No More Learning

The homoeopathists did not
give him little enough physic, and what little they did give him he
hesitated to take. So in the end he grew worse, and at length died, a
lesson to all riotous livers. I bedewed his grave with my tears, worked
a bar sinister on his family escutcheon, and, for the general expenses
of his funeral, sent in my very moderate bill to the transcendentalists.
The scoundrels refused to pay it, so I had Mr. Dammit dug up at once,
and sold him for dog's meat.




THOU ART THE MAN

I will now play the Oedipus to the Rattleborough enigma. I will expound
to you--as I alone can--the secret of the enginery that effected the
Rattleborough miracle--the one, the true, the admitted, the undisputed,
the indisputable miracle, which put a definite end to infidelity among
the Rattleburghers and converted to the orthodoxy of the grandames all
the carnal-minded who had ventured to be sceptical before.

This event--which I should be sorry to discuss in a tone of unsuitable
levity--occurred in the summer of 18--. Mr. Barnabas Shuttleworthy--one
of the wealthiest and most respectable citizens of the borough--had
been missing for several days under circumstances which gave rise to
suspicion of foul play. Mr. Shuttleworthy had set out from Rattleborough
very early one Saturday morning, on horseback, with the avowed intention
of proceeding to the city of-, about fifteen miles distant, and of
returning the night of the same day. Two hours after his departure,
however, his horse returned without him, and without the saddle-bags
which had been strapped on his back at starting. The animal was wounded,
too, and covered with mud. These circumstances naturally gave rise to
much alarm among the friends of the missing man; and when it was found,
on Sunday morning, that he had not yet made his appearance, the whole
borough arose en masse to go and look for his body.
The foremost and most energetic in instituting this search was the bosom
friend of Mr. Shuttleworthy--a Mr. Charles Goodfellow, or, as he was
universally called, "Charley Goodfellow," or "Old Charley Goodfellow. "
Now, whether it is a marvellous coincidence, or whether it is that the
name itself has an imperceptible effect upon the character, I have never
yet been able to ascertain; but the fact is unquestionable, that there
never yet was any person named Charles who was not an open, manly,
honest, good-natured, and frank-hearted fellow, with a rich, clear
voice, that did you good to hear it, and an eye that looked you always
straight in the face, as much as to say: "I have a clear conscience
myself, am afraid of no man, and am altogether above doing a mean
action. " And thus all the hearty, careless, "walking gentlemen" of the
stage are very certain to be called Charles.

Now, "Old Charley Goodfellow," although he had been in Rattleborough
not longer than six months or thereabouts, and although nobody knew
any thing about him before he came to settle in the neighborhood, had
experienced no difficulty in the world in making the acquaintance of all
the respectable people in the borough. Not a man of them but would have
taken his bare word for a thousand at any moment; and as for the women,
there is no saying what they would not have done to oblige him. And all
this came of his having been christened Charles, and of his possessing,
in consequence, that ingenuous face which is proverbially the very "best
letter of recommendation. "

I have already said that Mr. Shuttleworthy was one of the most
respectable and, undoubtedly, he was the most wealthy man in
Rattleborough, while "Old Charley Goodfellow" was upon as intimate terms
with him as if he had been his own brother. The two old gentlemen were
next-door neighbours, and, although Mr. Shuttleworthy seldom, if ever,
visited "Old Charley," and never was known to take a meal in his house,
still this did not prevent the two friends from being exceedingly
intimate, as I have just observed; for "Old Charley" never let a day
pass without stepping in three or four times to see how his neighbour
came on, and very often he would stay to breakfast or tea, and almost
always to dinner, and then the amount of wine that was made way with by
the two cronies at a sitting, it would really be a difficult thing to
ascertain. "Old Charleys" favorite beverage was Chateau-Margaux, and
it appeared to do Mr. Shuttleworthy's heart good to see the old fellow
swallow it, as he did, quart after quart; so that, one day, when the
wine was in and the wit as a natural consequence, somewhat out, he said
to his crony, as he slapped him upon the back--"I tell you what it is,
'Old Charley,' you are, by all odds, the heartiest old fellow I ever
came across in all my born days; and, since you love to guzzle the wine
at that fashion, I'll be darned if I don't have to make thee a present
of a big box of the Chateau-Margaux. Od rot me,"--(Mr. Shuttleworthy had
a sad habit of swearing, although he seldom went beyond "Od rot me," or
"By gosh," or "By the jolly golly,")--"Od rot me," says he, "if I don't
send an order to town this very afternoon for a double box of the best
that can be got, and I'll make ye a present of it, I will!