure.

"Witness.– Ah, bad luck to the thratement that I get here. Has any of my illusthrious family the O'Briens ever done annything against yer honer that yez should illthrait me in this way?

"Judge.– Not that I am aware of. Now go on with your evidence.

"Witness.– Well, yer honor, as I was about to tell ye, it was on Friday mornin' whin I heard the horn of a fish-cairt in front of my door. Sez I to myself – now Michael has come wid the porgies.

"Judge (impatiently). – Mrs. O'Brien, I —

"Witness.– Me name's not O'Brien; I'm a married woman, and me name is Flaherty; me name was O'Brien when I was a girl.

"Judge.– Well, then, Mrs. Flaherty, O'Brien, or whatever your name is, I have heard of these porgies and that fish-cart so often that they have grown stale; now tell me what occurred between you and Timothy Mulrooney?

"Witness.– How do I know but ye'll intherrupt me again before I have said five words?

"Judge.– You may rest assured that I will not if you will tell what Tim Mulrooney has done that is contrary to law.

"Witness.– I could tell ye enough to hang him a half-dozen times, if he had as manny necks as that; (to the prisoner) ye know I could, Tim, ye —

"Judge (perspiringly). – Mrs. O'Flaherty —

"Witness.– Flaherty, widout the O, yer honor.

"Judge.– Well, whatever your name is, you must not say anything to the prisoner in this court. Go on now, and if you will tell what he has done I'll not interrupt you.

"Witness.– Now remember yer promise, ye honor. It was on Friday mornin' —

"Judge (despairingly). – You're at it again. I —

"Witness.– Howly mother of Moses! I told yer honor how it would be wid ye; here I haven't said more nor five words before yer at yer owld thricks again.

"Judge (much vexed). – What did Timothy do with your fish?

"Witness.– He didn't do annything wid them that time, barrin' that he saw Michael bring them in the house, and I heard him tell Biddy Mulrooney, his mother, who lives in the next room to me, that he would rather live on praties and bread, as they was a doin', than to ate stinkin' porgies that nobody else would buy; I know the Mulrooneys was jealous.

"Judge.– Did Timothy create any disturbance then?

"Witness.– No, yer honor, he didn't.

"Judge.– Then why did you have him arrested?

"Witness.– It was afther thin that the spalpeen made the disturbance.

"Judge.– When was that?

"Witness.– It was yestherday mornin'.

"Judge.– What did Timothy do?

"Witness.– It wasn't Tim, but his cat.

"Judge.– Then it seems that you have entered a charge against Timothy Mulrooney of disorderly conduct, which, by right, you should have made against Timothy Mulrooney's cat, always provided that cats are amenable to municipal law.

"Witness.– By my sowl, yer honor, ye've got it mixed up again. Now why didn't ye wait until I could tell ye.

"Judge.– Go on; I am reconciled to my fate. As a particular favor, I should like to have you finish within a half hour.

"Witness.– Well, yer honor, as I was tellin' ye, the Mulrooneys was jealous of us because we had fish and they didn't. Yestherday mornin' Michael brought home more porgies (the Judge here heaved a deep sigh) and I laid them on top of a barrel in the passage to wait till I could dress them; what next, yer honor, did I see but Tim Mulrooney's big tom cat on the barrel atin' the fish; I heaved a pratie at the cat and it ran off wid the porgies; just thin I saw Tim Mulrooney laughing at what the cat was doin'; I know the blackgaird had towld the cat to ate the porgies; I called to Michael, and I run toward Tim to bate the tief as he deserved, whin my foot slipped and I furled over on the broad of my back; wid that Tim laughed the more, and Michael run to him, and was about to give him a tap on the sconce, whin Tim struck Michael a blow in his bowels, which quite prostrated him on the floor; with that I ran and got the M.P., who brought the murderin' tief to the station-house.

"Judge.– Well, Mrs. Flaherty, I think, according to your own story, the prisoner acted more in his own defence than any other way.

"Witness.– In his own definse! Bad luck to the tongue that says so. Is —

"Judge (to prisoner). – Timothy Mulrooney, I am by no means sure that your cat did not eat the Flahertys' fish with your connivance. If the cat did so, you did wrong; but for that you are sufficiently punished by your imprisonment last night. I think you might have been less hasty in striking Michael. Is Michael in court?

"Mrs. Flaherty.– He is. Stand up, Michael, before his honor.

"Mrs. Flaherty, Michael and Timothy were standing together in a row.

"Judge.– Now I am going to insure perfect harmony in your house for six months to come; I shall bind each of you over in the sum of $200 to keep the peace.

"This was almost too great a humiliation for the blood of the O'Briens to bear; but there was no alternative. Mrs. O'Brien Flaherty satisfied herself as well as she could by looking screw-drivers at the Judge; Michael appeared demure, and Timothy appeared jolly. The bonds were given, and the interesting trio left the court.

"The Judge rose from his chair, and made a bee line for breakfast."

During the various narrations which were given during the evening, Mr. Quackenbush remained seated in the corner, saying nothing and doing as much. His eyes were partially closed, and an occasional sigh was all that escaped him.

When Mr. Dropper concluded the reading of his contributions, it was moved that Mr. Quackenbush open his mouth, and say something, under the penalty of having it pried open with the poker.

This caused Mr. Quackenbush to open his eyes; and, after various preliminary hems and coughs, he announced that there was a certain rule of evidence which gave a witness the right to refuse to say anything tending to criminate himself. He should avail himself of that rule. Having said these words, Mr. Quackenbush rolled over on the floor, drew himself into double bow knot, and was soon snoring against noise.

In the meantime Mr. Spout had taken the floor, and stated that he had on one occasion been over at the Essex Market Police Court. He was there the involuntary witness of the trial of a case, which might account for the non-communicative disposition manifested on the present occasion by Mr. Quackenbush. During the proceedings, the justice called out the name of R. Percy De Laney Blobb; and in response to the call a tall individual arose and came forward. "I thought I recognized in the individual in question," continued Mr. Spout, "a person whom I had seen before, and I was not mistaken. He was wild, and disposed to regale the assembled company with a numerous collection of songs, which he had at his tongue's end. His dress was much disarranged.

"The evidence of the officer who had arrested the tall gentleman, went to show that he had offended against the laws, by disturbing the rest and quiet of an unappreciative neighborhood, by bawling forth at midnight most unmelodious yells, which, when he was apprehended, he assured the officer were capital imitations of Sontag, Grisi, and Grisi's new baby. When arrested the individual was in a plebeian state of drunkenness – not so much so but that he could sing, as he called it, and could talk after an original fashion of his own. His ideas were slightly confused; he informed the officer that he had been to hear Louisa Crown sing the Pyne Diamonds, and that he met a friend who took him to a billiard shop to see a clam race; that he and his friend bet the whisky on the result; that he drunk for both, and that they had passed the remainder of the evening in a 'magnorious manner,' singing 'Storm Columbus,' 'Yankee Boodles,' and the 'Scar Strangled Bladder.'

"The officer had taken him to the lock-up, where he had finished the night singing 'Good Old Daniel,' whistling the 'Prima Donna Waltz,' and playing an imaginary piano-solo on the floor, in which attempt he had worn off some of his finger-nails. When he was before the court he had not yet recovered his normal condition. He was still musically obstinate, and refused to answer any questions of the Judge, or make any remarks, except in scraps of songs, which he sang in a low voice, mixing up the tunes in a most perplexing manner. Being possessed of an excellent memory, and having a large assortment of melodies at his command, his answers were sometimes more amusing than relevant. The Judge proceeded to interrogate him somewhat as follows:

"Judge.– What is your name, sir?

"Prisoner.– 'My name is Robert Kidd, as I sailed' —

"Indignant Officer.– He lies, your honor. Last night he said his name was Blobb.

"Judge.– Where do you live?

"Prisoner.– 'Erin, Erin is my home.'

"Knowing Officer.– He isn't an Irishman, Judge; he's a Connecticut Yankee, and lives in East Broadway.

"Prisoner.– 'That's eight times to-day you have kissed me before.'

"Officer.– Please, your honor, he's an octagonal liar, I didn't.

"Judge.– Where did you get your liquor?

"Prisoner.– 'Way down south in Cedar street; rinctum' —

"Judge (to officer). – What's that he says?

"Attentive Officer.– At Ringtown's in Cedar street.

"Judge.– What number in Cedar street?

"Prisoner.– 'Forty horses in the stable.'

"Officious Officer.– Ringtown's, No. 4 °Cedar street, your honor.

"Prisoner.– (Voluntary remark, sotto voce.) 'A jay bird sat on a hickory limb – he winked at me and I winked at him.'

"Indignant Officer.– Who're you winkin' at?

"Prisoner.– 'Nelly Bly, shuts her eye.'

"Officer.– You'd better shut your mouth.

"Judge.– What have you got to say, prisoner?

"Prisoner.– 'Hear me, Norma.'

"Officer.– Well, go on, go on.

"Prisoner.– 'O blame not the bard.'

"Judge.– Nobody to blame but yourself.

"Prisoner.– 'Did you ever hear tell of Kate Kearney?'

"Knowing Officer.– Keeps a place in Mott street, your honor.

"Prisoner.– 'O! O! O! O! O! Sally is the gal for me.'

"Judge (to officer). – Who is Sally? Some disreputable female I suppose.

"Officer.– She went up to the Island to-day, sir.

"Prisoner.– 'O tell me, where is Fancy bred.'

"Judge.– I don't know anything about your fancy bread, if you have anything to say, go on.

"Prisoner.– 'We'll all go bobbing around.'

"The Judge here became indignant, and demanded if he had a friend to become bail for him, to which query the prisoner hiccuped out,

"I'll never, never find – a better friend than old dog Tray.'

"Judge.– Can't take him, he is not responsible.

"Prisoner.– 'I give thee all, I can no more.'

"Judge.– It won't do, sir, I shall fine you $10.

"Prisoner.– 'That's the way the money goes – pop goes the weasel.'

"Indignant Officer.– I'll pop you over the head presently.

"Prisoner.– 'There's whisky in the jug.'

"Officer.– You'll be there, too, shortly.

"Judge.– If you can't pay you must go to jail.

"Prisoner.– 'Give me a cot in the valley I love.'

"Judge.– Very well, sir, I'll do it. Tombs, ten days.

"Prisoner.– 'I dreamt that I dwelt in marble halls.'

"The officer was about removing the individual below, when I came to the rescue, and informed the Judge that the prisoner was a friend of mine, that this was the first occasion in which he had ever manifested such eccentricities, and if he would let him off from the punishment this time, I would take him to his home and see that he never disturbed the city by his yells in the future.

"The prisoner turned his eyes upon me, and again broke out:

"'Good news from home, good news for me' —

"'Mr. Blobb,' said the Judge, 'if I let you off this time, will you cease going on these drunken sprees?'

"Prisoner.– 'I'll touch not, taste not, handle not, whate'er intoxicates.'

"Judge.– I hope that when we meet again it will be under more favorable auspices to yourself —

"Prisoner (interrupting). – 'Meet me by moonlight alone, and I will tell thee.'

"Judge (resuming). – For you're in a bad plight now to appear among the ladies.

"Prisoner.– 'Oh! I'm the boy for bewitching them.'

"Judge.– Not when you're drunk, I imagine.

"Prisoner.– 'A man's a man, for a' o' that.'

"Judge.– You may go, sir. Good day.

"Prisoner.– 'Oh, give to me that better word that comes from the heart, Good bye.'

"I managed to get my friend, Mr. Blobb, out of the court-room, and subsequently, with some difficulty, I succeeded in putting him to bed in my apartment, where I kept him for twenty-four hours, until he had recovered from his temporary aberration. He has since that time been in a normal state, except that he appears melancholy at times. He is well enough, however, —

"To be here this evening," said Quackenbush, interrupting; "for know ye that Mr. R. Percy Delancy Blobb is now before you in the person of myself, and I am here to-night to ask forgiveness, which, if you don't give to me, I shall take immediate measures to expel you all from the club."

It was immediately voted that Mr. Quackenbush be forgiven, on condition that he would disclose the facts which led to his being found a prisoner in the Essex Market Police Court.

This, Mr. Quackenbush said he would do and do it now, and after finding room for a glass of ginger-wine, proceeded to narrate his experience.

He stated, substantially, that the whole difficulty grew out of a love affair. He had become deeply infatuated with an unknown and beautiful blonde. He had often met her in the street, in theatres, and concert-rooms, and his intense admiration ripened into a deep love. He was unable to learn who she was until a fortnight previously, when he found a friend who was well acquainted with her, and who undertook to bring about an introduction. Things wore a brighter aspect then. The sun was more brilliant; the moon shed a less melancholy light; lager bier tasted better; oysters appeared fatter; peanuts seemed always roasted just enough, and, in fact, he felt quite satisfied with life, and the world generally, and resolved to postpone indefinitely a purpose he had entertained of buying three cents' worth of arsenic. But a day or two before the scene in the Police Court in which he figured, he found himself in a stage, and directly opposite was the identical object of his admiration and affection. He hitched from one side on his seat to the other; put one leg on the other, and then reversed them; looked out of the window, and then at her; scratched his ears; pulled up his collar; brushed the dust from his pantaloons; put his hands in his pockets; pulled them out, and did many ridiculous things which he would not have done had she not been present. She stopped the stage on one of the avenues, and handed him a five-franc piece to pay the driver. The driver, as usual, gave change in small pieces. He counted it to see that it was all right; found it to be so, and informed her of the fact. The streets being very muddy, he resolved to do the genteel in the way of assisting her out of the vehicle; made his exit; put one foot six inches into a mud-hole, and the other on the edge of the curb-stone; lifted the lady to the sidewalk in safety, at the expense of bursting off two suspender-buttons, and his vest-buckle, a slip down causing his nose to fall against the tire, his knees into the mud, his shoulder against the stage-steps, and caving in his hat. But all this didn't trouble him in the least, as he expected to be more than remunerated by an approving smile on the part of the lady. He turned his face towards her, and found her engaged in counting the change, which he had pronounced to be all right, as if she suspected that he would be guilty of cheating her out of a stray sixpence, and thus hazard his chances for salvation. The effect of the disappointment, on him, was frightful. He felt a sickening sensation; stopped at the nearest whisky-shop, and imbibed; went to another, and took a nip; proceeded to a third, and smiled; reached a fourth, and took a horn; entered a fifth, and drank, and so on, ad libitum. At last he reached Niblo's; saw a flaming poster announcing that Louisa Pyne was to sing in the "Crown Diamonds;" bought a ticket; took several drinks and a seat. His ears had become unusually critical. Thought he could beat Harrison singing, and to satisfy himself, he rose up, and commenced to slaughter a piece, which Harrison had just executed. There was an evident want of appreciation of his abilities, for he was hustled out in double-quick time. He then went to a bar-room, and called for something to drink, which deliberate act was the last circumstance he remembered, previous to recognizing Mr. Spout in his room in the afternoon of the following day, when he inquired of that gentleman if he wouldn't be so kind as to prevent the nigger boy from striking him on the head with a poker, as he thought he had done it long enough.

A vote of forgiveness to Mr. Quackenbush was carried, after which the entire club went to sleep.

THE HAMLET NIGHT

"Murder most foul, as in the best it is;But this most foul, strange, and unnatural."

A FEW days after the events recorded in the last chapter, a new trick was invented to obtain under, false pretences, the money of the public. A number of needy and seedy individuals having been told that in England several of the most distinguished literary men in that country had given a few theatrical exhibitions with great success, conceived the plan of exhibiting, in a similar manner, in the city of New York, a number of authors, artists and other celebrities, admitting the public at twenty-five cents per head. That it might look less like a humbug, and by way of hiding, as far as possible, the swindle which was only too transparent, after all, it was announced that the living poets and painters would be shown all alive in secure cages, undergoing a periodical stirring-up by the keeper, and being benevolently fed in the presence of the spectators afterward.

Preparations had been made to secure the services of the biggest authors, the most notorious painters, the largest sized sculptors, the most melodious poets, and the most sanguinary editors the country could produce. The anxious world expected nothing less than to see the author of "Thanatopsis" appear as Hamlet in black-tights and a slouched hat – and he who invented "Evangeline" and "Hiawatha" come on as the Ghost with a pasteboard helmet and a horse-hair beard. Who should be Laertes but he who "skulped" the Greek Slave, or what editor could play "the king" like the democratic conductor of the Tribune? who, in assuming the crown, was to doff the white hat, "positively for one night only?" The Queen of Denmark would of course be represented by the architect of "Uncle Tom's Cabin," whose familiarity with courts and royalty would enable her to invest the character with life-like interest. The public had made up its mind to be content with no Ophelia except Ruth Hall, for no one else could play the crazy scenes so admirably. But alas for the expectations of the misguided public – the illustrious individuals aforesaid would not come, and consequently the public were compelled to witness the consummation of the dreadful tragedy, by authors whose works they had never heard of; painters whose productions were unknown to the world, and editors whom a close investigation resolved into obscure scribblers.

To this literary exhibition Overdale, Wagstaff, and John Spout resolved to go – Overdale to give the necessary explanations, Wagstaff to make a transcript of his friend's valuable remarks, and John Spout (himself an amateur artist) to see the celebrated men of his own profession, whose contributions to art had been so persistently kept out of sight.

The performance was to take place in the Academy of Music, a building designed and completed by a diabolically ingenious architect, who endeavored to construct a theatre in such a manner that one half the audience could not hear, and the other half could not see, and who succeeded to admiration.

Our friends obtained seats in that part of the house where they could see, though it was not possible to hear a word.

After a great many preliminary flourishes and false starts by the members of the orchestra, they set off as nearly together as they could, in obedience to the frantic gestures of the leader, who flourished his fiddle-bow with as much energy and vindictiveness as if he had been insanely endeavoring to kill mosquitoes with it, in forty different directions at once.

Finally the curtain went up amid the uproarious applause of the assembled multitude, interrupted only by a small boy in the gallery, who hissed like a whole flock of enraged wild-geese, having been stationed there especially for the performance of this sibilant duty by an avenging washerwoman, to whom one of the amateurs owed four and sixpence; his dissenting voice was, however, soon hushed by the police, who put him out, and didn't give him his money back, after which the exhibition proceeded.

To give a full description of one half of the ridiculous performances indulged in by these deluded persons – to tell of the new readings which they gave, and the old readings which they didn't give – to relate how carefully they avoided the traps, and with what commendable caution they kept away from the footlights – to give an idea of the bedlamitish ingenuity they had displayed in the selection of wardrobe, how each one had put on the most inappropriate articles imaginable, and how they could not have been more incongruously attired if they had been all dressed in sheep's grey breeches and straw hats – to dilate upon the disasters which befell the said wardrobe, how the tunics caught in the wings, and the shoulder-cloaks got singed by the side-lights; how the ladies' trains were in everybody's way, and their feathers in everybody's eyes – how, in their confusion, when they painted their faces, they put the wrong colors in the wrong places, and some of them went on with white cheeks, chalked lips, and eyebrows colored a bright vermilion – how the gilt crowns got bent and battered until they looked like ancient milk-pans with the bottoms melted out – how the flannel ermine on the regal calico robes got greasy, and looked like tripe – how the wax pearls melted and the glass ones broke – how the "supes" painted their whiskers uneven, and got their wigs on wrong side before – how some of them couldn't get their armor on at all, but how one enterprising individual, having succeeded to his satisfaction, came on to deliver a message, with his sandals in his hand, his helmet on one foot, his breast-plate on the other, and his leg-pieces strapped on his shoulders – to tell how the Ghost got chilly and played the last scene in an overcoat, and proved that he was a substantial Native American Ghost, by making two extemporaneous speeches, in excellent English, to the audience – to do full justice to the miscellaneous assortment of legs, then and there congregated, and relate how some were bow-legs, and some were shingle-legs, some were broomstick-legs, some were wiry legs, and some were shoulder-of-mutton legs – to give an accurate relation of the various expedients resorted to, to remedy the most noticeable defects in those legs, and state that some were padded on the sides, and some at the ankles, and how, in not a few instances, the padding slipped away from its original position, thereby putting the calves on the shins, and causing the knees to resemble deformed india-rubber foot-balls – and to give a reliable history of the unheard-of antics indulged in by the said fantastic legs, after their symmetry had been perfected by the means just written – how some went crooked, some sideways, and some wouldn't go at all; how some minced with short steps, like a racking pony, and others stepped along as if they had seven-league boots on; how some moved with convulsive hitches, as if they were clockwork legs, and the springs were out of order; how some worked spasmodically up and down in the same place, and didn't get along at all, as if they were legs which had struck for higher wages; and how others dashed ahead, as if they did not intend to stop until they had transported their bewildered proprietors out of sight of the audience, as if they were machine legs, with the steam turned on, and weights on the safety-valve; how some went on the stage and wouldn't go off, and how others went off and wouldn't go on, until they were coaxed on by their agonized owners, a long time after the cue came – to tell how the red fire burned green, and the blue fire would not burn at all – how the call-boy got tipsy, and was not forthcoming – how the property-man fell over the sheet-iron thunder, and stuck his head into a pot of red paint, which made him look like a modern edition of Charles the First with his head cut off – how the grave-diggers got into the grave and couldn't get out – how Hamlet and Laertes could hardly get in at all; and how, when they did get in, they made the gravel fly – how the wrong men came on at the wrong time, and how, as a general thing, the right men didn't ever come on – how Guildenstern spoke Ophelia's lines, how Horatio tried to speak one of Hamlet's speeches, and danced a frantic hornpipe with rage because he couldn't think how it began, and how Polonius couldn't speak at all, and so went home – how nobody could remember what Shakspeare said, and so everybody said what Shakspeare didn't say, and hadn't said, and wouldn't have said, under any circumstances – how some of the men swore, and some of the women wanted to, but postponed it, and how the butchery proceeded, with many mishaps and multitudinous mistakes, and how the audience applauded, and cheered, and laughed at the dismal tragedy, evidently considering it the liveliest farce of the season, are facts, falsehoods, and circumstances, both real and supposititious, which could not be compressed within the limits of a single volume.