The Prison Mirror

Declined With Thanks.

In a late issue our friend Patricio advises that in the event of not being able to find anything to do upon my release that I can saw wood. No, thank you, my old Roman from Ballamacleugh, not if I have ever been introduced to myself will you ever catch me trifling with the wood pile again. Listen to my tale of woe. It is just two short years ago that I was residing with a private family in the city of and as luck would have it, on the morning of the Fourth of July the young lady of the house informed me that the man who did the chores had not put in an appearance, and would I mind sawing a few sticks of wood. Now, I make no secret that I was deeply attached to the aforesaid young lady. She was so kind and so loving that I was and still am willing to undergo any kind of hardship to win a few sweet smiles from the ruby lips of lovely Angelica Korfdrop; so I simply told her to introduce me to the pile and I would instantly reduce the same to toothpicks. But alas! The best laid plans of men and mice aft gang aglee. The measly saw, instead of going straight, seemed to think an angle of 45 was about the correct thing, and what with the terrible heat and the awful exertion I was beginning to get played out, but made up my mind that by the blood of my border ancestors, who were mostly hanged for cattle lifting, that the feat should be accomplished; so I made another desperate exertion and-broke the saw. My blood was now thoroughly up, so to finish the job in a neat and artistic style I chopped the frame work of the saw into a thousand pieces and sneaked off. Well, going up the road I met a son of the ancient Vikings, who offered to saw the blamed wood for two dollars--I would gladly have given five. Then I roused up a hardware man and bought another saw, which cost me another two dollars; thence I went to the drug store to buy some salve for my lacerated hands and some lotion for inward application, and returned home in a better frame of mind. But when I arrived I found the whole party convulsed with laughter, and the reason, I discovered, was over the Britisher's attempt to manipulate a Yankee buck-saw. "But I appeal to you, comrades, was this a christian way to treat a poor pilgrim wandering in a foreign land? No. I think not, and as the result of it I was again compelled to visit the drug store for more lotion for inward application. But this sad tale of a certain Fourth of July is by no means ended yet. On my again returning home m'moiselle, in accents sweet and low, told me how some of her friends had chartered a steamer and were going down the river by moonlight. Would I join them? My drooping spirits immediately arose and I gladly acquiesced. We had proceeded down the river some ten miles, and I was sitting on the hurricane deck—by the way, you all know where the hurricane deck of a Mississippi flatboat is; if you do not it does not matter—with the fair Angelica Korfdrop listening to the sweet strains of the "Mysotis" waltz, when my nautical eye caught a glimpse of a big sand bank ahead and into which we were fast steering. It was in vain that I shouted. "stop 'er, back 'er, ease 'er, fetch a cab, call a policeman,"—there was a police officer on board and a mighty good fellow he was too, but as usual in a case of emergency he was not to be found. The consequence was, that wretched captain steamed right plump into the sand bank, and I went overboard. But I knew I was not to be drowned in the shallow and somewhat muddy waters of the Mississippi, for on three previous occasions had I been immersed in the depths, once in the Gut of Gibralter, once on the west coast of Scotland, and once in the Pacific ocean. So I do not think drowning is to be my fate; but I do most sincerely trust that there may be no hempen tendency attached to my destination. Well, I landed safely on the bank. I grew sarcastic and told them not to be in a hurry getting the boat out, but if they would kindly call upon me on the return journey it would answer the purpose equally well, but they hoisted me in, looking very much like a drowned rat. And for a teetotal picnic I will say that I never saw so many "original packages," produced in so short a time, and with their aid and various other comforts I soon regained my equilibrium. But from that fatal Fourth of July everything went wrong and I put it all down to my wretched and futile attempt to saw wood. Thus if I had not tried to saw wood I would not have lost my temper, which compelled me to visit the drug store too often, which was the result of my getting wet, and which was the cause of my getting here. And now, my old friend, there is a moral to the above harrowing and distressing yarn, and that is, "Do not monkey with the buzz saw." In other words, do not meddle with things you know nothing about. I maintain that if a man knows how to do only one thing, but to do that well, he had far better stick to that than try to be a "Jack of all trades," which in reality does not amount to very much. And, my friend, the next time you tackle the wood pile, think of sweet Angelica Korfdrop and the sad fate of yours truly,