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Read Ebook: Nothing to Say A Slight Slap at Mobocratic Snobbery Which Has 'Nothing to Do' with 'Nothing to Wear' by Doesticks Q K Philander
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Ebook has 1171 lines and 122916 words, and 24 pages
NOTHING TO SAY
DOESTICKS' BOOKS,
New editions of which have been
RECENTLY PUBLISHED BY
RUDD & CARLETON, 310 BROADWAY, N. Y.
DOESTICKS, WHAT HE SAYS.
Pp. 380. 12mo. Elegantly bound in cloth.
Price 00.
Being a compilation of the original letters from the immortal Q. K. PHILANDER DOESTICKS, P. B.
"Things so copied, so talked of, so pulled out of every pocket to be lent to you, so quoted, and so relished and laughed over as Doesticks' writings, never were launched into print."
PLU-RI-BUS-TAH;
Pp. 264. 12mo. Elegantly bound in cloth.
Price 00.
As a History of the country this book is invaluable, inasmuch as it notices a great many events not mentioned by Bancroft, Hildreth, or Prescott. As a Novel it is unapproachable, for it contains several characters unknown to Cooper, Dickens, Marryatt, or Bulwer. As a Mythological Work it should be immediately secured, as it makes mention of a number of gods and deified worthies hitherto unknown to old Jupiter himself. As a Poem, its claims to consideration cannot be denied, as it comprises a great many beauties not discoverable in the "Song of Hiawatha," besides several Indian names which were therein omitted.
THE ELEPHANT CLUB.
BY DOESTICKS AND KNIGHT RUSS OCKSIDE, M.D.
Pp. 321. 12mo. Elegantly bound in cloth.
Price 00.
A veritable and veracious History of the Doings and Misdoings of the members of the Elephant Club. With the minute and particular narrative of what they did. To which is added a complex and elaborate description of what they didn't. Containing also the exultant record of their memorable success in eventually obtaining, each and every one, a sight of the entire and unadulterated animal, from the primitive hair on his attenuated proboscis, to the last kink of his symmetrical tail.
NOTHING TO SAY;
Being a satire on Snobbery, which has
"NOTHING TO DO" WITH "NOTHING TO WEAR."
SUPERBLY ILLUSTRATED ON TINTED PAPER.
Pp. 60. 12mo. Elegantly bound in cloth.
Price 50 cents.
These Books are all profusely embellished by Engravings from the finest original comic designs by JOHN MCLENAN, and are books which no American miscellaneous library should be without.
NOTHING TO SAY:
A Slight Slap at Mobocratic Snobbery,
WHICH HAS
"NOTHING TO DO" with "NOTHING TO WEAR."
Q. K. PHILANDER DOESTICKS, P.B.
NEW YORK: RUDD & CARLETON, 310 BROADWAY.
Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1857, by RUDD & CARLTON,
In the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the United States for the Southern District of New York.
NOTHING TO SAY.
I, Q. K. P. DOESTICKS, of No Hall, Nowhere; No Castle, no Villa, no Place, Court, or Terrace; Who didn't write "Junius," or "Nothing to Wear," Who never have visited London or Paris; Who am not a phantom, a myth, or a mystery, But a "homo," as solid as any of history; As real as Antony, Caesar, or Brutus,-- A wide-awake Yankee, so "tarnation 'cute" as To always write Nothings, while Nothings will pay, Am the author of this Nothing--Nothing to Say.
That a broadcloth coat argues sin, if not felony; If a man has the tact in the world to get well on, he Cannot be else than a thorough-paced scamp; That the "villanous rich" wear a cloak and a mask, all, And the greater the riches, the greater the rascal. That the cardinal virtues only endure, In the atmosphere with the "virtuous poor;" That nowhere are found the true Christian graces, Save closely allied to the dirtiest faces. I shall not contradict this delightful tradition, But beg--No, I won't, I will take it--permission, To state, that I think there's a word to be said, From a different text, on the opposite head. And so I'll invent, as well as I'm able, A new home-made, allegorical fable; And my honest purpose shall be, to see If the scoundrel rich have not borne a part In those noble charities, which are The pride of this jolly old city's heart. And if I shall find that the virtuous mob Have ever been known one farthing to pay, Without hoping a hundred-fold profit to make: Where the "rich man," the "miser," "aristocrat," "snob," Has poured out his thousands for Charity's sake, I'll lay down my pen, and have "Nothing to Say."
I shall not describe the SPIRIT OF CANT, Of popular humbug, and vulgar rant, And tell how he looks in a tangible form, And give the length of his horns and claws, The spread of his wings, the width of his jaws, And detail the other proportions grim, Which belong to a powerful demon like him. Go and look at the melodramatic stage, When a "spectacle" piece is all the rage; And there, in the midst of some "property" storm, While the sheet-iron thunder is rattling its best, And the rosin lightning, and all the rest Of the elements are, for some tragedy-reason, Making the "awfullest gale of the season--" See, at the sound of the prompter's tap, The fiend come up through the "Vampyre trap;" Take a mental photograph then, and there, Of that imp, with his "fixins" all complete-- The elfish grin, the tangled hair, The dragon wings and the scaly feet-- And you'll have a notion of him I mean, The demon of this, my opening scene. I might go to Milton, and steal, bit by bit, A description to suit my Spirit of Cant, A second-hand suit, but a "shplendid fit," As a Jew would assure me--but then I sha'nt. His work is to preach the humbug which passes For gospel among the "down-trodden masses;" And to prate of the "wrongs and indignities," which Are heaped on their heads by the "cold-hearted rich."
This Spirit was busy at work one day, Amongst a crowd of Bowery boys, When CHARITY happened to come that way; And she stopped to listen--though, sooth to say, She seldom is fond of clamor and noise.
"Now, pray, Mr. Author, wait just a minute, Stop! Drop
They stepped from the car, and stood before, The "COOPER INSTITUTE'S" new-painted door--
"Who hath done this?" asked Charity then; "Who hath done this for his fellow-men? Hath builded this house, that all may come-- The poor most welcome--to Learning's treasure, And drink their fill without stint or measure? Who hath so nobly used his thrift, And bestowed on the world this priceless gift, Free to all, whoever may come? Was this noble work built up by the 'masses,' Or by one of the 'miserly, upper classes'?"
To the Spirit, this speech was quite unexpected, And he stood in a sort of stupid dismay; And before his few scattered thoughts were collected, She rightly concluded--he'd Nothing to Say. Then she lifted her skirts with a masterly hand, And out of the puddles and ruts kept them well up,-- Thus showed that she had the most perfect command Of the crinoline mysteries of her envelope, 'Twas done with the daintiest grace all the while, And discovered the daintiest possible gaiter,-- Then she turned to her friend with a nod and a smile, And told him to follow--he straightway obeyed her. As they hurried along, she kept ever before him, And he kept his eye on the tempting prunella, Secretly hoping there'd come such a shower As would make a new Flood in half-an-hour-- That she, with a womanly care for her bonnet, Which would "spot," with the least drop of water upon it,
They seated themselves at the table together,-- The customers "staring their eyes out," to see Who this queer-looking couple could possibly be,-- Asking each other in whispers, whether, It wasn't the likeliest thing that she, Was a Western Actress, and he an Editor; And some were terribly frightened, because They couldn't help thinking there certainly was, The Old Nick to pay, and that he was their creditor.
But the strangers composedly sat, never heeding These stupid remarks, or taking offence, And they quietly kept on their drinking and feeding, Without the slightest regard to expense. If an appetite sharp is a thing so delightful, Charity had no occasion to sigh at hers; Boarding-house keepers would say it was frightful, And ruinous too, to the hotel proprietors.
They were sated at last, and turned from the door; He, wondering whither she now would go-- And well he might--in an instant more He was over shoes in the frozen snow; While she coolly remarked, with a Camille cough, That the North Pole was only a half a mile off.
How it was they got to their present location, I'm sure I don't know, and it's not my vocation To give the details of their quick locomotion. Electricity may have done it, or steam;
But motive powers are not my theme. My heroes were there, near the frozen ocean.
The man had too much of "cold without," And the lady sighed for her tippet and muff; For though they had come by a summary route, The weather, they found, was wintry enough. When they climbed an iceberg's loftiest height, To the imminent danger of dresses and hoops, Of ribbons and pins, and laces and loops, The GRINNELL EXPEDITION was in sight.
Now the lady had been prepared to preach, Or rather, to make a nice serious speech; But it might as well have been written in Dutch for her, For the wind and the weather, conspiring together, Turned out to be, altogether too much for her; One half she forgot, and she bungled the rest of it, Though I finally managed to pick out the best of it. She asked her companion, who stood in the lee of her, For the wind spread her skirts to the bigness of three of her, "Who sent these ships to the rescue of those, Who have perilled their lives in these Northern snows? Did he spring from the mob, the benevolent 'masses,' Or from the detestable 'upper classes'?" With a great deal more to the same effect, Which I couldn't exactly make out the sense of, For I know that her sentences "failed to connect;" And I suppose that her chattering teeth bit the ends off; But 'twas very conclusive, whatever she said. He never disputed her; never said nay, But only hung down his discomfited head; And whatever he thought, he had Nothing to Say.
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