The Mississippi Creole

SHOWING HOW MATERIALLY CIRCUMSTANCES ALTER CASES.

Many years ago when Gov. Gore sat in the Executive chair of Massachusetts, Mr. B., a substantial farmer in the good old town of Dracut, was chosen a member of the council. While attending to his duties in that capacity, he was frequently invited to dine with the governor, who always treated him with much hospitality and urbanity. As some return for the governor's politeness, Mr. B. had long meditated making him a present. But what should it be? Governors are not common men and no common present would answer. Many and long were the confabs between Mr. and Mrs. B. on this important subject but no satisfactory result was arrived at, until one day early in the Spring it was announced in the village that a fine salmon, the first of the season was caught by the Dracut fishermen. Here was a God-send for Mr. B indeed!—the very thing to present to the governor, and he lost no time in securing it, never heeding the enormous price demanded by the captors. It was a noble fish, a full "twenty pounder," and in the language of Mrs. B. as she swathed it in snow white linen, "it was the beautifullest fish you ever saw."

The salmon was carefully tied up in a new bag, the horse was harnessed to the wagon, and the worthy councilman and the present trotted briskly away down the Boston road. Now in those days tee-total societies were unknown; consequently Mr. B. was not a tee-totaller: if he had been he never would have stopped three times between Dracut and Tewksbury, to "wood up." Nor when he arrived at Tewksbury would he have tarried at Wilder's Tavern, where according to a black sign with white letters, "Entertainment for Man and Beast," was always ready. We will consider it decided then that he was not a temperance man in the modern acceptation
of the word. He re-requested the hostler to carefully guard the wagon, as there was precious freight in the box and then walking into the house in a majestic manner as became a member of the council; was soon deep in that forbidden luxury, flip. The landlord grinned and bobbed hastily about, the hot poker hissed and sputtered as it was thrust into the reaming mug and Squire B. installed into the best room and the best chair quaffed largely of the generous beverage and reflected upon the pleasant reception he should meet at the governor's.

But, "the best laid scheme of men and mice aft gang astray." While the worthy adviser of His Excellency was thus rioting in anticipations of the effects of his present, some evil spirit flying over Tewksbury at the time seeking for a chance to do mischief, cast its eyes upon the hostler and seeing at a glance that he was a proper instrument wherewith to work, entered into his heart and instigated him to do that which was to make those anticipations vain as an idle dream. Prompted by curiosity to see what the "precious freight" was and influenced by the spirit aforesaid, the hostler untied the bag and drew out the scaly occupant. Standing at the door, sent there no doubt by some other evil spirit, was a fish cart from which the possessed hostler speedily procured an enormous pollock, which he carefully tied up in the bag and hid the salmon in the hay mow.
Having finished his flip, Mr. B. called for his horse, paid the reckoning and was soon once more en route for Boston. The grey mare felt her oats, the squire felt the flip and right gaily they sped along through the ancient towns of Wilmington, Woburn and Medford and in due time the wagon rattled merrily over the pavements of Boston.

Gov. Gore was sitting down to dinner when the door-bell rang and a servant announced Mr. B. of Dracut, the governor repairing to the parlor found the worthy citizen dusty and flushed his nose fairly shining with excitement and flip. With a low bow he advanced, seized the Governor's hand and commenced a set speech which he had been conning since he left home.

"May it please your excellency," he said, it is a duty incumbent upon all good citizens to remember those placed in authority over them "Here he paused for he had lost the thread; and to" another pause; he had evidently pitched his tune too high—"and to Governor, I am a man of few words, but if you'll send yer hired man out to my wagon you'll find that tied up in a bag as will speak louder than words and make you stare, I reckon."

Governor Gore smiled, and ordered a servant to carry the bag to the kitchen; and repairing thither himself, found the servants staring with wonder at a large, and by no means prepossessing pollock laid out on the table! For a single moment the governor felt indignant; but recollecting the character of the donor he concluded that some one had played him a trick: and walking back to his visitor whom he found waiting with eager expectation, remarked in a cool, indifferent tone:

"I am much obliged, Mr. B. for your kind intention, though your present is no great rarity here in Boston; we can get the same any day at the fish market for two cents a pound."

"Get it for two cents a pound, at the fish market!" roared the confounded councilman, "why governor, there's not another salmon, out of water, in New England!"
"I merely intended to say that I can get in the market for that price, a better and fresher pollock than the one which you have brought me."

"Pollock be darned!" screamed Mr. B. "d'ye mean to say the fish I brought you jest now is a pollock?"

"Walk this way Mr. B." said the governor, leading the way to the kitchen, and pointing to the striped sides of the fish, "is that a salmon?"

"It was when I started this morning," said Mr. B. in a low reflective tone "and a fine one too, as ever swam in the Merrimack. But." he continued, turning it over, as if to be sure there was no mistake, "but it is a pollock now, sure enough."

The pride and spirit of the good old farmer were completely broken. He felt mortified and ashamed, he could not bear to look the governor in the face, and steadfastly declined all his invitations to stay and dine. Slowly and mournfully he re-bagged the pollock, and sorrowfully commenced his homeward journey.

If there was occasion in the morning to "wood up' at the numerous taverns on the road, there certainly was now, when returning under such mortifying circumstances, and when Mr. B at last reached the tavern at Tewksbury, he was just in that state and frame which he thinks demanded a strong mug of "Wilder's best flip," and so he had it. But while he was drinking it, the mischievous hostler was again at the bag. Finding the Pollock still there, he withdrew it and replaced the salmon.

Mr. B. reached home about dark, tired, vexed, and—we must say it, a little drunk. At first he was sullen and silent, but at last wearied with his wife's ceaseless inquiries as to what was the matter, and why he was so "cross and snarly like," he threw his hat at the "dressers" with such violence and fatal aim that he bro't down the milk-pot, family pitcher and a small host of cups, saucers and plates. He smiled grimly at the havoc he had wrought, and then turning fiercely to his astonished lady demanded—

"What do yer think! That d-d salmon turned into a pollock before I got to Boston!"

"Turned into a pollock?" said Mrs. B.

"Why Izik, don't make yourself a natural fool. What on airth do you mean?"

"I mean jist as I say," said the councillor, with dignity, "an if yer don't believe me, go and look in the bag behind the door."

Mrs. B. hauled out the bag, cut the string, and shook the contents on the floor. Her spouse looked on with much nonchalance during the first part of the operation, but when the salmon, looking as hale and fresh as he did when placed there in the morning, rolled out and flopped quietly down on the floor! it was too much. "Darnation seize the crittur!" he cried as with one kick of his heavy foot he sent the unfortunate fish into the blazing fire, and then laying hold of the tongs he punched him, and crowded him down under the coals, exclaiming, as he danced about in his frantic efforts:

"How d'ye like that, you tarnal crittur! Oh, you're a nice fish, you are, d-n ye! You're a salmon in Dracut, but a pollock in Boston.— Portland Transcript.