I am always
displeased by circumstances for which I cannot account.
displeased by circumstances for which I cannot account.
Poe - 5
I entreated--he smiled.
I implored--he laughed.
I preached--he
sneered. I threatened--he swore. I kicked him--he called for the police.
I pulled his nose--he blew it, and offered to bet the Devil his head
that I would not venture to try that experiment again.
Poverty was another vice which the peculiar physical deficiency of
Dammit's mother had entailed upon her son. He was detestably poor, and
this was the reason, no doubt, that his expletive expressions about
betting, seldom took a pecuniary turn. I will not be bound to say that
I ever heard him make use of such a figure of speech as "I'll bet you a
dollar. " It was usually "I'll bet you what you please," or "I'll bet you
what you dare," or "I'll bet you a trifle," or else, more significantly
still, "I'll bet the Devil my head. "
This latter form seemed to please him best;--perhaps because it involved
the least risk; for Dammit had become excessively parsimonious. Had any
one taken him up, his head was small, and thus his loss would have been
small too. But these are my own reflections and I am by no means sure
that I am right in attributing them to him. At all events the phrase in
question grew daily in favor, notwithstanding the gross impropriety of
a man betting his brains like bank-notes:--but this was a point which my
friend's perversity of disposition would not permit him to comprehend.
In the end, he abandoned all other forms of wager, and gave himself up
to "I'll bet the Devil my head," with a pertinacity and exclusiveness
of devotion that displeased not less than it surprised me.
I am always
displeased by circumstances for which I cannot account. Mysteries
force a man to think, and so injure his health. The truth is, there was
something in the air with which Mr. Dammit was wont to give utterance to
his offensive expression--something in his manner of enunciation--which
at first interested, and afterwards made me very uneasy--something
which, for want of a more definite term at present, I must be permitted
to call queer; but which Mr. Coleridge would have called mystical,
Mr. Kant pantheistical, Mr. Carlyle twistical, and Mr. Emerson
hyperquizzitistical. I began not to like it at all. Mr. Dammits soul was
in a perilous state. I resolved to bring all my eloquence into play to
save it. I vowed to serve him as St. Patrick, in the Irish chronicle, is
said to have served the toad,--that is to say, "awaken him to a sense
of his situation. " I addressed myself to the task forthwith. Once more I
betook myself to remonstrance.
sneered. I threatened--he swore. I kicked him--he called for the police.
I pulled his nose--he blew it, and offered to bet the Devil his head
that I would not venture to try that experiment again.
Poverty was another vice which the peculiar physical deficiency of
Dammit's mother had entailed upon her son. He was detestably poor, and
this was the reason, no doubt, that his expletive expressions about
betting, seldom took a pecuniary turn. I will not be bound to say that
I ever heard him make use of such a figure of speech as "I'll bet you a
dollar. " It was usually "I'll bet you what you please," or "I'll bet you
what you dare," or "I'll bet you a trifle," or else, more significantly
still, "I'll bet the Devil my head. "
This latter form seemed to please him best;--perhaps because it involved
the least risk; for Dammit had become excessively parsimonious. Had any
one taken him up, his head was small, and thus his loss would have been
small too. But these are my own reflections and I am by no means sure
that I am right in attributing them to him. At all events the phrase in
question grew daily in favor, notwithstanding the gross impropriety of
a man betting his brains like bank-notes:--but this was a point which my
friend's perversity of disposition would not permit him to comprehend.
In the end, he abandoned all other forms of wager, and gave himself up
to "I'll bet the Devil my head," with a pertinacity and exclusiveness
of devotion that displeased not less than it surprised me.
I am always
displeased by circumstances for which I cannot account. Mysteries
force a man to think, and so injure his health. The truth is, there was
something in the air with which Mr. Dammit was wont to give utterance to
his offensive expression--something in his manner of enunciation--which
at first interested, and afterwards made me very uneasy--something
which, for want of a more definite term at present, I must be permitted
to call queer; but which Mr. Coleridge would have called mystical,
Mr. Kant pantheistical, Mr. Carlyle twistical, and Mr. Emerson
hyperquizzitistical. I began not to like it at all. Mr. Dammits soul was
in a perilous state. I resolved to bring all my eloquence into play to
save it. I vowed to serve him as St. Patrick, in the Irish chronicle, is
said to have served the toad,--that is to say, "awaken him to a sense
of his situation. " I addressed myself to the task forthwith. Once more I
betook myself to remonstrance.
