FABLES AND THEIR SEQUELS.

Mount Ida Chronicle, Volume X, Issue 571, 21 August 1880, Page 2 (Supplement)

FABLES AND THEIR SEQUELS.

BY MARK TWAIN.

All my life, from boyhood up, I have had the habit of reading a certain et of anecdotes, written in tho quaint vein of tho ' World's' ingenious Fabulist, for the lesson they taught me and the pleasure they gave me. Thoy lay al>vays convenient to my hand, and -whenever I felt meanly of my kind I turned to them, and they banished that sentiment, whenever I felt myself to be selfish, sordid, and ignoble I turned to them, and they told mo what to do to win back my solf-respect. Many times I wished that these charming anecdotes had not stopped with their happy climaxes, but had continued the pleasing history of their several benefactors and beneficiaries. This wish rose in my breast so persistently that at last 1 determined to satisfy it by seeking out tho sequels of those anecdotes myself. So I set about it, and after great labour and tedious research accomplished my task. I will lay the result before you, giving you each anecdote in its turn, and following it with its sequel as I gathered it through my investigations. THE ÜBATEFI7L POODLE. One day a benevolent physician (who had road the book ), having found a stray poodle suffering from a broken leg, conveyed the poor creature to his home, and after Betting and bandaging the injured limb gave the little outcast its liberty again, and thought no more about the matter. But how great was his surprise, upon opening his door one morning, some days later, to find the grateful poodle patiently waiting there, and in its company another stray dog, one of whose legs, by some accident, had been broken. Tho kind physician at once relioved the distressed animal, nor did he forget to adiiiiro the inscrutable goodness and mercy of God, who had been willing to use so humble an instrument as the poor outcast poodle for tho inculcating of etc., etc., etc. .SEQUEL. The next morning the benevolent physician found the two dogs, beaming with gratitude, waiting at his door, and with them two < other dogs,—cripples. The cripples were speedily Wheeled, and tho four went their wayj. leaving the benevolent physician more overcomo by pious wonder than ever. The day passed the morning came. There at the door Bat now tho four reconstructed dogs, and with them four others requiring reconstruction. This day also passed, and another morning came ; and now sixteen dogs, eight of them nowly crippled, occupied the sidewalk, and the people were going around. By noon tho broken legs were all set, but the pious wonder in the good physician's breast was beginning to got filled with involuntary profanity. The sun rose once more, and exhibited thirtytwo dogs, sixteen of them with broken legs, occupying the sidewalk and half of the street; the human spectators took up the rest of the room. The cries of the wounded, the songs of the healed brutes, and the comments of the on-looking citizens made great and inspiring cheer, but traffic was interrupted in that street. The good physician hired a couple of assistant surgeons and got through his benevolent work before dark, first°taking tho precaution to cancel his church membership, so that he might express himself with the latitude which the case required. But some things have their limits. When once moro the morning dawned, and the good physician looked out upon a massed and far-reaching multitude of clamorous and beseeching dogs, he said, 'I might as well acknow° ledge it—l have been fooled by the books ; they only toll the pretty part of the story, and then stop. Fetch me the shot-gun ; this thing has gone along far enough.'

Ho issued with his weapon, and chanced to step upon the tail of the original poodle, who promptly bit him in the leg. Now the great and good work which this poodle had been engaged in had engendered in him such a mighty and augmenting enthusiasm as to turn his weak head at last and drive him mad. A month later, when the benevolent physician lay in the death throes of hydrophobia, he called his weeping friends about him, and said, — ' Beware of the books. They only tell half of tho story. Whenever a poor wretch asks you for help, and you feel a doubt as to what result may flow from you benevolence, give yourself the benefit of the doubt and kill tho applicant.' And so saying he turned his face to the wall and gave up the ghost. TI IK B':\EVOLENT AUTHOR. A poor and young literary beginner had tried m vain to get his manuscripts accepted. At last, when the horrors of starvation were staring him in the face he laid his case before a celebrated author' beseeching his counsel and assistance! This generous man immediately put aside his own matters, and proceeded to peruse one of tho despised manuscripts. Having completed his kindly task, lie shook tho young man cordially by the hand, saying I perceive merit in this ; ooino to mo on Monday.' When the time specified was come, the celebrated author with a sweet smile, but saying nothiw' spread open a magazine which was damp from the press. What was tho poor youn« man's astonishment to discover upon the printed page his own article ! < How can I ever,' said he, fulling upon his knees and bursting into tears, -testify my gratitude for this noble conduct!' Tlie celebrated author was the renowned Snodgrass ; the poor young beginner thus rescued from obscurity and starvation was the afterwards equally renowned Snagaby. Let this pleasing incident admonish us to turn a charitable ear to all beginners that need help. The next weolc Snagsby was back with five rejected manuscripts. The celebrated author was a little surprised, because in the books the young struggler had never needed but ono lift, apparently. However, he ploughed through these papers, removing unnecessary flowers and digging up some acres of adjectivu-stxiuip3,° and then succeeded in getting two of the articles accepted.

A week or so driftod by, and the grateful Snagsby arrived with another cargo. The celebrated author had felt a mighty glow of satisfaction within himself the

first time he had befriended the poor young stfugglef, and had compared himself with the generous people in the books with high satisfaction ; but-he was beginning to suspect now that he had struck upon something fresh in the noble episode line. His enthusiasm took a chill. Still, he could not bear to repulse this struggling young author who clung to him with such pretty simplicity and trustfulness. Well, the iipshot of it all was that the celebrated author presently found himself permanently freighted with the poor youngbeginner. All his mild efforts to. unload his cargo went for nothing. He had to give daily counsel, daily encouragement; he had to keep on procuring magazine acceptances, and then revamping the manuscripts to make them presentable. When the young aspirant got a start at last, he rode into sudden fame by describing, the celebrated author's private life with such a caustic humour and such minuteness of blistering detail that the book sold a prodigious edition, and broke the celebrated author's heart with mortification. With his last gasp, he said, ' Alas, the books deceived me ; they do not tell the whole story. BeWare of the struggling young author, my friends, Whom God sees fit to starve, let no man presumptuously rescue to his own undoing.' THE GKATEFUL HUSBAND, ; One day a lady was driving through the principal street of a great city with lier little boy, when the horses took fright and dashed madly away, hurling the coachman from his box and leaving the occupants of the carriage paralysed with terror. But a brave youth who was driving a grocery wagon threw himself before plunging animals, succeeded in airesting their flight at the peril of his own" life. The grateful lady took his number, and:upon arriving at her home she related the heroic act to her husband (who had i*ead tha books), who listened with streaming eyes to the moving recital; and who, after returning thanks, in conjunction with liis" restored loved ones, to Him who suffereth not even a sparrow to fall .to the ground unnoticed, sent for tho brave, young person, aud, placing a cheque for. five hundred dollars in his hand, said, 'Take this as a reward for your noble .act, William Ferguson; and if ever: you should need a friend, remember that Thqmas McSpadden has a grateful heart.' Let us learn from this that a good deed cannot fail to benefit the doer, however humble or obscure he may be. •SEQUEIi William Ferguson called the next week and asked Mr. McSpadden to use his influence to get him a higher employment, ho feeling capable of better things than driving a grocer's wagon. Mr. McSpadden got.him an uuder-clerkshipatagoodsalary. Presently William Ferguson's mother fell sick, and William—Well, to cut.the story short, Mr. McSpadden consented to take her into his house. Before long she yearned for the society of her younger children ; so Mary and Julia were admitted also, and little Jimmy their brother. Jimmy had a pocket-knife, and he wandered into the drawing-room with it one day, alone, and reduced ten thousand dollars' worth of furniture to an indeterminable value in rather less than threequarters of an hour. A day or two later he fell downstairs and broke his neck, and seventeen of his family's relatives came to the house to attend the funeral. This made then acquainted, and they kept the kitchen occupied after that,, and likewise kept the McSpaddens busy hunting up situation of various sorts for them, and hunting up moro when:, they: wore these out. The old woman dranlca good deal and swore a good deal; but the grateful McSpaddens knew' it was their to reform her, considering what her son had done for them, so they clave nobly to their generous task; ' William came often and got decreasing sums of 'money, arid asked for higher and moro lucrative employments,—which the grateful McSpadden more or less promptly procured, for him. McSpadden consented also,:.- after some demur, to fit William for college; but when the first vacation came, and the < hero requested to be sent to Europe for his health, the persecuted, McSpadden rose against the tyrant arid revolted. He plainly and squarely refused. William Ferguson's mother was sp astounded that she let her gin bottle drop, and her profane lips refused to do their office. When she recovered she said in a half-gasp, 'ls this your gratitude I Where, would you wife and boy be now, hut for my son?' ' ; William said, c ls this your; gratitude? Did I save your wife's life or not 'I tell me that!' ■ : . ■■■■::■■/■ . -::..'.. .I-..:-; •,: :;. ..-.

Seven relatione smarmed in from; tlie; kitchen, ard each jaid, ' And this is. his gratitude!' ". . William's sisters stared,bewildered, and said, ' And this is his grat, but" were interrupted by their mother, who burst into tears and exclaimed, ' To think that my sainted little Jimmie threw away his life in the service of such a reptile !' ■ . Then the pluck of the revolutionary McSpadden rose to the occasion, and he exclaimed with fervour, 'Out of my house, the whole beggarly tribe of yqn! I was beguiled by the books, but shall never be beguiled again,—" once "is sufficient for me.' And turning to William he shouted, 'Yes, you did save my wife's life, and the next man does it shall dib in his tracks!' Not being a clergyman, I place my text at the end of my sermon instead of at the beginning of it.. Here it is, from Mr. Noah Brook's Recollections of President Lincoln, in ' Scribner's Monthly' : ' J, H. Hacket, in his part of Falstaff was an actor who gave Mr. Lincoln great delight. With his usual desire to signify to others his sense of obligation, Mr. Lincoln wrote a genial little note to the actor, expressing his pleasuroat witnessing his performance. Mr. Hackett, in reply sent a book of some sort; perhaps it was ono of his own authorship. He also wrote several notes to the President. One night quite late, when the episode had passed out of my mind, 1 went to the White House in answer to a message. Passing into tho President's office, 0 I noticed, to my surprise, Hackett sitting in the anteroom as if waiting for an audience The President asked me if auyone was outside. On being told, he said, half Sadly, 'Oh, I can't see him, I can't see him ; I was in hopes he had gone a-vay.' Then

lie added, •Now this iust illustrates the) difficulty of having pleasant friends and > acquaintances in this place You know how I liked Hackett as an actor, arid how I wrote to tell him so. ;He sent me that book, .and there. I thought the matter would, end. He is a master of his place in the profession, I suppose, and well fixed in -it; but just because we: had a little friendly correspondence, such as any. two men might have, he wants something. What do you suppose he wants'?' Icould not guess, aud Mr. Lincoln added, 1 ' Well, he wants to be consul to London. Oh, ■ dear! ''/ : ' I will observe, in conclusion, that the William Ferguson incident occurred, and . within my personal knowledge,— though I have changed the nature of; the details, to keep William from recognizing himself iir it. Fvery reader of this article has in some sweet and-gushing hour ;of his life played the role of Magnanimous-Incident hero. I'l - wish I.kriew: how.'many- there are among '= them who are willing .to talk; about that; episode and like' to be reminded of the cort3ecjuences/that flowediforiiifc ' '";"'