A LITERARY NIGHTMARE.

Otago Witness, Issue 1834, 14 January 1887, Page 35

A LITERARY NIGHTMARE.

By " Mark Twain."

Will the reader please to cast his eye over the. following verses, and see if he Can discover anything harmful in them .' '• Conductor, when you receive a fare, i'uuch in the prdbnuee of the pat senj n-e : A blue trip slip for an elglil-ceul fare, A buff trip blip for a six-cent fare, A pink trip slip tor a three-cent Uvc. PuiH'h in the presence of the gassenjare : CHtfHVii. Punch, brothers ! punch with care ! Punch in the presence ot tbe passeajare ! "

I came across these jingling rhymes in a newspaper a little while ago, and read them a couple of times. • They took instant and entire possession of -roe. - All through break- \ fast they went waiting through my brain ; ' and when at last I rolled up my napkin, I could not tell whether I had eaten anything or not. 1 had carefully laid out my day's work the day before— a thrilling tragedy in the novel which i am writing. I went to my den to begin my deed of blood. 1 took up my pen, but all I could get it to aay was, •• Puuch in the presence of the passenjare.'' 1 fought hard for an hour, but it was useless. Mv head .kept humming, " A bine trip slip f or an eight- cent. "fare, a buff trip slip for a six-oent fare," and so on and so on, withont peace or respite. The day's work was ruined L-I could see. that plainly enough. I 'gave' up and drifted" down town, and presently discovered that my feet were keeping time to that relentless jingle. When 1 could: stand it no longer I altered my step. But it did no good; those rhymes accommodated; themselves to the new step, and went on', harassing me jast as before. I returned, home, and suffered all the afternoon; suf-' fered all through an unconscious and unrefreshing dinner; suffered, and cried, and' jingled all through the evening ; went to bed, and rolled, tossed, and jingled rights along the same as ever ; got up at midnight frantic, and tried to read, but there .was nothing visible upon the whirling page except " Punch ! punch in the presence of the passenjare." By sunrise I was out of my ! mind, and everybody marvelled and was distressed at the idiotic burden of my ravings : " Punch ! oh, punch ! puuch in the presence of the passenjare ! '" Two days later, on Saturday morning, I j arose, a tottering wreck, and went forth to | fulfil an engagement with a valued friend, the Rev. Mr , to walk to the Talcott Tower, ten miles distant. He stared at me, but asked no questions. Wo started. Mr talked, talked, talked— as is his wont, j I said nothing ; I heard nothing. At the end of a mile Mr said :

•' Mark, are you sick ? 1 never saw a man look so haggard and worn and absentminded. Say something— do ! " Dreamily, without enthusiasm, I said : " Punch, brothers, punch with care ! Punch in the presence of the passenjare ! " My friend eyed me blankly, looked perplexed, then said ; •'I do not think I get your drift, Mark. There does not seem to be any relevancy in what you have said—certainly nothing aad ; and yet— maybe it was the way you said the words— l never heard anything that sounded so pathetic. What is " But I heard no more. I was already far away with my pitiless, heart-breaking " Blue trip slip for an eight-cent fare, buff trip slip for a six-cent fare, pink trip slip for a threecent fare ; punch in the presence of the passenjare."' 1 do not know what ooourred during the other nine miles. However, all of a sudden Ur laid his hand on my shoulder and shouted ;

•' Oh, wake up ! wake up | wake up 1 Don't sleep all day ! Here we are at the Tower, man ! I have talked myself deaf and dumb and blind, and never got a response. Just look at this magnificent autumn landscape ! Look at it 1 look at it ! Feast your eyes on it I You have travelled ; you have seen boasted landscapes elsewhere. Come, now, deliver an honest opinion. What do you say to this 1 "

I sighed wearily, and murmured : l •' A buff trip slip for a six-cent fare, a pink trip slip for a three-cent fare ; punch in the presence of the passenjare." The Rev. Mr stood there, very grave, full of concern apparently, and looked long at me ; then he said : " Mark, there is something about this that I cannot understand. Those are about the same words you said .before ; there does not seem to be anything in them, and yet they nearly break my heart when you say them. Punch in the~?how is it they go ? "

I began at the beginning and repeated all the lines. My friend^s face lighted with interest. He said: —

11 Why, what a captiyating jingle it is ! It is almost music. 1% flows along so nicely. I have nearly caught the rhymes myself. Say them over just* once more, and then I'll have them, sure."

I said them over. Then Mr said them. He made .one little mistake, which I corrected. The next time and the next he got them right. Now a great burden seemed to tumble from my shoulders. That torfairing jingle departed out of my brain, and a grateful sense of rest and peace descended *pon me. I was light-hearted enough to sing ; and I did sing for half 'an hour, Btraight along, as we went jogging homeward. Then my freed tongue found blessed speech again, and the pent talk of many a weary hour began to gush and ,flow. It flowed on and on, joyously, jubilantly, until the fountain was empty and dry. ' As I wrung my f riejid's hand at parting 1 said : "HaverA we h?tdi si* royal good time?) But now I remember, "you haven't "said a word for two hours. Come, come, out with something ! " The Rev. Mr - turned a lack-lustre eye upon me, drew a deep sigh, and ?i\id, without animation, witlnut apparent ■ consciousness :

" Punch, brothers, punch with care ! Funon in the presence of the pas?enjare ! " A pang shot through rue as 1 said to ayself :

" Poor fellow ! poor fellow ! he has got it law." VM'vy""*!;', , '-

I did not see Mr — - — for two' or three days after that. Then, on Tuesday evening, he staggered into my presence, and sank dejectedly into a seat. He was, pale;< worn ; lie was a wreck. He lifted his faded.*eyes to my face, and said ;

" All, Mark, it was a ruinous invegfrnent that I made in those heartless rhymes I !.' They have ridden me like a nightmare, day and night, hour after hour, to this Very moment. Since I saw you I have suffered the torments of th« lost. Saturday evening I had a suddencall, by telegraph, and took the night train for Boston. The occasion was the death of a valued old friend who had requested thajLI should preach his funeral sermon. I took my seat in the cajs, and set myself to framing the discourse.' But I never got beyond the opening paragraph ; for then the train started, and thfc car -wheels began their * clack-cJack-clack-clack ! clack-clack-clack-clack ! ' Hnd right away those odious rhymes fitted themselves to that accompaniment. For an hour 1 sat there,, and set a syllable of those rhymes to every ssparateand diatincts clack the made. Why, I was a fagged ont then as if I had been chopping wood all day. My skull was splitting with headache. It seemed to me that I mu#t go mad if 1 sat there any longer: so 1 undressed and went to bed. I stretched myself out in my berth, and— well, you know what the result was. The thing went right along, just the same. • Olack-clack-clack, a blue trip slip, clack-clack-clack, for an eight-cent faro ; clack-clack-clack, a buff trip slip, clack-clack-clack, for a six-cent fare, and so on, and so on, 'and, so vn — punch, in the presence of the passenjare ! ' Sleep ? Not' a single wink ! 1 was almost a lunatic when 1 I got to Boston. Don't ask me about the' funeral. I did the best I could, but every solemn individual sentence' was meshed' and tangled and woven in and out with ' Punch, brothers, punch with care ; punch in the presence of the passenjare.' And the' most distressing thing "was that my, delivery dropped into the undulating rhythm of those pulsing rhymes, and 1 could actually catch absentminded people nodding time to the swing of it. with their stupid heads. And, Mark, you may believe it, or not, but before 1 got through the entire assemblage were placidly bobbing 1 their heads in solemn unison •- mourners, undertaker, and all. The moment. 1 hail finished 1 fisd to the anteroom in a state bordering on frenzy. Ot course it would ba my luck to iind a sorrowing; and aged maiden aunt of the deceased there, who had arrived from Springfield too late to get into the church. She began to sob, and

said ; ■ • " ' Oh, oh, he is gone, he in gone, and I didn't see him before he died ! '

" ' Yes ! ' I said, ' he is gone, he is gone, he is gone— oh, will this suffering never cease ? '

"'You loved him, then ? Oh, you too loved him ! ' " ' Loved him ! Loved who ? ' " • Why, my poor George ! ray poor nephew ! '

"'Oh — him! Yes —oh, yes, yes. .Certainly, certainly. Punch— punch— oh, this misery will kill me ! '

" ' Bless you ! bless you, sir, far these sweet words ! 1, too, suffer in this dear loss. Were you present during his last moments ? ' " ' Yes ! I — whose last moments .' '

" • His ! The dear departed's.'

"'Yes! Oh, yes— yes -yes I I suppose so, I think' so, I don't know ! Oh, certainly — I was there— l was there ! '

" • Oh, what a privilege ! what a precious privilege ! And his last words—oh, teJl me, tell me his last words ! What did he say .' '

" ' He said— he said— oh, ray head, my head, my head 1 He said— he said— he never said anything but --Punch, punch, punch in the presence of the passenjare ! Oh, leave me, madam ! In the name of all that is generous lea%'e me to my madness, my misery, my despair ! — a buff trip slip for a six-cent fare, a pink trip slip for a threecent fare— endu-rance can no f ur-ther go ! — punch in the presence of the passenjare ! ' "

My friend's hopeless eyes rested upon mine a pregnant, minute, and then he said impressively :

" Mark, you do not say anything. You do not offer me any hope. But, ah me I it is just as well — it is just as well. You could not do me any good. The time has long gone by when words could comfort me. Something tells me that my tongue is doomed to wag for ever to the jigger of that remorseless jingle. There, there— it is coming on me again : a blue trip slip for an eight-cent fare, a buff trip 6lip for a " ,

Thus murmuring faint and fainter, my friend sank into a peaceful trance, and forgot his sufferings in a blessed respite. How did I finally save him from the asylum ? I took him to a neighbouring university, and made him discharge the burden of his persecuting rhymes, into the eager ears of the poor, unthinking students. How is it with them now 1 The result is too sad to tell. Why did I write tins article 1 It was for a worthy, even a noble, purpose, It was to warn you, reader, if you should come across those merciless rhymes, to avoid them— avoid them as you would a. pestilence 1